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dietmountaindewbae · 8 months

Note

hiii i LOVE ur fics omg pls never stop writing,

could you maybe do something You-ish (the TV show "You") (idk if you've seen it but it's amazing) something stalker-ish? where alex is joe and reader is his, soon to be, gf (cuz he makes her) (any alex era) 💌

hope ur well🤍💋

xxiii. obsession

alex turner x reader

word count: 12626

summary: We ran into each other by chance or by fate, your clumsiness started something for me, something for us, and it's my duty to find out who you are. (the car! era) This story is written on Alex's narrative.

warnings: obsessions & rough s*x

song recommendation: tear you apart by she wants revenge

───── ୨୧ ─────

Ever since that day outside of a party, when you fell into my arms, drunk and loud, I had never felt so high, I had felt something the moment you smiled at me and flushed from the embarrassment, your eyes watery from the cold, your lips red full of blood, alcohol running fast through your veins, my heart falling from my mouth, you pulled away and hugged yourself, too embarrassed from what had happened, you thought it was too much booze, I thought it was meant to be, right place and right time. You just said "Sorry," I helped you to get back on your feet, our hands lightly graze and we lock in a stare, but then your mates dragged you across the street, they had dragged you away from me, like parents and their out-of-control kid, you waved goodbye at me, and all I could do was smile and wave goodbye to you, I was a fool, I didn't know what to say, it was one of those 'what would have happened?' moments when I ask myself, 'what if I had just said "It's ok, don't worry, love"' Icould vividly picture us walking down the street, going for some food because we were pissed, I would've kissed you, and asked for your number, then we could be dating, holding hands in the street, laughing at everything, hanging out with your stupid mates, if they hadn't been there and taken you away from me, I probably wouldn't have found meself, hiding behind the threes in the middle of a cold winter in LA, hoping to be in the warmth of your arms than out in the cold darkness of the street. I can't help to wonder if you ever think of me.

Your name and your last name stayed in a constant loop on my mind, one of your mates, the one with the light brown hair had screamed it as she found you falling into my arms, it would be stupid if I didn't look for you, right? You're gorgeous, you were nice and interesting, It would be weird if I didn't try to find your social media. It was easy to find you, I hate to admit how easy it is to find everything online these days, I found your Instagram and Facebook with just a few clicks on my computer, it's too easy it makes me laugh.

I scrolled through every single one of your posts on Facebook, you had a few, not many, everything was mainly about your little family trips and your sister's child, I made a note that you might just have Facebook out of pressure from your mother and sister since they always tag you in memes or those annoying TED Talk videos and you never answer, I found your mother's page, widowed, 49 years old, looks 45, she gave you her face, older sister, found her page too, married with a toddler, awfully bitter since she has to post where she is at all times, even if her child had taken a massive shit and had the looks of a giant worm, she would've posted it, I left the best for last. Your Instagram, no one these days uses Facebook.

Your Instagram was private but empty with not a single sight of you... so it's no use, what about your friends?... Hello you... I could hold on to these group pictures Larissa posted, thank you internet! Your friend group was small but they knew how to get around, only 4 people, two girls called Julie and Larissa, and Julie's boyfriend Luca, 5 if you counted me in, soon, luckily for me, Julie had an empty page, barely any pictures, just her and Luca but her profile was public but that lead me to find your other friend, Larissa had pictures of her face and some of you and Julie at pubs, very self-centered I suppose, Luca only posted about being a gym addict. I took a more personal approach, your sister Nina, who loves you very much, she had plenty of pictures of you. Thanksgiving was at your house, you looked gorgeous in those pictures, you wore a white dress with red flowers and black platforms, your long hair in beautiful waves, if any pervert were to see it, you would be such an easy victim with that long hair, but you're not, you're not so easy to hunt down in the dark. There was a picture of you and your sister's baby boy, sitting next to the three by a bay window, great. I took note of the stores, houses, and historical buildings nearby and then reality hit me as I took a cab on the way to your house.

Come on Alex, what are you doing? You look like a creep with your cap and coat in the middle of the night, It's only just a crush it'll go away, just like all the others. But you see? That's the problem with you, you're not, this is dangerous but I'll take my chances for you, I'm not obsessed with you, like I said, it's only just a crush. I hide behind some trees in front of your house on the other side of the street, and I contemplate this wonderful girl in her bedroom, going round and round with a book in her hands.

At night me head couldn't stop spinning, making all of these scenarios, about a girl who meets a stranger, and they fall madly in love in just a split second. I didn't need more, I could hold on to your light vanilla perfume and the softness of your hair, your lips, your collarbone, your shoulder, the curve of your breasts in the blouse you wore that night, I want to hold you close and kiss you hard.

For next few days I followed you around, I made you a time table, every morning at 5:30 you went for a run, and you finished off at home some with exercises you found on YouTube, you were visibly struggling, and that made me laugh but I felt bad for doing so, you worked hard, you finished around 6:30, you liked walking like a true new yorker, in your most sober looks, sometimes in a dress with a blue navy sweater on top of dresses , jeans, and a silky shirt, winter or no winter, you loved wearing tank tops, loved exposing even just a little bit of your body, even in the coldest days, your legs, your beautiful shoulders, a v-neck, mini skirts, checkered shorts or pants, and sexy patterned tights with colors like pastel blue, and even red to spice up your all black outfits, and you always wore that luscious and berry coloured lipstick on your lips, heels, motorcycle boots, ballerina flats, dresses, chunky sweaters, straight leg vintage jeans, coats, heels, shoulder bags, mini bags, but what a must was, something that never came off of you, your golden necklace, you're an everything girl, you dressed for the day, it told you exactly what to wear, even if you broke your pattern, you mostly dressed like Jane Birkin, jeans, white shirt, chunky purse, but you love leather, leather belts, leather jackets. Then you walk to your favorite café, and your drink depends on how tired you feel, black coffee for busy days or cappuccinos for the days you don't feel in a rush, then you take the metro, read a book and sip on your coffee while listening to your music, you are in college by 7:30, have 30 minutes to spare, but you're wise, and you use them organize yourself while you ease up with some music, I've never seen a longer playlist to be honest, there's a bit of everything there, you write your things in a red wine journal, I wonder what's in those little pink notes you stick on your notebook.

I made sure you got safely to your workplace after school at 4:00 pm, a bakery, you love talking to the people at the register as they ask you for your favorite dessert, and you always choose the same, tiramisu, rich coffee with some liquor, mascarpone carefully enveloped with delicious whipping cream, and a touch of cocoa sifted all over the tiramisu, and you juggle back and forward with doing school work, help in the kitchen, serve the costumers with a bright and friendly smile, you're tired and they don't pay you enough. And when you get home a 10 pm, you don't go to sleep, you stay up until you're finished but you never truly are, no matter how late or early, you can't sleep, why is that beautiful? Aren't your sheets made of the softest cotton? But I can see, that you are compromised to live in a city that never sleeps, you get ready for your next job at your nearest live jazz pub as a bartender, I'm very familiar with that type of job, you serve the customers with a kind smile as the music rocks you, you talk to other girls, and the artists flirt with you from time to time but you didn't submit, you knew better than that, you got paid well, the tips that fell on your back pocket from the nasty old men helped you to afford your apartment, barely making it to the next cut but you made it.

And every restless night when your mind couldn't stop thinking you went out to the nearest pub, and you made new friends, some men flirted with you until sadly, one night I had to watch you leave with one of them, he conquered your body before me, I wonder if you ever think of me in that way, a sexy stranger, that clouded your mind with ideas until you finally gave in. He did what he wanted to do, and when he left, you were still flushed and needy, that night I watched you hump your pillow with angst to get yourself off, a gorgeous picture to see, one that was engraved in my brain since then.

Every night when I crashed in my bed, and I prayed for this to go away but it continued to grow, I prayed for you to get out of me head, but your face, your smile, every curve of your body lived in me head, and if I don't something about it, you'll hunt me down forever.

I walked down the street on a Saturday night, It's been a week since we bumped into each other, discreetly searching for you with my eyes, until, I found you, in your West Village, street-level, white, vintage but modern apartment that might be hard for you to afford but you keep on paying it because the creepy landlord has a massive crush on you, he cannot fool me, I know what it's like.

You live in such a melancholic part of New York and also warm, old, and historic, it holds so many stories, and memories that's why it reminds you of home, like the baby pictures your mom posts, your living area illuminated with yellow lights from you mid-century lamps, like the sky in a beautiful afternoon, laying in your sette in a white tank top and panties, finally, you get to relax and enjoy yourself.

I could see the outline of your body through your thin linen white curtains, you were wearing vintage headphones connected to your record player, reading a book, Bukowski's 'Love Is A Dog From Hell' Yes, it must certainly is. Then suddenly you stood up, I'm certain you're barefoot, through a crack in the curtain I can see you're approaching the window, I could see the left side of your face, soft, round, cute little pointy nose, and your eyes, a sparkle in them as you stare into the sky, pink pouty lips, and a little beauty spot in your cheek, your phone in the ear, moving your lips with a smile as if you were talking to the person in the other line in real life. You nodded a couple of times and then you hung up, I saw the outline of your body, running towards your bedroom, what's got you in such a hurry? But before you forget, you turn up the music so loud the whole neighborhood can hear it, you choose something classic 'Bang Bang' by Nancy Sinatra, shoot me down, your linen curtain reflecting the light, and you take out your top in one move tossing it away, the outline of your naked beautiful body stretching had made me think so many things to do with it in less than a second, you pick your clothes with care, hanging them in front of your mirror, posing with the clothes on top of your body.

You sit somewhere in your room, and I can hardly see you, something about your magnetism draws me to you, so I stupidly cross the street and find shelter behind a three, but I get even more stupid as I get to see you doing your makeup in the mirror, your phone rings and your face goes blank, you answer and I see how your expressions change like the way flowers rot, gradually you get darker and darker, until... you break into tears putting an end to the call, and you push your phone away, you look into the mirror, and I see a tear roll down your cheek slowly, your face scrunched, and your cheeks reddened, you look at yourself in the mirror, all I can see is hate and rage, and then, you're cold as ice, not another tear rolls down your cheeks, you clean them up with a soft cotton pad and continue to apply makeup on your face, I wonder who has made you cry? even if it was just one small insignificant tear, whoever that was...they still made you cry.

Before you leave, you check yourself one last time, the dress you choose to wear was way better than the typical night outfits women wear these days, less ostentatious, you like dressing feminine, classic but modern, but not so pretty that you look like a little girl, you were more than pretty, you were hot, steaming, boiling, no man would approach you like that, and that was the sad truth for you but good news for both of us, not as any man would approach you, they had to have big balls to do so, baby doll dress, platforms, and a racer jacket, cute, stylish, edge, as always, you were sharp as a blade to the skin. Your hair is straight and it looks longer than when it's on your natural waves, and the wind blows perfectly on it, but that velvet red lipstick on your mouth might be the death of me.

You went outside, took a cab, and went out, I waved my arm, and soon enough a cab passed by.

"Where to?" The man said.

"Follow that cab in front of you," He took off, it was sad, drivers these days don't even care for men like this, the ones that just order to do something like that, there were a lot of crazy people here, and I had to protect you from them.

I see you being dropped off at a crowded pub, I hand a good amount of money to the man, and he drives off, I see you go inside, and you find your mates, I sit across from you, not too close so that you can see me but, but not so far so I don't hear you. You hug each one of them and you sit in the booth next to Julie.

"What's the occasion?" You said, next thing, Julie turns and shows a sparkling diamond on her finger, "Luke, Luke, Luke!" You teased her in awe, you held her hand carefully, examining it up close to the ring, "It's stunning" You said with a kind smile, it was amazing how I wished to be that hand, the one you caressed with care.

"I wanna do something big for the bachelorette, and I don't know where to start, I mean..." It must be hard for you, everyone around you is married or has a serious more than the 2-year relationship you can't hold on to, everyone has a kid now, everyone turns 27 and suddenly they already have a house, a child, and a loving husband, I wouldn't be like that ever, things won't be like that with me, I promise, we can take it as slow and calm as you want, or maybe go fast, I can go both ways, I just have to wait for the moment I may finally introduce myself to you, maybe by tomorrow when you go out but it must be soon before you forget about that last Saturday night, and it looks like you are in the process of, you are emptying those glasses of wine like coke in a hot summer day.

"Ease up with the wine," Larissa says, "You're gonna end up embarrassing yourself like the last time, you always have to pull a seen," Here we go.

"What fuckin' scene?" You spit back, "I was tired and I had been wearing high heels for more than 2 hours, yes, I was drunk but it was a genuine accident" You were annoyed, why could no one understand that? Accidents happen, and it must be hard for you to stand that pain, if I had stayed over, I would've given you a lovely massage, and treated you the way you're supposed to, I'm starting to be not very fond of Larissa.

"Uhu, yeah, but do you remember the last time you went to that party and got so drunk you "accidentally" confused a cigarette with marihuana and cried in the street like a baby?" Larissa, you just had to make it worse, didn't you?

"Fuck off, I can do whatever the fuck I want, if you don't want to believe me that's fine, oh!... and a scene, Larissa, a scene is what you pull when you yell at everyone as if you were the fucking owner of everything and everyone" You took your purse and rushed out, I see that Julie went out to get you, so I discreetly follow her, and find you waving your arm for a cab.

"Wait, don't go," Julie says with a caring tone, "I know you're not ok, you can't lie to me, you know how Lari is..."

"But why does she have to be a fuckin' news flasher of everything I do, embarrassing me in front of everyone, making me look like I'm not fun to be around," Julie tried to hug you but you wouldn't let her near.

"You say some scary shit while you're drunk, that's the only thing I'm going to agree on, but I can see you're not ok," Intuitive, honest, and kind, good choice for a friend.

"He called me" Julie sighs, who is he? This is the prize of being old fashioned, just like me, that's another thing I like about you, you have a life, even if you spend time alone, you go out in the world instead of taking a picture of it and expose your life, you have a little life, but it's yours and only yours.

"What did he want?" You shrugged and searched for something in your leather purse, taking a cigarette, and desperately flicking the lighter on.

"He just asked how I was, while he's off... modeling and possibly fucking two to three girls every single night, and he asks me how I am, drunk and high, he's so... he's-" To find the right words to describe that wanker only made me think about the damage he must have done to you, come on, spill the name, "That's not really everything, he's just-"

"Part of everything" Julie answered back, hugging you close to her, a caring hug, sweet, I could take a picture of it, I'm glad there is Julie for you, "Go home, and text me when you get there," She holds her arm up, taking a cab for you and sending you back home, I did the same thing as before, and the man did as he was told. But the problem was, you didn't go home, you went to a nearby liquor store and bought more wine for yourself, you drank it straight from the bag and you plugged in your wired earphones to your phone, kicking your feet and humming to the music 'New Dawn Fades' by Joy Division, a sad post-punk classic, you should be glad I am here to be on the look for you as you waddle in the steers, an easy target, if anyone dared to do anything to you, well, you must be glad there is me.

You walked a few blocks to your house, but you didn't go in, you couldn't hold yourself up anymore, so you sat by the staircase, defeated since you were desperately looking for your keys in your little purse, and you stared into the empty dark street, and you cried, you kept crying so hard it makes me feel the need to go and help you, I didn't really think about what I was doing, you were desperate, and I was afraid of letting you stay outside like that, then you stood up, unpredictable as always, I see you taking a fast pace. What are you thinking about? Did you forget something? You walk a few blocks until you stay still on a crowded street, the cars on that street go by faster, and you stare into the void as the red lights flash before you in straight lines, your cheeks stained with black tears, the darkness takes you in like one of their children, your head wrapped up in horrible ideas, so dark they blind your eyes, so atrocious your mind can only find one way to make you see the light at the end, you can't find peace, your body is tired, your eyebags are heavy, and you don't feel like yourself, you've lost control and you murmur something over and over again under your breath like some sort of sick prayer...

"A loaded gun won't set you free"

I see you take a step forward, now standing on the pavement, my heart drops to my stomach, and I run to get you, the wind blowing my cap away, what are you doing? why are you doing this? I can fix it, I can fix you, I can help you, I'll make it all disappear, before you take another step, the bus coming your way was out to get you, and you closed your eyes, but I won't let you go like that, my hand grasps your shoulder tightly, and I pull you to my arms, you're cold, shivering, your wired earphones fall from your head and get tangled in your hair.

"Are you alright?" Your face is wet with tears, and you look at me with big eyes, flushed again from the embarrassment, but that sparkle, that little fucking sparkle just makes me so mad, I'd kill for you to see me like that over and over, your little nose red, your eyelids a bit puffy.

You quickly wipe your tears, "Erm..." You sniffed, and you stared into my face with a cute and educated smile, "No... I mean, yes... sorry, I'm just... I wasn't thinking, I'm sorry," You scan my face, the familiarity of it makes a grin spread on your lips, "If I sound like a creep please stop me, but, I think I know you" Your lips curl into a bigger smile, as you realize who I am, I am that man, I am the man who will always be there for you, "You're that guy I fell into the other day" I pretend as if am amazed over who small the world is.

"Hey you," You said to me with a smile.

"Hello you" We both look to our feet, and I feel some warmth creeping up me cheeks, "We gotta stop meetin' like this" I see you flush, looking at me through your lashes, you slowly bite your bottom lip as you brush your hair out of the way, flirty. You struggle to untangle your earphones from your hair, I take a step forward and gently untangle them.

"You just had to come and rescue me again huh? Who are you? Superman?" I hear your voice, and your laughter like a melody I would love to hear over and over again, gentle, a little deep, but beautiful, I can see that behind all of that dark makeup and those dark looks, you're a sweet but lost little girl.

"I'm Batman" You're laughing and blushing at my jokes, that means that you like me.

"I like your accent batman" That's nice to hear, some people say that it sounds too rough and I sound like a scumbag, but I'm glad your ears enjoy the sound of it.

"Thanks, love" You take a step forward, your eyes looking at mine and then at my lips, it's hard to breathe right now.

"What are you doin' so late, huh? Are you wearing your costume?" You tease me, and we begin to walk together, to nowhere, just where we want this conversation to take us.

"Sort of, and you?" You shrugged, what a hard night you had. I'm worried about you, you didn't need to apologize for "not thinking", we kept walking until the smell of food dilated our nose trails.

"Just went for some drinks with a couple of friends nothing too exciting... do you mind if we stop for some food?" My fantasies had become real, you wanted to get some street pizza, the nice old man smiling at you tenderly, he's nice, not creepy, just a nice man, you ask for two slices of pepperoni with Italian sausage and the man is nice enough to give you the most fresh and warm slices of pizza, "Here, it's on me... it's the least I can do"

"Thank you" You chuckled and waved it off, gosh I wish I could just freeze this moment forever.

"I should be thanking you..." You wait to hear my name, and I stay silent contemplating this moment for a second, this is how it starts.

"Alex" You shake hands with me as your tongue, teeth, and lips articulate your name, you have a lovely name, and I'm crazy about you, "Charmed" I hold my gaze at you as you slowly let go of me hand.

"So, what were your plans for the night before I had completely crashed them" Funny, dark jokes, sarcasm, you're really smart but you don't like showing it off, you make me laugh so much, it's clear we have the same humor, that's another reason as to why you're perfect for me and I am for you.

"Um... I thought about going out somewhere, anywhere, sometimes I can't sleep... I'm afraid of losing life by being a slave of me work, me house, everythin' but I found something exciting" You smile to yourself, and you smile at me, you see? We're perfect.

"I do that sometimes... whenever I can't sleep, I go to a bar and you know... try to meet new people, I hate having to post about it on social media though, everyone has their screens glued to their faces, and I just don't like that, I don't wanna breathe my phone, I wanna breathe air" If I were you I would write a whole book about this, I love that you think just like that, we can be people for once, and run around the world and make it ours, "What do you do for a living?"

"Music producer" You smiled at me, "And I have the gift of guessing people's favorite artists,"

"Really? What are mine's?" I have the chance to look at you confidently, I see you like that, I can see how fast your heart is going, how you try to calm it with your breathing, your chest rising and falling fast, as I stare into your eyes intensely making little goosebumps crawl like spiders, I hope you know how much I like you.

"Nancy, Lana... and summat dark like Joy Division Unknown Pleasures" You clap and you're amazed at how exact I am, I can smell it on you.

"Exactly, I love them," You began to hum their songs, dancing on the street, I follow your lead, as you spin, "I was listening to it a few moments ago" You turn dark again, I'm not going to let you, I immediately regret ever saying that, I don't know what that bloody song did to you, but you were listening to it before you attempted to get crashed.

"I'm glad I was there" Sweeten up, tell me what's wrong, I'm here for you.

"Yeah... me too, I wasn't thinking straight..." You clean your throat, you cross your arms, and furrow you're eyebrows, it makes you angry to say it, makes you sad, makes you frustrated, and even so since you watch me patiently waiting for you to tell me what happened to you, I didn't have to say it, you already knew "I don't think you would like to hear about my problems Alex, they're meaningless"

"Nothin' is meaningless just like us meeting tonight perhaps..." Shite, I take it back, I can see your face looking at me weirdly, but you smiled, you're fascinated? Did you like that?

"You're right," You warm up to me, I can see it in your body, I can see it in your face, I've given you no reason to not trust me, I'm harmless, I told you you can trust me, "But I want a ciggy, if you don't mind" You lean against a brick wall, your leg supporting your weight, I'm in love with your smooth and shiny legs, what's your secret?

"Mind if I steal one?" You say no with your head, you check your box again, and you curse in your head. The box has only one cigarette left.

"Sharing it is" You light your cigarette with your pink lighter, I can see some cute puppy stickers on it, you inhale the thick white smoke and exhale it, your whole body relaxing, feeling lighter, you feel calm, and you hand it to me, holding it between your index and your middle, you have a vintage silver rose ring in your middle, cracked red nail polish, and the cigarette butt was stained with your gorgeous red lipstick, I take it in between my lips, your lipstick tastes sweet like marshmallows, I savor it, Jesus, I hope I can taste your pretty lips soon.

"Talk to me," You sigh, and your mouth articulates each phrase, your voice tired and sad, I hear every detail of your story with care, a girl that can't control her alcohol, one that just wants to have fun, one that makes stupid mistakes but learns, I see beauty not only out but inside you, in your mistakes, in your intentions, in your life, you only got one, and you've made noble mistakes, I can see you're a whole woman, a hot and determined woman, but you have no road clear enough, no road to pick, you're chasing something you don't even know what it is.

"So now, I'm just trying to see what happens, I'm getting my degree soon, and then I'll keep working, maybe I'll start something on my own" Maybe if you don't love your work, at least you can come home back to me, I'll cook dinner, I'll wash your clothes, I'll set the table, I'll prep you a warm bath, I'll shower you, you won't move a single finger when you come home to me, "How's working as a music producer?"

"Oh, well, it's great... sometimes we have our differences but most of the time I just do what people tell me to do, in secret I make their music better, sometimes they don't notice and they just brag about how amazing was their idea" Your cigarette burns away into my fingers, I set it off into the wall and discreetly put it inside my pocket, you change the direction, we're going back, you're shamelessly eying me up and down, I swear if you don't stop...

"What are your favorite bands?" You're changing the subject, I don't like that, I don't like that you don't want to talk about what you've told me, but I keep you interested.

"Well... an old-time favorite is The Strokes" I answer firmly, you take out from your purse your earphones, plug them into your phone, and press play on the music as we walk together sharing your music, 'Call It Fate Call It Karma' on full volume.

"Might be basic for you, but I don't see a better song for this moment" You turn to face me, and we stop in the dark corner of the sidewalk, your eyes greedy and precious, that bloody spark in your dark eyes excites me, it's all in your eyes, I can see it clearly, I can see what you want from me, you blink slowly and wait for me to make the next move, and I don't doubt for a second, I close the space between us, and very gently press the palm of my hand to your warm cheek, it's warm and pink, staring into your eyes like stars in the black sky, kissing your lips, sweet as burned marshmallows in a bonfire night, you kiss me so softly at first, but you make that animal inside me come alive, I'm a man, I'm an animal, and I kiss your tender lips hungrily, I didn't expect for you to answer back with the same hunger, you feed me with your kiss, and your breath tastes like ecstasy, I'm a junkie, sweet sweet nicotine, I'm a chain smoker, "Take me home, Alex..."

"I'll take you anywhere you tell me, sweetheart" You grab my hand, fingers intertwined, and I feel 15 again, my palms are sweaty, my sweat is cold, and I feel so warm in my clothes, I can't wait to take them off, the anticipation getting the best of me, you make my dreams come true, and I'm so happy the world had chosen you to fall into my arms. I'm your protector, a guardian angel.

On the way home, we sneak to share some angsty kisses three or more times, you're getting me worked up, letting me touch you, grasping your hips, biting my lip, kissing my cheek, moaning my name into my lips, you're making my head spin. We walk up the stairs together, opening the door to your shelter, you have a lovely house, so clean that some things are allowed to be misplaced, it's big because you don't like having so many things out, your bed is on the other side of the wall were you living area is, the vague familiarity of it makes me feel like I'm imagining it all.

"This my girl cave, my crib" You joke, I take pictures of it in my head from bottom to top, every single inch, every place I imagine us being in, watching tele, cooking together, making a mess of the kitchen of course, dancing, fucking, scratching your wooden countertop, "What do you think?"

"It's-" We both get freaked out by the knocks at your door, some dickhead calling out your name, begging you to open the door, you roll your eyes, you know exactly who he is.

You swing open the door, cross your arms, and stand your ground, marking that he's not welcome here, you're strong, you're determined, go you! Show some teeth, "I don't wanna hear another one of your crazy fucking stories, tell them to your mother, Cameron" You were about to shut the door in his face but he stops it with his foot, that must've hurt Cameron, that's your ex isn't he? The one who made you cry, "Leave" You spit.

"I won't, you can't possibly ask for something like that... you and I know there's no one better than me, no better match than us" You stay silent, why are you thinking? why are you second-guessing? He takes a step forward, he's getting closer, you're face is a frown, you don't want him to touch you even though he keeps trying.

"I don't want you here, you must leave now Cameron, I want you out" He turns into hysteric laughter, he thinks you're crazy, he thinks you've lost your mind, well big shot, you're not it, Cameron only wants to hurt you with his words, he wants to make the most damage, he gets off at this, making you his only real standard, but Cameron will never treat you like you must be treated.

"Don't talk me to like that" I take his aggressiveness as a sign to take a step in, who the fuck does this wanker think he is to talk to you like that? You see that's a real scumbag, and I'll be his worst nightmare.

"Like what?" I come up from the back, cocky, sounding like a total prick, and I can see that you love it, when I sound like this, dominant, confident, "She's telling you to go, I'm telling you to fuck off. Now" I slam my voice at him, there are scary people in this world, there are men like Cameron, he has an intense gaze, but he wouldn't ever pick up a fight for anyone, yes... not even you, he's too vain, a narcissist, he is all bark but no bite, and then there are the men who would move mountains for their loved ones, he steps away, and I shut the door close, I can feel you shivering beneath my skin.

You stare at me, and I drag you in closer, that's what you like... you liked to be treated rough, you like being needed, I push your hips against mine, I can see it in your face, you've felt it, you've felt how hard my cock is, and it's hurting so fucking bad now, I can't wait for another second, I can't wait to take you to bed, you jump on me, wrapping your gorgeous soft legs on me, I decide to leave the first reminder of me on your kitchen table, laying your body on top of the cold wooden countertop for the first reminder of me and the things I'm about to do to you, my knuckles pull down your panties, ripping them off from your skin, your pussy glistening, bathed in your wetness, I can smell your flesh from the distance, like a predator and their victim, I'm a lion, "I'm gonna fuckin' tear you apart"

"Fuuuckin' please" You moan so loudly I bet it could be heard from across the street, and your voice shivers, I've barely even touched you yet, and you're already so wet for me, what are you thinking about? what's in your mind? I wish I could crack your skull open.

I lower myself in between your legs, I've been so busy admiring your body, the scent of the almond oil you rub on your smooth legs, I bet that you shaved them today, and I wonder what else have you shaved, your dress rides to your hips as you contortion under my touch, Jesus, you're desperate for it, but no, I want to enjoy you.

"Calm the fuck down, lay still and close your eyes" I order, and you stiffen up, staying quiet, and still, "Atta girl", I can finally see what's in between your gorgeous long legs, a pink and small pussy, Jesus, I bet you're so fucking tight by the looks of it, my ring and middle finger begin their assault, pressing down vertically against your clit, you hum and your hips writhe against me fingers, slowly, pushing them, you like that, rubbing yourself against them, and when I see you through the glass I lose my mind, I see how me fingers get coated and damped in your wetness, and I love watching you get so worked up by that, I can feel me cock just getting harder by the second, it's hurting and it's a pulsing pain, but I bare with it just for you, because now I'm going to show you how exactly you're supposed to get fucked.

I spread open your pussy, pink and warm, swollen clit I pinch in between me fingers, and you hiss but you only get wetter, if I pinched for a little longer you were sure coming all over the table. I open me mouth to taste your warm and savory juices, I suck and kiss your clit, picking up with my tongue your wetness, you're going to cum so good, I can feel it building up, you're in for a ride, and you've just begun to climb up the roller coaster.

"Oh... that's soo good" You gasp and sigh, I let my two fingers twist inside your pussy, me knuckles rimming your walls slowly, the bumpy and hard skin of my fingers make you gently fuck yourself into them, while I watch you with my tongue lapping over your clit teasingly, just those gentle touches make your legs shake, and your walls to contract, you're wonderful, you behave well, your hands slowly crawling into me hair, pulling it gently, your little whimpers get me worked up and I have to put in the biggest effort to not palm meself, I want you to feel every inch of me.

"You feel so lovely, babe doll" This feels so right, you bite on my lower lip, pulling my flesh until it bleeds. You're a sucker for my accent, you really are, you enjoy hearing me voice, doesn't it relax you? Doesn't it turn you on? I want to know what it is... I want to feel what it is, your legs keep shaking and your body keeps getting stiffer, your lower abdomen making pressure, and your walls are closing around me fingers, I shake them inside you, your mouth falls open, my lips sucking your clit harder and your body arches until I feel your cunt losing up, feeling your release leaking out of that tiny little hole, I'm eager to taste it, I eat your pussy eagerly, you know I'm hungry for it, my mouth eating your pussy like a soft and warm bun, and you taste just as sweet, just as good as I imagined, I won't let you rest, I will keep you on the limit. I drag you forward, making you kiss me lips, "Do you taste that? Taste how sweet you are... taste how good I ate you"

"And you're gonna fuck me just as good?" Your hand sneaks in between me legs, you love how hard my dick is for you, it makes you feel so thrilled, makes you feel good about yourself, and it makes you feel hot.

"You'll just have to wait a little bit longer, I'm not done with you" I'm certain about something, you're a kinky little shit, and I know you want something like this, I bend you over the kitchen table, and you're just ready for it, arching your back, spreading your legs, you're not putting a fight, my hand kneads your ass like dough, and spanks it hard over and over again, "You precious little thing, are you going to do everything I tell you to do?"

"No" You state firmly, earning another smack in your ass.

"Tell me summat..." I push my hips against your dripping wet cunt, that's oozing for another smack, "How much do you want it?" You sigh, rubbing your ass against my cock, you're killing me, you better stop now, the friction, the warmth, your goddamn smell, "Answer me you fuckin' cunt" You giggle, you do love it.

"I want you so bad" You whisper, no, I don't like that.

"Not enough" The smacks you earn are getting harder to bear, but you enjoy them, and so do I, you masochistic little shit.

"I need you inside me, Alex... I can't wait any longer" You rock your hips against mine, humping your naked pussy against my bulge, "Please..." You whimper so sweetly, I can't handle it any longer, I take off your dress, and you're wearing nothing but your tall black heels, looking like a fuckin' hooker, but I bet that's what you like.

"You want it you fucking slut?" You keep whimpering and rubbing yourself on me jeans, I bet that you've stained them already, "Come here" I turn you around and kiss you deeply, I can feel your hands unbuttoning my shirt as fast as you can, even in the heat of the moment you don't break my shirt but I couldn't care less, I take your hands and make fists ripping it apart and throwing it away, you're even faster to take out my jeans and leaving me on my boxers, that's the one good thing about me, I can see how your eyes lit up as you see how hard me fat cock is for you, you bite your lower lip and I pull you back up from your knees.

Time for reminder number two, the settee, I pull you up, and you sit in my arm until I put you back to the ground gently, I have to let you know that I was here, I need you to know how good I am, no other man could please you like that, I pull your leg up while you hold yourself up with the other, your pussy is so fucking wet my cock slides inside you so easily, I can feel the electric shocks that run all over your body, "Hard, please" You whine, I'm going to show you what hard actually is.

My hips thrust inside you so roughly the settee moves out of place, your nails dig into the cushions as I keep railing your tight hole harder, and you scream like bloody murder, I hope your neighbors don't call the police, I hope they can see how hard you're getting your cunt fucked, I want everyone that walks by to hear you, "You wanted hard babe!" You moan and scream, and keep getting your pussy pounded like meat being beaten up to get it tender. I dig your head into the pillows.

"Don't... d-don't-" Don't what?

"I can't understand you, babe, can you repeat that for me?" You pant trying to catch your breath, and your legs are numbing up, and I can see they've lost some strength, "Do you want me to stop, because I can" As I saw you didn't make a move, I began to pull out but you stopped, digging your nails into my wrist.

"Don't stop for fucks sake" Now for the next one, I stay buried inside you like that, you keep trying to fuck yourself into me cock but I just won't allow it, I pick you up once more, and your legs around my torso, and you press your warm chest against mine, I lean back against the giant bookshelf next to your bedroom door, you hold on into the shelves for leverage while I drive my cock inside you, your pussy feels so tight I wish I could let this last forever, I'll make that pussy mine.

"You want more, babe?" You hum and gasp, yes of course you do, you're loving every single inch of me cock, "God you look so beautiful with your mouth opened like that," I lick your bottom lip, "And that little cunt of yours is so wet for me, you're just making things harder for me..." I pushed meself too hard inside you, the shelf shook, and something hard dropped to the ground but you ignored it, you've lost yourself in my touch, and I feel embarrassed for dropping something. Your inner animal wakes up as I throw you into your bed.

I crawl on top of you but you gather up your strength to flip me over, I didn't expect that, you've taken the lead and I want to see you lose control, you writhe your hips into mine, your eyes facing the roof, and your mouth wide open, your hair falling into your head, you looked possessed, but you had lost the power to think about what you were doing, "For fucks sake" If you keep moving like that, you're going to make this end sooner, and I've already planned everything out, I try to sit up but you hold me down, chocking me so hard that it's almost impossible to breathe for me, but I love that feeling, my head feels light, my vision is blurry, but I'm not going to give in to you, I already have, you have got to give into me.

I flip you over so harshly, your head almost slammed against your headboard, "Listen to me you fuckin' cunt" My harsh tone makes your core shake, "You ain't the one on command, now... I don't wanna repeat meself" It's arousing you, I can feel it in between your legs, you're shamelessly getting wetter, "Don't make me repeat meself again" You love to play with me, I see that naughty little smile curling into your lips.

"You already did" You like to pull on my hair, don't you? And you will pay for that.

"Don't fuck with me" Your eyebrows push together and your little smirk makes me go mad.

"You know I love to" Love? You "love to"? Does this mean that you might love me? Even just a tiny bit?

"You do, huh?" I begin to rock my hips against yours, slowly, passionately, like a slow and steaming dance, I see your fingers grasping the sheets making hard fists, "You don't know what you've gotten yourself into" And I'm not lying, you really don't.

"Show me Alex" You whisper to me those three words so sexily, charmingly, I've already lost my mind.

"I'll show you how a real man fucks you, babe," Your oozing with the thrill, "I'll show you how to behave... you little fuckin' cunt" Your mouth opens to moan and I take advantage of it to spit inside your mouth, both my hands chocking you, "You're mine... all mine"

"I'd love to" You whimper, "Make me yours please... please just do, I want you Alex" You keep asking me that with your little weak voice, your body that speaks to me, I can read it so easily, it tells me that I'm doing exactly what you want me to do, it shivers, and it quivers, and it sweats, it screams, it tightens, it stiffens, in your eyes I can feel your fast heartbeat in my fingers, and it goes just as fast as mine, my body against yours sounds like I'm butchering you, your neighbors must think I'm holding a knife against your throat, but it does go as deep, it does penetrate and it hurts you in the most magnificently and pleasingly way, your eyes red shot, and your voice gets quieter, shit, I'm losing you, I am.

"Wake up, wake up!" I scream to you, my hand patting your cheek lightly, your pulse is barely detectable, I slap you across your face and you gain back consciousness in the blink of an eye, I didn't want to do it, I would never do that, but when your lips curl into your devilish smile, I know see how you really are.

"Do that again Al" You tease me, I love it when you call me like that, no one ever really does that anymore, is that my new nickname? Al? You're going to remember me forever babe, I hope you do, and tomorrow when you wake up, I'm still going to be there, I'll make your breakfast, and I'll do anything you ask me to do, even dishes, you won't pick them up.

"You're mad, woman" You giggle, and you try to pick yourself up, I can't let you, I did knock you over completely, my hand very gently caresses your cheeks, it's red and fragile, it must burn or at least sting, "Let me do the kissing for now, babe"

"And the fucking too perhaps?" You smile at me, your cute little button nose is flushed, your cheeks and chest are red, your nipples are hard, it turned you on to this point, you're dark, what else are you not telling me? "I'm crazy about you" Those words will echo in my head for the rest of my days.

I take no rush into fucking you, I'm not just a guy you'll sleep with, I'm your man, and I wanted to make sweet sweet love to you, but you won't let me, you like it rough, hard, fast, I don't want this moment to be over, at least not for me yet, you can cum as many times as you like, and like the real man I am, I am profoundly true to the saying 'Happy wife, happy life'

I hug you close to me, that's the least I can do, if I'm going to lose control, let my heart tell yours how much I love you, even if you dump me like a puppy, I'll stay loyal, I'll follow your scent everywhere, I will forever remember the scent of your vanilla hair, your Dior perfume, and the golden necklace around your neck, I counted 15 moles on your body, even the one in between your legs, my hands grab your hair into fists as I pound you harder and harder, you're losing your mind and I'm losing control again, your bed squeaks so loudly and the headboards slams against the wall so harshly, but I don't stop I can't stop now, I can feel you, I can feel it coming, you bring yourself to an end again, the palm of my hand slowly adds pressure on your lower belly, to ease you up, the bed keeps squeaking so annoyingly, and even after we ignored the several warnings, the legs of your bed broke and your headboard fell to the ground, we both break into laughter.

"Oh God!" Your little laughter is so bubbly and funny, it makes me smile and feel so ashamed at the same time.

"I'm so sorry, I'll pay for that" You rub the tip of your little nose against mine, and look at me tenderly, your fingers caressing the back of my head, if only you could see the hearts in my eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous... you know, I've never broken a bed before... you're not going to be easy to forget batman, I hope you don't disappear into the night soon" I'll get you off first, but there's one thing you should be certain of.

"I never intended to" Was that too much? Sorry if that was too much, maybe it was... maybe it wasn't, I'm having a hard time reading your face right now, you're looking at me very seriously, I don't want to get my hopes up, but you're killing me, I should focus now, finish the deed, "But I'm still sorry about your bed though"

"Shut the fuck up, and keep fucking me" Whatever she wants, whatever she wants... You're already the song on the radio I got stuck in me head.

I pull us closer to the safest edge of your bed, toss your legs over me shoulders, and bend them over, I lean over and pound the living shit out of you, I was balls deep inside you, and you like it, so much that you dig your nails into my back, scratching my skin until red and bloody, I don't care how much it hurts, leave as many marks as you want, the deeper the better, my hair falls over my forehead and you make the kindest gesture, your brush it back with your long nails, even if by now I'm sweating like a pig you keep bringing me closer to you, I can feel the light tingles of you breathing in me face, of you biting down on my golden chain making laugh, making me go insane, I keep pushing harder, and you throw your head back, almost letting go of me, but I won't let you, I'll send you to heaven if you want, but don't leave without me.

"Oh, Alex... I'm so close, please..." Your eyeballs turn into beautiful glossy pearls, and you crumble down into pieces as you coat my cock in your warm release, I can feel your walls pushing it out and running down your cozy hole, I stay buried inside you, watching your mouth fall open and choke out your last orgasms, they spin in my head like a tiny little music box, "You're next, Alex... you can't end things like that... you know how much I want it, you already did so much for me" Wait, what are you doing?

Your hands run up my chest, and you massage my shoulders, "You really want me to breed you, you greedy little fuck?" Your hands go down and you massage my balls, Jesus, you really do, I bet you're not even aware of what you're doing to me... or are you?

"Yes Alex, use it... use me" You know exactly what you're doing, I drag my cock out just rimming your walls once again, I better start warming you up, but you don't want that now, you're thinking about me, about what I want, you deserve a little star on your forehead for being so caring, a man and its needs, it's nothing compared to your needs, and I bet you needed someone to get you off correctly.

"You're mine... I want you to say it" I promised to you since the beginning, I won't stop until you're mine, "Are you mine?" I look at you with my big eyes full of hope for you to say it, please tell me now.

"I'm yours Alex" My lips taste your mouth, your tongue dancing with mine. You're made of the sweetest poison

God, I remember that time I was watching through your window, that night you were laying down on your settee, your hand was vigorously and shamelessly rubbing your clit in circles, fucking your little cunt with two fingers, rocking yourself into your touch with the desperate need to rub yourself against something hard, just like you were rubbing yourself against me hard cock. You keep squeezing my balls, your hands sneak into my ass squeezing it gently to keep me going, you love having me right at the edge of ending it all, I can't keep it up for another moment anymore, you're big stary eyes, your little sparkles, your touches, the smell, the noises, you're begging for me cum, I slam my fist next to your head, dragging your body up as I push myself deep inside you and coat your walls in me creamy cum, you're pure bliss as I feel us both coming together, a gorgeous after bliss surrounding us, you have this certain smell, a certain heat, and you're just so beautiful with your cheeks flushed like that.

"Let me clean you up, it's me mess, just lay down" You nod your head, laying gently on your broken bed to not let it crash completely into the ground, you point your finger telling me where the toilet is, and I rush there to grab a few paper towels and clean your skin softly, soothingly, I can feel you relaxing, I can smell my body in yours, the smell of my cologne, your almond oil, and your pheromones. And when I'm done you grab my hand and I can see you thanking me for even that tiny gesture, that's nothing you should be thanking me for, that's the least.

"Now the question is... where are we going to sleep?" We? You want me to sleep here, with you? You're not quicking me out, or at least not yet, this is my chance and I would be lying if I didn't say I was the luckiest man alive.

"Maybe the settee would be a nice place" Your gorgeous olive green settee, corduroy, soft, and marked, I can see you smiling at the space in between your two cushions, I see your giant ivory bookshelf, another mark. I lean forward to pick up what I had dropped when we assaulted the shelf, but it wasn't one of the thousands of vinyl records you've got organized by letter, it's a case... a guitar case. I didn't know that about you. Tonight made me realize that you're a hat full of surprises, the deeper I search the more I find.

"Want some food?... I've got some nuggets and fries... and-" You close your fridge and turn to look at me, "Oh, you know how to play?" I nod my head, trying to stay as noble and humble, you smack your hand into your forehead, "Of course, you do," You sigh and I can hear you whispering to yourself, "Stupid question"

"And do you?" You hum as a yes, interesting, I bet you do, but why do you hide your guitar like that? As if it was buried in this beautiful world with music, colors, words, and meanings.

"I did..." You turn on your air frier and toss some nuggets and fries in there, I'm so happy that you're not like one of those crazy keto girls, you pour us some fresh orange juice as you keep talking to me, "But you know, my mom always told me 'that's just a hobby', and when I moved here I hoped to find some people that wanted to share this fire to try to make some music... but I never managed to, and then I just gave up"

"That's a bit sad, love... you shouldn't have" You lean over the kitchen countertop, amazing reminder, I see you smiling over the edge of your shoulder, but you turn to look at me as you pick up some of our clothes, and then you run into my shirt and you decided to wear it as your sex shirt, you look beautiful, "I mean, being a music producer and making it was hard, but it was even harder to follow something I'm not passionate about" That's what's wrong, you didn't follow your passion, that's what you're missing, "Have you got any songs?" Your face lights up but it quickly slips away, and the redness crawls into your face, What? I'm trying to help you, I want you to be happy with me and with your life.

"I can't accept that" You quickly answered, your head said no but I know you want this, it's served on a silver platter, why can't you let your reserved self accept this?

"Accept what? I haven't said anything, I just asked if you could sing for me... I know you have a lovely voice" You laugh sarcastically at me, leaning over to fetch your guitar, and searching for a notebook on your vinyl shelf.

You sit next to me, legs crossed, guitar on your lap, naked with just my shirt on, your knees holding your notebook as you search for the perfect page for me, you make sure that your guitar is tuned before you start and your thumb softly strums down the notes, making a lovely rhythm, and only two chords, C and Em, your voice sounds like a million angels, and I feel like a lost man after serving the purgatory, your voice is so hauntingly beautiful, your lyrics are very forward, and I'm happy to know through your lyrics how truly you feel about things, you don't search for big words you choose the right ones, you're bold, and you're wise, you try to put an end to your complicated feelings, your questions, everything, all in one song with a few strums and two simple chords.

"That's all," You say putting your guitar next to you, I'm blown away, "I know I suck"

"No!" I answer immediately, "You don't... I think it's beautiful"

"You're just saying that because..." No, I'm not just saying that because I want to fuck you, no not at all, don't you ever believe that.

"I'm saying that because I think you've got it, and you don't want to quit everything to live your dream, I know it must be difficult... but I'm being truthful, you've got summat and we can work on it" Why do you keep saying no with your head? Stop that, if I could rip it off right now... no, don't think that, "Come on, I'm not takin' a piss" You break into laughter with me, throwing your head back, you jump up the moment your oven dings and you run to flip the nuggets and the fries, putting 10 more minutes into the oven.

"Takin' a piss" You laugh to yourself, "Well, if you're not takin' a piss" You imitate my accent and it sounds so silly when you try to do it, "I'm not accepting your help Alex, you have your own thing, and if I'm going to do this, I have to do it on my own," Perfect, I'll take that.

"Why don't you go to Panda's next Saturday? They're looking for some people to play some music, any style, any theme, you can do whatever you want... I'm sure everyone will love you, and you know, there's always someone on the hunt for summat fresh!" I see you thinking about it, I'm not saying I'll help you, I'm just offering the start of something great for you, this is it for you. And yes, I am going to get you the best deal you could ever imagine, but first I have to run things through your notebook, I secretly hide your baby pink notebook, your initials written with a black sharpie, and I stash it in between the cushions.

"I'll think about it" I'll think about it. I hope you do go, I can't wait to see you singing for everyone, you will charm them, "Dinner is served me lord" You're also a dork, just like me, imagine all of the jokes we can make together, they'll be endless.

"My! Thank you, very kind" Dinousor nuggets with a side of fries, the melancholic feeling of your childhood must be present every single day, you squeeze some Ketchup into my plate, squirting into my chest.

"Whoops! Let me clean that for you" You lean in, sticking out your tongue to lick off the ketchup from my chest, "Eat up!" I'm in love with you, "And then we'll get on with that" You look down, and I do the same, shite, look what you do to me, you make me get so hard like a little boy hitting puberty.

"Bugger" I whisper under my breath, you heard it since you giggled, "You know, I think the food can wait right?" You push your plate away and you immediately crawl on top of me, kissing my lips so tenderly, caressing my chin with your fingers, and enjoying the texture of the little hairs that are growing on me cheeks.

"Mmm ketchup" You laugh into the kiss, and our teeth collide accidentally, and us by casualty, "You taste yummy"

"Imagine yourself" You blush hard, something tells me no one has ever made you feel that good about yourself, and that's because no one will see you with the same eyes as me, you're my girl, you will be, I try to flip you but instead you stop me, have I done something wrong?

"We're not going to break this couch, I love this fucking couch, you understand that?" You firmly said, your eyes threatening to kill me if I do as such, "I'm on top" I squeeze your ass tightly biting my bottom lip.

"Whatever she wants... but if I broke the bed it's 90% your fault," You scoffed and laughed as I peeled my shirt from your body gently, making sure I don't break more buttons so you could keep it, "Because you feel so good, and maybe you could be on top, but I know sooner or later... you'll be the one giving into me" Quite intense, wasn't I? Fuck!

"But for now, it's me who calls the shots, so if we break this... it will be 98% your fault, how do you like me now, smarty?" You secure your arms around my shoulder, I pull you in, chest on chest, as I give myself a few more strokes before you slowly slide down my cock, moaning so gently, I like feeling every part of you, I can see how your body twists and shivers when I hit that sweet spot.

"How do you like that?" I rub it in your face, how good I'm making you feel, "I guess one round just wasn't quite enough for you," You start humping on my cock slowly, you're just teasing me again, but I enjoy feeling your body move against mine, your little cries and moans, everything piles up in me, I know this time I'll enjoy you, picture you going in slow motion, I can feel your rapid heartbeat, I can feel the heat wave that raises and wrap us in, I can feel your body begging to mine to stay as close as possible, because that's what your body and my body want, we smile, we laugh, and I fall deeper in a hole full of love for you, and I'm no donkey to use the dirt to get out, I rather stay buried deep inside you just like now. Your body is tired, it's been two hours since your legs worked for the last time, and you beg for more into my ear.

"You're so good, I-I don't understand" What don't you understand, babe? Your fingers intertwine in the back of my head, as you writhe your hips to mine, our bodies dancing together so wonderfully, your hips move in circles against mine.

"Neither of those assholes could ever come close to me, I'm a real man..."

"And you've got the size" You flirt with me so shamelessly, your walls keep dragging me in, your head falls into my shoulder, you're giving into me, fading into me, and it's me time now, I finally get to give you what I wanted since the beginning, make sweet and honest love to you, my hands on your thighs I keep driving your body against mine, I gently bounce you on me lap just to get you to stay up again, you're eyes are shutting, your mouth is falling open again.

"Look at me" I order, and you do what I tell you to do, you look at me towards your end, I hope you can read it in my eyes, I hope you can feel how warm the flesh is, how my eyes, my brain, and heart have no space for anyone else but you, how mad you've made me, I'm obsessed, and I'm not going to lie to myself about it anymore, I don't want to just use you, I hope you can see that, but if you can't, I hope this is enough for you to understand it, my eyes big and dilated for you, my body feels so stiff, it's overwhelming, "You're so beautiful, love"

"If you keep calling me that, you're gonna make me fall in love, Alex"

So I'll say it every single day for the rest of my life, you feel so good on me, your body fits into mine so perfectly, and I'm so close, and so are you, the flesh is tender, the flowers bloom, the sun rises and it's heat rains all over the world, and you and I bond together for one last time before your body crashes into mine, I make a mess, but that's a bit on purpose, "Ah, yes" You sigh into my ear as you let it rest on top of mine. I have the chance to clean your body once more, to clean you up with care and love, my touch is so gentle your body fills with goosebumps, "You really don't have to Alex" You put your hand on my hand, and I freeze, should I stop? Am I making you uncomfortable?

"Sorry... if I'm doing too much" Your eyebrows push together and before I can get away you drag me back by my wrist and smile at me. What do you think of me?

"No, I'm just..." You sigh, you're troubled by your thoughts, "Not used to the 'aftercare' part that's all, you know, sex for us girls... it's not like we see it in films, or read in books, maybe I don't have that magic to turn a beast into a prince, and... I just I dunno, I don't feel weird... you make me feel special, normally, they just leave" Are you... maybe falling for me?

I smile at you, my thumb grazes your cheek softly, "I'm a man, and I'm messy but I just don't like doing that there's an attraction, and if we have sex, unless you ask me to leave I'll leave" I put away the paper towels in the trash, and when I come back I find you waiting for me with my shirt on your body.

"Well, if that's the case" My heart pumps one thousand miles per hour, I feel I'm entering a trance, about to puke my intestines out if you ask me to leave, "You don't mind staying?"

Fuck yeah! "Not at all" I try to keep me cool but I just can't, my heart betraying as I lay down with you.

After we finally had the chance to close our eyes, the sun peeks through the curtains of your windows, the sky painted orange and ocean blue, you smile at me, and you get back up from our little love nest that was the settee, you're quick to find the vinyl with the song we were listening together, the song we kissed to, the perfect song to watch the sunrise.

"Come with me!" I've never heard you so excited before, you run to the kitchen and fetch my boxers from the ground, and I'm a bit troubled by the thought of me wearing my jeans with no underwear but I do nevertheless because I would kill to see you like that every single day.

I cover my body with my coat, and you grab my hand, we run out of your house, and we go through this tiny little white gate, into a garden covered in green chasmophyte, that's the place where the flowers bloom in little boxes of dirt, the perfect place to see the sun, the perfect place to hide, to dream in, it's wonderful, you pull out a chair for me in this old rusty table, you find place to put your music and we listen to Call It Fate Call It Karma as the sun rises from the horizon, I pull you to my lap, wrapping your legs around my arms and hum the song to your ear, the birds are chirping, and the sun warms us from the once oh so cold night.

"You're a lovely singer," You say to my ear, I was never one to watch sunrises, I haven't done that since I was 17, and now with my busy life, I finally get to taste this little piece of paradise that you've given me.

"Not as good as you, bunny" You kiss my nose with a big smile, and I take out from my jeans a box of cigarettes and my old zippo, you set on my smoke, and you love to play with my zippo as your hands run through my naked skin, you love playing with fire, don't you? I just hope someday, you don't get burned in the fire of my love.

A/N

Anon, I want to kiss you. You don't know for how long I've been trying to figure out how to write this chapter, I had to watch You again but it was totally worth it, so thank you!

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jesterwriting · 10 months

Text

pairings: angel!sanji x gn!reader

word count: 1.5k words

contents: smut, divinity kink, blowjob (m receiving), pet names used for reader: little lamb and dove, reader calls sanji ‘my lord’

note: thought too hard about worshiping sanji and this happened. my first time writing for divinity kink so bear with me if it reads a little odd. if you have any questions as to why sanji’s angelic robes are so slutty its because i think itd be hot. enjoy my lovelies <33

playlist: your blood - aurora

There was a shrine built in your bedroom, made for no one and inhabited by one. He found shelter within it, and while you could fault him for his bad taste, you were too fond to try.

It was a dusty old thing. Atop a small side table sat a goblet you filled with moon water daily. A stick of half-burnt sandalwood incense was beside the cup, accompanied by several clear quartzes you had for no reason other than finding them pretty. A cookbook was open to a page about risotto and a bit of ash from the incense stained the paper. You had read on how to make an altar for worship, but not what to do when something made its home there.

His name was Sanji, or at least that was what he told you to call him. His true name would cause your eardrums to rupture if you ever heard it, even if, apparently, it wasn’t much to brag about. Personally, you thought that if you had a name that held so much holiness within that it would make any mortal who heard it bleed from their eyes, you would be a bit of a braggart. Though, you supposed that was why Sanji was an angel and you weren’t.

You kneeled before his altar, hands clasped in prayer. While you knew all it took was the barest whisper of his name and he would appear, you wanted to show him how much he meant to you. Since the day he appeared, bathed in a heavenly glow, golden hair and blue eyes glimmering beneath his halo, your every wish was granted. Your food tasted divine, your days were kissed by the sun, and your dreams were always pure. To have earned the favor of someone so holy for nothing in return made you feel a little spoiled. Today, you decided that you would give Sanji a gift in return. Something only a human could give him.

“You called for me, my dove?” Sanji’s soft tenor echoed through your head, a choir of voices all singing together to form one. You shivered under the weight of it. Gentle, he brushed the tip of his index finger against your chin and tilted your head upwards until you met his eyes. “I told you once before, there is no need to prostrate yourself to make me appear. You have me at your beck and call.”

That was the problem. You wanted to worship him. To fall to your knees at the sight of him, to bask in his holy light, and give him the full weight of your attention. The attire he wore did wonders for your imagination. A pure white gown with a slit that ran from his leg all the way up to his hip, revealing golden bangles hanging along his thighs. His arms were adorned with jewels and chains, all of which ran together to create a harness across his chest. Oh, how you dreamed of pulling him towards you, fingers tangled within it, to press his holy lips against yours. Sanji’s wings fluttered behind him, a nervous gesture — it still surprised you that an angel was capable of feeling nervous of all things — and you felt your lips twitch.

Still on your knees, you shuffled closer to him until you rested your cheek against his thigh. You gazed up at him, the picture of innocence, and even then you could see the stirrings of lust darken Sanji’s expression. He wasn’t as pure as he made himself out to be. His eyes lingered on your bare skin and his fingers trailed across the small of your back when he passed you, more than once. Maybe that was why an angel found his way into your dingy little apartment. Heaven had no need for a pervert.

A shaking hand found its way into your hair.

“My lost little lamb,” Sanji murmured.

With a small breath, you lowered your head to place a chaste kiss to his knee. “And I need you to guide me.”

You felt him shiver above you, his hold on the back of your head tightening ever so slightly. Raising yourself high, you placed open mouthed kisses along the length of his thigh, your tongue running across the cool metal that decorated his skin.

Sanji groaned, his free hand going to cover his crotch. “Sweet, sinful dove, you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

“I do. Let me worship you, my lord.” You muttered between kisses, growing closer and closer to his clothed heat. His cock was erect, barely hidden by the thin fabric that covered him. You looked up at Sanji from beneath your eyelashes to see that a beautiful pink blush covered his face, and a thin trail of blood trickled from his right nostril. His breathing hitched when he looked down at you.

With a sweet little smile, you pushed aside his gown to reveal his already weeping cock. It glowed with the same heavenly light as the rest of him, and you were certain that you found the holiest part of him right then and there. Your mouth watered at the sight. With your tongue, you trailed a wet line along the underside of his cock before you pressed a dainty kiss to the head. Sanji let out a chorus of moans that went straight to your core. You pressed your thighs together to get a little bit of relief from the insatiable heat.

His hand trailed from the back of your head to cup your cheek. “Look at you, so needy for me already. Come now, lamb, let me take care of you.”

You shook your head before you wrapped your hand around his cock. Sanji bit his lip as his dick throbbed against your palm.

“No, my lord—” His cock pulsed again at the title, and you caught the drops of precum that dribbled from his cockhead with your thumb, smearing it along his length— “Tonight, I worship you. Tonight, I give thanks for all the prayers you have answered and the wishes you have granted. I want to show you the pleasures that only a human can give.”

Sanji’s eyes softened, even as he bit his lip from the slow strokes of his dick. “I could never deny you. Not now, not ever.”

With that, you took his divine cock between your lips. You swirled your tongue around the tip, swallowing the salty-sweet taste of his essence as it leaked into your mouth. He tasted like cinnamon, so unlike any other man you’d had before. Sanji groaned, fingers tangling in your hair.

“Yes, my dove, worship me just like that,” He said, rocking his hips forward and pushing himself further down your throat. You gagged, esophagus constricting around his dick, making Sanji throw his head back and cry out. It made you want to take him deeper. Before you could try, Sanji pulled himself out of your mouth, a string of saliva still connecting you to him. His pupils were blown wide with lust, almost blocking out the blue of his eyes entirely. “Are you alright? Was I too rough?”

“You were perfect,” You said before swallowing him whole.

Not expecting it, Sanji couldn’t help the moan that spilled from between his lips. It sounded heavenly, like music to your ears. You would never grow tired of Sanji’s beautiful noises, encouraging you to take him deeper. Spit dripped from your chin as you continued your sloppy ministrations, Sanji’s thighs twitching beside your head as he fought to keep from thrusting into your mouth.

“Yes… Oh, my lamb, where did you learn to do such dirty things, I can’t take much more,” Sanji babbled above you. “I don’t want this to end.”

His brow furrowed, nose wrinkled in concentration as he fought to keep from cumming. You tapped his hip, and looked up at him, pleading for him to finish with your eyes. Sanji was breathing heavily as he stared down at you, his cock disappearing between your lips.

“Y-You want my blessing, dove? Are you willing to take all of it?”

You nodded.

“Oh, may Heaven forgive me for this si- Ah!”

Sanji’s dick pulsed as he pumped hot ropes of cum down your throat. You swallowed every last drop while he rode out his orgasm, unable to keep from thrusting ever so slightly into your mouth. Playing with one of the golden bangles on his thigh, you removed yourself from him with a slick ‘pop!’ a coy smile playing on your lips.

“That’s my favorite method of prayer, you know,” You said.

Sanji let out a small breath of air, still trying to gather himself in the wake of his orgasm. “If I had known that, I would have begged you to pray to me months ago. For now, though…” Sanji trailed off, the heat in his gaze making you shiver. “I want to hear what sinful noises you’re capable of making, little lamb.”

#one piece x reader #sanji x reader #sanji x yn #sanji x you #.jesterwrites

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chaosduckies · 3 months

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Friends In Small Places (Chapter 1)

The size shifter story is finally here! This is more of a slightly sad piece, even though this first chapter isn’t really all that gloomy and monochrome, I actually have this entire plot line planned out and everything, and whew is the ending going to be something.

But I hope you enjoy! (this chapter is mainly just for introductions so I’m sorry if there really isn’t anything interesting TwT)

Word Count: 4.2k

CW: Depression, major anxiety, slight gore warning? (Though nothing actually happens)

1-Liam

Today the main hall was bustling with people crowding the board that had all of the activities and clubs posted on. Most of the time people didn’t care all too much about it, only the people who were actually in those clubs, but today was different for some reason. Fitting in between the seemingly hundreds of people, I saw what the commotion was all about. The psychology classes were all being called to a meeting at four. Which was when most classes ended, but still. It’s rare that this school ever calls meetings. It just so happens that I was taking psychology though.

I sighed, moving back on the free sidewalk get to the library. A friend was waiting for me to help her study for a test she had in just a few hours. I thought I might as well help seeing that I’ve already taken the course. I used to think that college was extremely strict from how my old high school teachers described it, but in reality it’s not that hard when you just take the time to study and take a few practice tests the day before one. It was just two-and-a-half years before I major in psychology and become a therapist. Well, that was my dream anyways. In this world, it was a lot harder given that most therapists get assigned to a size shifter. That was something I didn’t want to do. Well, maybe if it was one who could only shrink, but that’s maybe it. It freaks me out knowing that there are some shifters who could be as tall as a small skyscraper, and some even bigger. A shiver ran down my spine even thinking about it. But that won’t happen.

Among the few people sitting at the quiet tables lines with pencils, a few pieces of notebook paper, and a lamp that barely even worked, there was a girl waving her arms around aimlessly trying to gain my attention. I laughed softly before walking and sitting down next to her. It seemed she had been here for hours with how she kept her space. Papers spewed all across with scribbled down notes that was barely even legible, colored pens in a mixed mess with her other writing supplies. It made you wonder how she had even made it to college.

“I see you’ve been hard at work, Rhya.” I set my slightly heavy bag down and started attempting to clean up the vast sums of paper all over the desk and try to keep her notes in order.

“Yeah well, not everyone can be all neat and tidy as you are.” She lightly elbowed me before grabbing the stack of papers in my hand and shoving them in a folder. I guess she was going to re-do them after all. Either that or she didn’t need them. Despite this being primarily a nursing and health school, Rhya was in the art department. Of course she had to take the core classes along with her own elective, but she plans on becoming a graphic designer.

“It’s not my fault I know how to study and you don’t.” I joked around, watching her pull out her computer and grab a few empty pages on notebook paper and her calculus book.

“And it’s not my fault you don’t know how to have any fun.” She stuck her tongue out playfully before pulling up a practice test.

“Hey I know how to have fun, just not when I know I have better things to worry about.” She solved the first problem right, pumping her fist up in the air as she wrote down the question and highlighted everything she needed to do. I’m also guessing she planned to study whatever notes she was making.

“I guess you have a point. How’s that psychology major coming along?” She had asked, writing down the problem and attempting to solve it. I sighed, pointing to the number she was missing, “You square root that,” Rhya groaned, “It’s going good. We have some kind of weird meeting later today though.”

“Oh? Do you know what about?” Rhya asked, but I could tell she was hiding something from me. She knew something.

“No. Do you?” I skeptically looked at her, earning a side eye right back as she had paused her writing for a moment.

“Would you believe me if I said no?” She grumbled, I shook my head, a slight smile forming on my face. She knew I would win this argument.

“Okay well, this might not be true, but I heard that a few psychology students were chosen to have a training. Like, the real deal kind of thing. Size shifter and all. That the ones chosen were supposed to act like one of those special therapists.” My heart nearly skipped a beat at the news. Where did she even hear this from in the first place? There’s no way that’s even real.

“You’re kidding, right?” I laughed nervously. Even if it was true, I doubt they’d choose a sophomore. I’ve only really had a few practices and I still have a couple more years until I become the real deal.

“Would I lie to you?” She turned to me, a worried look on her face. Did she think I would have to go through with that? I sincerely doubt it. There was no way they’d put me on whatever list they have going on. Maybe my upperclassman though. They could choose Chelsey, she was really good with everyone and a senior. They’d most likely choose her. Maybe even Ryan since he was really experienced. Actually, he was a size shifter himself, but he’s so good at controlling his emotions that he doesn’t even need to worry about accidentally shooting up a couple feet.

“Ah, it doesn’t matter. I doubt they choose someone with barely any experience. Don't’ worry about it.” I smiled, pointing back to Rhya’s computer to tell her that she needed to get to studying and stop worrying about me. Seriously, she really needed to study otherwise she was going to fail. I can almost guarantee that she’ll be crying to me later when she fails her test. Not my fault she doesn’t study.

——————

The gym was a large space, but our entire class only took up one tiny portion of the bleacher space as our instructor and several other people dressed up in fancy suits were talking on the ground. I sat next to Ryan, who was playing with the green-colored band on his wrist, showing that he was in one of the five classes of size shifters. Purple represented that they could shrink down to an inch or maybe even smaller if their emotions had the better of them. Blue represented that they could shrink too, but not as much as the one’s with a purple wrist. Green represented that they could both shrink and grow, but only to a certain height. Yellow meant that the shifter could grow to be the size of about a small building, or maybe even a little more depending on how they’re feeling. Red was by far the worst one. To me at least. The shifter’s with a red band can grow to heights you could only dream of. Which was why all shifters with a red band were all forced to be with a specialized therapist for only them. Because if they lose control of their emotions, it could end pretty badly.

“I’m glad you all saw the announcement on the board. I’m a little surprised really.” Mr. Smith shoved his hands in his front pant pockets, taking a look at all of us before his eyes laid on me, smiling warmly. Why? Something was up.

“These two gentlemen here are the head of the SSU. Also known as the company that helps size shifters in need. Recently, there has been a shortage of individuals that are willing to work with shifters in helping them control themselves. These two are on the look for candidates-in-training to help fill those missing spots.”

The two men in suits walked to the front, holding out a clipboard. Those had whoever was going to be picked for this. But why this school? There was another college not too far from here. They could choose from them. Unless they were, and the “tiny” shortage was actually a big one. Or… no. They wouldn’t do that, right? It’s the SSU, they’ve literally helped the world become safer for decades. They wouldn’t be doing an experiment, would they?

“It’s wonderful to see all sixty-two of you young scholars gathered here today. As your professor already said, we are both from the head office at SSU looking for the best of the best to fill in those empty spots, regardless if you do or don’t have any experience.” That last part made a shiver run down my spine. Ryan turned his head to me, patting me on the back. There was no way they’d choose a nobody like me. No way in hell.

“This list contains twenty of you who will be taking part in this. You will be in charge of taking care of your designated partner until we can find a professional replacement suited well enough to take over. If I call your name, please stay behind after we dismiss everyone.” The tall man smiled, looking down at the clipboard and calling several names. The anxiety pricked my skin like icicle shards, it had almost seemed like the man reading off names was speaking in slow motion. A few deep breaths, and it was back to normal.

“Ryan Wright.” He smiled while earning several compliments and congratulations from his fellow classmates.

“Chelsey Torres.” She giggled a few seats away from us.

“And Liam Rover.”

My muscles tensed up at the mention of my name. I couldn’t tell if my heart had stopped or if it was just beating horrifyingly fast. I could tell people were trying to praise me, but I couldn’t hear, their appraisal only reaching my ears in a muffled and slow manner. I managed the most sincere smile I could while trying to hide how much I was trembling. Maybe this would be okay? Maybe I’ll be lucky and not be paired up with a shifter who could potentially crush me between two if their fingers if they really wished to. Was the room cold or was it just me?

“Everyone else may head to their dorms. Thank you for coming.”

After everyone had filed out of the empty gym, the other shorter man dressed in an identical suit as the taller one started calling out our names all over again, handing them a red folder with presumedly the shifter we’ll be assigned. Was this how it was when you’re actually a professional? You just get assigned to one? You don’t get to know them or anything?

Once I was handed my folder, I dreaded every single second of opening it. Please let it be easy, please let it be easy, please let it be eas-

Oh.

It was only a picture of who we were partnered up with and anything that might be worth mentioning about them. Wow was I overreacting. Then again, that didn’t exactly smoothen out the anxiety that was still pricking at my skin. Though, this shifter didn’t seem so bad. If anything, he actually looked pretty nice. The only thing I had noticed was that he was diagnosed with depression. He kind of looked like it too if I were being honest. It seemed hard for him to smile for the picture. Why did I also get the hint that he wasn’t feeling very good either? I guess I’ll find out when we officially meet.

“Inside you’ll find who your partner will be for the foreseeable future. You’ll still be coming to your classes, which was why we mainly wanted to stick with the upperclassmen, and afterward go back to where we are currently housing your designated shifter. You have three days to pack everything you need and want, and you’ll soon be living off campus. Just think of it was having a roommate that needs constant supervision.”

Okay, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. I’m almost entirely confident that this shifter won’t really be a big deal. I mean, he looks about a year or two younger than me. So he just graduated high school? Agh, I have no idea. I’m just jumping to conclusions. But, hopefully they won’t make me handle anything crazy. That I can’t do.

——————

They were driving me across the city to go meet up with the shifter I’ll be taking care of for however long. For all I know it could be a few days or weeks. I would think someone would want to step up for the job instead of letting students do this, but I guess not. Chelsey and Ryan have texted me a few times that they were getting settled in already while I was still heading over. It was already around thirty minutes just to get across the place, so that means I’ll have to take a bus almost everyday just to make it to my classes. That’s just great, but I’m in no position to complain. I actually tried talking with Professor Smith about it, but he told me that he had no say in the matter at all, which was weird. I doubt he would want his younger students to even take part in this.

Along the streets were the many, many buildings that both accommodated for humans and their much larger or smaller companions. Although I’ve only ever been around Ryan about twice when he’s giant, it really wasn’t that bad. He can only grow till someone was like the height if his entire hand so it really wasn’t even that bad. Of course it’s still nerve-racking, but I trust him. Plus, we were at a small party with our little friend group. I doubt he could even bring himself to hurt someone. So really I wasn’t too worried. The only other shifter I’ve been around is an old high school friend of mine, but she goes to a different college now.

Hundred of houses passed by us as we drove into a little neighborhood. What really made me worried was that the driver wasn’t exactly stopping at the normal-sized houses. Where was he going? I watched grimly as some of the huge houses we passed by came to a halt to one on the very end of one of the many streets. This one wasn’t as big as the other one’s down the street, but it wasn’t exactly small either. At least to me. So… I was paired up with a shifter who could only grow. That’s great. Just… great.

I grabbed my bag and the small suitcase I had brought with me that was just full of my clothes and some stuff for school. Well if I’m supposed to stay here almost all of the time now I have to find something to keep me busy. And apparently from the immense size difference that will be between my new roommate and I. Of course I was terrified! If he really is diagnosed with depression and was a shifter who grew that only made matters worse for me. I hope whoever plans to take over for me does it soon.

It took me and the driver to reach the doorstep, but eventually the driver gave it a knock. I swear I could hear some mumbling coming from the other side, but I didn’t dwell too much on that. Most.y because the extremely large door started to open slowly, but I saw no one on the other side. Maybe he was shy?

“Well I may take my leave, though I have been ordered to tell you that a bus comes in the morning at around 6 just down the street from here, and another will take you back here around 5 and 8. Also, if anything goes wrong, to call this number on your phone.” He handed me a folded slip of paper, then took his leave. I shoved the slip in my pocket, hesitantly taking a few steps into the huge house.

It was neatly cleaned around the place, though I couldn’t really see from my view on the ground. Everything around me was huge. I mean I’ve been to one of the rooms on the bigger side of the campus, but those rooms were smaller. It’s not an entire house filled with furniture.

As I took a few steps out more, I jumped when the door had lightly closed behind me. My eyes trailed up and up, finding the face of the person I had seen in the picture. His eyes grew wide when I met his gaze, then bit the bottom of his lip before sliding his back against the wall behind him.

Everything in my body told me to run, but if I did then I would only get scolded for it later. This isn’t even what I wanted to be! I wanted to be a normal therapist that helps regular adults and kids feel better. Not a human who could easily trap me in a fist and just kill me. I would have been fine if they could only shrink, but this was much worse.

I faced down, taking a few deep breaths that barely even help me in this situation. I had to take care of someone fifty times my own size? How was that even possible? There weren’t even any smaller sized things around this place. Nothing that could help me get around easier either!

I guess I could attempt to get his name. I mean, nothing could go wrong then, right? Just maybe from a distance… even if he could, at any point in time, just grab me whenever he so wanted. I felt sick just thinking about being held. Wouldn’t I have to be though? I can’t exactly just climb everywhere I want to go.

“H-hi. Um, I’m Liam.” I forced myself to walk closer, even under his gaze, but I stopped walking closer when he moved himself further in the corner, looking a bit saddened. He probably knew I was scared. Maybe. I hope I’m some-what hiding it well enough. Though, I’ve never really been that good at it.

“Oh, um, C-Casper. You can call me Cas if you want.” He kept his voice to a very quiet whisper. So he knew that if he talked too loud it would hurt my ears. At least he’s self-aware. Though, I couldn’t help but feel bad. I may be utterly terrified of him, but I mean he hasn’t really given me a reason to be truly scared, yet.

“Nice to m-meet you, Cas.” I put on my best fake genuine smile. What? Have to find some way to convince him I wasn’t scared. Even if my body was trembling like crazy and my heart threatened to just come right out of my mouth.

“Y-you too, sir.” His hand slightly twitched, but he just shook his head, giving me a sad look. ‘Sir?’ Why did he call me that? I didn’t dwell on it. Instead, I turned to look at the place, not finding a place to put my stuff. I sighed, hurrying to place it up against the wall opposite of Cas. This would be fine. Yeah, yeah.

Casper, overall, seemed pretty nice. He had a black, messy hair that complimented his light-brown eyes. He wore a baggy long-sleeve shirt with a pair of jeans I have no idea why he was just wearing jeans in his own house, but it’s whatever he wants to do. Not my place to comment. The only real thing that caught my attention were the light bags in his eyes. Has he been sleeping?

“Did you want to come here? Like, willingly?” He had asked, slightly leaning a little closer to my spot in the middle of the floor. I admit, it made me a little uneasy, but I don’t think he realized it. It just made it really hard to answer his question when all I could think about was how easily he could kill me right now. He wouldn’t do that, right? He seems so nice. Even if I’m barely two inches to him and I could easily just be crushed or accidentally killed if he wasn’t being too mindful. I shuddered at the thought, but forced my voice to work with me.

“I-I’m just a student at a college. They just told us we were going to help out shifters, for like, real-world training I guess.” I started speaking a little fast and I could hear my voice slowly get quieter the more Cas seemed to lower his body to me. I felt so small compared to him. It’s overwhelming really, but it’s not like I can just back out. I already asked and they said if I did then I wasn’t cut out to stay in the classes. Seriously, all I wanted was to either be a therapist or a social worker. Not take on these huge responsibilities of making sure an entire living being is doing okay and doesn’t have any malicious intent to just… Aghhhh.

“Oh. Well, I’m not exactly the best person to be paired up with.” He laughed sadly, holding up his wrist and revealing a red band. A little squeak left my mouth as I stood in place, practically frozen in fear. Why did they pair me up with him? They gave me more than I can handle. There was no way I could do this. I bit the side of my cheek, struggling to keep my composure.

Cas caught onto my fear, scooting as far away from me as he could while making sure I wouldn’t freak out. Why did he move away? I was going to be fine. I think- But I was okay. Just as long as I keep a certain distance from him for a while. It takes me a long time to adjust to new things, and this might take me a while, but I couldn’t just do nothing. It was obvious to me that Cas was afraid of something, I just couldn’t figure out what just yet.

“I’m fine, Cas, I promise.” I nervously smiled, hiding how terrified I was. Shifters with a red band can grow to heights you could only dream of. Great. Seriously, what have they done? They think I can handle someone who already looks like he’s struggling to keep himself together just by meeting me? I didn’t really want to find out what would happen if he doesn’t contain his emotions. Was there a person partnered up with him before? I knew I wasn’t going to be getting any answers, but there was no harm in asking them.

“O-Okay,” He whispered, getting in a more comfortable sitting position, “Are you sure though? I don’t mind giving you an hour or two to get used to… everything.” He looked away for a second, and I could tell something was on his mind. Along with the constant moving away every time I had tried to walk closer, or when he knew I was scared of him, I would think to say that he’s scared of himself. Or, at least hurting other people. It makes sense actually. I’ve heard stories that a lot of shifters realize that they can really hurt people and just try their hardest not to interact with people smaller than themselves. It’s like they collapse on themselves since they don’t want to hurt anyone. I guess Cas and I weren’t so different.

“Okay, look, it’s obvious that you’re more afraid of yourself than I am of you,” Cas’s eyes widened, “How about we both try to help each other out? I’ll keep trying if you do.” I held out my hand without thinking. A compromise between the two of us. I know we both met like five minutes ago, but I’m pretty sharp for people my age with little experience. But, honestly, maybe this wasn’t so bad. I think all that Cas wanted was the relief that he won’t hurt people. Or something like that.

“You’d go through with all that? I’m not exactly mentally stable.” I could tell that he was worried, but I just nodded my head, a genuine smile on my face that I hoped he could see.

He eyed my hand for a while, and I still hadn’t realized what was wrong until he lightly pinched my hand between the tip of his pointer and thumb, barely even lifting it up and down for my own sake. Oh he has no idea how scared I was right now, but he didn’t have to know that. Just a little more pressure and he could just yank my arm right off-I shook that thought away. Don’t think about that right now. It would be okay. Just as long as I get an idea of what to do when he does eventually lose control or something. I had zero idea. I think the thought that stuck in the back of my mind was making me more worried than anything really. I’m just a stress toy for him. But I’ll just have to get over my fear. There was no way I would let this stop me from graduating. Not in a million years.

——————

Sorry for a slightly boring chapter! I did a LOT of world building for this one, and had to map out almost every single interaction through the course of the entire story plot. There also wasn’t much g/t but again, it’s just an introduction chapter. (I’m doing what I love and no one can stop me hehehe-)

But I hope you enjoyed reading! I promise the second chapter will have a much, much better g/t interaction. (Oh trust me it will >:3) I hope you all have a great day/night!

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garglyswoof · 4 months

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Fragile Things

ao3 For @kastleexchange Come What May Day 1, "What Could Be" The first thing they say to each other in Daredevil: Born Again. Please note i have no clue what canon is anymore, except (hopefully) in terms of characterization. She knows it can’t last, like it’s a truce the world has temporarily granted, fragile and held together by the most tenuous of things. A house of cards, really, and she eyes it warily, even as Matt’s let down his own guard now that Fisk isn’t around. No one has stepped up to the plate to organize criminal activity on the scale Fisk had managed, his empire ran haphazardly by lesser minds, as lesser threats.

So yes, Matt has let them in more, her and Foggy, now that his nightly excursions seem almost too easy. Not that they don’t leave him bruised and battered, but he seems less afraid of pulling his friends in when there’s not a criminal mastermind behind them, just poor attempts at the throne.

Still, she‘s tense that whole spring, into summer, then the fall, waiting and watching that house of cards. The Jack of Hearts looks a little bit like Foggy, who’d grown a goatee and then shaved it off in favor of just a mustache despite Karen needling him mercilessly for it.

“Karen, I’m going through my eras of TV Hunk. We’re in the Tom Selleck phase, do you know how many women swooned over his mustache? I will not be bound by societal changes.”

“Does Marci like it?”

He glances sidelong at her, pauses then lets out a defeated sigh. “Yes, or you know it would be gone in 30 seconds.”

“Ok I’ll work on her. Every time you come into the office I picture you sliding across the hood of a 70s muscle car like you’re in Magnum P.I. and I can’t take you seriously.”

“Reminds me of that time when Fr--” Foggy stops himself, but she knows.

“Yeah,” she says softly, her eyes flicking up to meet his gaze then leave it. “Yeah it does.”

It would be a lie to say she didn’t think about Frank, but Murdock, Nelson and Page had been a good distraction this last year. Setting up the firm, finding a new office in the Kitchen, and just playing serious legal catch-up to the two avocados at law were enough to keep thoughts of him to a dull roar (she’d bought them little namesakes, glass-blown ones with painted-on sunglasses and a mustache, from a stall at one of those weekend art festivals that were always popping up around the city).

Still, at night when she tosses her keys on the side table and the lonely weight of her quiet apartment settles into her bones, she thinks of him. Of how he couldn’t look at her in that damned hospital room, eyes darting, of how he pushed her away with his own stubborn, selfish aims. Yeah. Yeah, she’ll have a lot to say to him, if she could.

But he’s been gone this past year, or maybe just terrorizing some other part of the country’s criminal organizations. Like she’d thought earlier, New York was missing some of its seedy underbelly these days. It’s why it worked, this house of cards.

It comes crashing down that Thursday night.

It had been a good day, Matt heading into court in the afternoon, Foggy finally breaking the industrious quiet by announcing he’s always wanted a putting green in his office.

Somehow that has evolved into a three-hole miniature golf course where the final hole is a ramp to Foggy’s blown-up face from an old political poster with the mouth cut out. Karen’s sides hurt from laughing as the city settles into the dark of evening.

“Wow, you really suck at this,” Foggy laughs.

“I did not know I needed to practice -” she bursts into giggles -”putting a ball - oh god - p-putting a ball into your m-mouth”.

Foggy loses it too until a text buzzes both their phones. They both sober up from the laughter, each thinking the same thought as they reach for their mobiles. Matt’s been gone too long.

Sure enough, it’s a text from him, and Karen’s heart sinks from the vagueness of it.

Won’t be able to make it out tonight. You two have fun and see you in the a.m.

She looks up to see Foggy’s expression as he studies the words on the screen like an Ancient Text, the backlight and the now dim light in the office lending him a haggard expression. It's the first time she’s seen it in a year.

“He’ll be okay, Fogs.” She isn’t sure she believes it, but she says it anyway. She doesn’t think he believes it either, but he smiles all the same. She marvels, not for the first time, at how trauma is a form of time travel. Because despite the progress of this past year, her and Foggy both remember Matt, before, and they are right back there again in an instant.

Foggy’s expression almost breaks her heart as he nods and takes an absentminded last putt, the ball rolling up the braille legal book ramp and straight into the picture’s mouth.

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

Karen hasn’t changed a bit, despite all that’s happened, and she knows this is a bad idea but can’t stop herself all the same. She’d said goodbye to Foggy at the office doorway, mumbling something about cleaning up the casserole dish from one of their recent sliding scale (if you could call it that) clients. Foggy had been on the phone with Marci, but had paused - Karen’s heart aching with the kindness of him - for a moment, holding his hand over the speaker.

“You sure?” He'd mouthed before speaking in a whisper. “This isn’t about Matt, right?”

She’d shrugged her shoulders. She wasn’t going to lie about that, at least. “Maybe it is, but it’s okay. I just want to have some time to think, and scrubbing cheese off this casserole dish will sadly give me time.”

He’d left then, with one worried glance backwards. She’ll have to keep an eye on her phone tonight, she’s willing to bet he’ll at least text to check in on her.

It had been the silences from Matt that had scared them the most. She isn’t doing that to Foggy.

Still, she’s pretty sure he wouldn’t approve of her rifling through Matt’s files, her notes, and the Bulletin trying to triangulate where the hell Daredevil is off to tonight. She figures it out when she sees the line in the local crime beat from last week, from a paper she hadn’t yet let herself start reading again until now.

Ex-FBI Officer Charged with Death of Priest, FBI Officer Escapes From Prison

She drops the paper and scrambles to her desk, pulling out the drawer that holds her purse, shaking, and grabs her gun, her breath ragged in the quiet of the office, the gun almost sucking the light out of the room, matte black. She stares at it for a moment before raising it in both hands, her feet unconsciously shifting apart to ground her. She feels the trigger under her finger, safety still on, she knows, and she presses the trigger once, twice, three times, over and over until her face crumples and she slides to the floor.

She doesn’t give herself much time to let the pain rule her, she never does. If Bullseye is back, then that’s what Matt is looking into, and she knows he’ll need help despite not wanting it. Not to mention she has a score to settle with that psycho. Her hand shakes as she locks the office up until she stares at her fingers, willing them to calmness.

The church still looms taller than her faith, which isn’t hard to manage, she thinks wryly. The night holds an early fall chill, a breeze off the river teasing the hairs at the nape of her neck where her hair is pulled into a low ponytail. Quiet rules the street with the church lit gently by low exterior lights as she eyes the windows and tries not to think about the past. She’s almost about to give up, thinking that she’s guessed wrong, when she sees the heavy front door shift. A figure darts through, too broad-shouldered to be Matt, she thinks, then the door shuts without a noise and she’s staring into a face lit lowly for just a second before the man ducks into the shadows.

Frank. She’s frozen there, on the sidewalk, and she knows it’s the stupidest thing for her to do so she darts off the path onto the grass that edges the church’s lot. She’s not sure if he’s seen her, and can’t spot him anymore in the darkness, and she has a moment to think - god how on earth did he just disappear like that? before he’s in front of her, finger to his lips at her impending shriek of surprise, his face familiarly blood-spattered and sporting an almost goofy grin. It doesn’t make sense, any of it, and she stares at him in confusion as he tugs her hands into his, holding her out like he wants to look at her, take stock, that grin lowering like a sail as his eyes grow more intense and how can he be so casual and what is going on and -

“Ma’am,” he says, his tone teasing.

She relaxes, because there can’t be any danger here if he’s acting like that, but then tensing back up because honestly, what the hell?

He must see it in her face because he rumbles an apology. ‘M’sorry. Just…seeing you like that, reminded me of…” he trails off, dropping her hands to tug at his hood in mimicry of his beggar routine. That happened forever ago, but he still remembers. So does she. “And you’re still all heart, I don’t even need to ask.”

Something about the way he says it, almost proprietarily, pisses her off. Her eyes flash in the shadows they’ve found themselves in, pulling deeper in as a car passes and breaks the silence with loud, low bass. “Yeah, Frank? What clued you in there?”

She wants him to say it. Doesn’t want to have to spell it out.

His head punches back slightly, taking the blow. He changes the subject, or maybe it’s still the same one. “I came back as soon as I heard. The church’s been clean so far, surprised though. Guy like that usually wants to win where he lost.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too,” Karen admits. “So what’s with the blood?”

He touches his face, as if reminding himself. “Research.”

She almost laughs.

“Where’s Red?” He rasps out.

“This was me trying to find him,” she says and watches his face soften out of the corner of her eye.

“I’m sorry, Karen.”

She waits, staring down at where the grass, wet from the day’s watering, sticks to her sneakers.

He clears his throat. “I wasn’t there for you when he came after you the first time. Fuckin' killed me to hear about it. Killed me to know you were hurt and scared and I wasn’t around to help.”

He’s not saying the right things, but they’re still good ones. She smiles a timid smile, glances up and lets him give her what he can. She’s got a year of therapy on one Frank Castle under her belt. “It’s okay, Frank.”

She knows he wants to say more, say something about the hospital. She pulls him in for a hug, kisses his cheek in a spot bare of blood. Maybe she’s the one that isn’t ready this time.

“It’s okay.”

She feels his lips on her neck, a brief chapped kiss, before he pulls back and stares into her eyes like he’s trying to solve her mystery.

“I just want to find Matt, Frank. Make sure he’s okay.”

Maybe he hears it in her voice, the unspoken later, maybe he just senses the urgency.

“Alright then, let’s go.” He grabs her hand again, pulls his hood up with another. She’s so in shock that she doesn’t move until he starts tugging. He looks back at her, casually throws back, “You’re going to do it anyway. At least I can keep an eye on you this way.”

It both pisses her off and makes her smile. Her feelings are never black and white for Frank Castle, but it definitely seems like he’s accepted some things about her, at least. She squeezes his hand that dwarfs her own, callused and warm, and follows him away from the church, into the heart of the city.

#kastle #kastle fanfiction #kastleexchange #kastlenetwork #kastle ff #the punisher #daredevil

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babystrcandy · 2 years

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matilda (pt. 6) | myg

summary: Loneliness had always been a constant for you, haunting you like a ghost; until your older brother’s best friend, Min Yoongi, came into your life. You both promised each other something back then - you’d always have his support and he’d always have yours. But with time and age, you weren’t sure how much that all still stood to be true.

pairing: yoongi x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | brother’s best friend au, f2e2f2l, slice of life, angst, fluff, smut word count: 25.9K warnings/notes: buckle up, it’s a doozy, mention of character death (reader’s father), depictions of grief and guilt, unsupportive/neglectful parents (reader’s mother is a starts-with-a-c-ends-with-a-unt), the paper ring . . . , oral sex (m. receiving), fingering, hickies, titty sucking, yoongi likes his kisses, someone play lover because yoongi and reader are the best, protective yoongi ;), seokjin (that’s it), yoongi’s studio is soundproof *wink wink nudge nudge*, unprotected sex, spanking, creampie, i think that’s it but if i missed anything pls let me know, hope you enjoy <3

chapter six: you can let it go pt. 2 ( ← previous | next → )

THE SUN FILTERED IN through the blackout curtains, stirring you awake. It was day; a new one; one you’d have to partake in soon.

With a soft groan, you shuffled in your spot, trying to stretch your limbs when you clashed against something warm. Glancing over your shoulder, your eyes landed on Yoongi, who was still fast asleep, mouth slightly parted and hair draped over his face. Oddly, he looked younger, like the years of solitude hadn’t weighed down on him; like he was still twenty years old with an unpredictable future ahead of him.

Then, you realized you were tangled up with him, his heavy leg so casually thrown over yours while his arm cinched tight around your waist. And then the memories of last night crept back in.

You and him in your old backyard, in your room, his hands on you, his lips touching your most intimate areas, his tongue, his teeth, even his length pressed up against your core. You remembered your bodies connecting, and the pleasure he’d given you. God, the pleasure .

Most of all, you remembered how he’d taken your hand into his and pressed it up against his chest, letting the beat of his heart speak the words he couldn’t say. You remembered it all, and a small smile found its way onto your face.

Not once did you ever think your relationship would find the two of you here, sharing a bed and tangled up with each other. But time was a tricky thing, and it’d led you here.

Perhaps time did have its shit figured out. Perhaps . . .

Carefully, you leaned closer to him, shifting to graze a finger across his plump cheek. It was smooth to the touch and the movement made his nose twitch in the same way a cat’s would. You found it utterly endearing.

This was Yoongi. Your Yoongi.

The smile remained on your face as you pressed a soft kiss to his nose, careful not to wake him before you stealthily crawled out of his arms and stood on the cold floor. A shiver ran up your spine at the feeling but you paid it no mind, sending Yoongi’s sleeping figure one more smile before you set your sights on the rest of his room.

In all the months you’d stayed with your brother and Yoongi, not once had you seen his room. Surprisingly, it was a little predictable—neat and tidy as he had always been, however, pages and pages of what looked like lyrics were littered around his room, spread out across his dresser, his bedside table, and even in a corner of the room.

Everything about his bedroom oozed his essence from the black bedsheets, black curtains, and black furniture clashing with the white of the walls to the pictures of him and all your mutual friends hidden behind lamps or computer set-ups. You could only stifle a laugh at the realization.

Then, your eyes drifted to his dresser, spotting a pair of sunglasses that he’d stolen from you in the spring. With a gasp, you tip-toed toward it, grasping it in your hand with a click of your tongue.

“Dummy,” you hummed, chuckling to yourself.

And you were about to turn around to try on the sunglasses in his mirror when something else caught your eye; something . . . familiar.

Blinking in disbelief, your eye caught onto one of the open top drawers to his dresser, discovering that tucked away in the corner sat a familiar paper ring.

Another blink of disbelief consumed you as you opened the drawer a little more so you could grasp the ring, pulling it out to find that it was, in fact, the very paper ring you’d given to him when you were merely twelve years old . . . and then again when you’d left for Busan.

That had been four years ago; you’d left him with that damned paper ring over four years ago. And there it still was, albeit dangerously withered with age and time, but still the same ring you’d made yourself. You’d recognize it anywhere. You’d recognized it now.

It hit you then.

Yoongi had kept the ring all these years.

All these years . . . it’d been in his possession, and not somewhere drowning in the trash. He’d kept it.

You wanted to know exactly what that meant. His feelings for you were obvious, that much was clear but you wondered just how deep they ran. Did he perhaps feel the same as you?

You swallowed in anticipation. Had he always felt the same? Is that why he’d kept it?

Surely—

But your thoughts were interrupted by a deep, groggy voice. “Come back to bed,” Yoongi grumbled, slightly whining your name like a plea (which, if you were being honest, was entirely amusing).

With the paper ring still grasped in your hand, your eyes flickered over to Yoongi, who still laid on the bed. There he rested, tangled in sheets, his hair messy, and a tired expression spread across his face. You couldn't help but smile.

The smile didn’t leave your face as you made your way toward him, climbing under the covers and laying on your back. You shifted closer to him and he instantly wrapped his arm around your waist, burying his face into your neck.

"Mmm, missed you," he mumbled into your hair, kissing you there while he swung a leg over your body.

Still, the smile remained as you wrapped an arm around the one on your waist and nuzzled into him. “It's been two seconds," you hummed, teasing evident in your voice.

Yoongi only responded by mocking your response before he nuzzled closer to you, peppering kisses down your neck and shoulder. You snorted in response, your hand coming up to tangle in his hair, massaging his scalp. He hummed in satisfaction, leaning into your touch.

As you tussled strands of his dark hair, your gaze drifted down to the paper ring you'd been toying with in your other hand. Only then did you find yourself saying, "You kept it."

Yoongi lifted his head from your shoulder. "Hmm?" he hummed, peeking through sleep-ridden eyes at what you had in your hand. His eyes widened slightly when it dawned on him what you had in your possession.

Growing awkward, you cleared your throat. "Sorry . . . I was snooping . . . found the paper ring I gave you," you mumbled out, keeping your eyes on the ring. "I just . . . I didn't realize you'd kept it." You couldn't help it. Your eyes never met his. Call it bashfulness or embarrassment. You were sure you felt it all.

But, Yoongi only kissed your hair and tugged you closer. "Of course, I did, kid," he murmured into your hair. "You made it for me."

Only then did you look at him. And by look, well, you meant you simply stared at him in disbelief as a blooming warmth blossomed in your chest. A soft smile filtered onto your face a mere second later.

He'd said it so casually. You made it for me.

You smiled a little wider.

Yoongi scrunched his nose, awkwardly. "What?"

And all you could do was lean forward and press your lips against his. It was fleeting but still warm and gentle. It was all you needed to relax into him further, pressing a hand against his chest to feel the beat of his heart. You couldn't help it. You pressed another kiss to his face, not quite on the lips and not directly on his cheek either, but rather at the corner of his smile.

"I just—" you cut yourself off, grinning like a mad man and shaking your head— “I care about you so much." (You didn't want to admit that you ended up kissing him again but . . . well . . . you did.)

Yoongi chuckled. "What's this about?"

You only shrugged, flipping the ring over in your hand. "I didn't think you'd keep this stupid thing," you admitted in a soft voice, eyes not meeting his.

"Hey—" Yoongi plucked the paper ring from your hand, pinching it between his fingers— "this stupid thing has been my good luck charm for the past four years."

Your brows only twitched in questioning.

And Yoongi went on to explain. "Every interview, every song, every demo, every album release . . . I kept it on me . . . and I've only ever been met with success," he began, a calm tone to his voice. He dipped his head to catch your eyes—he wanted you to see he was speaking the truth. "When I told you your support was the only thing I had pushing me, I meant it. It's gotten me here. It's given me hope when I had nothing. It's made me a better man. You have . . . "

You blinked, unable to do anything else.

There was nothing else you could do. You just felt so . . . so . . . warm.

A strained groan sounded from the back of his throat as he leaned his forehead against yours. "Is it cheesy to say I owe a whole fucking lot to you?" he questioned almost as if he were testing the words on his tongue.

Fisting his shirt as you swung a leg over his waist in an attempt to draw him closer, you mused, "Mmm, very, but you're in luck, I accept cheese."

Yoongi laughed in response. "Maybe don't come up with your own slogans."

You clicked your tongue. "Yah, like you could've come up with anything better."

"Better than that ."

A narrowed glare was your only response, slightly pouting at him. He simply grinned, gummy smile on display as he shook his head at you, his eyes still trailing across your face while he reached over you and put the paper ring on the bedside table. Once both of his hands were free, he circled them around you, tugging you even closer and kissing your brow, your forehead, and even your nose in the process. All the while, you groaned, putting up a big front, but the small stifled laughter which escaped you gave you away entirely.

"You're such an asshole," you tsked, shoving a finger into his chest once he pressed a final kiss to your brow bone.

"Heard it all before. Don't care," Yoongi hummed, calmly brushing his nose against yours. "Kiss me."

You scrunched your nose in response. “Your breath stinks."

“Does not,” Yoongi snorted, sucking on his teeth before he sniffed and scrunched his nose. “I think that’s yours wafting back into your face.”

You made a face. “Disgusting ma—“

“Baby—“ Yoongi cut you off, brushing his lips against yours in a feathering touch— “kiss me.”

"You're so needy."

The only response you received was his lips pressing against yours. You leaned closer, pleasantly sighing into the kiss as you nipped at his bottom lip. A grin tipped onto his face before he dipped in for more, running his tongue along the crease of your lips. You complied quickly, hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer and melded his tongue with yours. His grip tightened on you instantly, his hand sliding up your thigh, squeezing your hip before it snuck under the hem of your shirt (or rather his borrowed tee).

A small gasp escaped you when you felt the coolness of his hand graze the swell of your breast, palming it. He grinned into the kiss, circling his thumb around your areola, teasing you more than sending pleasure your way.

You tugged on his hair in annoyance, and he only chuckled, sucking on your bottom lip as his thumb pressed down on your puckered nipple, tweaking the bud. You hummed softly in response, grinding your clothed core against his thigh.

He stilled under your touch for a mere second before his hand gripped your waist, tugging you down onto his thigh as he rubbed it against your sex. His hand was at your shirt again in an instant, fisting it and pulling it up to reveal your bruised skin from last night’s endeavors.

Briefly, Yoongi marveled at the vaguely obvious marks he’d made on your skin from all the sucking and biting. But his mouth was on you in an instant, dipping low to trace his tongue against the skin of your stomach. He sucked more marks onto your skin while guiding you to rub your core against his thigh.

But his touch was gone almost too quickly. He’d broken apart, coming up to catch your lips again. "Mmm more,” he murmured against your lips, gripping your ass.

"Needy needy needy,” you managed to tsk, although your voice sounded way less than stable.

It seemed even Yoongi had caught onto the wavering in your voice as he only responded with a small, teasing kiss to your jaw before he gripped your backside and ground into you. You were left a mess, haphazardly rutting against his clothed length, the movements causing your core to pulse.

"What can I say? I'm at your mercy,” he confessed, breathlessly as he sloppily kissed your jaw. "Take pity on me, angel."

You shook your head, lust fueling your being. "I don't think I will," you muttered as you ground onto his hardened length, eliciting a small groan from the back of his throat. "Want you to fuck me now."

Yoongi hummed against your jaw. "Trust me as much as I wanna get you on all fours and fuck you from behind . . . your brother'll be home soon . . . “ he trailed off, pressing one more kiss to your jaw before pulling back completely, the two of you ceasing your movements. "And I, uh—" his knuckles trailed down your arm, gently grazing the skin— "I wanted it to be special."

You couldn’t help it, you snorted. " Now you're a hopeless romantic?"

He kissed your forehead. "Mhm."

"No soaking?"

"You're teasing me, you shit.”

"I can't help it," you hummed, laughing slightly as you pinched his scrunched nose. "You get this look on your face when I do."

"I don't have a look.”

"Mhm.”

"Such a smartass.”

You only rolled your eyes in response.

While, his eyes darted across your face, taking in your features with a soft smile. A second of comfortable silence passed before he spoke again, "Can I confess something?"

"You and your confessions," you tsked as you trailed a hand across the neckline of his shirt. "Tell me, are you a pathological liar?"

"Occasionally," he sighed with a shrug. But the amusement on his face dwindled as he took his bottom lip under his teeth and scrunched his nose in preparation. Then, he was speaking once again. "I kind of want you to run your nails against my dick.”

You nearly laughed in his face, clasping a hand over your mouth as you stared at him with wide eyes. Slowly, you lowered your hand. "Is this your weird attempt at asking me to scratch your balls? Are you really that lazy? 'Cause I won't do it. I won't," you rambled on, shaking your head in amusement.

Yoongi slapped a hand over his eyes and groaned. "No, god, you make me sound like a freak.”

"It was an odd request, Yoon.”

He lowered his head to your neck, resting there in embarrassment. "I know what feels good to me," he mumbled against your skin. "It's just, I don't know, comforting?"

"Having your dick scratched?"

He nipped at your skin. "Shut it, kid.”

You knew you were teasing him, but you couldn’t help it. This was too amusing to let slip by. Nevertheless, your hand found his back, running up and down in a comforting manner as you sighed, "Calling me kid after asking me to scratch your itchy dick? Tsk. Not the time to friendzone.”

"Yah, I don't have an itchy dick," he grumbled, squeezing your thigh.

You only laughed, continuing to scratch his back.

Mere seconds later, his head lifted up to meet your eyes once again, a dopey smile on his face. "We have such weird conversations."

You nodded. "We do, don't we?"

With a laugh, Yoongi fell back, his back pressed flat against the mattress now as he slung an arm around his eyes. You watched with a dazed smile on your face, eyes trailing down his body. Shamelessly, they flicked to the front of his boxers. They were impressively tented, the outline of his cock very prominent.

Then your mind began to spin . . .

"You know—“ you began, resting a hand on his abdomen— “as an artist, I like to . . . map out my entire model before I sit down and paint.”

Under his arm, a hint of a grin twitched on his face. "That so?"

"Mmm.”

With your eyes watching his face, you dipped your hand just barely under the hem of his boxers. You teased the skin there, slipping lower but carefully avoiding any contact with his length.

Yoongi’s hand was wrapped around your wrist in an instant. "What are you doing, baby?"

"Mapping out my model," you hummed, sweetly.

The arm around Yoongi’s eyes dropped, that dark gaze on you again as he shifted onto his side, facing you while his hand trailed up your arm. He released you from his grasp, eyes searching yours as he gave you a nod of approval. Your hand was on his hot, hard length in an instant, causing him to suck in a sharp breath.

"Sit still,” you tsked, gently palming his length. “Models are supposed to model , not squirm."

Yoongi’s hand came to your hair, fisting it. "Can't control myself with your hand on my dick like that," he muttered out, clenching his jaw tight when your thumb swept over the crown of his cock, circling the bead of precum at the slit.

"Calm down," you whispered, voice like silk. You held him gently for a moment, thumb rubbing up and down the shaft before you pulled him out of his boxers. "Wasn't it you who wanted me to scratch your cock?"

He sucked in air through his teeth. "You're teasing me again.”

"It's just so easy," you said in a sing-song voice as you gently grazed the freed length with your fingertips. "Now . . . show me how. My artist heart can't wait any longer."

Yoongi’s hand was on yours in an instant. "Like this," he strangled out, guiding your fingers along his shaft so your nails just barely grazed him. "Slow, light, and long. Up and down."

His hand fell from yours a second later as he slumped against the pillow, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. You remained amused, but kept your eyes on your movements, careful not to hurt him. You wet your bottom lip, thoughts running wild.

"What does this do for you?" you found yourself asking.

Yoongi merely shrugged. "Nothin' just mmm like feeling you touch me without all the . . . heat .”

"We really do have odd conversations," you laughed, hand still moving against him in a gentle manner.

"We do.”

Silence consumed the two of you as you continued your movements, taking in the sight of him. Even in the daylight, he stood hard as granite, tipping up toward his navel. And the tip was so very very blushed, making your core ache for him.

The aching in your core became too much, so much so that you found yourself asking, “Do you, um, still not want the heat?"

Shameless . You could’ve smacked yourself. But at that very moment, you didn’t care. The only thing you were focusing on was how his cock seemed to twitch in your hands as those words left your lips . . . and how he immediately looked at you with such burning desire you almost shied away.

Yoongi looked flushed, his Adam’s apple bobbing once again as he nodded once. "I could do with a little," he rasped out.

You raised a brow. "A little?"

And Yoongi only responded by shooting a cheeky half-grin your way before he hooked his thumbs under the hem of his boxers and pulled them off his body entirely. He flopped back down on the mattress, arms out.

"Explore, little artist," he hummed, a prideful expression on his face as he glanced between his length and your face.

You only grinned in response, subtly challenging him. "Why stop there?" you voiced aloud, hands already inching toward the hem of his shirt. "Need my full life model.” You gathered his shirt in both hands and drew it over his head, tossing it to the floor.

A shared smile was passed between the two of you before you pressed a kiss to his lips, then pulled back, careful not to get caught up in the taste of him. With one hand, you pushed him back on the bed, giving you more room. He sent a nod your way as if to say, explore at your will.

And you did. He’d teased you enough last night, he’d even won the stupid bet . . . now . . . now you wanted to torture him just a bit.

With a small grin on your face, you trailed your finger down the center of his chest, moving slower than a snail. But Yoongi just sat there, watching you intently as you trailed your hands across his arms, his chest, his neck, even along the veins on his hands, generously neglecting his length which leaped and strained for your attention.

"When you said you wanted to explore . . . I thought there'd be more . . . exploring ," he gritted out, swallowing hard.

"Technically, I said map out," you simply hummed, your fingertip dipping to his pelvic region, tracing words against his warm flesh. This seemed to spark something in him, his cock twitching before your very eyes, making you hum a chuckle of amusement. " Needy ."

"Brat," he muttered out through clenched teeth. God, was he doing his most to keep himself restrained. It was almost . . . amusing (who were you kidding, it was definitely amusing).

"I'm gonna need more words from you," you taunted, clicking your tongue as you skipped your fingertips over his hip bone. "What exactly do you want me to explore, Yoonie?"

" Yoonie ," he mocked the nickname you’d called him with the shake of his head. “Such a tease."

With a devilish smile creeping on your face, you leaned forward and ran your tongue along the skin of his pelvic region. You pressed a kiss there near his hip bone when you were done and hummed out, “I'm waiting for the words.”

He sent you a look, jaw clenched and brows furrowed. "I want my dick in your mouth. That wordy enough for you?"

"Jeez, at least take me on a date, Casanova,” you taunted further.

Yoongi had his hands in his hair a second later, tugging on the strands. "I'll take you on another one later.”

You raised a brow. "Beg.”

A strained laugh escaped him. "You are not pulling one out of my book," he muttered, dragging his hands down his face. "Unbelievable."

You leaned forward, just barely brushing your lips against the tip of his cock. "It doesn't sound like you want me.”

"Fuck, OK," he practically whined out. "Please?"

You pulled away. "Mmm, not gonna cut it.”

But Yoongi threaded your hands together, running his thumb along your knuckles. "God, please, touch me. Touch me, angel. Please," he finally rushed out, giving in to your request.

You could only grin. One point for you. The two of you were tied. "Show me," you hummed, innocently squeezing his hand.

"You're really trying to make me work for it?"

"It's my job.”

Yoongi tongued his inner cheek, shaking his head at your grinning face. You could practically hear his thoughts, and god, did they amuse you.

So much so that the grin remained on your face as you unlocked your hand from his and touched it to his thigh. "Here?" you questioned, rubbing circles into the flesh.

Yoongi only shot you a look, jaw clenched and brows furrowed. Your amusement only grew further.

"Sorry, I'm a visual learner,” you hummed with a soft sigh, waiting for him to take the bait.

And he did. He grabbed your hand and dragged your touch to where you both secretly needed it. He curled his hand over yours, guiding you to wrap your fingers around his stiff length, showing you how to stroke it the way he desired.

Once you hooked one leg over his thigh, gaining more access, you guided your hand up and down his length, slow and taunting. His hand fell from yours, allowing you to run your thumb across the head of his blushing cock, tracing the flared ridge of the crown and the slit where precum gathered. It took everything in you not to dart out your tongue and lick a strip across the small dewy slit.

Then, almost as if he’d heard your thoughts, he choked out, "I don't suppose you . . . map out your models with your mouth, do you?"

Still wanting to tease him, you tsked, "That's just sinful.” Those words left your lips, and your hand was running down his shaft all the way to the root, then up again to smear the precum with your thumb across the tip of his length.

Yoongi breathed shakily through your soft touch, laughing slightly. "Sinfuh—fuck .”

But you cut him off before he could mock you, your desires and his getting the best of you as you flicked out your tongue to lick away the precum. The bitter salty taste of him coated your mouth, and that was all it took before you ran your tongue up the underside of his cock all the way to the head. You caught sight of his eyes on you, keeping your gaze locked with his as you flashed him a tiny grin before you took the tip of his cock into your mouth, immediately swirling your tongue around it.

His jaw visibly clenched, Adam’s apple bobbing as you kept your eyes on his before your lips slid downward, slipping over the crown and further down his shaft. Then, you hollowed your cheeks, slowly moving your head up and down his length, taking him further each time. And he was left a mess, teeth clenched so tightly you were sure he’d break one while his chest heaved up and down with such fervor.

Your movements quickened, tongue flat against the underside of his length while you moved your mouth around him, letting your hands stroke what you couldn’t swallow. And when he was panting quickly, cock throbbing in your mouth, you sunk down as far as you could, the tip of him hitting the back of your throat briefly.

That was when a low groan sounded from the back of his throat and he bucked into your throat, causing you to gag slightly. His hand was caressing your cheek in an instant, brushing his thumb across your cheekbone.

"Fuck, sorry, I didn’t mean to . . . “ he panted out, lazily looking at you through lidded eyes. “I just . . . wanna fuck your throat."

You released him from your mouth with a popping sound, catching your breath as you hummed, "All you have to do is ask, Yoon."

Yoongi propped himself up on his elbows, hand coming out to tilt your chin. "Hey, hey, baby, are you serious?" he asked, still trying to catch his breath.

"Mmm," you hummed, pressing a kiss to the tip of his cock, causing him to shudder.

"I need to hear the words," Yoongi all but whined.

That only spurred you on further. You pushed up, crawling toward him as you straddled his waist and leaned in so your lips were just barely grazing the shell of his ear. "I want you to fuck my throat, Yoongi,” you hummed, sweetly.

Yoongi shook his head, a dazed gummy smile spreading across his face. "You have no idea what you do to me,” he confessed, his voice confident, full of truth.

"I think I have a hunch,” was all you said in response, eyes flicking down to his aching length.

"No—“ Yoongi suddenly said, reaching out to touch your face, thumbs resting just under your jaw as they grazed the skin there— “more than that. More than . . . “

His words trailed off and he tilted your chin, causing you to lock eyes with him. The sight you saw only made you breathless. What was this emotion Yoongi held in those deep pools of brown?

Then, his brows twitched with longing and he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he whispered in the softest voice, “You unravel me . . . "

His eyes searched yours for understanding, and as they did, you felt your expression falter, your heart swelling in your chest. You unravel me.

You swallowed, awkwardly. "You must really want me to blow you."

"No, no—" Yoongi was quick to dispute, shaking his head— "Well, not no, but . . . honestly . . . truly . . . completely . . . you unravel me."

You unravel me.

There wasn’t a word to describe how you felt in that moment. You just kept staring into his eyes, hoping he’d see the words you couldn’t get yourself to admit.

You unravel me.

You’d loved Yoongi for years now. You knew this. It was the easiest thing for you to pinpoint, but in that moment as those words played in your mind, you thought perhaps love was not the right word to describe what you felt for him.

What you felt—that warmth blossoming in your chest—was more than that silly little word. Your feelings for him went beyond love. You wished there was a word to describe it better.

You unravel me.

Perhaps . . .

Perhaps that was the word you were searching for. You unravel me , and you were sure he’d done the same to you.

You unravel me, too, Yoon, you found yourself thinking as you grinned at the man laying beneath you with such adoration you nearly felt like one of your beloved paintings.

And with the wide, beaming smile on your face, Yoongi couldn’t help but smile back, shaking his head as his hand tangled in your hair. You wanted him. You wanted him in every way.

You’d shifted down his body a second later, taking his cock in your hand as you slapped it against your tongue. He laughed at your impatience and tightened the grip he had on your hair, gently pulling your head away from his length.

When you pouted at him, he faltered, wetting his bottom lip. "OK, shit, I'm gonna hold your hair and . . . you pull away if it's too much,” he rushed out, touching a hand to your face, thumb grazing your bottom lip. "OK?"

You took his thumb into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it before releasing it with a pop. "More than OK,” you hummed deep in your throat.

"You're gonna kill me, woman," he confessed, earnestly.

He was guiding your mouth down his cock in an instant, and you followed his lead, flattening your tongue and careful not to graze his shaft with your teeth. At first, your movements were slow, lazily trailing up and down his dick, hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue around the pink tip.

But then Yoongi’s grip on your hair tightened, and he bucked into your mouth, the head of his cock reaching your gag reflex. You breathed through your nose, forcing yourself not to gag as you emitted a soft moan while he repeatedly bucked into your mouth. Feeling more confident, you reached your hand out to massage his balls, coaxing a low moan—or rather a mix between a growl and a whimper—from the back of his throat.

"You're doing so good for me, baby," he rasped out, his words falling from his tongue like pants. "So fucking warm, so fucking ready. God, my girl. You're my fucking girl."

He bucked into you once more and steadied himself there in the back of your throat, feeling you moan around him. "That's it. Like that, fuck,” he groaned, sliding his dick back out once you gagged.

Your mouth was left hanging open, the tip of his dick resting on your tongue as you hastily breathed in, trying to catch your breath. A hand fell on your cheek, stroking the skin as you swallowed, soreness in your throat quickly forming as an unmistakable tear trickled down your face.

"Breathe, baby, breathe," he cooed, wiping away the tear with his thumb.

Once you’d caught your breath, your eyes snapped up to meet his as you swiped your tongue along the rim of his tip. He only grinned, shaking his head at you.

"One more?” he pegged the question, reading your thoughts. “Can you do one more?"

You nodded, swirling your tongue around the tip, teasing the small slit. And Yoongi only responded by rubbing your cheek once more before his hand was grasping your hair again as he slid his cock into your warm mouth. You moaned around him, clenching your thighs together at the feeling of your own slick pulsing out of you once you’d gotten a second taste of him.

He’d repeated his actions from before—slowly sliding your mouth up and down his shaft before he bucked into your mouth, rocking his hips. Your eyes began to burn, your mouth growing sore, but you persisted, swallowing around him as he fucked himself into your mouth.

"So fucking sweet to me," Yoongi hissed out, his voice almost a quiet whimper as he slid out of your mouth, allowing you to breathe.

As you caught your breath, he released your hair from his grip, curling it behind your ear before he moved his hand to stroke your cheek. You backed off of him once you caught your breath, sitting straight.

"You don't have to continue, angel," he gulped, tonguing the corner of his mouth. "I can get myself off. Take a break."

"Where's the fun in that?" you only laughed, still slightly out of breath, and throat feeling sore. "Besides . . . I thought you said you wanted to cum in me?" You quirked a brow, his eyes widened ever so slightly. "What if I want you to cum in my mouth?"

You took his shocked expression as a good sign, leaning down again and straddling his thigh before you bent to take him into your mouth. At the now familiar feeling, you hummed a pleasant sigh, the tight, wet friction creating enough pleasure to coax strained tuffs of air out of his lungs.

"Can I touch you?" he rasped out, desperately.

You nodded, cock still in your mouth. "Please," you mumbled, words muffled as you sank lower.

He slid his hand down your body, sliding under the hem of the boxers you wore. You moaned around him, the vibrations causing him to shudder as you widened your legs just enough for him to slip his hand into your wet heat. He sucked in air through his teeth at the feeling, slipping a finger into your folds and pressing his palm against your swollen clit, allowing you enough access to grind into him.

The two of you moved together, your mouth sliding up and down his cock while he pumped his fingers into you, moving his palm against your clit. He went faster, and you followed, both of you immersing each other in a pleasurable heat filled with soft moans and desperate pants. Heat pooled in your stomach. You were close, and you could tell he was too.

With that in mind, you pulled out one of your tricks, gathering enough saliva in your mouth to generously coat his cock before you let your hand take your mouth’s place, allowing for faster movements.

Then, you bent one of his legs up, allowing you access, which you took, mouth wrapping around his balls, sucking on them, swirling your tongue around them. You even flicked your tongue quickly against the small strip of skin just behind the swell of his balls.

It was a carnal act; one you’d normally be embarrassed by but now, with your orgasm quickly approaching, you didn’t care. You wanted him to cum, and you wanted to be the cause.

"Cum for me," you heard him rasp out as his cock twitched in your hand. "Can you cum for me, baby?"

You ground down faster against his palm, clit aching as you picked up your pace, jerking him quicker. Aching for him, you took him in your mouth again, sucking and moaning around him as you used your hand and mouth to bring him closer, and that was when you felt it—the coil in your lower stomach quickly approaching.

Yoongi rolled his head back onto the pillows, arching into your touch. "That's it. Fuck, that's—“

The coil snapped, and your muscles contracted, coaxing a breathy moan out of you. And then his own orgasm consumed him, cum shooting down your throat as you continued to stroke him through your high.

As the two of you came down from your highs, you swallowed his cum, sliding him out of your mouth with a pop. While, he drew his hand from your heat, sucking your release from his fingers before he reached for you, dragging you into his chest. Although still hazy, you managed to laugh against him while he peppered kisses into your hair, along your shoulders, your neck, even your cheeks, and finally on your swollen lips.

"Fuckin' perfect," he hummed, kissing you again. "You're fucking perfect." As he spoke through lazy kisses, he rubbed your cheek. "Did so good for me. Taking my cock like that. Swallowing all of me. Shit, baby. That mouth is a godsend. Fuckin' godsend."

"This is a new side to you, Min," you mumbled, wrapping an arm around his waist as you buried your face into his chest. "Submissive bitch."

"Brat," he tsked into your hair. "I should—“

But his words were cut off by the slamming of a door—the front door to your apartment. Your eyes widened, and you glanced his way, swallowing hard. Fuck .

"Please, tell me that's not Seokjin?" you hissed out, sitting up.

"Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but I think it is," Yoongi sighed, pursing his lips in thought.

Maybe he’d go straight to his room and not stop by Yoongi’s. Did you leave anything out in the main room last night? Fuck, did you? Maybe Seokjin wouldn’t notice. Maybe—

"Yoongi!" Seokjin’s voice came almost instantly, followed by him beating his fists onto the door of Yoongi’s bedroom.

The two of you sprung to your feet, Yoongi quickly grabbing his clothes and shoving them on. He’d gestured for you to hide as he made his way toward the door. He’d glanced your way one more time, making sure you were hidden in his closet before he ruffled his hair and swung the door open.

"Hey," he rasped out, clearing his throat.

"H—“ Seokjin cut himself off. "Woah, what happened to you?"

Yoongi only grumbled. "I'm not in the mood for games, Seokjin.”

(You stifled your laughter. He was always such a pain in the ass.)

" Seokjin ? God, you really are pissed," your brother mused, mocking the way Yoongi said his name. "You get lucky? Huh? Shit, are they still here? Is that why—“

"Jin . . . please," Yoongi cut him off.

Seokjin snickered. "You're shameless.”

"You're wearing your shirt backwards," Yoongi simply stated, deadpanning. "Courtesy of your special friend from last night?"

Seokjin only clicked his tongue, silently scolding the younger man. "You really need to stop hanging out with my sister," he muttered, bitterly. (You grinned ear to ear.) "You're starting to sound like her."

Yoongi shrugged, calmly. "She's rubbed off on me.”

It sounded as if Seokjin had leaned on the doorframe. "Where is she anyway?" he questioned with a sigh. "Her shoes are here but her room's empty."

"Oh," Yoongi bit out, his voice a little less than calm now. ( Keep up the act, Yoon , you thought.) "She came home last night, yelled something about how the heels were too small, grabbed those little slippers of hers, and booked it to Hari's."

That bitch. You were going to give him hell for that one later.

"Huh," Seokjin mused.

"Yeah . . . "

A beat of silence.

Then, Seokjin spoke again. "Well—“ he slapped a hand down on Yoongi’s shoulder— "Have fun with your friend . . . "

He was gone the next second, the sound of Yoongi shutting his door filtering through your ears. You’d stepped out of the closet then, arms crossed over your chest as you glared at the man standing before you.

" Little slippers of mine?" you huffed out, approaching him with a wrinkle between your brows.

Yoongi seemed to be amused by this, sending you an infamous half-grin before he leaned down to press his lips against yours. He pulled you closer by the waist, sighing into the kiss. And then . . . then he did something which shocked you—he brought his hand down on your ass, loudly slapping the flesh there.

You nearly gasped right then, but quickly covered your mouth. "He will literally hear you," you hissed out.

But Yoongi only silently shook with laughter. "Good thing he didn't come when my dick was down your throat.”

Your eyes widened, and you drove a finger into his chest. "You really are shameless," you scolded, your voice hushed.

He only winked in response, that cheeky grin never letting up.

Absolutely shameless.

In the following days, you and Yoongi had to admit the two of you were shit at keeping up this little act of yours. First, it started with the three of you gathering in the living room to watch a movie the day Seokjin had almost walked in on you tangled up with Yoongi in his bed. The entire movie Yoongi kept resting his hand on your thigh, a subconscious gesture that you hadn't even noticed until Seokjin called the two of you out on it. You'd nearly choked at his questions, but Yoongi kept his cool, shrugging off your brother's remarks and adding the gesture up to nothing. You'd nearly laughed, still reeling from that morning.

Then, just on the Tuesday of that week, Seokjin had walked in on the two of you passed out on the couch together, a mess of limbs. You'd only found out about this via a photo your brother sent in the group chat. Now, Yoongi had tried to tell you your brother didn't know anything, and the two of you had fallen asleep together even before this so there was nothing to worry about. But . . . you still worried.

The thing was: you didn't know how Seokjin would take the news. When the two of you were younger, there was no doubt he would've punched Yoongi in the face for even thinking about touching you. But now, you didn't know where he stood.

So walking on eggshells around your brother seemed like the best option for now.

Except, you didn't take into account that it would be so incredibly awkward around him anytime the topic of Yoongi was brought up. On Wednesday, he asked you if Yoongi had gone to his studio, and you quickly rushed out an I don't know , gaining an odd look from your brother before he shook his head and went off. See . . . that was the problem: you.

You couldn't lie to your brother.

Furthermore, you were tired of hiding how you felt towards Yoongi. You'd done that for nearly two decades. That felt more than enough time for you. Too much time, you thought.

Fortunately, on the Thursday of that same week, you knew for a fact that Seokjin wouldn't be home until late. So when you found yourself in the kitchen, attempting to make a recipe you'd looked up online, as Yoongi approached you, hands on your hips, you didn't flinch away. Instead, a pleasant sigh left you as you leaned back into his touch, resting the back of your head on his shoulder while he nudged his nose against the slope of your neck.

"I wanna take you to my studio next week," Yoongi mumbled into your skin, wrapping his arms around your waist and squeezing you closer.

You laid your hands on top of his. "Thank you for asking if my schedule's free, Yoon."

He sighed into your neck. "Sue me, I want my girlfriend to hear some of my work," he mumbled, kissing up the slope of your neck and breathing in your scent just under your ear where you'd spritzed some of your perfume earlier that morning.

But you weren’t focused on that.

No, you were focused on the term he'd used. Girlfriend . You suddenly felt sixteen years old again, yearning to hold hands with him as the two of you walked down the halls of your high school. Only Min Yoongi could make you feel like a lovestruck teenager again.

In your silence, Yoongi sighed into your neck once again. "Fine, are you free, baby?" he questioned, teasingly.

You only tilted your head, eyes on his profile. "Are we dating, then?"

Yoongi stilled behind you, slowly locking eyes with you as he searched them, looking for something. You offered him a smile, and his eyes softened, seemingly finding what he had been looking for as he hummed out, "I . . . would like to."

"Girlfriend? Hmm ," you tested the word on your tongue, then nodded. "I like the sound of that."

He smiled and pressed his lips against yours. "Good."

Your eyes lingered on his lips, wondering if you'd ever get used to this. With a complacent sigh, your gaze drifted back to the recipe on your phone, thoughts spinning mindlessly. "What do you want to show me?" you nonchalantly asked as you scrolled through recipe after recipe, trying to pick which one called out to you.

"Mmm, secret," Yoongi simply responded.

You lifted your head from your phone and tsked at him, "You're aggravating."

Yoongi pressed a hand to your hip, massaging the skin there. "You love it," he mumbled into your hair, nuzzling his nose against you as he slowly swayed the two of you in place.

You rolled your eyes. Cheeky bastard.

"What are you—"

But the sound of someone unlocking the apartment door, made the words die on Yoongi's tongue as the two of you glanced at the door in confusion. You shot Yoongi a perplexed look, finding him mirroring your expression before the two of you pulled apart, preparing for Seokjin to barge through the door.

And he did. In came Kim Seokjin, a muttering mess, talking to himself with his hands moving haphazardly through the air. He didn't even kick off his shoes as he entered the apartment. Something was off.

"Jin?" you questioned, calling your brother's attention.

His eyes flicked to yours, narrowing as if he was shocked to see you. Odd.

You set your phone down. "Thought you said you wouldn't be back 'till late?"

"Yeah, man, what happened to the meeting?" Yoongi piped in, grabbing a tangerine from the bowl on the kitchen island and beginning to peel it.

Seokjin only sighed, threading a hand through his hair. "Still happening. Plans changed," he grumbled, voice void of emotion other than irritation. "Forgot the USB for the meeting in—" he checked his wristwatch— "shit, in ten minutes."

He stalked off, trudging through the apartment and heading straight for his room. You and Yoongi shared a puzzled look for a brief second before Seokjin was grumbling out of his room again, USB secured between his thumb and pointer. He reached the apartment door again, about to bid the two of you goodbye when a flash of realization flooded his face and he snapped his fingers your way.

"Oh, by the way, mom called," he informed you, hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose before he dropped it to his side completely. "She wants to hear from you."

You only sighed. "I know. I know. I Just—”

"Kiddo . . . " Seokjin cut you off in a gentle voice, causing more confusion to swirl in your mind. His face fell ever so slightly at the sight of your wide, puzzled eyes, and all he could do was send a tight-lipped smile your way . . . almost as if he were being sympathetic. "The anniversary's on Saturday. Dad's . Call her."

Oh.

Those words caused your shoulders to drop as it dawned on you that you'd forgotten the anniversary of your father's passing. Dread filled you a second later and guilt lingered like a ghost. How could you forget that? It'd been haunting you for months now . . . how could you let it slip your mind?

You glanced over your shoulder, half-expecting to see your father's ghost looming there. But nothing met your gaze, and you could only think how maybe that was fate's cruel way of torturing you. Perhaps if you'd gotten to see him one last time before his passing then you wouldn't feel like this—stuck.

But that would've been too kind.

You could only have so much luck with fate. Eventually, the balance scale would have to tip both ways. You supposed this was fate's way of tipping the scale. You wished to tip it back. Desperately.

"I will," was all you managed out after a few seconds.

Then, Seokjin was off, sending you and Yoongi a nod before he stepped out the door, shutting it behind him and leaving the two of you to bask in the silence. But unlike before where you'd wallowed in it, standing alone with your head held low and arms wrapped around your body in a hug, you weren't met with that loneliness. Instead, Yoongi had reached you in an instant, bringing you into his chest as he rested his chin atop your crown and rubbed your back.

"I forgot," you mumbled into his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt into your fists. "I can't believe I . . . "

"Hey, hey, it's OK," Yoongi whispered into your hair, handling you as if you were made of glass and he was desperately afraid to break you. "You were happy, don't feel sorry about that. It's been a long time since I've seen you like that." He kissed your hair. "Uh, I know it won't help but . . . I forgot Seokjin's birthday one year. He still won't let me live it down, but no harsh feelings. We're still tight. "

You rubbed your thumb against his clothed chest. "It's not the same, Yoon," were the words which left you in a soft, heavy tone.

"I know."

He hugged you tighter, combing his fingers through your hair now. You nestled closer, leaning your head on his chest as your eyes fluttered shut. The heaviness in your chest didn't let up but you found solace in one thing—you weren't alone . . . and you didn't have to go through this alone.

"I wish I could take it from you," Yoongi suddenly whispered after a few seconds, his voice unsteady.

You furrowed your brows. "Take what?"

"The pain."

Oh.

Your heart swelled and words gathered on your tongue.

However, your mouth never opened, and the words stayed trapped there, quickly dying out. The truth was: there were many things you could've said in response, but none of them ever felt quite right.

Because here he was, telling you he'd carry your pain for you, and all you could think was how much your heart beat for him. There were no words for that; there weren't any words to tell him just how much his comfort, his company, his entire being meant to you. So you settled for a comfortable silence, wrapping your arms around his waist, tugging him closer to you as you pressed a lingering kiss to his chest just above where his heart beat.

"I want . . . I want to comfort you . . . but I don't know how," Yoongi went on from there, gathering more courage to spill his thoughts.

"You already have," you hummed, smiling slightly. "You're here by my side, and neither of us is running away. You're here. That's comfort enough."

Yoongi nodded, hand still running through your hair as the two of you silently swayed in the kitchen of your apartment. And for once in your life, you realized you felt at home. This was where you wished to stay, but not because you'd grown up here in the city of Seoul, but rather because you finally felt . . . safe.

Safe.

A smile touched your lips. You could get used to that feeling.

"Are you still smoking?" Yoongi questioned after a while, and you knew what he meant.

"Sometimes," you admitted, sheepishly. "I haven't in a while, but . . . when things get hard I do. I don't, uh, I never mind." And you hadn't. Not since a few months ago.

"Then I won't let you out of my sight until this passes," Yoongi simply stated.

You shook your head, sighing out a mangled laugh. "Will it ever?"

A beat of silence.

Then, Yoongi spoke. "I think it will," he said, earnestly. "The pain will always be there, but . . . it'll get manageable. And I'll be here. Seokjin, Hari, everyone . . . we'll all be right here. You get the urge to smoke, just grab me and we can go fishing with your brother."

You couldn't help it, you snorted. "I literally hate fishing."

"I know," Yoongi hummed, chuckling slightly. "I do, too. Knife throwing, then?"

"Mmm, are you the target?" you mused, teasingly.

"Yah," Yoongi softly scolded, pinching your side. "You sure you're not the sadist?"

You only shook your head, giddily as you pressed further into him. Safe. This was what that felt like; it felt like him.

Another beat of silence passed.

Then one more.

Before he spoke again. "Just . . . promise me you'll come to me if it gets too much. You don't have to do anything alone ever again. Even if you think you have no one, you have me. You never lost me, OK? I'm here," he whispered into your hair, and you believed every word, wholeheartedly.

That deep belief was the exact reason you felt so comfortable only giving him a soft hum and nod of acknowledgment.

But Yoong liked words. So it was no surprise when he hummed out, "Promise?"

You softly snorted. "Promise."

Then . . . his hand drifted down your arm until he reached your hand, his pinky finger locking around yours. He mumbled something about you shaking on it, and all you could do was laugh in amusement.

You tilted your head enough to find his eyes with yours. "Aren't we getting too old to be keeping pinky promises?" you questioned with a wide, toothy grin on your face.

Yoongi only glanced down at you, mirth glossing his eyes as the corners of his mouth twitched. "Oh, absolutely . . . " he trailed off, gently squeezing your pinky with his.

And you simply rolled your eyes, a small playful smile still on your face before you tightened your grip on his pinky and shook. Another promise was shared between the two of you. One that wouldn't be broken.

You both swore that .

The anniversary of your father's passing came all too quickly.

You'd like to say the day went smoothly, but it'd passed with bumps in the road. From the moment you awoke, the abnormal rain beating down against your window was enough to tell you how the rest of the day would go.

Seokjin had driven the two of you to the train station to retrieve your mother and her new husband later that day. You'd said your greetings and shook hands with the new man in her life, but nothing went beyond simple conversation. Once you all slid into Seokjin's Porsche Panamera GTS (which your mother had complimented many times in just the first few minutes), you kind of clocked out, sitting silently while your brother and mother conversed, occasionally dragging her husband to share a little more about himself. All the while, you stayed silent, checking your phone every so often when Yoongi would send texts your way.

Your mother had brought up how successful Seokjin had been with the company, and it only spiraled from there . . . your mother going on and on about all the achievements that your brother had accomplished. Not once did she mention anything about your career.

It was clear she still didn't support the path you'd decided to take. You knew she hadn't. You knew she never did. The snide remarks only became worse after your father's death, oftentimes resulting in her phone calls turning sour once she brought up the fact that your father would be disappointed in the person you'd become. She claimed the daughter of a businessman shouldn't have wasted her life like you had.

You knew it was childish, but you could help but feel a certain jealousy toward your brother. Even now when the two of you were approaching your thirties, your mother still instilled that subtle competition onto the two of you.

But you knew no matter what the competition would always end the same way . . .

Seokjin would always be the golden child; and you the second child, the restless child.

Sometimes, even now, you wondered if maybe your father's opinion would've changed. If it did at all. Before his death, you remembered seeing him at your house right before you'd left for the train station. There, he'd caught you at the front door, a moment of silence passed between you before he gave you a simple nod and retreated back into his office. That was the last time you saw him.

You wondered if that nod meant more than a goodbye. Yoongi had told you months ago your father had been proud of you. Maybe, unbeknownst to your mother, the nod your father had sent your way before your departure . . . had actually been a nod of approval.

But how could you have known?

Your father had passed. He was one with the weeds now, and here you were along with your brother and mother (and god help you, her second husband), left to remember your father on the three-year anniversary of his death. There was no knowing what that nod truly meant. Not now anyway.

Now . . . it all felt a little bittersweet.

You couldn't help but sigh at your thoughts.

Today would be rough, you decided as you slowly shifted in your seat, tuning out the voices around you and leaning your head on the window, silently watching the streets of Seoul zip by. Your eyes traced a raindrop sliding down the window, wondering when you'd reach the restaurant your mother had booked for dinner. (She had the bright idea that since both her children were in the same place for once that having dinner as a family to remember your father was the right thing to do. You, however, wished you had the guts to decline the offer, but there you were anyway.)

Another sigh left you, then you felt a hand touch yours, gently squeezing. Your eyes flicked to the touch, discovering that Seokjin had reached out to grasp your hand, catching onto the discomfort you'd expressed. You glanced up at him, finding he was still glancing between the road and the rear-view mirror while conversing with your mother. But his hand was gone with one final squeeze.

A smile lifted onto your face. He'd wanted you to know he was there. The smile grew a little more.

Then, your phone buzzed in your lap, gaining your attention. You turned it on, only to be met with a text from Yoongi.

Yoonie Blow a gasket yet?

You stifled your snort and unlocked your phone, quickly replying to him.

You Almost. Still the black sheep, apparently

The three dots appeared immediately. Then the blue text followed.

Yoonie I finished early. Want me to meet you guys at the restaurant?

You sucked your bottom lip under the grasp of your teeth. You did want him to come. Really you did, but you didn't want him to feel like he had to. You—

Another text from Yoongi.

Yoonie Don't do that self-doubt bullshit, angel. Let me be there for you

You couldn't help it, you smiled. Then your fingers were typing for you.

You I'll text you the address

Yoonie That's my girl

It only took a few minutes before you interrupted your mother on one of her rants, and asked your brother the address to the restaurant, stating Yoongi wanted to join. You covered up your almost too obvious relief by claiming he wanted to see your mother to pay his respects. And that was that, Seokjin recited the address and you forwarded it to Yoongi.

The rest of the ride, you sat there silently, with a soft smile on your face.

Dinner only came with more problems . . .

. . . all starting with your mother's husband butchering his speech.

"I—uh . . . I've only been in your mother's life for a short time now, but I just—I wanted—I would like to say how much I'm thankful to be here with you all—you kids . . . today. I'm sure your father—uh your husband—Mr. Kim would be pleased to see you all together, so without further adieu—" your mother's husband stammered on, raising his drink— "a toast. To—"

"Oh, darling," your mother interrupted, lowering her husband's arm. "We only toast with champagne."

No, you didn't. She'd never done that before.

He blinked. "Oh, right."

Your mother simply smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Family tradition."

No, it wasn't.

"Well, I think that should start us off," your mother quickly stole the attention of everyone at the table, eyes immediately going to Seokjin before flicking between you and Yoongi. "How have you been Yoongi, dear?"

Yoongi leaned back in his chair. "Well," he hummed in a calm tone, lifting the rim of the beer bottle to his lips before taking a swig. "Everything's well. And you?"

“Splendid.”

Time ticked on from there, a few words being exchanged between Yoongi and your mother as she asked him about his job at the music company he was a part of. (You didn't miss the way she wrinkled her nose in judgment when Yoongi went on about the new album he had in the works, featuring various artists and even some with his own voice. She was still the same woman she always had been: too headstrong to see another path other than the one she knew.)

After a few faked smiles and meaningless words, your mother set her sights on Seokjin once again, smiling brightly at him while she questioned how the company was doing. They went on and on and on, all the while her husband sat idly by, nodding as words were exchanged. He seemed nice enough . . . maybe a little pathetic, but nice.

And almost too predictable, you sat silently, hands clasped in your lap as you occasionally picked at your food. She hadn't asked you a question in forty-five minutes, and you were beginning to think she wouldn't. Not that it bothered you too much, you'd already expected this. But what you didn't expect was to see Yoongi shift out of the corner of your eye as he placed his arm on the back of your chair, lightly stroking your shoulder with his thumb.

It was a simple gesture, but it was enough.

You glanced up, finding his warm eyes.

With Yoongi by your side, you could get through this meal. You could.

But . . . then you heard your mother's voice and this time her sights were set on you. Shit.

"So how have you been, dear?" your mother asked, a tight smile on her face.

You stayed silent for only a second, questioning if she were actually addressing you, and then you were speaking. "Oh, fine," you muttered out, clearing your throat. "I've been trying to get back into the studio and—"

Almost as if on cue, your mother cut you off with a scoff. "God, still? I thought after the contract you were going to give it up?"

"When have I ever said that? It's my career, mom," you instantly muttered out, clenching your hands into fists on your lap. "I'm just taking a break, trying to find a muse, if you will."

Your mother sighed, sipping from her glass as she glanced back at her husband. "Wouldn't you rather go back to school and do something noble?" she questioned, glancing at your brother next with her brows raised and a small smile on her face.

She'd always done this: taken little jabs at you. There was not a day that went by where your ears weren't filled with her little comments, pin-pointing one of your decisions that she had quickly claimed were mistakes. Dropping out of college? Mistake. Moving to Busan? Mistake. All of it. Your entire life had added up to one big mistake in her eyes.

Half the time you didn't know if she said the things she did to teach you a lesson or because she just wanted to hear herself talk. You didn't care either. It made your blood boil nevertheless.

But you'd learned not to talk back. It only made things worse. So with your blood boiling, you cleared your throat and averted your gaze to your plate, expecting her to go on and make her point.

Except . . . her voice never came. No, instead, the man beside you spoke.

"You don't think art is noble?" Yoongi questioned, his voice dark as he shook his head and scoffed. "Contributing to culture . . . that's not noble?"

Your mother's eyes were on him in an instant. Redact that— everyone's eyes were on him, even yours.

A second of silence passed. Then another. And one more before your mother released a strained laugh almost like she couldn't believe someone had actually questioned her words.

And then, she spoke. "I think my dear daughter got in over her head and now that her contract’s up she realizes what a big mistake she's made," she clarified, pursing her lips. "You always indulged her in these fantasies. I've never liked that." She glanced between your stunned face and the stern look in Yoongi's dark eyes. "Besides, it is none of your business. Off scamming people into buying overdone music. What would your father say?"

That snapped you out of your daze as you turned to face your mother, brows furrowed and lips in a straight line. "Mom," you began with a shake of your head. "Don't talk to him that way."

Your mother only clicked her tongue, but she didn't say a word.

In fact, no one uttered anything.

Until . . .

"Alright," Yoongi muttered under his breath, leaning an elbow on the table as he gestured toward your mother. "I apologize in advance but—Your daughter's work is impressive."

A scoff from your mother. "Please."

Yoongi clenched his jaw, a muscle twitching there. "Her drive, her technique, her entire essence is poured into each and every one of her pieces and people see that. People live off that. They admire it," he went on, his voice stern, but not as calm as it had been before. "She's only twenty-six and yet she's been all over—Paris, New Orleans, London, Melbourne . . . all—all over the States, and Europe and that's only the half of it. Do you know how rare, how groundbreaking that truly is?"

Your mother stayed silent, but ever so uptight. She didn't dare glance your way.

And Yoongi only continued from there. "It's sad how you can't see it . . . " he trailed off. His eyes flicked to yours as he inhaled sharply, but the breath was barely audible. You, however, had heard it, and your brows twitched, wondering what he was thinking. He'd answered your wonderment shortly. "She has spent the last four years building her career up, inspiring people all over the world, and still . . . a few words from you and I see her revert back into herself."

You swallowed hard, placing a hand on his forearm. "Yoongi, you don't have to."

He'd only shook his head, a soft smile on his face that was only meant for you. "I know, but . . . I want to."

I want to. You closed your eyes, soaking in his words.

He'd turned back to meet your mother's cold gaze a mere second later. "The world never teaches you how to dream, but it always promotes competition. You've been pitting the two of them—" he pointed between you and Seokjin— "against each other from day one, and she's too good to say anything, but I'm not. I've seen what you've done. The way your words broke her down . . . but she always got back up. She's always kept going, and it paid off." He tongued the inner corners of his mouth, scoffing slightly with a shake of his head. "If that's not admirable . . . if that's not noble , then I don't know what is."

"I see," was all your mother said.

It was enough, however, to coax a sigh out of Yoongi as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry. I know I'm making a scene, but . . . you don't get to sit there and treat her like that," he uttered out, gesturing toward your mother once again. "You don't want to support it, support her, then fine. She doesn't need your bullshit support anyway. But . . . you best respect her. She deserves that much."

And all that met him was the silence. All eyes remained on him, but yours especially never left his face.

"Well . . . " Seokjin coughed out after a painful minute of piercing silence. "The pork belly here is really good."

All eyes lifted off Yoongi, shifting toward Seokjin before the three of them immersed themselves into quiet conversation once again. You knew your mother would never let Yoongi live this down, but for now, there was nothing left to say. Even so, your eyes remained on Yoongi's hardened face, desperately wishing to spill everything on your mind.

At that moment, you were reminded of the silly promise you'd made to each other when you were kids. He'd always have your support, and you'd always have his. You'd promised each other that . . . and he'd kept that promise today.

Your hand met his a second later, squeezing. Carefully, you watched as his eyes flicked to your hand in his, then slowly flick up to meet your gaze.

A smile tipped onto your lips. Thank you, it seemed to say.

He smiled back, threading his fingers together with yours. Always, he'd replied by grazing your knuckles with his thumb.

You'd decided to ride home with Yoongi, bidding farewell to your mother at the restaurant before you slid into his car and the two of you took off. There was nothing left to say to your mother. She didn't want to talk to you anyway. Bringing up what had happened at the restaurant would only start a fight you didn't have the energy to deal with, so going home with Yoongi was your best option (it was also the only option you even wanted to think of).

And while the ride to the apartment was silent, it was not uncomfortable. His hand stayed tangled with yours the entire drive. It wasn't driven by heat or anything like that; it was just a simple touch, a simple comfort for the both of you.

I just want to feel that you're there.

Reminds me that this is real.

Those had been his words he'd shared with you the night of your date, and they'd stuck with you. You were sure they always would. Reminds me that this is real. It was. You found solace in that.

His words remained on your mind as he pulled into the parking lot and the two of you made your way up to your apartment. Only once you got inside, and flicked off your shoes, did you turn to Yoongi, drowsily rubbing your face before you entered his room and laid on top of his bed, snuggling into his pillow. He'd only laughed in response, saying something about Seokjin being home soon, but nevertheless curled up right beside you, tugging you into his chest.

The two of you just laid there, a mess of limbs, relishing in the sound of each other's quiet breathing. This was real.

"Is this awkward now that you've seen my dick?" Yoongi abruptly muttered into your hair.

And you couldn't help it, a loud laugh escaped you. You knew what he was doing. You knew his words had only left him in an attempt to cheer you up with everything that had happened that day. (You'd be lying if you said it didn't work a little.)

"More than seen it," you softly replied with a small smile on your face.

He tugged you closer in response, one arm securing around your back with the other tangled in your hair, massaging your scalp. You relaxed into his touch, breathing in his scent—a mix of jasmine and wood. You realized you finally felt at peace there in his arms. That only made you smile wider as your eyes fluttered shut and you nuzzled your cheek into his chest.

This was real.

But time ticked by and you grew anxious, wishing to tell him how much you appreciated what he had done for you that night. He'd always shown his elders respect, so standing up to your mother like that was uncharacteristic of him. He'd done it for you, and that meant more to you than you could even begin to fathom.

You bit the inside of your cheek, releasing a soft sigh. "Thank you . . . for back there," you mumbled, rubbing your hand up and down his chest, finally stopping just above his heart where you drew circles with your pointer. "I just . . . I can't stand up to her."

"You will . . . one day," Yoongi simply replied, pressing his lips against your forehead.

Time ticked by. You weren’t sure how much, you just let it drone on, allowing yourself to melt completely into Yoongi's arms. It must have been at least half an hour later when the front door to the apartment clicked open and shut a second later, followed by shuffling footsteps approaching Yoongi's open bedroom door.

Neither of you bothered to rip apart, Yoongi whispering reassurance in your ear that your brother wouldn't catch on. And you put your faith in him, tilting your head slightly just in time to see Seokjin step under the threshold of the door. You gave a soft laugh and waved him into the room.

A soft sigh left Seokjin as he stepped into the room. "Move over," he huffed, approaching the two of you on the bed and climbing onto it, shifting onto the open spot just between you and the wall. With a strained groan, he laid down, his back on the bed, shifting one arm under his head while the other lazily draped over his stomach.

You poked his armpit, earning another groan before you turned back to Yoongi and laughed into his chest. Yoongi only patted your head, smiling down at you.

Seokjin smacked the back of your head in retaliation, and you only laughed more. And while it was dark, you were sure your brother had a small smile on his face as well. Nevertheless, his words changed the course of your mind as he hummed out a, "Well . . . that happened."

You, of course, knew what he was talking about: the dinner.

And Yoongi did too, as he stiffened under your touch.

"Are you mad?" you found yourself asking.

Seokjin only gave a dry laugh. "God, no, I just didn't want to fight with her," he explained, clicking his tongue and then inhaling deeply. "She's just . . . she has a strong personality."

You nodded. Then, your hand was reaching out to pinch his side. "Yeah, you're just like her," you teased, wishing the heaviness of the day would just disintegrate if you tried hard enough.

"With that logic, you're just like dad," Seokjin retorted, flicking your hand away.

With that, you dropped your hand. Maybe there was some truth to his words. Maybe . . . maybe you really were like your father. Parts of him could've been seen in you. You knew that. You just wished you knew what parts of him you'd inherited.

You swallowed, hard, feeling at a crossroads once again.

And as if sensing your shift in mood, you felt Yoongi's hand trail down your arm, nails grazing the slope as they reached the palm of your hand then spread out to your fingers, all the way up to the tips. It was a comforting gesture, one that numbed your mind, and you found yourself sighing into him.

"He would've hated that," Seokjin's voice came again, tearing you from your mind. "The dinner . . . "

Yoongi snorted.

And you laughed. "Oh, completely. He would've walked out within the first five minutes."

"Snuck out the bathroom window or something," Seokjin added with a shake of his head.

"He wouldn't even go that far to hide it," you countered, humorously. "He'd just leave."

"You're right. You're right."

But while the silence enveloped the three of you, the darkness consuming your sight, your mind began to wander. All you could think of was the funeral. You'd stayed until the end, then hopped on a train as soon as it was over. You hadn't stopped once to let anyone approach you or to ask how your brother or even how your mother was taking it. You'd just left.

How could you just leave like that?

How could you—

The floodgates had begun to tremble and you knew what was happening. Fuck. No, no, no. You didn't want to cry. Not now.

You just . . . you'd spent so long running from feeling all of this, from mourning the death of your father that it'd begun to build and build and build. And now? There was nowhere to run . . . and you didn't want to. Not anymore. Not again.

That, however, didn’t make this any easier. Letting yourself feel wasn't something you were used to. So with an unsteady mind and fear pounding in your chest, you opened the floodgates . . . willingly this time. The tears followed short, your entire body convulsing with quiet sobs.

You felt your brother and Yoongi go stiff as you quietly sobbed, quickly bringing your hand to your mouth to cover the sounds. And they let you, knowing this . . . this was what you needed.

"I just don't get it," you gasped out. "We weren't even that close. Why do I miss him so much?"

Yoongi hadn't released you from his grip, him squeezing your arm made you realize this. "Because there was a chance you could've been closer," he mumbled, whispering it to you both and Seokjin, knowing the both of you needed to hear those words.

A second of silence passed.

Then, a hand fell to your hair, petting the back of your head, and you knew the hand belonged to Seokjin. His voice filtering through your ears a second later confirmed these thoughts. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing right by him with the company," he admitted, shocking you so.

What?

But . . . Seokjin had always been so sure of his decisions, always so sure of himself.

You glanced over at him, brow furrowed in confusion. "How do you mean?"

Seokjin swallowed so hard it echoed in the air before he muttered under his breath, "Mom thinks I'm doing so great, but . . . If I make the wrong move, I could tank the company . . . that would be like letting him die in vain." He shook his head, and when he spoke again, you could hear the uneasiness in the way his voice wavered. "Sometimes when deals fall through or I fuck up a meeting . . . it feels like I'm failing him."

Oh. You’d never thought he felt that way. He was Seokjin, the golden child. He didn’t doubt. He never had. So then . . . ?

A bitter laugh left your brother. "His shit's still there, in that office. His telescope's sitting there and I swear sometimes I can still see him standing there, looking out of it at the moon . . . and then I hear him and I can never tell if he's saying he's proud of me or if I've failed him."

And then you realized.

Growing up, Seokjin had always needed affirmations. He'd always sought them out, and he'd looked for them with his head held high. He'd made it known to your parents how a new watch for acing a test was what would let him know he'd done well. You'd never been that way. You'd always sought out their approval, silently, so silent that perhaps they hadn't even noticed just how much you needed it. You'd always paved your own way, searching for your own approval while Seokjin looked to his parents, knowing exactly what he wanted and how he was going to get it. You saw this now.

While you had been quiet, Seokjin had been vocal.

It was as simple as that. The two of you were different: two sides to the same coin.

Perhaps your parents had seen this too. Perhaps your father had.

And maybe you were looking too much into it, or maybe . . . maybe you were right. But . . . with your father's passing, he'd signed all of his materialistic things in Seokjin's name from his company to the watch he'd always worn. He'd done this to show his son he could continue on his name, and in doing so, he'd make him proud. While . . . he'd signed away a large sum of his savings in your name. Maybe . . . maybe he'd done that because he knew you'd use that money for what you wanted, not for what everyone else desired. He knew you'd take that money and do something good, something grand, something utterly you.

Perhaps that was his own way of letting you know you'd made him proud.

He was proud of you, and he'd be proud of you now, Yoongi's words filtered through your ears as you remembered what he told you your first night back in Seoul. And you chose to believe that.

Your father had been proud of you. He knew you would find no use, no inspiration in the materialistic things he'd once owned. No, he'd left you that money so you could do something more.

A smile lifted onto your face as you realized this. Your father would be proud to see what Seokjin had done with the company, and he'd be proud to see what you'd done with your career. You chose to believe this.

And you chose to admit it aloud as well.

With a nod of your head at your thoughts, you reached out to squeeze your brother's arm. "Dad would be proud of you, Jin," you spoke softly and quietly as a single tear slipped down your cheek. This time you didn't wipe it away. "He left you all that . . . so when you looked at it, you'd see him. Those were his prized possession. I think, in a way, you were too." You nodded once more. This was the truth. "He was proud of us , in his own way . . . and he'd be proud to see how the company turned out."

A second of silence passed before Seokjin rested his hand atop yours. Thank you, the gesture seemed to say and you only offered him a smile in the dark.

The silence was lighter now as it encircled the three of you in its embrace. Perhaps the truth wasn't so scary after all.

Minutes later and you swore you were almost drifting off into sleep when Yoongi shifted beside you and groaned, "Are we all really about to sleep in my bed?"

Your brother barked out a laugh. "Afraid so, Min."

Yoongi only grumbled in response.

"He's such a grouch," Seokjin tsked.

You nodded. "Tell me about it."

"I can hear you," Yoongi bit out, pinching your side.

A soft laugh left you as you twitched in his arms. "He says that like that wasn't the point."

"He's just—"

But Yoongi cut your brother off before he could speak. "Yah!" the man hissed, pulling away from you and turning on his side, his back now facing you. "If you're both going to sleep in my bed, then at least shut the fuck up."

His outburst brought a certain silence once again, you and Seokjin stifling your laughter before your brother turned away from you and faced the wall, rolling onto his side. He grabbed a pillow and hugged it to his chest, and that was when you complacently sighed and turned to face Yoongi's back.

A soft smile twitched onto your lips as you shuffled closer to him, snaking an arm around his waist. Yoongi immediately grabbed your hand, tugging you closer to him as he intertwined your fingers with his and pulled it to his chest. You shook your head in amusement and placed your cheek against his back, nuzzling closer to him.

You knew wrapping yourself up into Yoongi like this was risky considering it could give Seokjin the hint that the two of you were more than friends. But you didn't care. You'd try to figure out a lie later if he asked. But right now . . . right now you just wanted to blissfully drift off into sleep with the scent of jasmine and wood consuming your being.

And you did exactly that.

True to his word, the following week you found yourself staring up at the tall corporate building with Yoongi standing by your side, taking in your stunned expression with mirth in his eyes. You knew he'd belonged to one of the largest music companies in the country, but you'd never seen it in person, only in photos, so standing before it, realizing just how small you were compared to the building towering over you, felt a little unreal.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Yoongi approach the front doors. You cleared your throat, clutching the hem of your skirt to tug it down before you followed after him (yeah, yeah, yeah, you knew it was stupid to wear a skirt in the beginning of November, but hey, the weather was on the warmer side, so fuck it).

Once inside, many people greeted Yoongi, mumbling a good morning to him, and then referring to him as Suga . You’d only quirked your head to the side in confusion as you followed him into the elevator, then down a hall.

Only then did you address your confusion. "Suga, huh? Stage name?"

He glanced over at you and flicked your nose. "So smart, dollface.”

"Fuck you," you grumbled, swatting at his hand. "Why Suga?"

"Stands for shooting guard.”

You snorted. "You are so predictable.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he huffed before he glanced around, then tugged you down another empty hall. Instantly, he slapped your ass, chuckling when you jumped at the touch.

You shot him a dirty look.

Yoongi ruffled your hair. "You're lucky we're in public, you know?" he spoke under his breath before he tugged you further down the hall, not giving you enough time to adjust to the warmth pooling in your lower stomach at his words.

Finally, he stopped in front of a door in the middle of the hall, and you were left to observe. A keypad met your eyes, and then you caught sight of the sign labeled Genius Lab , and you couldn’t help but snort.

"Genius Lab?" you mused, quirking a brow at him.

He glanced over his shoulder at you. "Something funny?"

"Nope, nope, nothing.”

A click of his tongue was your only response as he dipped to punch in the passcode.

"Passcode, too?” you remarked, teasingly. “Wow, I'm impressed you've managed to remember it.”

The lock beeped, unlocking as Yoongi rested his hand on the handle but didn’t shove it open. No, instead, he turned to look at you once again, this time sighing. "Yeah, well, when you forget it once and lock yourself out for four days, you tend to make it a point not to forget it again," he admitted, a little bashfulness to his tone.

"Again," you hummed. "Predictable."

Yoongi only rolled his eyes before he pushed the door open. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, get your ass in there," he huffed, shoving you inside the small studio.

Once inside, your eyes widened. All around you laid equipment, a desk and a chair to match among other things that just had Yoongi written all over it. But what caught your eye was his old basketball jersey hanging up on his wall as if overseeing all of his success.

You remembered that jersey.

Before one of his games, he’d asked you to sign the inside of it, claiming it’d give him good luck. And you’d signed it willingly with a wide, toothy grin on your face. You’d almost forgotten but there it was staring right back at you, and you couldn’t help but smile.

You even found yourself approaching it, hand stretched out to check if your name was still there. “You still have—Ow!"

But you never reached the jersey. Instead, Yoongi slapped your ass once again, this time harder, halting you in your actions before he sat down on the gaming chair with a cheeky grin on his face. Under your harsh gaze, he leaned back, arms resting on the armrests as he spread his legs while raising his brows at you. That same damned grin remained on his face.

"Yoongi, seriously?” you all but spat.

Yoongi bit the tip of his thumb, eyes dragging down your figure. "Sorry, couldn't resist.”

You only crossed your arms over your chest. "What if someone heard that?”

"Soundproof.”

"Oh.”

(You ignored the warmth pooling in your stomach at what that tiny detail entailed.)

Yoongi grinned wider. "C'mere," he commanded, patting his thigh.

And you couldn’t resist. You reached him, sitting down on his lap and leaning your back against his chest as he shifted underneath you to secure his arms around your waist. His chin rested on your shoulder, and he hummed a sigh of relief. Perhaps he felt safe with his arms wrapped around you, too.

"So this is it?" you found yourself asking, eyes still searching the dim-lit room.

"Were you expecting more?"

"No, I didn't mean it like that," you mumbled. "I mean . . . this is it. This is your life. It's you." You turned to face him, smiling. "I just—Thank you for sharing it with me."

"You're a part of my life," Yoongi simply said. "A big part of it. I wanted to share this with you."

You couldn’t help it, you scrunched your nose just as you felt your heart swell in your chest. "You really are just a big sap, you know that, Yoon?" you all but giggled before you pressed a kiss to his nose.

"Shut it.”

Another laugh came from your lips. You averted your gaze to the equipment laid out in front of you, your mind wandering. "So, is this why you wanted to take me here?" you questioned your thoughts aloud. “To share this with me?”

"Yes and no," Yoongi mumbled against your skin. It was almost as if he were hiding himself from your view. "I wanna . . . wanna show you something."

The next second he was reaching for a black notebook placed neatly at the corner of his desk. He slapped it down in front of you, and began turning the pages.

He paused his page flipping. "I told you about the new album I'm writing, right?" he asked.

You nodded.

Then he gripped the page in between his fingers, seemingly hesitating for a mere second before he sighed and continued flipping until he paused to reveal a page consumed by messy handwriting.

Was this one of his songs?

But Yoongi’s voice filtered in through your ears before you could get too inside your head.

"It's, uh, it's different from my other work. There are still different artists weaved into certain songs, but for the most part, it's all me: the lyrics, the music, the voices . . . " he trailed off, tapping the page. "I got the idea almost a year ago now. I just—I wanted to try something different, you know? And inspiration struck so I just kept writing and writing, and the album kind of . . . wrote itself?"

"Is this you saying I get to have a sneak peek?"

"Yeah, yeah, I guess so," he chuckled under his breath as his hand trudged through his hair. "I've been experimenting with rap and I'm taking vocal lessons too, so there's some of that. I wanted it to be raw, you know? Real." He wet his bottom lip, glancing at the side of your face briefly. "Every song's inspired by something that’s happened in my life, so I guess . . . I guess I wanted an outside opinion to see if it's shit or not."

You only grinned at his response, eyes meeting his. "Min Yoongi, are you nervous?" you taunted, poking his side.

"If that's what you call this—” he tongued the inner corners of his mouth— “then yes," he sighed humorously before he trudged his hand through his hair once more.

"You're so cute.”

"God, don't call me that.”

You clicked your tongue at his response. "OK, OK, let me hear it.”

He looked at you for a second as if hesitating, then he reached for the headset resting on the desk and placed them over your ears. He went to work after that, turning on the computer and sifting through his folders until he reached the file he desired. Then, with an inhale, he hovered the mouse over it and took a glance your way.

"There's one song that I think needs tweaking, so . . . it's up to you to tell me what's shit about it and what's not, got it?" he informed you, his words sounding awkward on his tongue.

"Yoongi, I don't know anything about music," you reassured him.

"Bullshit," he playfully scoffed. "You grew up with me, you've got to have a good ear on you."

"No promises.”

He only responded with a shake of his head.

A second of silence passed.

Then, he spoke again. (God, he really was nervous.)

"OK . . . this is an older work. I've switched it up a little over the years, added lyrics, but by lyrics I mean it's got my tone-deaf voice on it so you've gotta keep that in mind," he warned as he tongued the corners of his mouth again. "If it's shit, it's shit. Spare me the looks, just ask to move on and we'll move on."

"You really are nervous," you mused. Then, you leaned forward, squinting your eyes at his forehead before you tapped a finger to his brow. "Is that sweat?"

He swatted your hand away. "Yah, don't tease me.”

You only snorted, waving him off as you turned your attention to the computer.

His voice came again, even more hesitant now. "Oh, and um . . . here—" he tapped the notebook again, drawing your eyes down to the words sloppily written across the page— "it's the lyrics. The rough draft anyway. Just . . . read along while it plays and uh . . . make any marks you think best."

You nodded. "Press play, Yoon."

"Right.”

The song began with the soft strumming of a guitar, creating a simple melody in your ears. You touched your hands to the headset over your ears, a soft smile lifting onto your face. It was silly but you could’ve sworn you’d heard this song before. Then, his soft, deep voice joined the soft guitar. His voice was breathy and slightly off-key but it worked with the overall soft hum of the song . . . but your mind was still stuck on the rhythm of it, the tune, the ambiance. It felt almost nostalgic to you.

And then as the song played on, you realized where you had heard it before.

This . . . this was the same song Yoongi had first ever composed. It was the same song he played at his first gig; the first song you thought might have been composed for you; the song he played the night at his bar. This song you now knew had been for you, but you hadn’t understood the extent of it until that very moment.

As his voice filtered through your ears, going into another verse, your face slowly fell. You weren’t upset or anything of the sort . . . rather . . . you had caught onto what he was saying, what he was telling you through the lyrics. You’d first thought it to be a thank you when he’d played it at the bar, but now . . . you were sure this was an apology.

You blinked, eyes burning as you flicked your gaze down to the notebook. You flipped a page, searching for the verse playing in your ears, and when you found it, you couldn’t ignore the lump in your throat that had begun to form.

You can let it go, you read and your heart swelled in your chest.

This . . . this was written for you; for the years you’d been burdened by life. It was an apology, a thank you, an ode to you.

An ode . . . there . . . that put you at rest. It was an ode.

You lost yourself in the song, the lyrics, the guitar, all of it in that moment. And you just let it consume you.

The song trailed on for another verse, but your mind was too preoccupied spinning and spinning farther away from you. You couldn’t wrap your mind around it. This was the song he’d first composed, the same one he’d shared with you on that train when you were kids, the same one he’d played for his first gig, the same one he’d played the night at his bar. This was the song he’d written long ago and . . . he’d written it for you.

Your mind only spiraled from there . . .

It all made sense now.

You couldn’t stop yourself. The next second you reached forward and restarted the song, letting the tune consume you. The lyrics were more clear now, and you had to stop yourself from gasping as the song filtered through your ears once more.

The song began painting the image of you and Yoongi riding your bikes to catch the train—the very train that would take you to the art gallery . . . to your first show. You’d had no care in the world back then. Everything was not a big deal, because you hadn’t let it become one. You only realized just how blind you were to the rest of the world when you returned home that same night and had to face the music.

The backlash you’d received from your parents when you returned, Yoongi by your side, hadn’t bothered you then. It hadn’t been a big deal, not when Yoongi had looked at you with pride and adoration in his eyes. It didn’t matter if your parents didn’t support you, you’d done well. Your own support along with Yoongi’s had been enough for you back then.

It was still enough now.

The next verse delved into the many celebrations you'd had on your own, not bothering to invite your parents. An image of you surrounded by the smiling faces of your friends greeted you then. A warm feeling bloomed in your chest as you remembered the surprise Hari had orchestrated after you sold your first painting.

All the other times you’d thrown little party after little party after each success crossed your mind then. You’d never invited your parents, instead sharing your achievements with your close friends over a few bottles of wine. That little family you’d found on your own had been enough for you.

It still was.

However, as the song played on, the gentle baritone of Yoongi's voice mixed with the subtle guitar, you realized there was one particular verse that your brain stuck on. Matilda, you talk of the pain like it's all alright but I know that you feel like a piece of you's dead inside, the lyrics filtered in through your ears as you pin-pointed the verse on the notebook, checking with your very eyes to see if you'd heard it correctly.

When you saw the exact words splayed out on the paper, Yoongi's notes written in the margin lines, you couldn't help the twitch in your brow. He'd truly written that. That was exactly how you knew the song had truly been for you. And as your eyes flicked up to catch the title of the song splayed out in chicken scratch at the top of the page, your suspicions were further confirmed.

Matilda. That had been the song’s title.

Matilda. The silly little movie you’d watch over and over again as a kid, oftentimes forcing Yoongi to sit through it with you.

Matilda—the tether that had been keeping the two of you bound to each other for years now.

That silly little movie had helped you through the darkest of times, relying on it like a crutch. It'd kept you going, serving as your drive. In other words, Matilda had been your inspiration, and you had been Yoongi’s Matilda. You realized now he had been yours for a while now, too.

He’d brought the sun to the darkest days. Truly. He’d been your helping hand, pulling you out of the darkness, and you’d done the same for him. An eternity of pushing and pulling at one another, simultaneously keeping each other afloat in the dark abyss of life.

The suspicions you had of the song mapping out the course of your life bit by bit, only furthered when you listened closely to the next verse. Yoongi's voice came from the headset, whispering that you didn't need to be sorry for leaving your hometown and growing up. He'd reassured you there was nothing left for you. You'd deserved to move on; deserve to live for yourself instead of for everyone else.

Your heart swelled. For so long you’d been burdened by leaving home for a better life. You tried to figure out why it bothered you so, not realizing all you really needed was for someone to tell you it was going to be alright. You’d only needed a little reassurance all along.

His voice filtered through your ears again, another deep baritone verse began to play, painting an entirely new picture. The song went on to repeat how you didn't have to be sorry for doing it all on your own; for living your life on your own. You swallowed hard. You'd done it all on your own.

And you really had.

You’d done it on your own because you’d believed you had to. You didn’t need to do that anymore, to guard yourself so harshly.

You didn’t need to do it alone anymore. But all the same, you didn’t need to apologize for going off and leaving your parents behind.

What happened was not your fault. You’d loved your parents in your own way. While there may have been regrets, there was no need to stick this burden upon yourself.

Another verse, and the voice—Yoongi's voice—was reassuring you that they—your family; the words of the past—couldn't hurt you anymore as long as you could let them go. As long as you could let the past go, release it from your grasp, and release yourself from its burden . . . then you could truly live.

Forgiveness was what you needed. You needed to forgive them. Then, you needed to forgive yourself.

You’d repented long enough. It was time to let the past go.

The song slowly sang the last two verses, the words the same. But a simple line stuck out to you. It was Yoongi singing, his voice lower compared to the rest of the song, his words painting the picture that you could surround yourself around people who would always be there, who would always support you. You didn't have to seek their validation.

As the song iterated, this family that you could start all on your own would be yours. It wouldn't be tainted by the past. It was yours, not your mother's or your father's ghost . . . it was just utterly yours.

You could move on; you could let yourself move on.

And just like that, the floodgates opened . . .

Unable to stop yourself, you blinked, more tears trickling down through the floodgates and onto your cheeks. You never knew he could see just how much the burdens placed on you by your parents had wielded your mind. You never knew he’d seen that part of you—the part of you still searching for validation with wide, hopeful eyes.

You can let it go, the song had sung. These were the words he couldn’t say but so desperately wanted you to know.

It was a simple message.

He’d told you long ago that jazz had started in a little place in New Orleans where no one could speak to each other, so they spoke through music. He’d spoken to you through this song . . . and you’d heard him.

You heard him.

And he saw you.

A hand touching your arm was the only thing to bring you out of your trance. You blinked, a few more tears trickling down your face as you glanced over your shoulder to meet Yoongi's searching gaze. He looked almost . . . anxious. It was cute, you thought.

"So?" he muttered out, clearing his throat when he heard the hoarseness of his voice. "What'd you think?" He wiped away your fallen tears with his thumbs.

You only stared at him, taking him in. For a long time now, you hadn't truly looked at Yoongi. But there he was, staring right back at you and you couldn't help but get wrapped up in his features. From his button nose to the smile lines just in the crinkle of his eyes, you took all of him in. Your eyes even fell upon the small freckle on his nose, and you remembered you'd claimed it as your favorite thing about him when you were a mere child. It still remained one of your favorite things about him.

But Yoongi, more anxious than he'd ever let on, shifted beneath you, averting his gaze briefly as a hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Is it creepy?" he sighed, closing his eyes in regret. "Fuck, it's a creep move, isn't it? I knew—"

"Min Yoongi," you quickly cut him off with a soft laugh, "you really are a sap at heart."

Slowly, Yoongi glanced up, eyes wide. "What?"

You laughed a little louder in response.

God, you loved him.

"You wrote me a song," you simply said, a toothy grin still on your face.

His expression lifted at your words, then he tilted his head, screwing up his face as he strained out, "Well . . . "

It was your turn to widen your eyes in astonishment. "An album ?"

Yoongi sent you a sheepish tight-lipped smile, and nodded. "Is it entirely too . . . sappy to say you've been—" he shrugged, thinking of his words before he continued— " something of a muse to me?"

"Yes, entirely. "

"Guess I'm fucked then."

You shook your head, your cheeks beginning to hurt from smiling. But you didn't care. This was bliss.

And in your blissful haze, you shifted in his lap a little more, wrapping your arms around his neck before you pressed your lips against his. The kiss was fleeting, but it managed to warm your entire being, providing a comfort you never thought you'd need.

You pulled back a second later. "No, not entirely fucked," you mused, kissing his nose, right on the freckle you adored. "You're lucky I'm so self-absorbed." A click of your tongue, and you continued. "I mean, don't get me wrong, this is totally just charity work, but what can I say? I just love my fans."

Yoongi's eyes roamed over your face as he shook his head. "You're the worst," he hummed, a hint of a smile twitching at his lips while his hands remained at your waist, keeping a steady grip on you.

"Clearly, not," you taunted, brows furrowing. "I mean damn, you're giving me a big head."

A low groan escaped Yoongi as he tilted his head back, baring his neck to you. "The worst," he muttered, his Adam's apple bobbing as he spoke.

That was enough to set you off, lust immediately filling you.

What?

He had a beautiful neck. God, did he ever.

Almost subconsciously, your hand came up to fist the hair near the nape of his neck, tugging it back ever so slightly to reveal more of his neck to you. You only grew greedier as your mouth attacked his neck. You licked a long strip up the column of his neck, running over his Adam's apple, and vocally voicing your approval when you felt him swallow under your touch.

You continued your exploration of his neck, pressing open-mouth kisses up his jaw, lapping and swirling at the skin as you made your way to his ear. You teased the skin just under his ear very briefly, sucking the flesh, and you could've sworn you'd heard him inhale sharply as his hand tightened on your waist, but it was too quiet to be sure.

Then, you devilishly grinned against his skin before your tongue flicked out to wet his ear. You took it a step further, enveloping the lobe of his ear into your warm mouth, swirling your tongue around the piercings while you gently sucked the skin. When you bit down ever so slightly, he'd shifted beneath you, a soft, barely audible moan being coaxed from his chest.

At the sound, you sucked lightly on the indents you'd made, slowly pulling back with a complacent smile sitting on your face. His head lolled forward, lidded eyes connecting with yours as you took note of his slightly parted lips.

"Still the worst?" you smugly questioned, trailing a finger along the marks you'd made on his neck.

Yoongi only shook his head in disbelief, grinning as he briefly tilted his head back, a vocal sigh tipping from his lips before he straightened his neck and locked eyes with you once more. Definitely not the worst. He just didn't want to admit that.

Didn't matter. You had other plans anyway.

"So—" you began, dragging your nails down his chest in a gentle graze— "soundproof, you say?"

"Yeah, yeah, shut up," he snorted, pushing your face away.

Oh? He didn't understand what you were getting at. You stifled a laugh. Cute.

That same misunderstanding gave you enough motive to exploit it. You'd shifted on his lap, steadying your hands on his shoulders so you wouldn't fall as you placed knees on either side of his thighs. You didn't stop there, either. No, instead, you decided to tease him, tilting your hips ever so slightly toward him as your short skirt rode up your thighs. Never once did your eyes meet his as you sat down completely on his lap, skirt now bunched up at your hips and red panties peeking out just enough for him to see.

Only then did you flick your eyes up to meet his, a half-grin twisted onto your face as you took in his expression. He was looking at you like that again—mouth slightly parted as dark, lidded eyes traced your features, glancing down to where your bodies met every so often. You gave a roll of your hips, to confirm your suspicions. As you rutted against him, your core brushed firmly against his hardened length straining in his pants, and you grinned in response.

"Wanna put it to use?" you questioned. "The room . . . of course. We could listen to the album all the way up . . . or . . . "

His eyes grew darker, clouding over. "Don't tempt me, angel," he groaned under his breath, but his grip on you tightened, his arm wrapping around your back as he pulled you closer. His other hand drifted to your neck, thumb grazing your jaw. "I can only control myself for so long around you."

Something snapped within you, your core aching for him. That was when you felt it—the sticky wetness clinging to your folds. You rolled against his length again, coaxing a soft whimper from your lips while you watched Yoongi close his eyes, jaw clenched.

"Can't help it," you all but whined, fisting his shirt in your hand. "Want you to fuck me so bad. You wrote me a song, Yoonie. Let me show you how grateful I am. Please .”

"Don't say that," he muttered through clenched teeth, eyes still closed.

"Why not?" you breathlessly questioned as you ground against him again, almost certain your wetness had leaked through your underwear and now begun to form a wet spot on the front of Yoongi's pants.

A low groan sounded from the back of his throat, and he didn't give you time to think before his hands were gripping your hips again. His grip on you tightened, holding you in place as he bucked up into you, grinding his clothed length against your aching core. Your grip on his shirt became a lifeline as he rolled his hips against yours, stimulating your clit with every thrust and leaving you a gasping mess. But the feeling was gone almost as soon as it came as Yoongi grasped you against him, arm wrapped around your waist again, securing you to his chest as his other hand threaded through your hair. He'd tugged on your hair just enough to bare your neck to him before he'd leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

And then . . . then he spoke. "Because it makes me want to rip off those soaked panties and fuck you right here like the dirty girl you are," he darkly whispered, his voice stern yet slowly cracking under your touch.

"And that's a bad thing?" you questioned, drawling out your words. You trailed your eyes down his chest, catching sight of the uneven breaths. A smirk quirked onto your face at the sight before you slipped out of his grasp and sunk to the floor, kneeling between his spread-out legs. "Want you to fill me up, Yoonie. Want you." You placed a hand on his thigh, squeezing lightly.

"Fuck," he groaned out, elongating the word as he dragged his hands through his dark locks. "I had a plan, you know?"

"Mmm, plans change, plan guy," you hummed, pleasantly, rubbing your hand up and down his thigh. You glanced at him through your lashes, lips twitching upward as you leaned forward and began placing your lips on his thighs, kissing him through the fabric standing in your way. "You've been teasing me all week. Making me sit on your cock. Taunting me with it. Do you know how many times I've had to get myself off in the shower, pretending my fingers were . . . something else. It's just cruel, Yoonie."

His hands dragged down over his face, covering his features from your view. He gave a vocal sigh, and hissed out a laugh, "What are you doing to me?"

"You say that a lot," was all you managed, hands coming up to trace the zipper to his pants.

He dropped his hands, resting them on either side of the armrests, and clutching them so tightly his knuckles turned white. "You make me think it a lot," he admitted, eyes attentive as they watched you slowly unzip his pants, then teasingly fold down the hem.

Your eyes flicked up to his face, watching his expression. "This OK?" you pondered aloud, asking for permission.

Much to your elation, Yoongi could only nod, not trusting his tongue as he clamped his jaw shut. You were tugging his dark pants off him with his help as he lifted his lower body so you could pull the material down his legs. In a second, you threw the pants on the other side of the studio, eyes quickly falling upon the impressive tent in his boxers. His eyes met yours then, brows raising as if to say, Go on.

And you obliged with a roll of your eyes. Your hands were on him again in an instant, curling around the hem of his boxers before you'd tugged those off his body and discarded them on the floor. With eyes flicking back to his lower half, you were met with his hardened length, standing tall, the pink tip damp with precum. He was all shades of beige, pink, and so very very enticing. You couldn't help but grind your core against the heel of your shoe, creating little friction to subside the ache blooming within you.

You swallowed hard, your eyes meeting his. He stared back at you, eyes dark and lidded and solely focused on you and your every movement. You felt like the focal point of his attention; his muse as he had said.

That very thought spurred you on. With a slow bat of your lashes, a knowing smile touched your lips ever so slightly as you shifted on your knees, leaning closer to his lower half. You'd wrapped your hand around his shaft, thumb grazing over the small slit at the head of his cock as you spread the precum. The touch was enough to coax a hiss out of him. A grin was your only response as you traced the rim around the head. You had him right where you wanted him.

A darker gaze clouded over your eyes then, not looking away from him as you slowly—so slow it could be considered torture—licked the head of his cock. Your warm tongue lapped over the small slit, gathering all the precum in your mouth. Your eyes fluttered closed as you swallowed his arousal, humming a soft moan of contentment, already working yourself up over the thought of seeing him squirm under the touch of your tongue.

But you didn't get the chance to take him in your mouth again.

"Fuck it," you heard him hiss out instead.

His hands were on you in an instant. With a startled gasp, your eyes flung open just in time to see him stand to his feet, pulling you up along with him as he kicked the chair, letting it hit the door without a care. His lips found yours a second later, sucking, biting, and melding your tongues together in a punishing dance. You melted into his touch, humming sounds of approval as his grip on you tightened at every noise which spurred from your throat. You couldn't even pinpoint where his hands touched; one second they were squeezing your hips, then your sides, your ass, your tits, everywhere. It was almost as if he couldn't get enough of you, trying to memorize every curve and slope of your body.

Then, he pulled back, leaving you breathless with your lips swollen and tingling from his torment. Your eyes fluttered open a second later, finding his gaze already on you, taking in the swell of your puffy lips. And then . . . then the bastard dropped to his knees, eyes flicking from your panties to your flustered face. He didn't give you enough time to react before he pressed you back, your hands shooting out to stabilize yourself against his desk. Generously, he allowed you to inhale sharply before his fingers hooked around the hem of your panties, pulling them down along with your skirt, and tossing them somewhere.

You whined at the coolness which met your bare core, rolling your hips ever so slightly. This seemed to amuse Yoongi further as a sly grin slid onto his face while he looked up at you with mirth in his eyes.

"Eager?" he taunted, tonguing his inner cheek as he continued to grin.

A huff from your lips was the only response he gained from you. You didn't trust your tongue. But as he hoisted one of your legs up onto his shoulder and blew cold air across your aching cunt, earning a strangled gasp from you, you couldn't help the words which left you. "Oh, fuck you," you hissed out, tightening your grip around the desk that was holding you up.

He pressed a teasing kiss against your inner thigh. "So mean," he mumbled before he began to suck, lapping and biting a bruise into the skin.

"Ngh! You are infuriating, Min Yoongi," you rushed out as you felt his lips suck higher and higher, inching closer and closer to your core. "Living in my goddamn head for months now. Dreaming of your touch. How your tongue would feel. Your fingers. That cock. God—" He flicked his tongue across your clit ever so slightly, and you yelped— "fucking sadist. Fuckin—Ah!"

His mouth was on your core in an instant. All words died on your tongue, your mind numbing as you felt his tongue lick a strip up your slit, dipping into your warm heat briefly before his mouth closed around your clit, sucking the nub. You were left a panting mess, rolling your hips against his skilled tongue as he continued his punishing torment, lapping and sucking at the sensitive bundle of nerves, simultaneously making you forget every thought until all you could think was fuck, fuck, fuck.

You wished you had more room to balance yourself so you could thread your hands through those dark locks, but he kept you pinned against his desk. It was utter torture, twitching under his warm tongue and not being able to touch him. You whimpered against him at the thought.

His hands gripped around your ass, squeezing the flesh. "So that's how I get you to shut up," he mused, darkly. He flicked his tongue repeatedly over your sensitive nub, the motion quick and blissful. Then, he pulled back, pressing a taunting kiss against your core before he spoke again. "Noted."

In that moment, flustered with pent-up desire, you gathered the strength to peel your eyes open and look down at him, finding his eyes already on you as he blew cool air across your dripping cunt in an attempt to soothe the pulsing. But you knew there was only one thing that could satisfy that deep ache.

"Please," you rasped out, voice hoarse you barely recognized it. "Please, fuck me."

Yoongi only grinned wider.

Cocky bastard.

You whined in response. God, you'd never been this deprived before.

His mouth was on you again the next second, sucking on that bundle of nerves. And you were left to grind against his tongue, shamelessly. He chuckled against you, the vibrations only spurring you on more.

"Needy needy needy," he mused as his thumb grazed up, dipping into your heat ever so slightly. "And so . . . wet. "

But you were stuck on his other statement. The cocky son of a bitch was mocking your words. (It seemed Min Yoongi didn't like to be teased, and well, neither did you.) So you found yourself scoffing. "Oh, you are not using my own words—ah—" your words were cut off as a sharp staccato yelp left your lips when his sucking against your clit became more intense, needier . . . like he was truly a man starved, in need of your desperate whimpers— "against me, Min Yoongi."

"Always so sensitive," he remarked, gently grazing his teeth over your clit, earning a jerk of your hips from you. “Needy, too. ”

You cursed under your breath as you felt his tongue lay flat against your core once again. And you couldn't help it, you rolled your hips, grinding against his tongue, brushing your clit in just the right way. A low moan sounded from the back of your throat as you felt the familiar coil in your lower stomach begin to wound up. You began to chase it, breaths coming out faster as you quickened your pace, being held up now solely by Yoongi's tight grip on your thighs and ass.

Throwing your head back, you fisted a hand in his hair, not caring if your legs gave out on you. Yoongi would keep you steady.

Losing yourself in the feeling, the rhythm of your hips snapping against his skilled tongue was enough to coax continuous soft moans from your puffy lips. And just when you felt the coil begin to tease you a little too much, Yoongi slipped two fingers into your heat, curling inside of you right where your sweet spot lay. You cried out, core clenching around him as you continued to fuck yourself on his tongue while his fingers pumped in and out of you at a punishing pace.

It became too much, your lower stomach tightening as your muscles pulsed. "Fuck, oh fuck—Yoongi, I don't think I can," you stammered out, your rushed breathing turning into desperate pants.

"I know. I know. Let go. Let go, baby," Yoongi hummed.

Let go, he'd whispered, and you complied. His fingers stroked your sweet spot, his mouth sucking on your swollen clit as the coil snapped, causing you to cry out. Your muscles tightened, your core pulsing as your high broke through every part of your body, your head tilting back in ecstasy as those soft moans pipped out of you in hiccups. His fingers stayed inside you, mouth still working against you as he helped you ride out your high until you were whining and twisting in his arms from overstimulation.

His hands were soft against your skin, gently helping you stabilize yourself against the desk as he stood to his feet. He wrapped an arm around your waist, stepping closer to you until you were chest to chest, with his face dipping into the crook of your neck. A whimper left your lips when he bit down on your sweet spot, then lapped at the indentations. But that soft whimper was all it took before Yoongi was kissing you again, his lips rough and needy against yours. His tongue melded with yours and that was when you tasted it—your arousal coating his tongue.

You couldn't help it, you moaned at the taste. There was just something about how bold he was; how much he wanted to eat you out. It was arousing, almost too much to the point your entire body buzzed once the taste hit your senses.

Even more, it was almost embarrassing the effect it had on you. Because one second you were still recovering from your orgasm, then with one taste, you were aching for him again, subtly guiding your hand down to his still solid length. Your hand wrapped around the base, coaxing a shocked groan out of him, and at the sound and feel of him, you couldn't help but whimper in response.

"Please," you all but cried into his mouth.

Guiding his cock to your core, you used the tip to smear your arousal around, even going as far as to punish yourself when you grazed over your clit. Another whimper vibrated in your throat as the painful sensitivity hit you, but you continued brushing against him as you flicked your gaze to meet his, searching his eyes for an understanding. You were only met with a cheeky grin.

His hand clasped around your jaw, putting pressure there. "Still want my cock even after I've made you cum?" he silkily taunted. His other hand reached around to grab your ass, kneading the plump flesh just to hear you whimper under his touch once again. He chuckled, darkly, shaking his head. "You really are a dirty girl."

"I hate you so much," you huffed out, clearing your hoarse voice.

Bemused, Yoongi scrunched his nose, tilting his head to the side as he dragged his eyes down your body. "Nah, you really don't," he countered, biting his inner cheek as his eyes lifted back up to meet yours. "You wanna know how I know that?"

You could only nod, swallowing hard.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him wrap a hand around the base of his cock, replacing your shaking fingers. Then, you felt the tip line up with your entrance and you nearly bucked forward. Fuck. This was really happening. This was—

"Because, this—" the tip of his cock jutted inside your folds, making your breath hitch, but he didn't sink any deeper— "doesn't lie."

A noise sounded from the back of your throat in preparation, but much to your dismay, Yoongi slipped out of you. You all but whined at him, glaring as he chuckled at your protests.

"Yoongi, you motherfucker, if you don't fuck me right now I swear—"

"Swear what?" he cut you off, a warning thumb pressing down on your clit.

You stood shocked, jaw shut tight. No words came to mind. You just stared at him.

That seemed to amuse him further, eyes twinkling with mirth, so much so it almost took over the glassy look. "Ah, empty threats," he hummed, clicking his tongue as he loosened his grip on you. "Be a good girl for me and turn over. Wanna see this ass."

With a final squeeze to your ass, he stepped back, allowing you enough room to do as you pleased. You stared at him a little longer, swallowing hard as the aching between your thighs became unbearable. Then, you did as he asked, turned around, and bent down over the desk. Shamelessly, you spread your legs and arched your back, giving him a full view of your needy cunt, glistening with arousal.

A low groan sounded from him at the sight of you, only making your cunt throb more. But you didn't have time to bask in his shameless approval. His hands were on you the next second, placed on your hips, his fingers digging into your hipbones as you felt him step an inch closer to you. He leaned down over you, chest pressed against your back as he kissed your hair.

"Want me to fuck you, angel?" he murmured into your hair, and that was when you felt him grind his cock into your bare ass, eliciting a sound of shock out of you.

"Fuck, yes," you breathed out, arching into his touch.

With a dark chuckle, he pulled away from you but his hands remained secure around you. "Prove it," he mused, squeezing your hips. "Can you count to five?"

What? You nearly rolled your eyes at his antics. Always the one to tease . . . Min Yoongi. (You'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy it thoroughly.)

Still, you had half the mind to question him. "Is that supposed to be some stupid attempt at undermining me?"

"Nah—" one of his hands had shifted to grip your ass, kneading the plump flesh as he pulled the skin taut just enough to catch a further look at your aching core— "just wanna see if you can keep count for me."

"Keep count for—"

A hand came down on your ass, pain rippling from the impact.

"Fuck!" you cried down in a high-pitched moan, jerking forward against the desk.

That was when you realized what he just did. Yoongi'd smacked your ass. He'd actually just spanked you. And fuck, did it manage to turn you on even more. You felt yourself clench around nothing as you collected your thoughts.

Then, you heard his voice. "You like that?" he questioned, hesitance entangled in his tone almost as if he were asking for your permission to continue.

God, did you shamelessly shake your head ‘yes, yes, yes!’ with so much vigor you were sure you'd made yourself lightheaded. That, however, had been enough to amuse Yoongi as he chuckled above you, his hand kneading your ass once again.

"Good, count," he hummed before he spanked your ass once again, kneading the flesh to soothe it when you cried out.

"Two," you choked out, trying to grip at anything to stabilize yourself.

Yoongi continued spanking you, leaving you a mumbling mess as you counted with each pleasurable smack. You were sure your arousal had begun to leak down your inner thighs now as he delivered a fourth smack to your ass. Groaning a sigh of approval, Yoongi pulled your cheeks taut, your aching core on display for his eyes. He couldn't help himself, he touched his pointer and middle fingers to your cunt, dipping into your pulsing hole and giving you a few teasing pumps before he pulled out of you completely.

"Almost there, baby," he affirmed, his voice strained.

You nodded, readying yourself before he brought down another spank onto your ass, causing you to whimper a soft, five.

"So good," he cooed, leaning down to kiss your clothed back. "Such a good girl." He kneaded your sore cheeks, soothing the ache.

Once able to catch your breath, you stammered out, "Why—Why five?"

"Halfway to ten," Yoongi remarked and you could practically hear the smirk on his face. "Gonna fuck you through the other half." You felt him shift behind you, then the feeling of him aligning the tip of his cock with your entrance made you arch your back in anticipation. He chuckled once more. "You still want it raw?"

You could only nod (a little too quickly).

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. "Gonna need to hear the words, baby."

You all but groaned. "Yes, Yoongi! Fuck, yes, fuck me raw, please I can't—shit! "

The tip of his cock dipping into your folds cut you off entirely. And then, he was sinking deeper, inch by inch, making you forget your train of thought entirely. Fuck, was he thicker than you remembered, stretching your walls as you clenched around him at the feeling. But you didn't mind the slight burn; you welcomed it, tilting your ass toward him, taking him further.

Uneven breathing left your lips as you basked in the fullness which came along with his cock sliding snugly against your tight walls. Your breath hitched in your throat just as you felt him bottom out, your core taking him all the way until the hilt, the feeling of your ass pressed flush against him hitting you all at once.

He groaned out a series of curses, gripping your hips tightly as he gave you time to adjust to his length. You ached with desire, clenching around his thickness, and nearly making him falter. You couldn't help it, it just felt so fucking good—the feeling of being filled by him. It was utterly carnal.

"Yoongi," you breathed out, already breathless as the feeling of him inside you quickly morphed from slight pain to immense pleasure and the desire to be fucked. "Please, please move." You all but sobbed, discarding your dignity as you openly begged him. "Wanna feel you."

"You're gonna be the death of me," he groaned before he drew back, leaving only his tip inside you.

A brief second passed. Your breath hitched. Then, he snapped his hips, plunging into you with such force, the tip of his cock nearly kissed your cervix. And he didn’t stop there, he continued pounding into you, setting a ruthless pace and fucking you through your uneven gasps. You clenched around him, gripping onto the edge of the desk to stabilize yourself as his cock sunk deeper and deeper, hitting places you’d never even felt before.

You couldn’t think. You couldn’t breathe. You only felt the pleasure of his cock fucking into you, wet squelching sounds filling the air, tangling with his soft grunts and your low moans.

Pain suddenly pinched your ass, coaxing a high-pitched moan from your lips as you realized Yoongi had spanked you. Your core pulsed, squeezing him tighter at the mere thought.

"Feel so good," Yoongi groaned out, voice hoarse as his fingernails dug into the soft flesh of your hips. "So fucking tight. Shit, greedy pussy taking me so well. Fucking greedy. Fucking filthy.” Another spank to your ass before he pulled your cheeks apart, watching as his cock fucked into you. “Fuck." He slowed down his pace, rolling his hips, hitting deeper and harder than before if that were even possible.

His pace began to steady, fucking you hard but not quite as fast as before. It was almost as if he were trying to savor this moment; flesh you out entirely; feel all of you. And you were left at his mercy while he spanked your ass when your moans grew louder.

Then, he pressed a hand to your lower back, pushing down for a better angle. And fuck. Once his hips snapped, his cock plunging into you at that same agonizing rate, you felt him brush against your sweet spot. Unable to stop yourself, you cried out, a panting mess as you pulsed around him, sucking him in.

Yoongi chuckled, dry and sensual. "Oh, yeah? There?" he hummed, amused.

"Yes, god, yes! Don’t fucking stop," you moaned out, not even trying to hide just how close you were to the end.

Another chuckle came from his lips at your words as he continued fucking into you, hitting that sweet spot over and over. His hands were gripping your ass again, squeezing the flesh and pulling it apart to watch his cock plunge deeper and deeper into your wet folds. "This fucking ass," he growled. He actually fucking growled as his fingernails dug into your cheeks and he quickened his pace ever so slightly. "Can you do one more for me, baby?"

And you knew what he meant—his words holding a double meaning. You knew the answer to both.

With dignity out the door, you nodded, mouth wide open in ecstasy. You were sure you’d begun to drool onto his desk, but you didn’t care. This was too good. Too fucking good.

The warmth pooling in your lower stomach only heightened as you felt his hand deliver one more pleasurable spank to your ass, coaxing a high-pitched moan out of you. But you weren’t given time to adjust to the slight pain in your ass. No, one second you felt the small pinch, then the next, Yoongi was bucking into you with such vigor that you had to shoot your hand out to stop yourself from hitting the wall. You didn’t even care. You just felt Yoongi’s thick cock hit your sweet spot again and again, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

The coil taunted you, winding and winding up. You could only moan in response, begging for it to snap. That was when you felt your core clench, practically causing you to sob under the force of his cock snapping into you.

"You gonna cum?" Yoongi chuckled through his breathless grunts, his pace never letting up. "Can feel you sucking me in, clenching around me. Greedy greedy greedy."

He was mocking you. You’d get him back . . . eventually. But right now? God, you didn’t have half the mind to care.

All your care slipped away entirely the moment his fingers dipped around you, pressing down on your clit as he rubbed firm circles onto the sensitive nub. You cried out at the added stimulation, ears beginning to ring as you thrashed underneath him.

Still, through the ringing and your own cries, you heard Yoongi command, "Cum for me, yeah?"

And you obliged.

Everything pulsed as he kept his relentless pace, hitting your sweet spot over and over again as his fingers worked skillfully against your swollen clit while you chased the coil. It tightened and tightened, rings of pleasure building and building. Then, you heard a small groan leave Yoongi’s lips, and that set you off. The coil snapped inside you, allowing you the release you had so desperately desired. You screamed out, hands sweatily sliding against the desk while your cunt clenched around Yoongi’s cock, squeezing him for all he had as you melted into your blissful high.

He fucked you through your high, allowing you to unravel completely. He gave you a few more pumps before he pulled out, his cock still hard and aching for his own release. But he let you come down from it all, whispering praises in your ear and rubbing your back as you tried to calm your breathing.

When you could finally get a grasp on reality, you weakly lifted your head and glanced over your shoulder to find Yoongi leaning over you, lust still clouding his expression and . . . cock still hard enough to cut granite. You swallowed; a deep part of you—the part that had been waiting for this moment of union for years now—still ached for him . . . to feel him . . . in every way.

As if reading your thoughts, Yoongi whispered, "Think you can take a little more? . . . Don’t worry if you can’t. I rather like the idea of cumming on your tits." There was that sly grin again.

You only bit your lip to halt your own grin. "I want you to cum inside me, Yoonie,” you hummed, sweetly.

The grin on his face grew, causing him to shake his head. You amaze me, that grin seemed to say. And you relished in that fact alone.

He leaned toward you, kissing your cheek. “Such a good girl to me. So fucking sweet," he whispered before he leaned back, allowing you enough room to move. "Turn over. Wanna see you."

And who were you to disobey?

With a dopey grin on your face, you used all your strength to stand to your feet, finding your legs more wobbly than you thought. You laughed at the feeling, stabilizing yourself against Yoongi by placing your hands on his shoulders for support. He’d only hummed at you, softly dragging his knuckles down the slope of your body before his hands met the material of your shirt’s hem. He’d lifted it off your body, adding it to the tossed clothes on the ground.

Much to his surprise, your bare chest met his gaze. You beamed up at him, no longer sheepish at the fact you’d chosen not to wear a bra that day. Yoongi only raised a brow, eyes flicking from your hardened nipples to your glassy eyes.

“Presumptuous?” he mused, placing his warm hand over the mound of one of your breasts. The action made you sigh into him, tilting your head back ever so slightly. "So beautiful.” He pinched the nipple between his pointer and thumb before he dipped his head down to catch your neglected bud in his mouth. Briefly, he sucked the peak before pulling back and releasing it with a pop. "Fucking angel."

"Careful, Min—"

He cut you off as soon as he pinched your nipple, twisting it between his fingers. A mangled breath hitched in your throat as you arched into his touch. Your eyes flicked up to meet his then, finding them consumed by mirth as that damned half-grin resided on his lips. He’d done that on purpose. Fucker.

"You were saying?" he teased, raising a brow.

A muscle in your jaw twitched. "Just fuck me, you asshole.”

Yoongi only grinned wider at that, pure amusement and raging lust consuming his soft features. "Only because you asked so nicely," he hummed . . . and then . . . he winked. He fucking winked.

But you weren’t able to respond before his hands were on you again, pressing you against the desk so you could lean your weight onto it as he lifted one of your legs onto his hip. He tugged you closer while one of his hands drifted down to his aching cock, gripping around the thick base as he guided the tip to align with your swollen entrance.

"Eyes on me," he clicked at you.

Your eyes immediately found his, searching through the sea of lust and mirth, and then you felt it—his cock slipping past your folds with ease now. It was almost impossible to stop the soft whimper which left your lips as you felt his hard length stretch your tight walls, inch by inch. You were sure you’d never get used to this euphoric feeling, and god, did you revel in that.

With one more inch, he’d bottomed out, your cunt taking him all the way to the hilt as the two of you inhaled at the feeling. You clenched around him, still sensitive from your previous two orgasms, and dreadfully tired, but Yoongi didn’t seem to mind. In fact, his eyes hadn’t left yours.

What shocked you, however, was the way he was staring at you, soaking in all your features as if in pure awe. It’d had an effect on you, making your brows twitch in longing. This was really happening. This was real.

The corners of Yoongi’s mouth quirked into a small smile. "Yeah, yeah, like that,” he whispered, softly before pressing his lips against yours.

Only a second had passed before he’d leaned his forehead against yours and whispered for you to brace yourself, before you felt his cock slowly slide out of you until just the tip was enveloped by your folds. He gave you just enough time to inhale, and then his hips snapped forward, bucking into you with a punishing rhythm.

The way he fucked you—relentlessly pounding into you, his nails digging into your hips as he hit all the right spots over and over again; it was almost sinful. You felt like a fucking sinner, and god did it make your soul burn with pride. And the soft grunts that’d sound from the back of his throat managed to raise every hair on your body. You never wanted him to stop.

And then . . . then you squeezed around him, milking his cock, and a soft whimper that was different from the rest left his lips, and you swore you thought you were going to melt right then. Because holy fuck, that was hot.

You repeated the action, purposely clenching around his cock as hard as your muscles would allow you, and that soft needy sound tumbled from his tongue, this time in short pants. It’d coaxed a moan of your own out of you, as you gave a light laugh. This, however, seemed to spur Yoongi on as he grunted, his grip on you tightening just before he began pounding into you at an even faster, harder, more relentless rate.

His thrusts left you a whining mess, forcing you to slam your hands down on the desk for support. And he didn’t stop, chuckling as he fucked into you. Then when he set that ruthless pace, you could have sworn you felt his cock twitch against your tight folds.

The whimper he gave a second later confirmed your suspicions. "Shit—I," he huffed out, his breathing uneven and jagged. His thrusts became weaker, his whimpers louder now, and his grip loosening as he continued pounding into you.

He was a fucking mess, and you thrived off it.

You swallowed your moans once he hit that sweet spot again. "What's the matter, Yoon? Gonna cum?" you taunted, relishing in the fact that you were making the stoic Min Yoongi an utter mess.

Yoongi lowered his head to your neck, stabilizing himself against you. "Gonna fuck that mouth one day you won't be able to speak," he grunted, grip tightening on your hip as he shifted your leg ever so slightly to plunge deeper inside of you.

"I'll hold you to it," you gasped, throwing your arms around his neck.

"Yeah?" he taunted.

"Ye—"

He’d bit down on your neck the next second, making you cry out in pleasure. "Yeah, take my fucking cock," he groaned out, snapping his hips at a faster rate, but each thrust became sloppier, less meticulous the more he indulged himself. He was close.

A dopey grin fell upon your face as you realized this, clenching around him again. He gave a groan of submission, his thrusts barely cohesive now. He was so fucking close. So so so close, and you reveled in this, wishing to tip him over the edge. With that thought on your mind, your hands shaky, you reached under your leg and cupped his balls, massaging them the best you could with the position you were in.

He nearly fell on top of you, bracing himself with one arm on the desk. "Like that—shit, shit, shit, like—fuuuuck, ” he whimpered out, thrusting once more before he stilled, his hips shaking slightly as a low moan sounded from the back of his throat. His hips gave a smaller thrust before he spilled his load into you as he tilted his head back at the pure ecstasy which consumed him.

You marveled at him, taking in his closed eyes and parted lips while he still held onto you as if he were scared to lose you the moment you were out of his grasp. You knew then that you really did love him. Truly. Completely. With your whole heart. You loved this man in every form, every way.

You couldn’t help yourself, you reached out to slick back his damp hair that’d stuck to his forehead with sweat. He’d slowly come down from his high, his cock twitching inside you once more before he lifted his head, eyes locking with yours as a dazed smile graced his face. His lidded gaze trailed over your face, flicking down to your lips before he crashed into you, melding your lips against his in a brief, warm kiss.

Then, he pulled back, but stayed close, his forehead pressed against yours. He stayed inside you, too, his cock softening inside your walls as his cum seeped past, trickling down your thighs. "That was—" he cut himself off, tilting back only slightly so he could see your face in full view. His brows twitched then as if he realized something before words that stunned you tumbled from his tongue. "I love you."

You snorted in disbelief. Sure, he felt something deep for you, but . . . come on. "Shut—"

He’d only cut you off with another kiss. "No, I love you,” he pressed again, his face lightening as the words left him like he was hearing them for the first time too; like he was realizing it for the first time. And then . . . then he’d smiled—a wide, genuine smile filled with teeth and crinkled eyes. "I—fuck—I love you." Another kiss to your lips, then your nose, your cheeks, and finally your forehead before he pulled back, still grinning down at you. "I fucking love you."

But you remained . . . shocked. "Yoongi . . ."

And you watched as Yoongi’s face quickly crumbled before your very eyes. "Damn, harsh, wait until I pull out before you reject me, sweetheart."

You were quick to stop him from pulling out of you, hands grasping his hips. "No, no, stay, I just . . . “

The words on your tongue died as your mind spiraled. The thing was . . . no one had ever confessed that to you before, let alone the only person you’d managed to love in your life. All the hookups, all the month-long relationships, all the people you’d toyed with over the years . . . and not one had ever loved you. A few of them had managed to convince you of this, but ended up cheating on you with someone else, someone better later down the line. So you’d never really believed anyone.

And now . . . now Min Yoongi stood before you, confessing that his heart beat for yours in the purest way possible, and you couldn’t quite wrap your head around it. You just . . . you needed to hear him mean it.

Your eyes finally flicked up to meet his again in that moment, lips pursed and brows furrowed. Then, you pressed a hand against his chest right where his heart beat, and you found yourself asking, “Do you mean it?"

In other words, you’d asked him if after all this time, after all the years, all the fights, all the history . . . did he truly want you. Would he truly accept you?

And Yoongi had only smiled, a soft comforting smile as if to say, always.

Then, he spoke. "I've been an idiot for almost two decades now,” he began, his hands quickly finding your face as his thumbs grazed your cheekbones. “I've let you slip through my fingers too many fucking times. I'm not doing that again. I'm not going to live a life without you. Never again. I've always loved you, angel. Just took me a little to figure it out . . . took me even longer to find a way to say it."

Your brows twitched at his confession, a small smile finding its way to your face. "You are such an idiot," you laughed as you placed your hands over his, nuzzling into his touch.

"I know. I know.”

And once his lips touched your forehead in a gentle kiss once again, you couldn’t stop the floodgates. Your eyes squeezed shut, your bottom lip trembling as you hummed shakily.

You didn’t know what had caused it. Perhaps it was everything at once. But one second you felt this tremendous joy, then the next everything was bursting out of you. And you couldn’t help it, you’d let a few tears trickle down your cheeks.

"No, no, don't—don't cry," Yoongi rushed out, wiping away the salty tears with his thumbs. "I hate making you cry."

"I'm not sad, you dumbass. Sometimes you are so dense, Min Yoongi," you laughed through your tears, kissing his palm. “It’s just . . . “

It was just . . . you were just so . . . happy. For the first time in a long time, you could pinpoint this emotion, and you felt it in extremes. This was bliss.

You unravel me, his words filtered through your ears then. You unravel me.

And you thought that was exactly how you’d explain the emotions you felt at that very moment. Min Yoongi had a way of unraveling you completely, allowing you to bare your soul, and you had the same effect on him. Funny . . . how that worked.

You unravel me.

Then, your eyes found his, and you couldn’t help but smile. "It's just . . . you unravel me, too,” you finally confessed, earning a stunned expression from Yoongi. "You unravel me." The words left you again as you nodded in confirmation. "Completely."

You were only met with Yoongi pressing his lips down onto yours again. Warm, needy, and safe. You found sanctuary in his kiss.

You unravel me. His kiss confirmed that.

The trip home was anything but calm.

You and Yoongi were all over each other—hands, lips, tongues, teeth. There was not a second the two of you disconnected from one another. Your touches varying from soft to hard to needy even, slowly melting your thoughts until all you could think about was Yoongi and his lips and his hands and god, what that devious mouth could do.

Even when the two of you reached your shared apartment, Yoongi couldn’t keep his hands off you. He’d pushed you inside, slamming the door before he pressed you up against it and pulled you in for another heated kiss. It didn’t take long before you were moaning into his mouth, begging for him to touch you more.

“Oh, greedy are we?” he taunted, sucking on your bottom lip. “Gonna fuck you so hard you lose your voice.”

You whimpered.

“Yeah?” he chuckled, darkly. “You like that? Want me to fuck that tight little pussy until you can’t scream no more?”

You opened your mouth to bite out a snarky response. Only . . . you never got the chance to respond.

One moment you were opening your mouth to retort, then the next you heard, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding.”

Your heart flatlined, wide eyes focused on Yoongi.

Ever so slowly, you turned your head to face the person, your gaze landing on your brother, Seokjin, who had most definitely seen Yoongi kiss you. Scratch that, he’d most definitely heard Yoongi say he was going to fuck you. That . . . that was definitely so much worse. So so so much worse.

The wide-eyed expression on your brother’s face told you all you needed to know. The secret was out.

Seokjin knew.

You swallowed, hard.

Fuck.

668 notes · View notes

saradika · 1 year

Text

— WASTELAND, BABY

part i. the fear and the fire of the end of the world

[masterlist]

boba fett x f!reader

rated E - 3.4k

tags: fallout au, post-apocalyptic, canon-typical themes, canon-typical violence & death, mentions and use of guns/weapons, death of people and animals, sort of slow-burn

a/n: I’m so excited to share this series with you! Reader is new to the world, so much will be explained (game knowledge not required to enjoy!)

The year is 2297, and your days in Vault 113 are spent among the pages of your books - of fairytale romance, of noble knights and handsome princes. That is, until you venture from your Vault, and are immediately thrust into the harsh and cruel world of the Wasteland.

And when you find yourself being rescued by a man in armor - you can’t help but wonder if those beloved stories might just have come true.

You still dream about the sleep.

In shades of sepia, the perfect days that never seemed to end. That always seemed to be just a little bit familiar, like you had taken each exact step before.

The idyllic neighborhood, slow jazzy notes floating in from open windows. Cars that rolled down the street until they were out of sight, always at the same time. Perfectly behaved dogs, in their neat, square yards.

Now - now that you're out - you don't know why it took you so long to notice.

Maybe you didn't care. Were content to play through that single, perfect day. To ignore - at first - the glitches. The fuzzy part of your brain that said that something wasn't quite right.

The itching memory, that something bad was going to happen. Something you had picked at, until it was raw and aching and oozing.

You wonder if that is why you woke up. That something in your brain triggered the stasis - the reason why on that morning, your eyes opened to shades of green and grey.

A dome of glass overhead, a sick pneumatic hiss when you hand flattened against it. The mask you tore from your mouth and nose as you were born onto the tiled floor, shivering and confused.

It had all come back to you.

The blaring of the siren.

The man, ushering your family into the vault.

The promise, whispered with clasped hands.

It will all be okay.

We'll be together, don't worry.

Climbing into the pod, the slow sleep that came after. Waking up, in your old life.

Never waking up that way, again.

You had sat in silence, for hours. Unsure of what to do, where to even start.

Freezing in place when there was a whirr, the sound of movement - as a robotic being rolling into the room, checking the readouts on the large display.

With thick treaded tires, and a sleek, domed head. A mass that looked like a brain floated inside with one large, fixed mechanical eye. It churned your stomach, as it chirped at you.

You are 1825 days ahead of schedule. Please return to your tranquility lounger.

The pod wouldn't let you back in, though you had tried. The red button pushed flat, the screen unresponsive. Leaving you alone and helpless as you looked at the circle of others.

Of your family and neighbors and friends, still in their perfect dreamland.

You lingered there, a while longer. Too afraid of what was beyond its safe walls. Only nudged into moving when the cramp of hunger became unbearable, until you couldn't take the repeating, robotic lines any longer.

Metal doors had opened into other rooms. Empty and sterile and shades of grey steel. Bits of your memory came back - the hallways you ran through. Glimpses of what lied in them, in your rush to the pods.

Eventually, you found a mess hall. Twin machines lined the walls - white with cherry red accents, rows of cafeteria-style tables in front of them. They were still humming with life when you approached, reading the lettering across the top in blocky, silver print.

VAULT-TEC FOOD SYNTHESIZER

The press of a button dispensed thick, pink paste onto the metal tray beneath. It felt like mush in your mouth, the vaguest flavor of something, but not enough to mask the unpleasant texture.

But, much like everything now - the loneliness, the isolation - you learned to bear it.

There are some things you found, in the days that came after, that were not quite so horrible.

A room full of beds, where you tested each one to find the best. Stripping the pillows and blankets, until yours was as close to cozy as you could get.

There was a device you found, in a room full of bubble-screen computers, with their black screens and green, blinking text. It sat half-out of its box on one of the tables, and you were unable to resist removing it from its casing.

A screen sat in the middle, on top of a thick, leather strap. A booklet fell out - the pages now dog-eared and crinkled from the amount of times you read it. The first lines still seared in your memory.

If you're reading this, a scorching wave of atomic fire has likely turned the surface into a wretched husk of its former self... which means your Vault has been activated! You now have in your own hands one of America's finest, easiest-to-use personal-computational tools: the Pip-Boy.

It becomes one of your prized possessions.

Sitting heavy on your wrist, an endless supply of screens and dials that entertained you for hours. Readouts and documents and even simple, chirping games to fill the empty hours with.

The other thing you came to cherish most was the library.

Well, you called it that - though it barely compared to the ones in your memory. It was a small room - a pair of plastic chairs, beneath a thick, metal shelf lined with books of all shapes and sizes.

You'd read them all, in the months you stayed there. Even ones that made your eyes burn with their dryness; Dean's Mechanics, Infiltration Techniques Vol. 2, Pugilist Quarterly.

Fingering tracing over the thin pages, trying to make sense of things you had never heard of before.

But your favorite were the fairy tales. Just four books, among the two dozen.

Grimm and Perrault. Andersen and Lang.

Their books thick and illustrated, the spines and covers stamped with gold.

The romances were the ones you visited, again and again. Younger you would have loved the macabre - evil witches, plucked out eyes, soul-wrenching betrayal.

But in this new world, you couldn't bear it.

You got lost in the pages. The girl who fell in love with the Beast, who was not so monstrous after all. Another, who risked everything to dance with the Prince, only to abandon him at midnight when the spell was broken.

When you grew bored, you created your own tales. Princesses that were swept off their feet. Knight fighting dragons, a fluttering in your chest when you thought about the romance.

The twisting and twining of limbs and tongues, the slow build that lead into soft, contented sighs.

They became your comfort, as the days passed.

So similar - in ways - to the ones when you had been asleep. The same routines. Paste, read, sleep.

The same clothes - the blue and gold jumpsuit you had woken up in. That the others wore as well, in their sleep. Each one the same, with the vault’s number emblazoned across the back.

On your Pip Boy you read it was to protect you from the elements outside - but here, it only added to the monotony of your day.

Every variation of an afternoon you had done at least once. Poking into every corner of each room. Fingers tracing over the glass screen of the pods, watching your family sleep.

Reading the books again, and again. Using the bits you picked up to learn more about your Vault, what had happened.

It took you a solid month to key into the computer terminal in the main office. Clicking on different words in the scramble of letters that poured across the screen, trying to crack the password protection.

Getting frustrated and giving up - only to come back again the next day.

Finally, the beep as you were let in. Clicking through the files, piecing together a mess of text that was scattered across numerous logs over the years.

That you were in Vault 113. That it was created in partnership with several more, and a copy of the previous, 112.

That some of the Vaults were created to be an experiment. A test to see how humanity would fare, released in key waves after the Great War of 2077.

Held in a cryosleep stasis - the first to be opened at 25 years, and then at 50. Continuing every quarter-century until 225 years has passed. Ending with your vault, scheduled to be released last.

The dread settles in as you started to understand what they had meant when you woke up.

That you were early.

That all you can do is wait.

You don’t even know where you’d even start - no idea if they would fare as well as you did, to be woken up ahead of schedule.

And so, the days ticked by. The marks you scratched on the wall next to your bed slowly increasing. One for each morning you woke up, until there's 182 of them lined up in neat rows.

Finally - coming to the realization that had been nudging at you for days, for weeks. The one that had been keeping you up at night, though you wished for the unconsciousness of sleep.

That you can't sit around for 4 and a half more years, just waiting. That wasn't a life, any way to live.

That you'd go mad, talking to your Pip-Boy, the robots that only had a few lines of verbal programming.

You had to know, to see. To go out.

Into the world. Alone.

You'd watched the videos.

The short animated films. The cartoon boy with the vault suit like yours, as he explained life after the fallout. How it would be different - tips on survival, how to keep sharp, how to use your own experiences and talents to your advantage.

It helped, giving you an idea of what to expect, but you hated them. The little acronyms, the cheesy animation - they seemed to mock the massive loss from nuclear annihilation.

The grainy, black-and-white recordings you find, after.

Prepared and left by the Overseer that no longer stayed there - who passed on the responsibility to the robobrains that still stood watch, when another Vault position opened.

They had made you weep, to think about what happened. Until you chest ached and your eyes stung. You couldn’t watch some parts, thinking about all those who had not been able to get away. Unable to help wondering about your extended family - your friends.

But it still hadn't prepared you for how vast and cruel the Wasteland was.

It had taken you another two weeks to actually open the Vault door. Dragging your feet as you collected supplies. Trying to pack everything you'd need while also trying to leave plenty in case someone else woke as you did.

Canteens of water, extra vault suits. The pink mush spooned into glass jars, clinking in your backpack, as you checked the space another time.

Leaving a note on the terminal, where you hope they'd find it.

But eventually, you had to try. You'd stalled long enough.

And so, after marking the Vault’s location on your Pip-Boy - you left.

You’ve been out for a week now. That alone feels like an accomplishment.

Not expecting how barren the world would feel, even with the preparation. It mirrors the muted browns from your dreams, though there's no hazy edges here.

Just a broken landscape of trees - still standing, stripped bare and bleached by an unforgiving sun. Crumbling roads, and what little grass endured was burnt and brittle. The air dry and thick in your lungs with the dust that kicked up, as you had carefully left the vault.

Misfortune had befell you almost immediately.

Barely out of the crumpled building that held the Vault, down the worn asphalt path, when there had been a scuttling sound. Fear and bile in your throat when a roach the size of a cat crept from the ruins, poised to spring.

Unable to do more than to grasp at the ground, fingers wrapping around a solid bit of wood. You can still hear the crunch of collision when you close your eyes, before you took off running, not wanting to see the aftermath.

The petrified branch still sits by the door, just in case.

In the half-standing farmhouse you've set up base in, until you're brave enough to wander further. That has been unnerving as well - seeing places that were different from your memories.

You had gone home, first.

It had seemed natural, though the fear lingered in your stomach, making your steps heavy. Following the road for three miles, all the while trying to force the puzzle pieces to fit. Broken bridges over dead streams, street signs that lead to crumbling, empty lots.

The road you lived on had been hit hard. It had ached - nothing left but the skeletons of your life before. Tumbling brick and rotting plaster. Chipped tile and broken floors, creaking under your feet as you stood where the kitchen once was. Must like your life before, it was just - gone.

The sentimental part of you had rooted around. Finding a rusting, red bottle cap in the ruins. A silver spoon found in the shattered remains of the counter where you grew up baking cookies.

You took them both, tucking them into your bag.

The farm you had found next, late the first night. You had been there before as a child.

The owners opened their property for apple-picking, hayrides, bonfires with sweet, melting smores. It had been a memory you had forgotten, until the bit of still-standing roof appeared on the horizon, beckoning you to it.

You'd do anything to have more of them. The memories.

The owners are gone now, as is the orchard. Just rows of thin trunks left, the branches dead and brittle.

With the wasteland around you - so very different from the safe, metal walls, the honeycomb of simple rooms - you wish you had stayed.

But much like waking up, you knew you couldn't. That you couldn't undo what happened, or forget the things that haunt you now.

Now - you spend your days wandering out. Poking around the barn to see if there's anything to take with you.

Finding a bit of joy, in some small moments.

In your books, as they soothe you to sleep. The stories are long-memorized but still bringing such comfort.

In the funny, two-head cow that had half-scared you to death when you first found it - that you know think is sort of cute. Almost poetic, in a way.

She wanders the fields behind the barn, and sometimes you go out to sit with her - keeping watch from a distance.

In your Pip-Boy, with the radio that hums out tinny tunes throughout the day - there's only a few of them it picks up, the songs on loop.

Picking through the holotapes of data - finding out that your new friend is called a Brahmin, mutated after years of radiation. It’s not much, but it's something.

It gives you hope that there might be someone else out there. It gives you the strength to think about moving on.

And you do find them - a semblance of civilization - but not in the way you hope.

You’re sleeping when it happens. Curled up in a bedroom on the second story, trying to avoid the holes that litter the hardwood floors.

It’s barely morning, the sunrise a weak, watery yellow as it peeks over the ridge. Though with a start you realize it’s not the light that has woken you. That rarely made a difference, after your time in the Vault.

Too afraid of the dark to turn off the light.

It’s the bellowing.

At first, you don’t know why it makes your skin prickle. After all, Minnie made those sounds when she first saw you - snorting and pawing at the packed earth, both sets of eyes dark and wide. Slowly settling, in the hours after - when all you did was watch from behind the fence.

The pieces click into place.

There was something out there.

You’re just getting up to look, when you hear a wild shout. The sound echoing, followed by a sharp, echoing crack.

The bellowing stops.

Your gasp is loud in the silence. Hand pressing over your mouth as your heart thuds in your chest - aching. The floor beneath you creaking as sink down onto it, trying to make yourself small.

But the voices move closer. Different tones overlapping, arguing - from the open field, then to the barn.

Then, to the house.

Your breath in your throat as the front door bangs open, a sharp voice cracking through the air.

“-lay off the fuckin’ Jet, mate. You’re fuckin’ paranoid as hell.”

The floor creaking as they move through the living room. An annoyed grunt, the rattle as something metallic clatters to the floor, making your stomach flip.

“Told you man, I heard somethin’,” Another voice answers.

Your heart drums so loudly in your ears, you’re certain it has to be audible. Tucked underneath the window, in clear view of the staircase.

If you don’t move, they’ll see you. You’re certain of it. The videos had warned you of the lawlessness, but nothing could have compared you for the fear that paralyzes you.

But, you try to be brave. Three feet to the right and you should be safe - your heart in your throat as you shift your weight, to move just out of sight.

The floor groans.

The voices downstairs stop.

You bolt.

Feet like lead, disconnected from your brain as you make for the stairs - thinking you can make it out. Skipping steps at a time, hoping that you won’t fall and break your neck. Ankles aching as you hit the bottom, sights set on the door the left open.

Almost making it out, when there’s a shout. A sharp “fuckin’ knew it” that sounds entirely too close. A gloved hand that reaches out, snagging your elbow.

Sending you off balance, slamming into the brittle wall. Pain radiates from your hip, the wood splintering from the collision. The hand closing around your ankle, yanking you hard.

The man pulls again - dragging you to the side, through the open doorway.

You’re gasping for breath, trying to yell - though nothing comes out. The air knocked from your lungs as you’re tugged across the porch, one of the steps cracking against your head as you try to grasp onto the railing.

It splinters under your grip, one of the spindles breaking free. He lets go when you reach the bottom, calling up to the second that lingers in the doorway.

“Check inside. See if there’s any more.”

A foot pressing against your shoulder, pinning you to the ground as he leans down, barking out a harsh laugh.

“Thought you could hide?”

He’s even more terrifying up close. Dark paint smeared around his eyes, dripping down his cheeks like tears. Dressed in a mismatch of leather clothes, nails driven up through the fabric at the collar. A spiked shoulder pad made from bent metal, the sharp edges a deep, rusted red.

You take a deep breath… and then swing.

The makeshift weapon collides with the side of his head, and then shatters. With a loud yell he stumbles, and you scramble - pushing yourself onto shaking knees, and then feet.

“Goddamn bitch,” He snarls, and there’s footsteps from the house, calls coming from the barn.

You don’t make it to your feet before you’re looking down the barrel of a gun. Fear and a strangled whimper in your throat as you hover in a half-crouch, hands coming up to shield your face.

A shot fires.

There’s a bright red light that sears through your closed eyelids, the smell of something burning. You open them just in time to see the man pitch to the side, his body glowing with a heat you can feel. Disintegrating as you watch, turning to ash before he hits the ground.

You can barely hear the yell from the others, the sound of your heartbeat drowning the world out. Faintly aware of one cracking shot, and then another, a deep reverb echoing across the flat plane.

Rocks skittering on the ground around you, the tremor of heavy steps and sharp mechanical hisses. Loud cries and shots traded as you cower, unable to look away from the scorched earth where a person just was.

And then, everything goes quiet.

A shadow falls across you, and you’re looking up. Seeing the figure that’s crumpled against the stairs. The unmoving peppering of bodies littering the ground, out near the barn. Never making it any further.

Up, and then up - to where a giant suit of armor towers over you. Painted in shades of green that you thought you had forgotten. A long rifle tucked in the crook of its thick arm, the end a hot, steaming red.

It’s head tilts - as a low, mechanical voice breaks through the silence.

“Its dangerous to wander the wasteland alone, ad’ika.”

ad’ika - little one

thank you for reading! 💚 part ii will be out thursday, the 9th! and if you’d like to get tagged, please fill out the series taglist here!

(0-pressure tagging some friends that liked the sneak peek 💕: @spaceydragons, @luladoll, @obiknights , @wingofshadow , @bobathirstaccount, @reluctant-mandalore, @ohheyitsokay, @floral-force , @valentine-tx, @dreamlandcreations, @vellichormybeloved)

#please mind the tags!#boba fett x reader #boba fett x you #boba fett x f!reader #boba fett imagine #fallout au

161 notes · View notes

hillbillyoracle · 2 years

Text

Journal Hacking

I’m not sure if this will make sense to anyone else but I wanted to document something I’ve been trying lately with regards to planning/bujo/journaling type things. Even if only so I can go back and see what I did lol.

So I have been bullet journaling in some form on and off since 2014. So it’s been a minute. And while I like it on the whole, it’s just not been working out for me lately. I tried a Hobonichi weeks mega and while I really like some aspects it’s just not enough room for me. My handwriting is not that small.

I ran across a simplified GTD-like system called Ugmonk Analog and I liked the principles (even if I didn’t like the price tag) so I adapted it to my new journal.

Ugmonk’s Analog system has three cards - Today, Next, and Someday. I’m just using notecards I have for this. I put the Today card on my cover with washi tape so I can see it without opening my notebook and easily write things down (my pen is in the loop to the side there).

The Next and the Someday cards - along with some others are in the inside. I made the pocket by taping one of the notecards horizontally and taping the two outside sides.

The long bit of text on the inside cover is the Heart Sutra. I like to write it on notebooks I’ll be using regularly so I pause and reflect on it more regularly.

In addition to Next and Someday cards, I have a blank one for scratch paper and one with my ideal timelines for doing home and personal tasks. The personal side is lacking, I’m kind of in a state of transition on that so I’m unclear what I want to do regularly. The house stuff never happens all the way but I like knowing what I’d like to do when I’m adding tasks to my Today card.

I think my favorite part of this system is the memory keeping part. It’s not super elegant or pretty but on the pack of each today card, I record any notable things about the day on the top (period, mood, fights, symptoms) with a hashtag, the weather, and then I fill the card with what I did that day. It’s been very helpful so far for jogging my memory throughout the week. I like that I can pull them out and see as many as I’d like throughout the week. I plan on digitizing them at the end of the year and keeping the last year as a hard copy.

I keep the card in this little green box. Might decorate it soon.

I don’t really feel like sharing my finished cards so hopefully this gives you an idea. I like that I can see what happened in a day and what I got done on one card.

So yeah, I’m really liking it so far. I still do long form journaling (Morning Pages type things) in the notebook itself. I actually turn it so the short side is on the top and it’s kind of like writing on an A4 sheet of paper. I do that so I don’t start auto rereading old journal entries when I’m flipping through for other stuff. I index and thread anything that isn’t journal entries like I would a normal bullet journal. Right now I have some random notes for subject I’m studying, some pen and paper games I’m playing, and writing notes.

I’m also going to add either an A6 monthly calendar or print my own calendar set up to add to the back pocket for scheduling things in advance. I know everyone uses Google Calendar but I never check mine much. So people can schedule things with me on my Google Cal but my source of truth will be the hard copy.

Some resources I took inspiration from in setting all this up:

- OG Bullet Journal - I’m surprised by how many people I’ve met who don’t know that bullet journaling isn’t just making your own pretty planner but an actual system (no shade to the art journaling folks, I’m just not one of them). When I say I use bullet journaling, this is what I’m using. Check for some of his more recent videos if you like it, he’s updated it.

- Ugmonk Analog - slightly expanded to-do list system on paper; the product seems nice but they’ve actually been very supportive of people making their own knockoff versions for personal use which is cool to see

- Everbook - I think if I had more to juggle, I’d upgrade to something like this system. This guy has so many neat ideas sprinkled throughout the channel. He also really supports people making their own version. Love a good open source ethos.

Anyways - hope this helps someone!

#journal #bullet journal #studyblr #journaling #bujo #ugmonk analog #analog #everbook #index cards #memory keeping #organization #sorry for the lighting #i literally live in my parents basement

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petertingle-yipyip · 1 year

Text

MAD AT GOD - MATT MURDOCK

Season Three - House of Memories

tags: @ironprincessstranger @johnmurphys-sass @dusstory @americaarse @astrobees @mayasaurus--rex @woowwwee // two // Season 2B // masterlist

Pairing: Bullseye X Reader (Casual) , Matt X Reader (Past)

Word Count: 9,558

Summary: Times have changed since Midland Circle, so has Y/N. As she attempts to move forward, relationships are strained and circumstances are less than favorable. Can she cope on her own or will she fall back into old habits?

“Welcome to our final class for the semester!” The professor announced as he paraded into the room. Various hoots and claps came from around you but you simply smiled, glad to have another class checked off your schedule. “As you know, today is the final day for debates. We have only a few to get through so the quicker we go, the quicker we enjoy our winter break. Y/L/N, you’re up first!”

You pushed yourself up and hurried down the lecture hall steps until you reached the front. You stood at the closer podium and scanned the notes that waited for you.

A man attempts to break into a house late at night. The owner, a single woman, owns a retired police dog - a German Shepherd to be specific. He bites the perpetrator but releases and recalls when the noise wakes the woman and she calls him back. You’re supposed to argue the man is at fault. Your opposition will argue that the woman is.

“There’s five people you can choose to argue against, or I can choose for you.” Your professor said as you looked up at the empty podium across from you.

“You can pick.. But don’t make it easy.” You shrugged and glanced up at Matt. You knew he hadn’t gone yet and he was smiling down at you.

“Mr. Murdock!” He called and you grinned. “My two top students should go against each other, don’t you think? C’mon down, my boy!”

Matt laughed slightly and made his way down, cane bouncing off the steps. The professor pulled a different copy of the notes from his bag and placed it at Matt’s podium. You gave him a minute while he ran his fingers over the page and his brows raised in interest.

“Ladies first.” The professor bowed and stepped back.

“Clearly, the man is at fault.” You began easily. “Attempted breaking and entering.”

“Yes, but this dog is trained to attack and by New York law, that makes the owner liable.” Matt countered. “Just compensate for the $2,200 in medical bills and call it a day.”

“Yes, but New York law also states that if the victim is trespassing or provoking the animal, the owner isn’t liable.”

“How do you know he was provoking the animal?”

“Security footage.”

“That wasn’t in the notes.” Matt smiled slightly.

“You’re going to assume a woman who lives alone doesn’t have cameras?” You raised your brows.

“Regardless, the dog is trained to attack. Especially being retired police, there must’ve been training for him to engage in certain situations.”

“Certain hostile situations, you mean.”

“You can’t be sure the man was hostile.”

“Why was he breaking into her house then?”

“Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he was running, looking for somewhere to hide or someone to help him. The dog misread the body language and attacked, unprovoked.”

“Can I ask you something, Mr. Murdock?”

“Please.” He smiled.

“If I threaten you, are you within your rights to defend yourself?”

“Yes, I am.”

“And if I am threatened, can I defend myself?”

“Yes.”

“With whatever I feel is necessary?”

“Sure.”

“Exactly. The dog felt it’s home and owner were threatened. It reacted accordingly.”

“Sounds a bit like victim blaming, doesn’t it?” He asked with a tilt of his head and you almost laughed.

“Coming from the man blaming an animal.”

“Let me ask you something, Ms. Y/L/N. By going off your last statement, your addressing the animal like it’s a weapon.”

“And if I had a concealed carry permit, do I have to show it to you or announce it before defending myself with said weapon?”

“No. But you are still held responsible if you kill your attacker, even if it’s self-defense.”

“You seem to be sympathizing with the attacker. Tell me, Mr. Murdock. Do you?”

“Are you insinuating I hurt people?” His voice feigned hurt but he nearly laughed in amusement.

“Of course not.” You said honestly. “But I do think you enjoy a bit of power.”

“Do you sympathize with the woman?”

“With a woman, on her own, being attacked by someone who she owes nothing to?” You challenged slightly, putting more of a personal anger into the words than intended. “I think any woman in the room would.”

“Maybe that’s clouding your judgment.”

“Is that an ad hominem I hear? Maybe you’re trying to attack me because you know your argument is weak.”

“I’ll admit that the man shouldn’t have gone breaking into houses. However, the woman should’ve had signage posted that a dog with the training and intent to protect was on the premises.”

“Should she have put a sign on every corner of her fence?” You raised your brows. “Because for all we know, there’s a sign on her front gate.”

“I don’t remember if it’s in the notes so just assume there is.” Your professor agreed, seemingly enthralled in your discussion like his favorite TV show. “You two are doing fantastic. You’ve almost gotten to the deciding factor.”

“With posted signage at the front of her property, she shouldn’t have to post it on the back if there’s no typical entry there.” You continued.

“One sign is easy to overlook.” Matt shrugged.

“Not if you enter the property in the proper way. Therefore, the only way the woman is liable would be if the dog bit the man on the sidewalk, since it’s public property.”

“Can we get a description of what the dog bites look like?” Matt turned to your professor.

“Should be on the second page.” He nodded and you cleared your throat. He looked at you and you gave a small jerk of your head towards Matt. “Of course. You’d think I’d remember.” He mumbled and your class chuckled.

You moved to his podium with your paper in hand and reached for his arm. He gave it to you willingly so you pushed the sleeve of his shirt up and twisted it so you could see the inside of his forearm while dropping your page on top of his.

“Punctures from the top canines here.” You used two fingers pressed against his skin as you looked at the paper. “Bottom here. Bruising along here.” Your fingers trailed along his arm and he shivered slightly. “Another set of punctures here, with a bit of lacerations. Less than an inch maybe.”

“A second set of punctures?” His brows furrowed beneath his glasses and you recognized the tone of his voice. He heard something of interest. “So the dog bit once, let go, and bit again? And shook, if there were lacerations.”

“The lacerations are newer, based on the blood color.” You countered. “They don’t look like a shake. It looks like he was pulling his arm away.”

“How can you tell?”

“Because they go downwards. Typically, shakes just make the initial punctures deeper and a little wider, little messier. If anything the movement would be horizontal.”

“Anything else on the bites?”

“No, but..” You flipped the page over and found another photo, though this one was the dog covered in blood and a copy of a vet bill. “There’s a vet bill.”

You flipped Matt’s notes and found what you assumed was the same thing just in braille. You put his hand against it and read your own.

“The dog had damage to his left eye and socket, a chunk missing from his ear and a bloody line four inches down his side.” You explained the photo. “Was the dog shot?”

Your professor nodded.

“Your guy shot her dog.” You turned back to Matt. “Probably used the butt of the gun to hit its eye.”

“You’re right.” He nodded with a small smile. “The woman’s not at fault.”

“You wanted the $2200 for medical?” You asked and he nodded. “Vet bills were $3700. Pay out the difference and we’ll call it even.”

Matt grinned and shook your hand. Your professor stood and celebrated, causing the class to give polite claps. Foggy gave a loud shout from the back.

———————————————

How he survived, he didn’t know. When he finally washed up after Midland Circle, he felt closer to death than he ever had before. He hardly had strength to breathe, let alone try to get home. Try to get to Y/N.

The thought of her was the only thing that kept him going. She was the only thing that had him even considering healing, considering living after that. He heard her voice in every thought. Her touch seemed to ghost his skin though she was nowhere near.

I can’t lose you, Matty. I just can’t.

I trust you with my life.

I want you with me.

I’ve never felt safer than when I’m with you.

My life isn’t worth yours.

Just don’t let it take you from us, okay?

How could he ever face her again? To stand in front of her, knowing she would break down, and ask her to forgive him for sacrificing his life. And for what? For his own pride? For Elektra? And not even the Elektra they both knew and loved at that, but a hollowed out version driven by her own selfish desires.

“Where…? Where…?” He tried to get out a full question but every word seemed to die as it fell from his lips.

“St. Agnes. The orphanage.” A familiar voice answered but he couldn’t make out anything else. Matt felt like someone had shoved a pound of dry cotton into his ears. And while he appreciated the knowledge of where he was, that wasn’t what he wanted to know.

“How long?”

“Several weeks.”

“Where is she?”

“Who?”

“Y/N.”

“She’s come and gone for the day.” The woman rushed an answer and the words made Matt’s head spin violently as he sat up. Or was that more the residual injuries? “Get back in the bed! You’ll hurt yourself!”

“My right ear… I can’t..”

Matt tried to get out of the bed but he collapsed to the floor with the first step. It was like his body forgot how to move. His own skeleton failed him and let him crash to the ground and a wound at his side gnawed angrily at the impact. The fluid between his ears was as uneasy as the ocean and nothing around him felt solid. The only thing that kept him in that moment was the cold floor beneath him and the firm hands that tried to haul him up.

She’s come and gone for the day.

Why was Y/N at the church? She didn’t believe in any of it. Was she looking for Matt? Did she already know he was alive? If she knew, she would’ve been beside him. He firmly believed that if she knew, she wouldn’t leave his side. She would’ve sat there, day and night, waiting to scream at him for abandoning her or to make sure he actually pulled through. There would’ve been some piece of her left in that room, whether it be the warmth of her skin or the scent of her perfume or the sound of her voice. Something would’ve still been there, unless maybe it was and Matt just couldn’t tell. What a cold loneliness he felt around him when he considered that thought.

To anything outside that small, lonely room in the orphanage, Daredevil - and in turn, for some at least, Matt Murdock - was dead.

————————————

Matt and Foggy were in their dorm room, the afternoon after meeting Y/N.

Saying the girl was electric was an understatement. From the second he heard her say his name, he was a goner. He had known her for mere minutes, hours if you count the night, but he felt something in his chest when she introduced herself. His heart thumped faster when she laughed and time seemed to slow when she touched him.

He started to wonder if that’s what it meant to have a soulmate.

“Are you gonna call her?” Foggy asked that morning.

“We met her last night, Foggy.” Matt reasoned with a nervous chuckle. “I’m not gonna call her.”

“Dude.”

“I’m not!”

“You’re gonna miss this perfect opportunity? Matt, c’mon man! She was gorgeous!”

“I-“

“No, like you don’t get it. She was probably the most beautiful woman to have ever walked this campus. You should’ve seen her.”

“Well I-“

“Don’t!” Foggy cut in so Matt smiled innocently. “Do not make a blind joke right now.”

“If she’s so beautiful, then you call her.” Matt tried, though the suggestion felt like a slap to the face.

“I’m not the one she was making googly eyes at on the walk back last night.”

“How was I supposed to know that?”

“I-“ Foggy began before a loud, exasperated sigh. “Matt! Dude!”

“Foggy!” Matt replied in the same tone. “It’s fine. We’ll probably run into her in class anyway.”

“You’re gonna just wait and hope that you two run into each other again by chance? When she’s probably the most perfect and smart and beautiful and charming and-“

“Sounds like you liked her more than I did.” Matt mumbled and dropped onto his back across his mattress.

“Matt. Matthew. My friend.” Foggy said as he came and sat on his friend’s bed beside him. “I’m telling you this because I love you. Call the girl!”

“I’m not gonna call her!” Matt laughed. “C’mon man. You really think a girl like that - as beautiful as you say she is and can speak that many languages and who knows what else she can do. You think a girl like that is gonna wanna be with me?”

“Buddy, I think she would’ve married you last night if you had asked.”

Matt couldn’t help but laugh.

“Alright, fine.” He sighed dramatically, though he was admittedly giddy. “I’ll call her. Dial her number for me.”

“Do you hear that?” Foggy joked as he found the scrap of her book page that she wrote her number on and dialed on Matt’s phone. “Sounds like wedding bells, my friend. Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N-Murdock.”

“Y/L/N-Murdock, huh?” Matt laughed as he held the phone to his ear.

“Yeah, you’re right… Murdock-Y/L/N? Nah, I don’t like that either. Maybe just Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N.”

“It’s about time, Murdock.” Y/N joked on the other end of the call. “And here I thought you forgot about me.”

————————————

“Matthew.” Father Lantom announced his arrival one day and Matt was drawn out of the same spiral of thoughts that haunted him. The same circulation of memories that plagued him.

“Father, I didn’t know you were there.” Matt answered honestly, though the feeling in his right ear was as nagging as ever. “Sister Maggie said something before… About Y/N.”

“Oh.. Yes.” He nodded and Matt noticed his hesitation. It was as if he was thinking of how to tell Matt whatever he knew. “She’s been coming around a bit more often lately.”

“Does she know?”

“No… No, I haven’t been able to bring myself to tell her.”

“Why does she come then?”

“You know, it’s the strangest thing. She’s only come inside once.. Said the building doesn’t smell like cinnamon anymore, whatever that means.”

Matt sighed heavily, understanding exactly what she meant. Though he had never smelled it himself, he knew it was how the devotion in the building showed up to her. It was part of her abilities, how she described the church as warm and alive with everyone’s belief. She described anger as red, hot and burning. Sadness was cold and blue. Happiness was a soft purple. Love was pink and fuzzy. Fear, yellow and bitter. He wondered what she was feeling now.

“Instead she just… sits on the bench out front until one of the boys comes to collect her for work. Poor thing.” Lantom continued and it made Matt’s heart twist.

“It’s my fault.. She was with me that night and I- I made her leave. I couldn’t let her die with me.” Matt said weakly.

“She’s doing well lately, better since she’s recovered.”

Matt wondered what that meant but he didn’t dwell on it.

“The.. The way her voice broke when she- When she called out for me… I heard her scream when it all happened.”

Just talking about it replayed that scream and he felt his heart splinter again.

“I’m sure she would love to see you.”

“I just can’t get that sound out of my head.” He nearly whispered.

“She used to say the last thing you said to her played in her head like a record on repeat… Said she’d give anything to hear you say her name again.”

Matt said nothing this time. He would love to have Y/N come by but he knew it wasn’t fair. He’d been gone for several weeks, at least. That could’ve meant months. Y/N could’ve gotten over everything and seeing him, knowing he was alive and she had been so close to him every time she came, it would only break her again. How could he put her through that? How could he be so selfish?

“Matthew, you have to admit it is a miracle that you survived.” Lantom tried.

“That’s how most of our conversations tend to go.” Matt complained and rolled to his side. “Let’s just give it a rest.”

Lantom left after that, allowing Matt to wallow in his own thoughts and boredom.

He wondered who were the boys that came for Y/N. What of her life was still the same? Did Exodus come back to protect the Kitchen, to take out her anger and pain on those she thought deserved it? Or did she sit at home, alone in the apartment that they had danced in? The apartment they had cooked dinners in and cleaned together and where she taught him more and more Russian. Was she as alone as he was? Chased by memories of something buried alive.

Those were the thoughts that plagued Matt day in and day out. He thought of his other friends, too. Karen and Foggy. He wondered if Jessica or Luke or Danny had checked in on Y/N. He even wondered if Frank had heard and looked out for her

Matt wasn’t sure how long exactly it had been since his conversation with Father Lantom about Y/N when Sister Maggie brought her up as well.

“There must be at least one person I can call for you.” She said, almost regretfully and there was a hint of a knowing tone in her voice.

“No.” Matt decided. “There’s no one.”

“What about the girl?”

“What girl?”

“The sad, pretty one. Although lately she seems more angry than sad.” She described her simply and a brief smile crossed Matt’s face. “She comes every morning and has told me about a specific someone who sounds remarkably like you. And given all of that, I’m guessing she was the one you liked to do backflips with.”

“Exodus.”

Sister Maggie hummed in response.

“Her name is Y/N.” Matt said, almost defensively. He couldn’t take her down to only her vigilante name because she was so much more than that. He helped her see that, so ignoring that would be wrong. Exodus was part of who Y/N was, not the entirety.

“You should consider yourself lucky to have found a girl like that that’s willing to put up with all of this.”

“Yeah…”

Back at the apartment, you were getting home for the day. It was an easy day. You had been back from Quantico for a few months, but everything from Billy at the carousel set back your timeline. After your mandated therapy and physical rehab, today was the first day you were unrestricted, though of course your luck meant nothing exciting happened.

You reached for your door handle and found it already unlocked. You walked in confidently after dropping your purse and coat by the door, a hand hovering at the gun on your hip, only to find Karen. She was kneeling by the closet under your stairs with the case to Matt’s suit open in front of her.

“I could’ve told you it’s still not there.” You said simply, removing your gun and badge from your belt and tossing them to the table. “It’s not coming back, Karen. Neither is he.”

“I’m sorry. I should’ve called.” She answered gently, a sadness in her voice.

“Yeah..” You agreed quickly. “Want a drink?”

“I’m okay, thanks.. But uh, how are you?”

“That’s not what this is about.” You threw the fridge shut. “Y’know, come to think of it, I don’t know why you keep coming back and looking for it.”

“I know.. I just can’t shake the feeling that-“

“Not even that.” You laughed with annoyance. “You don’t remember what you told him, do you? When you came by the next day after he told you about all that.” You pointed to the closet.

She was quiet so you continued.

“I don’t think Daredevil’s the problem.” You repeated and her eyes dropped. Her guilt tinted the air with a stale feeling, vaguely smelling like old water. “You didn’t want him in your life as Daredevil but now that he’s gone, you pretend that you cared about the suit.”

She looked back to you quickly. “I didn’t care about the suit. I cared about him.”

“You cared about Matt… Yeah, I’ll give you that. But you didn’t give a shit about Daredevil. You can’t separate the two!”

“Is that why you liked him? Because he was Daredevil.”

“Oh my god.” You muttered.

“Because you liked a guy that you could treat like shit and still expect him to care?”

“Fuck you, Karen.” You snapped. “I cared about Matt long before he even thought about Daredevil so don’t stand there and act like you know anything about our relationship.”

“No, you’re right. Because you two kept so many goddamn secrets nobody really knew either of you, right?”

“Is this really what you came for? To fight with me.” You came around the counter and took a few steps closer to her, making her step back. “Because if you did, you can walk right back out the door and y’know what. You don’t even have to come back. Okay? I don’t need this shit from you anymore. I’m done, Karen.”

She was quiet and you felt the way your words sliced through her but you were too angry to stop talking. You let that anger burn through you as the words fell from your lips.

“Evidently, the only reasons we got along were because Matt and Frank were mutual friends. Now that they’re not around, we have nothing.” You shrugged. “You don’t have to pretend to care about me anymore. I don’t need a pity friend. And I don’t want one.”

“I shouldn’t have said that.” She replied quietly, like a child being yelled at by her parents. “I’m sorry. We’re just worried, me and Foggy.”

“Well don’t be. I’m fine.” You offered a sarcastic expression before going back to the far side of the counter.

She nodded slightly. “I don’t believe that.”

“I don’t care. I don’t need a babysitter. I still make a couple meetings for that support group with Curtis. I left Anvil and the Billy fiasco behind. I’m trying to take the FBI offer seriously. I don’t know what else you and him need me to do to convince you that I’m fine.”

“Foggy said you’re going to Matt’s church again.”

“Oh my-“ You mumbled. “That’s what this is about? Because I sit on a stupid bench?”

“It’s more than just a bench, Y/N.”

“What else is there to say? What are you fishing for?” You sighed heavily and leaned your palms against your countertop, nearly wincing at the sharp contrast of the cool surface against your burning skin. “I’m moving on. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

A series of quick knocks sounded at your door.

“What you both wanted.” You corrected as you went to open the door, seeing Foggy standing on the other side.

“Surprise.” He smiled nervously.

“Whatever intervention or ambush this is, I don’t need it.” You announced as you headed back into the living room. “I’m doing great.”

“I just came to see my friend. We haven’t had time to get together since you’ve been back, given all the other stuff that happened.” Foggy said honestly. You turned to face him and stared for a moment, reading his emotions. You found he wasn’t coming from a place of worry or concern. Just friendship.

You offered a small smile in response as your own headspace cleared. Maybe you needed someone familiar to be around for a bit. “Then you can stay a while. And if you don’t try to pick another fight, Karen, you can stay too.”

You had to admit. Foggy’s good heart and honest energy seemed to be the only thing lately that could help your heart break through.

Back at the church, Sister Maggie was continuing her conversation with Matt.

“Angry, sarcastic, and stubborn. Maybe you don’t have any friends.” Maggie joked, though Matt didn’t find it funny.

“Someone once told me that warriors were meant to be alone.” He answered simply rather than argue. “That caring for people would make me weak.”

“Is that what you told that Exodus girl?”

“Y/N.” Matt said defensively to himself.

“That you’d be weak if you cared? Cause it doesn’t seem like she got the memo.”

“I let people in, I paid a price… If anyone can understand that, it’s her. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“Would she call it a mistake?”

“You really wanna push the Y/N topic, don’t you?” Matt groaned. Not because he didn’t want to talk about Y/N, but because it just hurt too much still.

“She seems to be the only topic that gets you to talk.” Maggie countered.

The conversation then shifted to Job after Matt found his old Bible and the way Matt thought he was serving God the same way. Matt admitted that he didn’t hate God, but he felt he understood Him better and understood where they stood with each other.

“For the record, I had friends. I had a life, a girlfriend and I- I loved her, probably would’ve married her one day. Started a family of our own down the road. I care about people and I’m choosing to let them believe that I’m gone because I am.”

“Tell that to the girl that sits on that bench every morning.”

“You don’t get it.” He sighed.

“I think I do, Matthew. She makes you happy, and that’s the worst thing for you.”

“I know my truth now, Sister.”

“What truth?”

“I’d rather die as the Devil than live as Matt Murdock.”

“So I guess she’d rather live as Y/N, without either, and blame herself for the Devil’s death.”

“At least she’ll live.”

“But what kind of a life is that?”

Sister Maggie left after that, allowing Matt to sit in his own continuous misery. Missing Foggy, Y/N, and Karen. That was his own punishment. He deserved that, for all the pain and suffering he had brought to them. He was better alone, the same as Y/N tried to convince herself she was, and he hoped she had started to believe she was better without him. Difference was that he chose to do what he did. Y/N was made into it. The only thing he would change was that Y/N blamed herself.

That night, Sister Maggie came back.

“I think you’re a hero, hiding down here and feeling sorry for yourself.” She said simply. “Just out back, there’s an orphanage full of kids who’ve lost everything and everyone. Some of them disabled, much worse off than you ever were. And they’re still trying to make the most out of life, the little cowards.”

“Okay, alright.” Matt cut in.

“I mean it! Here you are, with all the gifts God gave you. Handsome, smart, a law degree, people who care about you. You have a beautiful, thoughtful girl that comes here every single day without fail who only wants to see you again. Doesn’t even know you’re here, mind you. But you’re so bravely giving up.”

“Y’know, thank you for the tough love, Sister.” Matt complained as he hobbled across the cold room. “And your charmingly simplistic view of God and the world. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, I really do, but don’t for a second think you know anything about me or her or my life.”

“I’ve been a nun for 30 years. I know self-pity when I hear it.” She continued. “And I know that she’s had to leave people, without explanation. I know that after losing you, if how she feels is how they all felt, she would’ve done it differently.”

“Yeah? Well, no one died because of her. Twice, actually.”

“You don’t know everything about her past, Matthew. The guilt she carries could be more than yours.”

“But you do?”

“No.. But I do know your father was famous around here. I saw him fight, saw him go down many times. But he never stayed down.” She pressed before she left.

Matt laid in bed that night and thought of her words, and she was right. About his dad at least. He didn’t stay down. But he did have to wonder about what she said about Y/N, regretting the choices she’d made. If she had known the way people hurt when she left - how he hurt when she left - would she have made different choices?

He couldn’t help but think how different his life would’ve been if she had never left. Or if she had never came in the first place.

A few days passed and Matt found some sense of recovery. He managed to clear some of the blockages in his sinuses, allowing him to find some normalcy with training again. Certain moves still hurt, still caused him to fail, but he knew he was on his way back to what he was before. Back to Daredevil.

On your next day off, you were sitting on your usual bench outside the church with your gym bag tucked beneath your feet. You greeted some of the familiar nuns and patrons with a friendly smile, accepting the gentle handshakes and blessings from the older ladies that you were seeing for the first time since you’ve been back. Sister Maggie came and sat beside you, though her usual demeanor was replaced with a jittery energy.

“Something wrong, Sister?” You asked simply as she sighed and you felt the vibrations tingle against your exposed skin.

“Well, Y/N, I don’t know how to ask you this.” She admitted and you shifted to face her fully. “Would you be.. willing to come downstairs with me today?”

“For what?”

“For a… for a fight.”

“A fight..” You repeated and raised your brows. “Since when does the church have a secret fight club?”

“I’m not thrilled about it but I think you’re the best option.”

“Okay…” You agreed hesitantly. “What’s the catch?”

“Well… Have you ever fought blindfolded? Or with your eyes closed?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, though her scowl made you quiet down.

“You’re serious?” Your brows furrowed.

“Unfortunately.”

“Weirdly enough, I have..”

“Of course you have.” She sighed.

“It was a good training exercise.” You shrugged. “It taught me to understand and hone my gifts rather than depending on what I see, kinda like how Matt used to… Well, anyways, did you want me to do it today?”

“If you’re willing.”

You stared at your hands folded in your lap for a moment, tapping your fingers as you thought. It was an odd request, definitely, and it made no sense to you. But the idea did make your nerves tingle and your muscles twitch. It could be fun to repeat an old training drill, despite the clear hesitation and borderline sacrilegious nature of it. There was something Sister Maggie wasn’t telling you, but really, you didn’t care to know all the details.

“Sure.” You shrugged and stood, kneeling for your bag before following the older nun through the halls and down the stairs.

You paused before a rod-iron gate and you could feel the buzzing of your opponent on the other side. A torn cloth was tied tightly across your eyes as Sister Maggie and Father Lantom exchanged a quick, hushed conversation that you were expected to ignore about what was going to take place. You were lead through the room quietly, guided where to leave your bag.

You knelt and pulled your wraps, wrapping them in place easily after your brace was fitted on as you spoke to Lantom while Maggie talked to whoever you were facing. You tapped your hands into your chalk pouch and patted them together to cover your exposed fingers and the back of your covered knuckles with the fine powder.

“Do you have gloves?” He asked simply, though you could picture the way he was fidgeting.

“I’d rather not, if whoever’s over there doesn’t mind.” You answered, nodding towards the unknown figure behind you. “They don’t have to either, just so it’s fair.”

After a moment of quiet, Lantom answered.

“Alright. He’s not wearing a helmet and there’s a lot of marble statues around so try not to beat on him too bad.”

You smiled slightly and turned your head in his direction.

“Shouldn’t you be warning him about going easy on me, too?” You joked and stood, allowing Lantom to turn you towards your opponent and guide you closer. “Given I’m the one that can’t see.”

“No wonder you two got along.” Maggie sighed, though the statement wasn’t directed at you. “Same sense of humor.”

You reached your hand out and felt another meet yours in a quick tap. Your skin flushed warm as you tuned in to your opponent’s feelings, finding yourself warmed with a general anger and an underlying sadness. A brief flash of loneliness and regret, tucked under a suffocating blanket of self-pity that you swore was going to choke you. You cleared the feeling with a light cough as you rolled your shoulders.

They’d be easy enough to keep track of. Your only issue now would be anticipating their moves, given that you knew nothing of their fighting style. All you could assume was that they were a traditional boxer.

You moved first with hopes of keeping enough of an offense that you wouldn’t need to defend against much, throwing two sharp jabs that connected with their stomach. You were met with a brisk hook to your chin that backed you up a few steps. You chuckled lightly and shifted your jaw, having been hit harder than anticipated.

The brief swell of pride gave away where they moved to so you acted quickly, grabbing their shoulders and yanking them down your knee could slam their stomach. When you felt the hands grab your forearms, you spun your hands around so you could break their hold before throwing an elbow against their nose which earned a loud gasp from Sister Maggie. Your next punch was caught, pushing you to the side. When you turned to face them again, you were met with a quick barrage of jabs that you could block with your arms and there was an obvious tell that your opponent was holding back.

“If you’re gonna hit me, hit me. I’m sure I can take it.” You spat with the unintentional tint of your accent and were hit with a heavy wave of panic.

You seized the hesitation and moved back in, landing hit after hit. Lantom and Maggie both tried to call you off, but neither you nor your opponent stopped. You two were trading blows and dodging shots until you managed to get enough room to swing a moderated roundhouse to the side of his head and he dropped.

Lantom guided you out after that while Maggie tended to the other person, both of them unhappy with the results. He thanked you for coming and insisted you keep it quiet. You joked that you didn’t know who you were up against anyway so your story wouldn’t make much sense if you told it. But even as you were leaving, and you couldn’t remove the blindfold until you were the majority of the way up the stairs, you couldn’t deny the feeling that whoever you were up against… Their emotions were familiar, like the sound of an old song that you still miraculously knew the words to but couldn’t remember who sang it.

Something comfortable. Something that was impossible to truly get out of your head.

That night, you were out with Dex for drinks to try and forget about it.

“Why does it look like you got punched in the face?” He laughed, tapping his mouth in the same spot where you knew yours was busted.

“Cause I did.” You admitted with a small smile that tugged the small wound open. “My gym was doing a little amateur boxing showcase type thing earlier so I jumped in after my lifts.”

“Hope you won.”

“Oh, yeah.” You grinned, the action tugging the split skin open further. “Dropped the last guy nice and easy. After I had my fun, of course.”

“Otherwise, y’know, I’d have to find a new partner.”

“Wow.” Your brows raised and he gave you a playful smirk. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“That’s cold, Dex.”

“C’mon.” He chuckled. “You think I can have a partner that loses amateur boxing?”

“Too bad. Looks like you’re stuck with me. Hattley says she likes the way we work.”

“Guess I’ll have to deal with you then, huh?”

“Can’t rid of me that easy. Just ask anyone who knows me.”

As he was walking you home, you felt that familiarity again. It hooked into your chest and was tugging at you, screaming in the back of your head to get closer. You faked a reason to return to the bar - lying that you had left your phone - and hurried the few blocks to get to them. As you were getting closer, you heard a woman yelling for her dad. Her panic urged your feet to move faster, but you were so distracted by the person - likely subconsciously - calling out to you that you almost didn’t notice the car.

The tires skirted along the asphalt and you had to hop back. You leaned on the hood to see through the bright headlights, and the girl driving was more panicked than you were, with mascara stall rubbing down her puffed up cheeks. It was easy to figure out she was the one you heard so you waved her off and kept moving. But when you got to the source, you faltered, only for a second.

“God forgive me.” He mumbled, hardly enough sound for you to hear.

The defeat in his voice - his familiar voice - drove a stake through your chest that let a chilling loneliness creep out and weigh heavily on your skin. With a shiver, you forced the feeling down and focused on the situation in front of you.

One of the men raised their arms but you were quick to yank the pole from their hand. He turned on you almost instantly but you offered a smile before slamming the pole against his temple, seeing an angry gash split almost immediately. You turned and slammed a foot against the kneeling man’s chest and leaned into it, pinning him to the ground. You threw the pole at the other man, seeing the end collide with his nose before you allowed him to gather his partner and take off.

You blew a loose strand of hair from your face and turned your attention back to the man under your shoe.

You heart nearly stopped when you saw the familiar outfit.

“No…” You said quietly, moving your foot to kneel beside him.

Your fingers reached gingerly for the edge of his mask, but just as you were about to grab it, he slammed his forehead against yours and you fell backwards. You let out a loud string of curses in Russian as you rubbed the place of contact but when you looked back, you found he was gone.

You could’ve sworn, as you got up and made your way back to the apartment, that it was the Man in the Mask.

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

Daredevil.

Matt Murdock.

Despite every logical thought in your head, everytime your brain mulled over the facts. Every night you went to bed alone and woke up the same. Every time you realized you missed him but forgot that it was supposed to hurt, when you realized you still weren’t really letting it hurt.

But if you had to put money on that voice being his, you would’ve.

Would it be better if he really was alive? Maybe whatever was cracking through your still cold core would reignite in your chest. You could regain your full sense of humanity and normalcy, return to the Y/N he knew and loved, assuming enough of her still existed at that point.

Or would it only force that floodgate of pain and anger and grief open? Would you find that the girl he knew, the girl you thought you were, was never real? That it’d be too much and you’d fall back into an uncaring, heartless and ruthless person that not even Dreykov would’ve wanted.

Damn him, for throwing your thoughts into a spiral even in death.

Alleged death, now.

The next morning at work, you wished you had stayed home.

“Y/L/N. You’re with me.” An agent you knew a bit, Ray Nadeem, called as he walked by you. He didn’t stay long so you had to move quickly to catch up.

“Where are we going?” You asked as you finally got to his stride.

“Talk to a guy who won’t give us shit. Hattley wants you to go since SWAT has nothing and you’re new but doesn’t want you going alone in case there’s a conflict of interest.”

“So why you? Why not send me with Dex seeing as he’s my actual partner.”

“Cause my number was up next.” He sighed in annoyance. “And didn’t Dex go out of town on assignment this morning?”

“You’re telling me this couldn’t have waited a day or two till he’s back? If he’s gonna give us nothing, what does it matter?”

When you got in the car, he passed you the thick rubber banded folder. You didn’t need to open it to know what case it was, and all thoughts of Matt and his possible survival were shoved from your head.

You were going to talk to Wilson Fisk.

You gripped the file tightly in one hand while pulling your phone. You shot Marc a quick text about Vanessa’s most recent location, and he sent back a short list of what he had since the last time you two spoke along with a rumor of where she’d be headed next. The drive to the prison was relatively quiet, but you could feel there was something eating at Ray. You thought about asking but you figured he wouldn’t want to talk to you about it so you said nothing. Instead, you cleared your throat to break the looming tension.

You two were escorted in after a brief security clearing and sat alone at a small table while the guards led Fisk in.

“Mr. Fisk, I’m Special Agent Ray Nadeem with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.” Ray introduced simply, flashing his badge before gesturing to you.

“Special Agent Y/N Y/L/N, FBI SWAT.” You nodded.

“The FBI would like your assistance with… Let’s just cut to the part where you tell us to eat shit so we can stop wasting each other’s time.”

“Do you have someone in your life that you love so much, you’d do anything to protect them?” Fisk asked solemnly, his eyes lingering on you before turning to Ray.

“Are you threatening us?” He asked quickly.

“I have made many mistakes.” Fisk nodded. “But I accept the debt I’m paying because of them. A debt-” He turned to you again. “-that certain people ensured I could not neglect.”

“He’s not threatening us, not yet at least.” You sighed and leaned forward, your chest hitting the edge of the table. “He’ll talk.” You twisted your fingers under the table to pull on the gnawing worry that was presenting in Fisk. As the man stared you down, you watched the blue mist of sadness cover his eyes and you were given a flash of a name. Vanessa. “Because there’s something we can offer as incentive.”

“What I cannot accept is that the woman I love should have to pay for them, too. I would do anything to protect her.”

“So what is it you’re saying?” Ray asked carefully.

“He wants us to help Vanessa Marianna, some sort of pardon or acquittal, so she can come back to the States.” You explained, drawing a quick head turn from Ray. “She’s been pretty good about avoiding countries with extradition, I’ll give her that. But she’s passed through a couple in Europe, for the sake of art, I bet.”

“She had nothing to do with this!” Fisk said loudly.

“But she knew, didn’t she?” You instigated.

“I want to make a deal.”

“She knew you were a criminal, I bet.”

“Y/L/N.” Ray tried.

“A liar.”

“All I ask, Agent Y/L/N, in exchange is for someone to protect this woman.”

“Let me be frank here. I don’t trust you. I want you to stay in this prison and rot for the rest of your miserable life. Vanessa can run till the money runs out and I have someone grab her. But it’s not about what I want… Give us good information and maybe we’ll look into it. She’s easy enough for me to find anyway.”

The next morning, you and Ray were tasked with leading a raid on the Albanians. It was a show of faith in Fisk, that he’d given you viable information. But even though you didn’t trust a single word out of Fisk’s mouth, your job was by the book now. You had to look into it.

And as much as you hated to say it, Fisk wasn’t lying. You and Ray led the team through a perfectly successful raid. Your office congratulated you both and you accepted the praise with a smile, even though you didn’t like it. Something about everything felt forced, like you were playing exactly the part you were meant to play and it left a grimy feeling across your skin.

You stayed huddled at your temporary desk most of the day, writing your report of the raid and finding any other trivial task that kept you away from prying eyes.

You had a feeling that the path you were on, and maybe all the FBI officers that end up involved, was going to be a rough one.

“Come with me.” Ray said suddenly, tapping your arm.

“Wha- Again?” You answered as you hurried to your feet. “Where are we going?”

“We’re gonna convince Hattley to give us the Fisk detail.”

“What? No, Ray, I don’t want it.”

“Oh, c’mon.” He groaned as you two reached the SAC’s door. “You and I were the only agents to get anything out of him since he got locked up!”

“You think that matters? You have whatever issues - I’m guessing finances since you’re so desperate - and I’m still new SWAT with a conflict of interest. Besides, in case you couldn’t tell, I don’t like Fisk. I don’t like the way he looks at people. I don’t like the way he talks to people. There is no way in hell I go in there and ask for that.”

“Look, he’s afraid of whatever you know. Right? He believes that you can get to Vanessa, without even trying. If you stay involved, even as backup - just a presence in the room. Y/L/N, I promise you, we can get enough for everyone for years.”

“Wow, okay, so you’re just not listening to the whole ‘conflict of interest’ issue? I worked at the firm that built the case that got him locked up and had a tenement case against him. I want that man to die in jail. I don’t care what he can give or what I can take away. You wanna ask her for it? Go ahead. If she asks my opinion, I’ll back you on it. Just leave me out of it.”

All the while, Matt was sulking in the church basement when Sister Maggie came to check on him.

“Give yourself time to heal or you’re gonna get yourself killed.” She said simply.

“You’re probably right.” Matt said quickly before swallowing the pills.

“Is that what you wanted?”

Instead of answering her question, Matt changed the subject.

“She found me last night… Y/N.”

“Did you talk to her?”

“No, I.. I ran off.”

“Do you wish you had talked to her?”

“I heard her heartbeat.. Seemed like the first time when she didn’t let me hear it but I heard it on my own. Something about her is different…”

“She’s been through a lot since you’ve been gone, not just counting what you did.”

“What happened?” Matt asked softly.

“Maybe if you let her be here, there’d be less of your self-pitying bullshit to throw around. She could knock some sense into you and you could ask her yourself.”

“Why did you become a nun?” He asked instead when he realized she wouldn’t tell him. He’d have to find a chance to ask Y/N instead.

“I heard God’s call.”

“So you feel like being a nun is what you’re meant to be?”

“Yes.” She said with finality. “Very much.”

“What if you couldn’t be anymore? If it were taken from you?”

“Your point being that if we can’t fulfill our calling, we might be better off as worm food?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Okay.. But let me ask you something first. What do you think Y/N’s calling is?”

He sighed heavily as he thought about it. As much as he missed her and he yearned her - as much as his own heart was probably betraying him and calling out for her in a way only she would feel - he didn’t want to talk about her. He didn’t want to be reminded of the pain he’d caused her. The way he essentially abandoned her at Midland Circle.

“Helping people.” He said finally, deciding how he wanted to word it. “Y/N was always meant to help people. Inside the law or outside of it, she knew she could make a difference.”

“I wouldn’t lose faith, Matthew, if I couldn’t fulfill my calling.” She explained with a slight edge to her voice. “I’d find some other purpose.”

“If you can be anything else, it was never really your calling.” Matt countered bitterly. “Just tell me, honestly. If you could no longer be a nun, wouldn’t you grieve?”

“Of course I would.. But this isn’t grief. This is-“

“Just please… Go away.”

“I understand what it’s like to feel lost.” She offered, with a much gentler tone than before. “It happened to me too once, a long time ago when I was still a novitiate. I left the order for a while.”

“Why?”

“I was considering a very different life… It was wonderful and terrifying. I struggled to know which life God wanted me to choose. I prayed. I looked for signs. In the end, I had to do my best to figure it all out.”

“Well, that there is the difference between us. I no longer care what God wants.”

You found your way to the church that night after work. You were texting Dex when Sister Maggie came and sat beside you with a heavy sigh, the sigh of a woman almost too tired to keep pushing. But that, you realized, was something that set Sister Maggie apart from the other nuns you had met.

She was too stubborn to quit on anyone. And maybe that was why you liked talking to her, because it seemed like she wasn’t quitting on you.

“I thought you’d grown bored of this place.” She offered with a bit of amusement, though she was clearly worn down. “Or that little event scared you away.”

“No.” You chuckled. “He got me good, I’ll admit. And it was strange. But it takes more than a cheap shot to get rid of me.”

“We missed you this morning. Some of the older ladies.. They asked about the ‘sweet young girl who sits outside’.”

“That’s what they call me?” You smiled slightly.

“Well, they just don’t know better.”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

“How are you today, Y/N?” She asked honestly.

“It has not been my favorite… Work was interesting. We had this raid and it worked, I’m not complaining about that. It’s what I’m supposed to be doing with this job, y’know? But… The guy that gave us the information, I can’t stand him. Honestly, Sister, I hate him. And I don’t like this feeling of having to be around him again.”

“Do you feel the FBI is your calling?”

“I don’t think I have a calling.” You said honestly. “I’ve tried a lot of different things. The assassin I was raised to be, a mercenary, a lawyer, a vigilante, private security, now FBI… I just wanted to help people who needed it, who were stuck under someone else’s thumb. People like me when I was little, with no one willing to protect them. And I have, in a lot of different ways, but I don’t know about my calling.”

“In some aspects, you remind me of Matthew… When he was younger, of course.”

“In a good way?”

She sighed slightly but offered a fond smile, remembering Matt as a child striking a sentimental cord.

“He was always angry, sometimes lost. He always seemed like he was fighting, be it against himself or the city’s darkness when he got older.” She continued, her eyes falling downward as she toyed with her fingers. “But at his core, he had a good heart, up until his end. And I truly believe you do, too.”

You smiled slightly. Maybe Matt was right after all. Maybe you did have your own light.

“What about you, Sister? What’s wearing you down today?”

“There’s a man who… Well, he’s a great many things. Stubborn, mainly, but also defeated. And I can’t seem to find what sparks a want to continue.”

“Is he alone? No friends or family.”

“He’s not. He has both, or had, I suppose. Friends, even a girlfriend. But he doesn’t want them to know where he is.”

“Sounds lonely..”

She hummed in agreement.

“So why not let him rot in his misery alone? If he’s so determined to isolate himself, maybe you should let him.”

“This one, I’m personally responsible for.”

“How so?”

“He grew up here.” She answered simply but there seemed to be something else there, though you didn’t ask.

“Ah… Well, if he’s really choosing this solitude, I’d say just be there for him, best you can be. He’ll probably keep trying to push and seclude himself but if you really feel you have to help him, just keep pushing back. I know that for me, after Matt, I pushed away the only two friends I thought I had in this city... And I thought that hiding behind Billy and Anvil… I thought those things could fix me, spark something in me, but they didn’t. It just made me feel worse until it got to a point where I didn’t want to feel anything. I didn’t want to die per say, but I didn’t wanna live like that anymore. So I buried everything and threw myself into a fight that didn’t really involve me, then I got stuck with this.” You shook the wrist with the brace.

“And how do you feel now?”

“Somewhere in between, I think. Nothing’s perfect and there’s still this hollowness in my chest but… I can talk about him without feeling like I’m suffocating. I realized that I can’t just shut everything off and expect people to stick around. I care about people and I have to kinda take the good with the bad, even when it almost kills me. When it takes a piece of me and buries it hundreds of feet below the city.”

“We all heal in our own ways.”

“Yeah.. Problem was, I didn’t know how to grieve on my own. When I was a kid, we weren’t allowed to grieve. It was either someone came back or they didn’t. As long as you were still standing, you kept moving. And when Elektra died, I had Matt. But then Matt was gone and I went home every night to no one. I didn’t know what else to do other than distract myself. I’ve made mistakes but I’m trying to do better.”

“All we can do is take things one day at a time..” She nodded before she stood. “I truly do enjoy our little chats. Till next time, Y/N.”

“Good night, Sister.”

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wouldyoustilllovemeifiwasawyrm · 11 months

Text

Cleaning Up

Linktober 2023 Day 26: Overgrown This room, this castle, all of Hyrule, was her responsibility. She would dig through her own trash and find any treasures that remained. As for everything else, she would have it removed.

He’d been in this place dozens of times in this life. He blushed to imagine how often he had been here, standing on this floor, in his previous one. He wanted to imagine this room as it once was. Scraps of fabric hung from a broken bedframe, caved in by roofstones that fell through the canopy, crushing the mattress and scattering the feathers inside. He’d found little of value in this room before, other than a respite from the guidance sights of enemy Guardians. The books had long since deteriorated, only a handful of pages salvageable among the rot and decay. Animals had snuck in during the short peace following the last battle with the Calamity. Rats left chewings of fabric and paper all over the floor.

Link ran his hand across the old duvet, dulled in color and damp from morning dew. The embroidery and silken fabrics must have cost a fortune, not to mention the thick stuffing inside, which stuck to his skin through the rips in the cover. He wondered if he had felt it when it was clean, when the blues and reds were vibrant, when it was whole and dry and not so gray. He had some difficulty reconciling it—the decay with the beauty. Zelda’s bedroom must have once been beautiful.

His princess knelt on the floor, sifting through scraps of paper that had fallen. A lantern sat beside her, the flickering light making her task a little easier. Some legible writing remained on the sheets, though not much. She sorted them into piles. Those in the worst state, the most chewed, stained, or ink-bled, piled the highest.

When Zelda suggested that she return to her childhood home, Purah cautioned her against it. The damage was severe. Likely, little of what remained in her room would be salvageable. She would have to face the things that she loved falling into decay, and that might trouble her greatly. ”Send someone else to dig through all that, Your Highness.” Purah urged. ”Robbie and I could do it. I know where you kept your research notes.”

But Zelda wouldn’t have it. This room, this castle, all of Hyrule, was her responsibility. She would dig through her own trash and find any treasures that remained. As for everything else, she would have it removed.

Vines and moss crept up the sides of her tower, nature growing over what Hyrule had once claimed as her own. A drizzle of rain crept in through the gaping hole in the roof, sprinkling Link’s hood. Zelda, for now, remained on the dry side of the room. She muttered something under her breath, setting another scrap into the garbage pile.

Link didn’t know what he was here for, if he was being honest. He knew nothing about Sheikah tech. He would be no help in determining what was worthwhile to keep and what could be tossed away. If nothing else, he could set to work on clearing the space, sorting through furniture, and compiling that which could be carried out and burned. He picked up an armchair, the once-pink fabric stained with mold. Zelda might get sick from being too close to it.

“That belonged to my grandmother.” Zelda stated, not looking up from her sorting.

Link set the chair back down. “I was going to toss it. There’s mold in the cushion.”

“Hm.” Zelda hummed. She glanced up at the chair, then dropped her gaze to the papers. “Toss it then.”

As instructed, Link chucked it onto the remains of the bed. It sank the soaked mattress even further into the floor. Link winced when he heard a slat crack.

Next was the vanity. The mirror had seen better days, spotted with oxidation and partially warped across the glass. A few glass bottles rested on the surface, in various shapes and sizes. Glass bottles of many colors, shaped to resemble birds, flowers, or abstract twists of a glassblower’s prowess, were filled with some sort of liquid. Link picked up a bottle out of curiosity and unstopped it. A wave of sour scent assaulted his nose. He coughed, stopping the bottle back before his stomach inverted itself at the stench.

“Those perfumes are over a hundred years old, Link.” Zelda chided. “I don’t know what you expected.”

Link coughed again, fighting back a wretch. “Not sour milk! I thought maybe they would have, I don’t know, stopped smelling at all.”

Zelda shrugged, setting a scrap of paper into the keep pile. “Some probably have. I don’t remember what that one was made with. My father gave it to me when I turned fifteen.”

The king commissioned this? Link turned the bottle over in his hands. Based on the swirling, braided design of the green glass, he thought it might have once been a floral. Certainly not now. Those flowers had long since rotted. “It’s a pretty bottle.”

Zelda heaved a sigh (easy enough on the non-stinky side of the room). “I suppose.”

It reminded him a bit of the way some women braided dried herbs together. He’d tried that once. Clavia told him that tied herb bundles made soup better. He must not have done a very good job of tying them as the leaves quickly scattered in his soup. He pulled out as many wet, limp leaves as he could, and even still, they ended up in his final bowl. “It’s in pretty good condition. We could dump it and reuse the bottle.”

Zelda glanced up, her emerald eyes resting on the glass in his hand for a moment. Some emotion he couldn’t identify flashed across her face. She went back to sorting. “If you’d like. I’m sure it will make someone else happy.”

With her permission, Link gathered up all the bottles. He’d give them to Purah later. She could repurpose them into something nice again, if she wanted. Or she could make a stink bomb horrid enough to level a village. All good options. He set the perfume bottles in a trunk that they’d emptied out earlier that day. The handles of this one hadn’t rotted off yet, so it would be good for transporting anything valuable.

He tugged at the first of the drawers on the vanity. It refused to budge. He tugged again. “It’s jammed.”

“It’s locked, Link.” Zelda corrected.

Sure enough, the drawer had a keyhole toward one side. He frowned. “Do you have a key?”

Zelda thought for a moment, looking around the room. “Check that end table.”

What Link was sure was once a lovely cherry wood end table beside Zelda’s bed now leaned against the wall, the drawer hanging lopsided and off its track. He wrenched that drawer free, pulling it out. Inside were folded pieces of paper, most in good condition, and a few silk handkerchiefs. Link brought the drawer over to Zelda, showing her the contents.

Zelda ceased her sorting for a moment, her eyes widening when she saw the folded papers within. She picked up the first, handling it gently, as if it might crumble away in her hands. As she unfolded it to read the contents, her face paled, her expression set like stone.

“Princess?” Link asked. He peeked over her shoulder at the paper but found the penmanship too close to read. “What is it?”

Zelda took a shaky breath, folding the paper back up. She set it in the keep pile. “A note. These are all notes, from various people. This one,” She tapped a finger on the small scrap. “Was written by my lady’s maid, Henrietta. It’s nothing of any importance, really. She wrote to inform me that her mother was ill and she had to go home for a week to tend to her.” Zelda shook her head. “It’s of no importance. I should probably toss it.”

“Wait.” Link sat down beside her, stopping her hand from moving the note to the trash pile. “Tell me about her.”

Zelda blinked, surprised. “About a servant?”

“About your friend.” He said. “I remember that you were friends with your maid.”

The rain drizzled on. Zelda fiddled with the note in her hands, tracing the folds with her fingertips. “She…she was very nice. She would sing a little song every morning as she helped me dress. I don’t remember all the words anymore. It’s been so long…” She trailed off. Link remained silent, sitting with her in the quiet. “Something about bluebirds, I believe. Bluebirds chirping sweetly in the trees.” She took a slow breath. “She poured my tea, too. She always set a lump of sugar in the cup and poured the tea over it. No one else did it that way. She said it dissolved faster. And she would brush my hair and braid it into a crown.” She pointed to the vanity. “There used to be a little stool that matched that. I haven’t seen it yet. I sat on that and took my tea while she brushed my hair.”

Link followed her gaze, imagining the scene. He could see it so clearly. She liked her tea first thing in the morning. He could see her setting a cup on a delicate saucer, a smiling maid combing through Zelda’s golden hair, them laughing together at a song about bluebirds. He could see it. It was beautiful.

Zelda let out a small, bitter laugh beside him. “You probably think I’m spoiled rotten, having someone else do everything for me.”

“No.” Link said quickly, directing his attention back to her. “You’re a princess. That’s just how you grew up.”

“Hm.” Zelda hummed, her lips pressed into a thin line. She let the note fall into her lap, digging into the drawer for the next. “Let’s see, this one…” She unfolded the next note. “Ah. This one is from the high priestess. It’s a letter summoning me to the temple to try some new style of prayer that she’d found in the annals.” She flipped the note over, showing Link a very unflattering drawing of a woman in a long dress with ears and fangs like a bokoblin. “This is what I thought of her after she made me pray on that hard stone floor for hours. Awful woman.”

The lines of the drawing were faded, the ink bleeding out just a little, making the priestess appear almost bloody. “How old were you?”

“The first time?” Zelda asked. She chewed her lower lip, thinking. “Eight, I think.”

”Eight?!” Link gasped. “You were eight years old, and this crabby lady made you pray for hours?!”

Zelda shrugged. This note, too, fell into her lap. “Lot of good it did, too. Hand me another.”

“Wait,” Link pushed her hand away. “Why did you keep that one?”

“Hm?” Zelda blushed, a hint of a smile on her lips. “Oh. Because Henrietta found it later, among a bunch of other stuff. She said, ‘When you do unlock your powers, you’re going to look back on this drawing and laugh. You’ll laugh at how they doubted you.’” Her smile wavered, the corners of her mouth twitching downward again. “I…I’m waiting to laugh.”

Link didn’t stop her from taking the next note. As she unfolded it, her previous downcast vanished, replaced with a laugh and a blush that reached the tips of her ears. “Oh, this one is from you!”

“What?” Link asked, taking the offered note. “From me?”

Sure enough, his own handwriting, though slightly neater, stared back at him. His writing strung together a poem, so clumsy, so raunchy, that he immediately folded it again and handed it back, his face burning. “You can trash that one.”

“Oh no, I’m keeping this one!” Zelda giggled. She stood up, unfolded the note, and, to his mortification, began to read aloud. “Princess of my waking dreams, your smile in my night does gleam.” She darted to the other side of the room as Link got up, trying to grab the paper back. “As we lay alone in bed, I wish that we may one day wed!” She squeaked as Link got closer, twirling away from him as she read on. “As pillows lay my head to rest, I dream of your soft and supple- eek!” Zelda yelped as Link grabbed her around the waist, finally catching up and pinning her against the wall between the broken bed frame and the bookshelf. She let him take the note, not trying to fight again. “You know, I recall something similar happening the first time I read that poem, too.”

Heat burned all the way up Link’s ears and down to his neck. And though he tried to keep his composure, Zelda’s body pinned against his made forming any coherent thoughts extremely difficult. He tried to glare at her, to feign annoyance and disdain, but found his resolve crumbling with every moment that Zelda stared up at him with those lovely emerald eyes. “Don’t you dare show it to anyone else.”

“I would never.” Zelda teased. She pecked a kiss to his nose, grinning broadly. “That my thighs are soft as Rito down will remain our secret.”

Just when he thought his mortification would never end, Zelda slipped under his arm, returning to the abandoned drawer. She riffled through the remainder of the notes. “All of these I’ll keep. They were all written by those who are long dead.” She nodded to Link. “Excepting you, of course.” She picked up one of the handkerchiefs and unwrapped it, revealing a brass key.

Click.

The drawer on the vanity slid open. Zelda’s hand hovered over the knob, her smile disappearing once again.

“What’s in there?” Link asked, joining her side. Inside the drawer laid a necklace, carefully set on red silk. The golden chain, thin as a spider’s silk, looped through a triangle pendant. Three golden triangles joined together formed a larger structure, each with a gem set in the center. At the top point of this triangle laid a small ruby, barely bigger than the nail on Zelda’s pinky, cut into a diamond. To the left, three sapphires. And to the right, an emerald, round as a pea. Link stared at the necklace, finer than anything he’d ever seen in this lifetime, and so well-preserved that he wondered whether the decay of malice had ever reached the walls of that box. “It’s beautiful.”

Zelda swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. “It was my mother’s.” She took a shaky breath, steeling herself as she reached into the drawer and took hold of the chain. As she lifted it up, the gleam of the gold and gems seemed to glow in the firelight. “Not that I remember her ever wearing it. Father said it was hers.”

The pendant spun as she held it aloft. It spun toward Zelda, then away, and back again, catching the glint of the lantern’s glow as it turned. To say that the stones and the pendant were beautiful would be the understatement of a lifetime. It almost looked…magical. Like it called to his spirit.

Zelda set it back in the silk, wrapping it up and tucking it into her pocket. “Whether she wore it or not, it’s too fine a piece to leave here in all this decay.” She picked up small keep pile, tapping the papers until they were straight and laying them into the trunk they’d designated for transport earlier. “We’d better get these back to Purah before sundown. I don’t want to know what sort of creatures have made their home here.” She shuddered, giving her room one final look-over before she picked up her end of the trunk. “They can have it.”

#linktober 2023 #zelink #loz link #tears of the kingdom #loz zelda #loz fanfic #loz fic

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the-werdna · 5 months

Text

Title: Robcina Week Day 6 - School

Description: Another day at school comes. After solving the misunderstanding he'd had with Lucina, Robin is hopeful that today can pass uneventfully. That isn't too much to ask, right?

Notes: Takes place after all of the other Persona Au chapters, those being chapters 41, 47, 61, 64, 68, 74, and 79. Takes place the day after the events of chapter 75

Words: 2051

The buzzing rumble of his phone sounded as it vibrated against the table, stirring him from his slumber an instant before the shrill ringing of the alarm sounded. Dragging himself out of his futon, Robin scrambled for the device. Today was the rare occasion where he managed to seize it on his first try, swiping the screen to silence the chorus of beeps.

For a moment, he laid there, half on the floor, half still entangled in his covers. With a groan, Robin pushed himself into a sitting position before taking a look at his phone. Rubbing sensitive eyes from the brightened screen, his vision began to clear.

September 18th. Wednesday. It was time for school.

Heaving himself to his feet, Robin set about gathering his things, shoveling his books and other supplies into his bag. A quick shower later, he stopped by his room again to change into his uniform before heading downstairs. The lower level of the house was still and empty when he got there. No real surprise there. Chrom would be at work already, and Lucina got up early for kendo training before school. From the sounds of activity downstairs, he'd heard while getting ready, and the absence of Cynthia's bag now told him she must have only left a few minutes ago.

So much for waiting. Though I suppose I could still run into her or one of the others at the station, he mused. Yawning, he stopped by the fridge, picking up the boxed lunches he'd prepared the evening before, juggling his phone, schoolbag, and lunches at the same time, Robin checked the time while fumbling the slip boxes into the bag. Not much time left, gotta hurry to make the train. Toast will have to do for breakfast. Setting his phone down on the counter, he popped two slices into the toaster, managing to zip up his bag at the same time. A few moments later they popped out with a chime. He ate quickly, then hurried for the door, slamming it behind him. Then immediately ran back inside, snatching up his phone.

Okay, now I can go, Robin told himself. He paused, running through a quick mental checklist to make sure he didn't forget anything else. Satisfied, he headed back outdoors.

. . . . .

As packed as the train was, Robin saw neither Cynthia nor any of his other friends there. They must have all gotten on earlier trains. Shrugging, Robin decided he would try to continue reading the book he checked out from the library, provided he managed to find a seat.

The train arrived a few moments later, screeching as it came to a stop at the station. Robin hurried inside, managing to find an empty seat before the big rush as the other commuters jostled for places aboard. Reaching into his bag, he fished out the book: Expert Fishing. There was quite a bit left, it would probably take today and at least another train ride before he finished it. It should help make his fishing trips more effective, however. Which meant more fish he could then trade for gems with that weird cat that hangs out at the old shrine and then use those to buy-

Robin frowned. Do you ever stop and think to yourself, 'Wow, my life is weird'? Because I didn't until this year, he thought, directing the statement at no one in particular. Shaking his head, he resumed reading. Weird or not, it was a good use of his time. Maybe he'd try to finish the book that evening if he didn't find anything else to do then.

Minutes passed as he flipped through the pages

+ until at last, he arrived at his destination. Returning the book to his bag, he slung the strap over his shoulder. There was only a short wait before enough people ahead of him disembarked so that he could slip through the packed car and out onto the station. Then, he was off on the short walk to school.

. . . . .

Robin slipped his shoes into his cubby before bending down to put on his school shoes. Just as he finished he felt a buzzing of his phone in his pocket. He ignored it, continuing to do up the laces. Again his phone rumbled, signaling another notification. Then a few moments later, another rumble. Then a fourth. Sighing, Robin brought it out, opening up the screen.

Let's see… Cynthia wants to hang out after school… and so does Inigo… and Owain… and it looks like the photography club is holding an optional meeting today. He sighed and put the phone away. He could decide which to do later once school ended. So many Social Links, so little time.

Heading to the home room, he found the class already half-full, students mostly out of their seats in groups chatting with one another. Owain and Severa were already there as well, and, as was typical of them, bickering about something. He knew the pattern, Owain did something foolish or eccentric that annoyed Severa and then they'd argue about it. Had it been earlier in the day, Robin would have set in to mediate it, but it was frankly still way too early for him to care.

Taking his seat and willing himself not to register what they were going on about this time, Robin unpacked his school supplies.

Just as he finished, his phone buzzed once again. Momentarily annoyed and half considering just silencing the damn thing, Robin glanced at the screen, only to pause as he saw the sender. It was from Lucina.

"TO ROBIN. THANK YOU FOR SPEAKING TO ME YESTERDAY. I ENJOYED TALKING. LET'S DO IT AGAIN SOMETIME WHEN I AM NOT BUSY. Y/N?"

Robin found himself smiling as he always did at her odd manner of texting. It was cute. As for the message, of course, Wednesdays were one of the days Lucina was busy with Kendo practice after school, so that was a no-go. Besides, he had to still spend time with his other friends and continue to deepen those bonds.

"Sure, I'd love to. Next time you're free?", he texted back. He moved to slip his phone back into his pocket, only to stop, considering it for a moment, remembering the extra boxed lunch he'd brought today. When he'd cooked the extra meal last evening, he hadn't had anyone particular in mind for it. He figured he'd decide which of his friends to split it with later, maybe see if any of them hadn't brought anything. But now… maybe he should ask Lucina. That way they could spend some time together sooner. He certainly wanted to, but…

Would that seem too weird? He still didn't quite know how the two of them stood or how Lucina really felt about him. Was it too soon to make any move, or-

"Hey, what are you sitting there blushing about? Get a love letter from your crush or some other sappy nonsense?" Severa interjected, turning around in her chair to stare at him in almost incredulous amusement. Evidently, he had failed to notice her and Owain finishing their little morning spat.

Only then did Robin realize that he was indeed blushing. "No, it's- Just, mind your own business," he told her, his words doing nothing other than heightening her amusement. He hastily put his phone away, doing his best to brush aside her comment.

"Sure, whatever you say, Romeo," Severa grinned, rolling her eyes sarcastically at his own glare.

Mercifully it was then that their homeroom teacher entered, beginning the school day proper. It was rare that Robin was thankful to see the man, but right now he'd do anything to change the subject.

Let's just hope the rest of the day goes better. I could use it better. And normal.

. . . . .

The lunch bell rang, signaling the morning's end. Gathering things, Robin gazed at the two boxed lunches inside. He needed to decide who to have lunch with.

I could ask Lucina, but… He frowned, remembering the times they'd hung out yesterday and the day before. Things were less awkward yesterday, but… I still don't know if Lucina likes me that way or not. What if we are just friends? Would sharing a lunch be too romantic, or…

He shook his head, banishing the jumbled doubts and second guesses. He'd made lunches like this for most of his other friends before. This was no different than that. Making up his mind, he sent Lucina a text. Moments later his phone buzzed, Lucina agreeing to his offer to meet him.

Heading to the rooftop, Robin found Lucina already there. As it was a school day, not to mention the fact she tended to be a stickler for the rules, Lucina was wearing her Ylisstol High uniform in the standard, unmodified fashion. The only visible accessory was her trademark long red and blue scarf that she wore with nearly every outfit of hers.

Lucina peered around intently for several moments before her eyes laid upon him amongst the other students who'd taken their lunch there. Smiling, she headed towards him, Robin doing the same to meet her halfway.

"Robin, there you are! I wasn't certain if you were already here or not, but I suppose I was just early," Lucina said, her words sounding almost half an apology.

"It's alright," Robin assured her. He laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "I am a bit shocked you got here so quickly. So, um… shall we?" he asked, motioning for one of the benches.

"Oh, yes," Lucina blushed, taking a seat as he did the same.

Robin handed her one of the bento boxes he'd prepared the night prior. Inside was rice, pickled daikon and cabbage, and slices of crispy fried pork chops. "I know it's not anything fancy, I am still getting the hang of cooking my own things. I hope you don't mind," he explained.

"Oh, no, I don't mind it at all Robin," Lucina said. She bowed her head in thanks. "I appreciate the thought of preparing something for the both of us." She took a few bites of the food, smiling. That seemed to be a good sign.

"Don't mention it," Robin said. He laughed nervously, again. He needed to stop doing that.

"You have cooked for others before too, have you not?" Lucina asked between mouthfuls.

"Oh, uh, yes, I have. The first few times I am not sure I did the best job, I only started cooking regularly this year," Robin explained. "I guess my practicing has paid off since you and the others seem to have enjoyed it."

"I see. I really should work on my own cooking skills. My own are quite basic, I am afraid," Lucina said. She smiled again as she finished another bite, setting the half-eaten box aside for the moment. "So, how has your day been?"

Robin smiled back. For some time the two chatted, sticking mostly to small talk for the time being.

Lucina enjoyed your lunch!

You feel that your relationship is going to become closer soon…

Just as they'd both finished, a bell rang in the distance, signaling the end of lunch break and that it was time to return to class.

"Oh, look at the time. We both must get going it seems," Lucina said. She stood in unison with him, turning to hand the empty bento box to him. He accepted it, and in doing so their hands brushed against each other. They both blushed, quickly pulling away. Lucina glanced at the floor, Robin glancing off to the side.

"I- Thank you for the lunch, Robin. I really appreciate your thoughtfulness in inviting me," she assured him. She seemed to hesitate a moment, then pulled him into a brief hug. Then, blushing all the more fiercely, she hurried away, heading down the stairs back to class.

"D-Don't mention it," Robin stammered, even though she was no longer there. He was incredibly thankful Several or any of the others weren't there to see him at that moment. They'd never let him live it down.

He reached up, touching his shoulder where Lucina had embraced him. Now, he realized, I need to figure out what the heck that hug was supposed to mean. Shaking his head, he headed down the stairs as well, ready to resume what remained of the school day.

#fire emblem #fire emblem awakening #lucina #robin #robin x lucina #robcina #robcina-week

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istumpysk · 2 years

Text

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Theon I (Theon VII) [Chapter 51]

Theon I otherwise known as A Ghost in Winterfell Part II.

If you haven't already, I strongly recommend reading that post before this one.

So we're all on the same page, I will be operating under the assumption that Theon is both the Hooded Man and the ghost in Winterfell.

"The storm will end today," one of the surviving stableboys was insisting loudly. "Why, it isn't even winter." Theon would have laughed if he had dared. He remembered tales Old Nan had told them of storms that raged for forty days and forty nights, for a year, for ten years … storms that buried castles and cities and whole kingdoms under a hundred feet of snow.

He's getting closer and closer to calling someone a sweet summer child.

+.+.+

He sat in the back of the Great Hall, not far from the horses, watching Abel, Rowan, and a mousy brown-haired washerwoman called Squirrel attack slabs of stale brown bread fried in bacon grease.

Why is there an Arya wildling?

+.+.+

Roose Bolton entered, pale-eyed and yawning, accompanied by his plump and pregnant wife, Fat Walda.

New developments.

+.+.+

"Lord Stannis is outside the walls, and not far by the sound of it. All we need do is reach him." Abel's fingers danced across the strings of his lute. The singer's beard was brown, though his long hair had largely gone to grey.

Hair going grey before the beard?

Has George ever met a man.

+.+.+

Up on the dais, Ramsay was arguing with his father. They were too far away for Theon to make out any of the words, but the fear on Fat Walda's round pink face spoke volumes.

Nothing to worry about, I'm sure.

+.+.+

Theon wondered if he would ever see the Drowned God's watery halls, or if his ghost would linger here at Winterfell. Dead is dead. Better dead than Reek.

Kind of amazed he doesn't consider hell a strong possibility. Lol.

+.+.+

If Abel's scheme went awry, Ramsay would make their dying long and hard. He will flay me from head to heel this time, and no amount of begging will end the anguish. No pain Theon had ever known came close to the agony that Skinner could evoke with a little flensing blade.

<- Daenerys VIII

I hate this, thought Daenerys Targaryen. How did this happen, that I am drinking and smiling with men I'd sooner flay?

+.+.+

Abel would learn that lesson soon enough. And for what? Jeyne, her name is Jeyne, and her eyes are the wrong color. A mummer playing a part. Lord Bolton knows, and Ramsay, but the rest are blind, even this bloody bard with his sly smiles. The jape is on you, Abel, you and your murdering whores. You'll die for the wrong girl.

Does Mance know? I'll let you decided.

"But you said you saw me twice. When was the other time?"

"When King Robert came to Winterfell to make your father Hand," the King-beyond-the-Wall said lightly.

[...]

The night your father feasted Robert, I sat in the back of his hall on a bench with the other freeriders, listening to Orland of Oldtown play the high harp and sing of dead kings beneath the sea. I betook of your lord father's meat and mead, had a look at Kingslayer and Imp . . . and made passing note of Lord Eddard's children and the wolf pups that ran at their heels. - Jon I, ASOS

+.+.+

He had come this close to telling them the truth when Rowan had delivered him to Abel in the ruins of the Burned Tower, but at the last instant he had held his tongue. The singer seemed intent on making off with the daughter of Eddard Stark. If he knew that Lord Ramsay's bride was but a steward's whelp, well …

A grown ass man living out his Bael the Bard fantasies.

+.+.+

The doors of the Great Hall opened with a crash.

A cold wind came swirling through, and a cloud of ice crystals sparkled blue-white in the air. Through it strode Ser Hosteen Frey, caked with snow to the waist, a body in his arms.

There's no blood on Ser Hosteen Frey.

+.+.+

Another murder.

Snow slid from Ser Hosteen's cloaks as he stalked toward the high table, his steps ringing against the floor. A dozen Frey knights and men-at-arms entered behind him. One was a boy Theon knew—Big Walder, the little one, fox-faced and skinny as a stick. His chest and arms and cloak were spattered with blood.

Fox-faced Big Walder has splattered blood all over him.

+.+.+

The body in Ser Hosteen's arms sparkled in the torchlight, armored in pink frost. The cold outside had frozen his blood.

"My brother Merrett's son." Hosteen Frey lowered the body to the floor before the dais. "Butchered like a hog and shoved beneath a snowbank. A boy."

Little Walder's blood had frozen due to the cold.

How is there splattered blood all over Big Walder?

"Don't be stupid," his cousin said. "The sons of the first son come before the second son. Ser Ryman is next in line, and then Edwyn and Black Walder and Petyr Pimple. And then Aegon and all his sons."

"Ryman is old too," said Little Walder. "Past forty, I bet. And he has a bad belly. Do you think he'll be lord?"

"I'll be lord. I don't care if he is." - Bran V, ACOK

"Did you find your cousins, my lord?"

"No. I never thought we would. They're dead. Lord Wyman had them killed. That's what I would have done if I was him." - Reek III, ADWD

+.+.+

Little Walder, thought Theon. The big one. He glanced at Rowan. There are six of them, he remembered. Any of them could have done this. But the washerwoman felt his eyes. "This was no work of ours," she said.

"Be quiet," Abel warned her.

She's not lying.

As much as I'd love to push a new theory, I think we all know Big Walder is the killer.

+.+.+

Lord Ramsay descended from the dais to the dead boy. His father rose more slowly, pale-eyed, still-faced, solemn. "This was foul work."

Does someone want to remind George that Little Walder was Walda's brother, and she should be reacting to his dead body.

+.+.+

For once Roose Bolton's voice was loud enough to carry. "Where was the body found?"

"Under that ruined keep, my lord," replied Big Walder. "The one with the old gargoyles." The boy's gloves were caked with his cousin's blood. "I told him not to go out alone, but he said he had to find a man who owed him silver."

Sure, repeat it.

Big Walder found the body first thing in the morning. Imagine that.

+.+.+

"What man?" Ramsay demanded. "Give me his name. Point him out to me, boy, and I will make you a cloak of his skin."

"He never said, my lord. Only that he won the coin at dice." The Frey boy hesitated. "It was some White Harbor men who taught dice. I couldn't say which ones, but it was them."

The boy hesitates right before incriminating Wyman Manderly, known antagonizer of House Frey. Nicely done, kid.

+.+.+

"My lord," boomed Hosteen Frey. "We know the man who did this. Killed this boy and all the rest. Not by his own hand, no. He is too fat and craven to do his own killing. But by his word." He turned to Wyman Manderly. "Do you deny it?"

The Lord of White Harbor bit a sausage in half. "I confess …" He wiped the grease from his lips with his sleeve. "… I confess that I know little of this poor boy. Lord Ramsay's squire, was he not? How old was the lad?"

Wyman definitely knew something about the boy, Little Walder was betrothed to Wylla Manderly.

Despite that motive, I don't think there's a single reason to believe Manderly did this.

+.+.+

"Nine, on his last nameday."

"So young," said Wyman Manderly. "Though mayhaps this was a blessing. Had he lived, he would have grown up to be a Frey."

Bwhahahahaha.

And he said mayhaps! Lmfao.

+.+.+

Ser Hosteen Frey ripped his longsword from its scabbard and leapt toward Wyman Manderly. The Lord of White Harbor tried to jerk away, but the tabletop pinned him to his chair. The blade slashed through three of his four chins in a spray of bright red blood.

How did he not die?

+.+.+

Up on the dais, Ramsay was arguing with his father.

For once Roose Bolton's voice was loud enough to carry. "Where was the body found?"

Lady Walda gave a shriek and clutched at her lord husband's arm. "Stop," Roose Bolton shouted. "Stop this madness."

Roose just doesn't seem like himself lately. He needs a nap.

+.+.+

"I see you all want blood," the Lord of the Dreadfort said. Maester Rhodry stood beside him, a raven on his arm. The bird's black plumage shone like coal oil in the torchlight. Wet, Theon realized. And in his lordship's hand, a parchment. That will be wet as well. Dark wings, dark words. "Rather than use our swords upon each other, you might try them on Lord Stannis." Lord Bolton unrolled the parchment.

Arnolf Karstark informing the Boltons of Stannis Baratheon's whereabouts.

"Tell me, then. Where are these two trained to fly?"

Maester Tybald did not answer. Theon Greyjoy kicked his feet feebly, and laughed under his breath. Caught!

"Answer me. If we were to loose these birds, would they return to the Dreadfort?" The king leaned forward. "Or might they fly for Winterfell instead?" - Theon I, TWOW

Too bad Stannis knows they're coming.

+.+.+

"His host lies not three days' ride from here, snowbound and starving, and I for one am tired of waiting on his pleasure. Ser Hosteen, assemble your knights and men-at-arms by the main gates. As you are so eager for battle, you shall strike our first blow. Lord Wyman, gather your White Harbor men by the east gate. They shall go forth as well."

We're saving the Night Lamp theory for Theon I TWOW (How did Theon chapters become harder than Bran's?), but I will say they're walking into a trap.

If the Freys are striking first, hopefully that means Team Manderly avoids falling into a lake.

+.+.+

"Singer," he called, "come sing us something soothing." Abel bowed. "If it please your lordship."

[...]

Rowan grasped Theon's arm. "The bath. It must be now."

He wrenched free of her touch. "By day? We will be seen."

"The snow will hide us. Are you deaf? Bolton is sending forth his swords. We have to reach King Stannis before they do."

"But … Abel …"

"Abel can fend for himself," murmured Squirrel.

Rest in peace, Mance Rayder.

+.+.+

Squirrel slipped away, soft-footed as she always was.

Is she off to kill the queen?

No really, why is there an Arya wildling?

+.+.+

Rowan walked Theon from the hall. Since she and her sisters had found him in the godswood, one of them had dogged his every step, never letting him out of sight. They did not trust him. Why should they? I was Reek before and might be Reek again. Reek, Reek, it rhymes with sneak.

Interesting, because the ghost of Winterfell seems to have stopped killing people.

+.+.+

Outside the snow still fell. The snowmen the squires had built had grown into monstrous giants, ten feet tall and hideously misshapen.

Someone please meta the evolution of the snowmen.

More snowmen had risen in the yard by the time Theon Greyjoy made his way back. To command the snowy sentinels on the walls, the squires had erected a dozen snowy lords. One was plainly meant to be Lord Manderly; it was the fattest snowman that Theon had ever seen. The one-armed lord could only be Harwood Stout, the snow lady Barbrey Dustin. And the one closest to the door with the beard made of icicles had to be old Whoresbane Umber. - The Turncloak, ADWD

Sentries crowded into the guard turrets to warm half-frozen hands over glowing braziers, leaving the wallwalks to the snowy sentinels the squires had thrown up, who grew larger and stranger every night as wind and weather worked their will upon them. Ragged beards of ice grew down the spears clasped in their snowy fists. - A Ghost in Winterfell, ADWD

+.+.+

Even the godswood was turning white. A film of ice had formed upon the pool beneath the heart tree, and the face carved into its pale trunk had grown a mustache of little icicles.

Apparently Bran's pulling a Sansa, and speedrunning puberty.

+.+.+

"Winter is coming …"

Rowan gave him a hard look. "You have no right to mouth Lord Eddard's words. Not you. Not ever. After what you did—"

Does someone want to remind George the wildlings do not give a shit about kneelers and their house words.

(Yes, I'm aware of the Rowan Umber theory.)

+.+.+

"You killed a boy as well."

"That was not us. I told you."

"Words are wind." They are no better than me. We're just the same. "You killed the others, why not him? Yellow Dick—"

"—stank as bad as you. A pig of a man."

"And Little Walder was a piglet. Killing him brought the Freys and Manderlys to dagger points, that was cunning, you—"

"Not us." Rowan grabbed him by the throat and shoved him back against the barracks wall, her face an inch from his. "Say it again and I will rip your lying tongue out, kinslayer."

Nothing in this chapter is worthy of an alarm, but I've already established a pattern, lol.

This is more ambiguous than I ever remembered.

"Kill me." There was more despair than defiance in his voice. "Go on. Do me, the way you did the others. Yellow Dick and the rest. It was you."

Holly laughed. "How could it be us? We're women. Teats and cunnies. Here to be fucked, not feared." - A Ghost in Winterfell, ADWD

The wildlings never admit to killing the other men. They only deny killing a boy; that's not an admission of guilt for the others.

If the wildings did kill the men, and George was content with the reader knowing that, why did he leave room for doubt?

+.+.+

Theon knew he should not goad her. In her own way, this one was as dangerous as Skinner or Damon Dance-for-Me. But he was cold and tired, his head was pounding, he had not slept in days.

I hear that's bad for your mental health, Theon Durden.

+.+.+

"I have done terrible things … betrayed my own, turned my cloak, ordered the death of men who trusted me … but I am no kinslayer."

"Stark's boys were never brothers to you, aye. We know."

That was true, but it was not what Theon had meant. They were not my blood, but even so, I never harmed them. The two we killed were just some miller's sons. Theon did not want to think about their mother. He had known the miller's wife for years, had even bedded her. Big heavy breasts with wide dark nipples, a sweet mouth, a merry laugh. Joys that I will never taste again.

But there was no use telling Rowan any of that. She would never believe his denials, any more than he believed hers. "There is blood on my hands, but not the blood of brothers," he said wearily. "And I've been punished."

We revisit one of the bigger obstacles of the Theon Durden theory. If Theon is the Hooded Man, why did he call himself a kinslayer?

I admit the lengthy reflection on the miller's wife doesn't look good here, but I truly don't believe Theon is capable of killing children he suspects are his own.

I'll repeat what I said the last chapter. I think Theon subconsciously blames himself for Robb dying. He will call Robb his brother later in this chapter, and express regret over not being by his side.

And Robb. Robb who had been more a brother to Theon than any son born of Balon Greyjoy's loins. Murdered at the Red Wedding, butchered by the Freys. I should have been with him. Where was I? I should have died with him.

+.+.+

Foolish woman. He might well be a broken thing, but Theon still wore a dagger. It would have been a simple thing to slide it out and drive it down between her shoulder blades. That much he was still capable of, missing teeth and broken teeth and all.

We're soon going to learn Theon is capable of more than just stabbing.

+.+.+

Reek might have done it. Would have done it, in hopes it might please Lord Ramsay. These whores meant to steal Ramsay's bride; Reek could not allow that. But the old gods had known him, had called him Theon. Ironborn, I was ironborn, Balon Greyjoy's son and rightful heir to Pyke. The stumps of his fingers itched and twitched, but he kept his dagger in its sheath.

Aww look at Bran subtly influencing the plot.

+.+.+

When Squirrel returned, the other four were with her: gaunt grey-haired Myrtle, Willow Witch-Eye with her long black braid, Frenya of the thick waist and enormous breasts, Holly with her knife. Clad as serving girls in layers of drab grey roughspun, they wore brown woolen cloaks lined with white rabbit fur. No swords, Theon saw. No axes, no hammers, no weapons but knives.

Jeyne will switch outfits with Squirrel.

I will let you decide whether this grey roughspun with a brown cloak meets girl in grey criteria.

+.+.+

"Even if we do get past the guards, how do you mean to get Lady Arya out?"

Holly smiled. "Six women go in, six come out. Who looks at serving girls? We'll dress the Stark girl up as Squirrel."

Theon glanced at Squirrel. They are almost of a size. It might work. "And how does Squirrel get out?"

Of course the Arya wildling will pretend to be Arya.

+.+.+

Squirrel answered for herself. "Out a window, and straight down to the godswood. I was twelve the first time my brother took me raiding south o' your Wall. That's where I got my name. My brother said I looked like a squirrel running up a tree. I've done that Wall six times since, over and back again. I think I can climb down some stone tower."

I don't understand what's happening here. What is with this girl?

+.+.+

They are doing it all wrong. Real serving girls were always teasing the potboys, flirting with the cooks, wheedling a taste of this, a bite of that. Rowan and her scheming sisters did not want to attract notice, but their sullen silence soon had the guards giving them queer looks. "Where's Maisie and Jez and t'other girls?" one asked Theon. "The usual ones."

"Lady Arya was displeased with them," he lied. "Her water was cold before it reached the tub last time."

Maisie Williams was hired August 7th, 2009. ADWD was released July 12, 2011.

I don't think that name is a coincidence, lol. George is cute.

+.+.+

The Frey men wore the badge of the two towers, those from White Harbor displayed merman and trident. They shouldered through the storm in opposite directions and eyed each other warily as they passed, but no swords were drawn. Not here. It may be different out there in the woods.

Please no. This is the one time I don't want any interference from House Manderly.

+.+.+

Theon led the way up the stairs. I have climbed these steps a thousand times before. As a boy he would run up; descending, he would take the steps three at a time, leaping. Once he leapt right into Old Nan and knocked her to the floor. That earned him the worst thrashing he ever had at Winterfell, though it was almost tender compared to the beatings his brothers used to give him back on Pyke. He and Robb had fought many a heroic battle on these steps, slashing at one another with wooden swords. Good training, that; it brought home how hard it was to fight your way up a spiral stair against determined opposition. Ser Rodrik liked to say that one good man could hold a hundred, fighting down.

That was long ago, though. They were all dead now. Jory, old Ser Rodrik, Lord Eddard, Harwin and Hullen, Cayn and Desmond and Fat Tom, Alyn with his dreams of knighthood, Mikken who had given him his first real sword. Even Old Nan, like as not.

NO.

No, okay? No. You're wrong. She was alive in A Feast For Crows! She could still be at the Dreadfort!

She's not dead until I see the body.

+.+.+

No day had dawned inside this room. Shadows covered all. One last log crackled feebly amongst the dying embers in the hearth, and a candle flickered on the table beside a rumpled, empty bed. The girl is gone, Theon thought. She has thrown herself out a window in despair.

Perhaps I will die too, she told herself, and the thought did not seem so terrible to her. If she flung herself from the window, she could put an end to her suffering, and in the years to come the singers would write songs of her grief. Her body would lie on the stones below, broken and innocent, shaming all those who had betrayed her. Sansa went so far as to cross the bedchamber and throw open the shutters … but then her courage left her, and she ran back to her bed, sobbing. - Sansa VI, AGOT

+.+.+

A tear ran down her cheek. "Tell him, you tell him. I'll do what he wants … whatever he wants … with him or … or with the dog or … please … he doesn't need to cut my feet off, I won't try to run away, not ever, I'll give him sons, I swear it, I swear it …"

Rowan whistled softly. "Gods curse the man."

"I'm a good girl," Jeyne whimpered. "They trained me."

Sorry about sharing that.

I wanted to quickly say I don't think Jeyne being pregnant serves the story at all. I can't stand that theory.

"Roose has trained you well." She left him there. - The Turncloak, ADWD

+.+.+

"Get her up, turncloak." Holly had her knife in hand. "Get her up or I will. We have to go. Get the little cunt up on her feet and shake some courage into her."

Was that necessary?

+.+.+

We are all dead, Theon thought. I told them this was folly, but none of them would listen. Abel had doomed them. All singers were half-mad.

Rhaegar shade!

+.+.+

In songs, the hero always saved the maiden from the monster's castle, but life was not a song, no more than Jeyne was Arya Stark. Her eyes are the wrong color. And there are no heroes here, only whores. Even so, he knelt beside her, pulled down the furs, touched her cheek. "You know me. I'm Theon, you remember. I know you too. I know your name."

In A Song of Ice and Fire, Theon helps save Jeyne.

+.+.+

Theon slipped his hand through hers. The stumps of his lost fingers tingled as he drew the girl to her feet. The wolfskins fell away from her. Underneath them she was naked, her small pale breasts covered with teeth marks. He heard one of the women suck in her breath.

I apologize again.

It's another Targaryen / Bolton parallel.

The queen had been cloaked and hooded as she climbed inside the royal wheelhouse that would take her down Aegon's High Hill to the waiting ship, but he heard her maids whispering after she was gone. They said the queen looked as if some beast had savaged her, clawing at her thighs and chewing on her breasts. - Jaime II, AFFC

+.+.+

Squirrel had stripped down to her smallclothes, and was rooting through a carved cedar chest in search of something warmer. In the end she settled for one of Lord Ramsay's quilted doublets and a well-worn pair of breeches that flapped about her legs like a ship's sails in a storm.

With Rowan's help, Theon got Jeyne Poole into Squirrel's clothes.

[...]

"I will be right beside you," Theon promised as Squirrel slipped into Lady Arya's bed and pulled the blanket up.

That's the last we'll see of Squirrel.

According to Ramsay she's dead.

If you want Mance Rayder back, come and get him. I have him in a cage for all the north to see, proof of your lies. The cage is cold, but I have made him a warm cloak from the skins of the six whores who came with him to Winterfell. - Jon XIII, ADWD

I guess we'll have to wait and see if Arya wildling is truly dead or managed to escape the castle. My gut tells me she got out. :)

+.+.+

But the guards outside were huddled by the doors, backs turned against the icy wind and blown snow. Even the serjeant did not spare them more than a quick glance. Theon felt a stab of pity for him and his men. Ramsay would flay them all when he learned his bride was gone, and what he would do to Grunt and Sour Alyn did not bear thinking about.

+.+.+

The icy trenches rose around them, knee high, then waist high, then higher than their heads. They were in the heart of Winterfell with the castle all around them, but no sign of it could be seen. They might have easily been lost amidst the Land of Always Winter, a thousand leagues beyond the Wall.

THE CURTAIN OF LIGHT IS REAL.

Do you think this means Jon and Daenerys forge Lightbringer in the Lands of the Long Summer?

+.+.+

"Frenya, Holly, go with them," Rowan said. "We will be along with Abel. Do not wait for us." And with that, she whirled and plunged into the snow, toward the Great Hall. Willow and Myrtle hurried after her, cloaks snapping in the wind.

Quick rundown.

Squirrel was left in Jeyne's bed.

Frenya and Holly will die on the page.

We don't know if Rowan, Myrtle, and Willow survived.

Frenya and Holly dying and eventually being identified ensures Mance will be captured.

This is one of those situations where I'm not sure what I should be hoping for. Dead might be preferable. God help them if they were taken alive.

+.+.+

Madder and madder, thought Theon Greyjoy. Escape had seemed unlikely with all six of Abel's women; with only two, it seemed impossible. But they had gone too far to return the girl to her bedchamber and pretend none of this had ever happened. Instead he took Jeyne by the arm and drew her down the pathway to the Battlements Gate. Only a halfgate, he reminded himself. Even if the guards let us pass, there is no way through the outer wall. On other nights, the guards had allowed Theon through, but all those times he'd come alone. He would not pass so easily with three serving girls in tow, and if the guards looked beneath Jeyne's hood and recognized Lord Ramsay's bride …

Did a single person think any of this through? Lol.

+.+.+

"Reek, is that you?"

Yes, he meant to say. Instead he heard himself reply, "Theon Greyjoy. I … I have brought some women for you."

"You poor boys must be freezing," said Holly. "Here, let me warm you up." She slipped past the guard's spearpoint and reached up to his face, pulling loose the half-frozen scarf to plant a kiss upon his mouth. And as their lips touched, her blade slid through the meat of his neck, just below the ear. Theon saw the man's eyes widen. There was blood on Holly's lips as she stepped back, and blood dribbling from his mouth as he fell.

I don't know about you guys, but I'm picking up on a pattern here.

Osha slit Drennan's throat.

His throat had been opened ear to ear. A ragged tunic concealed the half-healed scars on his back, but his boots were scattered amidst the rushes, and his breeches tangled about his feet. - Theon IV, ACOK

Ygritte and knives.

"I'd cut his throat while he slept. You know nothing, Jon Snow." Ygritte twisted like an eel and wrenched away from him. - Jon V, ASOS

"I'm no crow wife!" Ygritte snatched her knife from its sheath. Three quick strides, and she yanked the old man's head back by the hair and opened his throat from ear to ear. - Jon V, ASOS

Val and knives.

If you force her to marry a man she does not want, she is like to slit his throat on their wedding night. - Jon I, ADWD

All the same, the wildling princess was not beloved of her gaolers. She scorned them all as "kneelers," and had thrice attempted to escape. When one man-at-arms grew careless in her presence she had snatched his dagger from its sheath and stabbed him in the neck. - Jon III, ADWD

The spearwives and their knives.

If the man had touched Jeyne, she might have screamed. Then Holly would have opened his throat for him with the knife hidden up her sleeve. - Theon I, ADWD

Clad as serving girls in layers of drab grey roughspun, they wore brown woolen cloaks lined with white rabbit fur. No swords, Theon saw. No axes, no hammers, no weapons but knives. - Theon I, ADWD

And as their lips touched, her blade slid through the meat of his neck, just below the ear. - Theon I, ADWD

The point I'm trying to make is that none of the previous victims were stabbed or had their throat cut.

The Ryswell man-at-arms was thrown from the battlements.

The naked Frey squire died from exposure.

The Flint crossbowan was found in the stables with a broken skull.

Yellow Dick was found in a snowdrift with his penis cut off, and shoved into his broken mouth.

I've watched enough Criminal Minds to know none of this fits their pattern of criminal behaviour.

"These dead were all strong men," said Roger Ryswell, "and none of them were stabbed. The turncloak's not our killer." - A Ghost in Winterfell, ADWD

Looking back, I think that line was meant to cast doubt on the spearwives.

+.+.+

The second guard was still gaping in confusion when Frenya grabbed the shaft of his spear. They struggled for a moment, tugging, till the woman wrenched the weapon from his fingers and clouted him across the temple with its butt. As he stumbled backwards, she spun the spear around and drove its point through his belly with a grunt.

Jeyne Poole let out a shrill, high scream.

+.+.+

On the drawbridge, Frenya stopped and turned. "Go on. I will hold the kneelers here." The bloody spear was still clutched in her big hands.

I have to keep highlighting these incredible women, but it still makes no sense why they're doing this.

+.+.+

Theon was staggering by the time he reached the foot of the stair. He slung the girl over his shoulder and began to climb. Jeyne had ceased to struggle by then, and she was such a little thing besides … but the steps were slick with ice beneath soft powdery snow, and halfway up he lost his footing and went down hard on one knee.

Theon's able to carry Jeyne up stairs in feet of snow and ice. I doubt Jeyne is any less than one hundred pounds.

He's not as weak as Barbrey Dustin thinks he is.

+.+.+

As he leaned up against a merlon, breathing hard, Theon could hear the shouting from below, where Frenya was fighting half a dozen guardsmen in the snow. "Which way?" he shouted at Holly. "Where do we go now? How do we get out?"

The fury on Holly's face turned to horror. "Oh, fuck me bloody. The rope." She gave a hysterical laugh. "Frenya has the rope." Then she grunted and grabbed her stomach. A quarrel had sprouted from her gut. When she wrapped a hand around it, blood leaked through her fingers. "Kneelers on the inner wall …" she gasped, before a second shaft appeared between her breasts. Holly grabbed for the nearest merlon and fell. The snow that she'd knocked loose buried her with a soft thump.

Shouts rang out from their left. Jeyne Poole was staring down at Holly as the snowy blanket over her turned from white to red.

Rest in peace, Frenya and Holly.

Quick question for the audience, did you prefer this or Theon throwing Miranda over the ramparts?

+.+.+

The wind was howling, and he and the girl were trapped.

The crossbow snapped. A bolt passed within a foot of him, shattering the crust of frozen snow that had plugged the closest crenel. Of Abel, Rowan, Squirrel, and the others there was no sign. He and the girl were alone. If they take us alive, they will deliver us to Ramsay.

Theon grabbed Jeyne about the waist and jumped.

He did it. He remembered his name.

Final thoughts:

Of course I would have to do Theon and locusts back-to-back. What did I expect?

I have a confession to make. Ever since Davos left the story, and Theon stopped being Reek, he's been my favourite POV.

Don't worry, I still hate him.

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#operation stumpy re-read #adwd #theon i #theon vii

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