#I started with Unravel II

[a-z-4-m-i]

"Poor little Az used to always quit

But she never really quit, she just say she did"

-Cigarettes out the Window (TV Girl)

I just though this song would fit since this fandom never really left me- I mean, my OC whole entire backstory is heavily inspired of this universe so....

[scarluna]

Y/N, a gifted but self-conscious graphic designer, lands a job at Jeon Enterprises, a powerhouse ruled by the sharp and controlling Jeon Jungkook, whose ruthless perfectionism hides behind an enigmatic façade. Though admired and feared, Jungkook targets Y/N’s insecurities, using them as weapons against her.

Beside him stands his best friend, Min Yoongi, a sly and unpredictable force whose hot-and-cold behavior leaves Y/N questioning his motives.

Tangled in a web of cold authority, teasing games, and unspoken desire, Y/N must navigate a dangerous love triangle where ambition and emotion collide, threatening to unravel everything.

Pairing: Jungkook x Fem!Reader x Min Yoongi

Genre/Tags: plus sized reader, enemies to lovers, ceo!jungkook, graphic designer!reader, mafia!yoongi

Link to the other chapters: ACT I / ACT II / ACT III / ACT IV / ACT VI / ACT VII

Chapters: 5 / ?

Chapter Warnings: mature language, bullying, slow burn, enemies to lovers

A/N: Thank you all so much for the likes and the comments. I did not think this story would become so liked. Again, thank you and enjoy! x

ACT V.

I climbed onto the bus and found an empty seat near the back. The hum of the engine and the faint chatter of passengers filled the air, but it all felt distant. My mind was a swirling storm of everything that had happened, and I couldn’t focus on anything else. I stared out the window as the city blurred past, the gray sky above mirroring the heaviness in my chest.

The tears threatened to spill again, but I clenched my fists and bit the inside of my cheek to hold them back. Not here. Not in front of strangers. I kept my face turned to the window, pretending to watch the scenery, hoping no one would notice how broken I felt inside. I had sunken in that headspace again, where I felt helpless and I didn't felt human at all. It was a nightmare for me. My mind was only stuck in the past and the pain was never ending cycle.

When the bus finally reached my stop, I stepped off into the cool air. My feet carried me the short distance to my apartment automatically, like I was on autopilot. The moment I closed the door behind me, the silence hit, and with it came the flood of emotions I’d been trying to keep at bay.

I dropped my bag by the door and slumped against the wall, sliding down until I was sitting on the floor. My chest heaved as the first sob broke free, and then another, and another, until I was crying uncontrollably. All the frustration, anger, and pain from today—hell, from the past few days—poured out of me in waves. I hugged my knees to my chest, rocking slightly, as if trying to comfort myself. Since I was a kid there was no one to comfort me, all the adults I once had believed in were never there for me. My dad was an alcoholic who used to mentally abuse me, my mom and my brother. My mother to this day is obsessed with control and she has always had the mentality of the victim. My brother was always the one who was cherished more, as the only boy of the family. And of course, I was thrown to the side with my emotional needs. So at this point, I had to be there for myself. And as grew up in adult, I felt comfortable crying and picking my pain alone rather than being vulnerable with someone. I knew I was broken, I didn't know how broken until now. 

I stayed like that for hours, crying until my throat was raw and my head pounded. Everything became a blur and I felt my body shaking. My breath was cut short and this is when I realized I was having an anxiety attack. I tried to grip at whatever I could find, my bag or my clothing as I sharply braeathed in and out of my nose, counting random numbers. At some point, my phone started buzzing incessantly, but I ignored it. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, didn’t want to explain or relive any of it. I was busy prioritizing myself at this very moment and nothing else mattered.

When the tears finally stopped, I felt hollow. My body ached from the tension, and my eyes were sore and swollen. I sat there in silence for what felt like forever, staring at nothing, feeling like I had nothing left to give. Eventually, I forced myself to stand, my movements sluggish and heavy.

I shuffled to the bathroom and turned on the shower, stripping off my clothes while the water heated up. The warmth of the shower felt soothing against my skin, like it was washing away the mess of the day and all the negative emotions I have felt until now. When I stepped out, I wrapped myself in a towel, drying off quickly before changing into sweats and grabbing Hades’ leash.

My dog greeted me eagerly, his tail wagging as if sensing I needed comfort. “Come on, boy,” I murmured, attaching the leash to his collar. His soft brown eyes met mine, and I felt a small pang of warmth in my chest. At least I had him. Hades was the only one that I felt was giving me the unconditional love I so desperately craved.

We went for a short walk around the block. The cold air biting at my skin but somehow grounding me. Hades trotted happily beside me, occasionally sniffing at patches of grass or barking at squirrels. His enthusiasm was a welcome distraction from the mess in my head, and for a brief moment, I felt like I could breathe again.

When we got back, I gave him a treat and collapsed into bed, wrapping myself in the blankets yet again. My body was exhausted, but sleep didn’t come easily. My mind replayed everything—the picture, Yoongi’s words, Rya’s betrayal, Tina’s cruelty—until I finally slipped into a restless slumber.

-

When my alarm went off, it took every ounce of willpower I had to drag myself out of bed. My eyes were dry, almost painfully so, but the crying had done its work—I felt an empty hollow shell of myself. I had realized that I slept for more than ten hours which was a record, yet I still didn't feel refreshed at all. I felt the same slump as I did yesterday. I didn't even manage to have any dinner, not that I felt like eating at all. In the last few days I skept meals way too much and I noticed my clothes growing bigger on me, which was odd because I wasn't a person to skip any meal. 

I finally went through the motions of getting ready: a quick shower, brushing my hair, slapping on some concealer to hide the evidence of my breakdown. The reflection in the mirror didn’t look like me at all. I couldn't recognize the person I had became. I was drowning in my own pain and it was getting harder to keep my head above the water. Grasping the sink, I stilled for a moment to give myself sometime to breathe. In and out. Until I felt I was grounded in my body and in my mind.

The bus ride to work felt endless. I kept my headphones in, the music drowning out the world around me as I stared out the window. I wasn’t ready for today, I wasn’t ready to face anyone, but I didn’t have a choice. I had to hold my head high and continue to push further. I shouldn't run away because these things would keep hunting me.

When I stepped into the office, the usual hustle and bustle felt distant, like I was walking through a dream.The people and their chatters almost sounded as an echo as I made my way toward my desk. It was Thursday now, and all I could think about was how close the masquerade ball was. 

I sat at my desk, turning on my computer and trying to focus, but my mind was still a jumbled mess. The excitement I’d once felt for the ball was gone, replaced by a dull ache in my chest. What was the point of pretending to care about it? Everything felt meaningless now.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to start working. One task at a time, I told myself. Just get through the day and go home. I was too mentally exhausted with everything at this point. I typed on my keyboard, my eyes raking over the screen and the e-mail I was typing.

The office felt heavier than usual as I worked, staring blankly at the screen in front of me. The steady hum of keyboards and muted voices of my coworkers swirled around me, but I didn’t register any of it. 

“Y/N?”

I didn’t have to look up to know who it was. That voice—soft, hesitant—made my stomach churn. I clenched my jaw, refusing to acknowledge her presence. My eyes stayed glued to the screen, fingers tapping faster on the keyboard in an attempt to appear busy.

“Can I talk to you? Please?” Rya’s voice was quiet, almost trembling.

I didn’t respond. I didn’t even turn my head. The silence stretched between us and I could feel her discomfort, her desperation hanging in the air.

“I just... I need to explain. I didn’t mean for it to—”

“Don’t.” My voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. I turned to her slowly, my expression cold and unyielding. “I don’t want to hear any of it, Rya. What's done is done.”

Her face crumpled, her lips pressing together as if trying to hold back tears. “I messed up, okay? I know I did. I—I shouldn’t have sent that picture to Hoseok. I thought it was just—”

“Just what?” I snapped, finally swiveling my chair to face her fully. “Funny? Harmless? What exactly did you think was going to happen?”

Her shoulders slumped, her gaze falling to the floor. “I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking, Y/N. I was just... being stupid. I didn’t think he’d actually—”

I held up a hand, cutting her off. “I don’t care what you were thinking, Rya. You sent something private—something personal—to someone else without my permission. Do you have any idea what that feels like?”

She looked up at me, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’ll do anything to make it right. Please, just—”

“Make it right?” I let out a humorless laugh, shaking my head. “You can’t. It’s done. And I don’t want your apology.”

Before she could say anything else, another voice interrupted.

“Y/N.”

I looked up to see Hoseok standing a few feet away, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He looked guilty, his eyes avoiding mine at first before he forced himself to meet my gaze.

Great. Just what I needed.

“I want to apologize as well, it wasn't okay for me to do that—” he asked, his voice low.

I scoffed, leaning back in my chair. “I don't need your apology.”

“Please,” he said, stepping closer. “I messed up as well, okay? I shouldn’t have shown that picture to anyone. I just wanted to show off how happy you looked that night. It was immature and wrong, and I’m sorry. I—I wasn’t trying to hurt you, I swear.”

I stared at him, my expression unreadable. “But you did. Both of you did.”

Hoseok sighed, running a hand through his hair. He seemed worried and frustrated. “I know. I was stupid, and I regret it more than anything. I’ve felt like crap ever since. Please, Y/N, I’m begging you. Just give us a chance to make it up to you.”

I shook my head, standing up from my chair. “You don’t get to feel bad about this, Hoseok. Neither of you do. You made your choices, and now you have to live with them.”

Rya sniffled beside me, her voice barely a whisper. I could see that she has been crying, her eyes were red and her face was swollen. “Y/N, please—”

“No,” I said firmly, cutting her off. “We’re done here. Both of you, leave me alone.”

Without another word, I slowly stood up headed to the break room to escape the suffocating tension. My hands were trembling as I leaned against the counter, trying to steady my breathing. Thankfully they didn't follow me or else I'd have leashed on them even worse than I did back there. Soft sigh escaped my lips as I closed my eyes.

They might have been sorry, but their apologies didn’t mean anything to me. Not now. Maybe not ever. I could feel the entire office's eyes on me as I arrived here this morning, their judgy stares, the way they would whisper about me as I passed by . . . it almost felt like I was in high school all over again. I hated it.

The cool stream of water poured steadily into the glass I had picked from the cabinet as I focused on controlling my breathing. The break room felt quieter than usual, the faint hum of the refrigerator filling the space. I brought the glass to my lips, taking a small sip, when the sound of approaching footsteps broke the stillness.

I turned my head just as Jungkook entered the room, his sharp suit tailored perfectly, his posture confident yet somehow intimidating. He glanced at me briefly, his expression unreadable as he made his way to the coffee machine.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice even and professional as he greeted. That man was so cold. I could feel the chills in the room. He stared at my face for far too long to be comfortable. I tried to look away, but he grabbed my jaw. My breath stopped for a moment. The way he touched me, so gently, his skin felt burning sensation on me.* "Have you been crying?" he asked, tone low and demanding. I sighed and shrugged. "None of your business if I did." I could practically hear him roll his eyes. My Boss was not a man who tolerated such answers, but in my case, he remained silent. Instead, he changed the subject rather quickly and I was appreciating that, because I was not ready to talk about how I was with anyone. “About the 2 PM meeting today. You’ll need to be ready with the brief.”

I set the glass down on the counter, nodding. “I’ve got it handled.”

“Good.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and added, “Make sure Tina looks over it before you hand it to me.”

The words made me freeze for a split second. I turned to him, my expression hardening. “No.”

He looked up from his coffee cup, eyebrows slightly raised. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not giving Tina my work,” I said firmly, meeting his gaze without flinching. “I’ll present it directly to you.”

Jungkook sighed, leaning against the counter as he crossed his arms. “Y/N, Tina is your direct manager. It’s her job to review your work before it reaches me.”

“And it’s my job to make sure the work is actually done right,” I shot back, my tone sharper than intended. “Every time Tina gets involved, she messes things up. This is important, and I’m not taking that risk.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might argue. But then he exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Fine. You can present it directly to me. But don’t let this happen again. The hierarchy is there for a reason, Y/N. We can’t just ignore it.”

I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t argue further. It was already a small victory.

He took a sip of his coffee, his eyes briefly studying me. Then, in a tone noticeably cooler, he asked, “I hope you are feeling better than yesterday. That doesn't mean you should slack at your work, understood?” His gaze was sharp, and yet there was something softer lurking beneath the surface.

“I won't,” I said curtly, my defenses snapping back into place.

Jungkook’s expression didn’t change, but he gave a slight nod before turning to leave the break room.

As the door swung shut behind him, I let out a slow breath. My hands still trembled slightly from the conversation me and him had, but I refused to let it show. If there was one thing I had to prove today, it was that I could handle myself—and my work—without interference.

-

By the time the meeting started, the tension in the room was palpable. Tina sat stiffly across the table from me, her lips pressed into a thin line. Jungkook, ever the professional, appeared calm, but there was a hint of worry in his expression. Whether it was about Yoongi’s absence that went unnoticed by me as well or something else, he didn’t let on.

As we began, I passed copies of my brief directly to Jungkook and the other key members of the team. Tina shot me a pointed look, her eyes narrowing. Rya and Hoseok looked at me as if they tried to say something but I did not give thim that opportunity.

“Y/N,” she said, her tone clipped, “you were supposed to send this to me first.”

“I decided it was better to present it directly,” I replied, keeping my voice neutral but firm as I reached my seat and sat back down.

Tina’s glare hardened, but before she could say anything further, Jungkook cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Let’s focus on the content of the work,” he said, flipping through the pages. His expression shifted slightly as he reviewed my document, a hint of approval crossing his features. He set the papers down and looked at me.

“Good work, Y/N. This is thorough and well-presented. It shows that you had improvement since last time.” Is he serious? I wanted to roll my eyes so fucking bad but I did not. Soft sigh escaped my lips. At the same time however, I fought to keep the pride from showing too much on my face but couldn’t stop a small, satisfied smile from tugging at my lips.

Jungkook turned to Tina, his tone calm but pointed. “Tina, I understand you’re managing multiple aspects of the team, but when Y/N expresses concerns about her work being compromised, those concerns need to be heard. You should take her input seriously going forward. That said, the two of you need to keep collaborating effectively.”

Tina’s jaw clenched, but she nodded stiffly. “Understood.”

I couldn’t resist. Leaning back slightly in my chair, I fixed her with a steady gaze, my smirk subtle but unmistakable. Her eyes flicked to mine briefly before she looked away, her irritation clear.

Satisfied, I shifted my attention back to Jungkook as he moved on to the next topic on the agenda: the current project documentation.

“The documentation for the ongoing projects needs a thorough review,” Jungkook said. “There have been inconsistencies flagged by the higher-ups, and we need to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

The discussion continued, but I barely registered Tina’s contributions. The small victory from earlier left me feeling hyped, even as I knew the real challenges lay ahead. Jungkook’s approval meant something, even if his cold professionalism sometimes made it hard to tell.

As the meeting wrapped up, I caught Jungkook’s gaze briefly. He nodded once, almost imperceptibly, before gathering his papers and leaving the room. Tina stormed out soon after, her heels clicking against the floor.

I allowed myself one more small, triumphant smile before heading back to my desk to finish my current brief.

-

The night had already fallen by the time I finally managed to clear my apartment. The chaos from the past few days had left my place in disarray—papers scattered on the floor, dishes piled up in the sink, and the weight of everything I was trying to avoid pressed against the walls. But now, as I wiped down the last countertop and took a deep breath, it was like a small weight had been lifted. At least something in my life felt under control, even if it was just this tiny corner of my world.

I collapsed onto the couch, trying to relax for a moment before I had to dive back into whatever would come next. But just as I settled, my phone buzzed loudly on the table. I picked it up with a sigh, already knowing who it was from.

Tae <3

I’d seen his name flashing on my screen in these days, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer. I hadn’t been in the right frame of mind, but now, with everything finally settling down a little, I pressed the green button.

“Hey, Tae,” I said softly, my voice hoarse from the days of tension.

“Y/N! I’ve been trying to reach you for days,” he said, his voice filled with concern. “Are you okay? I… am worried.”

I let out a slow exhale, feeling a knot form in my chest as I tried to explain what had happened. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just… it’s been a rough couple of days. There’s a lot to explain, honestly.”

I spent the next few minutes filling him in on the events that had unfolded at work—about the picture, the drama with Yoongi, Tina’s cruelty, and Rya’s betrayal. Tae listened patiently, his silence comforting. Even though I was exhausted from talking about it all, his kind, calming presence over the phone helped ground me.

“Y/N, that’s… a lot. I’m really sorry you had to go through that,” Tae said, his voice tender with compassion. “I know it doesn’t change anything, but I’m here for you, okay?”

His words meant more than he probably realized. Despite everything, it felt like a small lifeline.

“I appreciate it, Tae. Really. It’s just… I don’t know what to think anymore. I feel like I’ve been surrounded by lies. It’s all just been too much.”

“I get it. But know that you have people around you that care and you should not forget who you are, stand your ground, Y/N.” he reassured me.

His voice was steady, and for the first time in days, I felt a flicker of hope. And then I remembered what my parents had told me. Did Tae actually had feelings for me? Did he stuck around all this time because he felt something for me and I blantantly ignored him, oblivious to his advances and words? I felt like such a bad person. I had to figure out what I actually felt toward him, but deep down I was afraid that I might loose him. 

“We should hang out this weekend,” he continued, his voice pulled me out of the trance I was falling into. “Maybe grab a bite, just get out of there for a bit. How about Sunday- I mean, we will still see each other at the masquerade ball tomorrow but still?”

“Sunday sounds perfect,” I replied, the idea of spending some time with him lifting my spirits. No matter how many times I was with him, it always felt like a gulp of fresh air.

“Great. I’ll text you the details. And Y/N, take care of yourself, okay?”

The sincerity in his voice had me biting my lip to keep from tearing up. “Thanks, Tae. I’ll see you then.”

We said our goodbyes, and I hung up feeling lighter. The weight that had been dragging me down all day wasn’t gone, but it had lessened. I had a plan for Sunday after the ball, something to look forward to, and that was enough for now. I should start prioritizing my life and controlling my emotions better. This was such a vulnerable and cruical moment for me. I had let people peel my skin and expose me so bad that it hurt. I was going to fight and not let anyone do that anymore.

I set my phone down and glanced at the clock, surprised to see that it was already eleven pm. Time was passing fast when I was lost in my own little world.

Before I could do anything, my phone buzzed again, the screen flashing an anonymous number. I hesitated for a second, but curiosity got the better of me. Who could this be in such hour? I swiped the green button and pressed the phone to my ear.

The line was eerily quiet, nothing but slow breathing on the other end. My heart began to race, a strange chill creeping up my spine.

“Hello?” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

The silence continued for a moment longer, making my skin crawl. And then, just as I was about to hang up, I heard a voice.

“Y/N,” Yoongi’s voice came through the phone, gravelly and almost unrecognizable. “Please-” he slurred, "come down, I am in front of y-your apartment." 

A cold wave of panic washed over me.

“Yoongi? What the hell are you talking about?” I stood up and my bare feet tapped quickly and hastily toward my large window. I removed the curtain and I saw him. Yoongi's Hyundai Palisade was parked at the front and he was leaning against it. He glanced up but it was as if he was looking straight through me.

The line went silent again. His breathing was slow, labored, like he was struggling to stay awake.

My hands shook as I held the phone, my mind racing. What was he doing here? Why now? How the fuck did he get my phone and address?

I didn’t want to go down there, didn’t want to face him after everything that had happened. But something in his voice, a combination of weariness and something I couldn’t place, made me grab my jacket and slip on my shoes as I headed out of my apartment. My heart pounding in my chest as I walked towards the elevator. There was no way I could ignore this.

When I stepped outside, I froze.

Yoongi was standing there, barely able to stand on his own. His face was bruised, and his clothes were disheveled. His eyes were half-lidded, a bottle of something in his hand. He looked like he’d been through hell.

“Yoongi?” I whispered, my voice shaky. “What happened to you?” I took a few hesitant steps toward him. The view was horrific. It appeared as if Yoongi has fought with someone. And on top of that he was drunk and got here driving. The fuck was wrong with him?!

He didn’t respond immediately, swaying slightly on his feet. His breath was thick with alcohol, and his usually sharp gaze was dull and unfocused. He lifted his head and glared at me, trying to stand on his two feet.

“I… I just needed to see you,” he muttered, his voice thick with something I couldn’t quite place. He took a step toward me, his hand outstretched.

“You’re drunk,” I said, my voice rising in panic as I took a step back. “Yoongi, what the hell—why are you even here? Why are you acting like this?”

His eyes flickered to mine, a brief moment of recognition, “I… didn’t mean for it to happen like this,” he slurred. I could hear the pain in his voice, it was strained but it was there. 

I stood there, shocked and unsure of what to do. My mind screamed at me to walk away, to shut the door and forget this ever happened. But something inside me—something I couldn’t ignore—told me that I needed to help him. Even if I didn’t want to. See, I wasn't a person that would let others in distress or pain. Unfortunately, I'd even help to people who hurt me deeply. It was how I was raised, to always care for other's comfort but ours. It was a wicked game really, I was standing there and stared at his condition. In the months I have been at this company, I have never seen Yoongi drunk and like this. Vulnerable.

"Yoongi, you need to go home," I said, my voice firm despite the confusion swirling inside me. I felt him approach me but for some reason I didn't move. He towered over me, his brown eyes gazed at me but yet again, it felt like he was seeing right through me. Before I could say something he leaned over and pressed his face into my shoulder, sighing quietly. He dropped the bottle and I could feel him grow heavy. Was he about to pass out? Fuck.

I had second to decide what to do. To leave him lay there or drag him inside.  "Come on, let’s get you inside." I muttered quickly, wrapping my arms around him.

He didn’t argue, allowing me to help him stumble towards the entrance. He was a mess, and I hated that I couldn’t just leave him out there. I hated that I was a kind and caring person toward people that didn't deserve it at all.

As I guided him inside of the elevators and the doors closed, my mind raced with all sorts of questions.

Yoongi lifted his head and stared at my face yet again. I frowned his way and his lips twitched as he soon gave me a drunkish grin. "You are pretty like this." I rolled my eyes. "You are hallucinating,"  "I wish I was, then I wouldn't feel like shit for saying all those things to you and making you cry." he muttered lowly.

I dragged Yoongi inside, half-carrying him as he leaned heavily against me, barely able to keep his footing. His breath was labored, and his body seemed to have gone limp. It was like he was a completely different person from the Yoongi I had known—the one with sharp wit and even sharper eyes. This Yoongi was a shell, drunk and beaten, stumbling through the door of my apartment.

I didn’t know what I was doing. I just knew I had to get him off the hallway, away from the peeking neighbours and cold night air. I laid him down on my couch, watching as he immediately passed out, his head lolling to the side. He looked so vulnerable in that moment—so fragile—and it made my stomach turn. I hated seeing him like this.

I stood over him for a moment, my hands on my hips as I was unsure of what to do next. My mind was still reeling from the shock of his unexpected appearance, but there was something deeper stirring inside me. I had to make sure he was okay. Or at least, make sure he wasn’t going to hurt himself more.

I didn't really know any people closer to Yoongi than Jungkook. So I grabbed my phone and dialed Jungkook's number. After a few signals, he picked up.

“Hello?” Jungkook’s voice came through the speaker, sounding concerned and confused as of to who that might be. He probably didn't have my number saved at all. "It's uh- Y/N..." I trailed off, "sorry to bother you this late," I could tell by the sound of his voice that he was probably asleep.  "No, it's fine. Whats going on?"

“Well. . . Yoongi at my apartment. He showed up drunk with his car parked in front of my place and he’s passed out on my couch.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, and I could almost hear Jungkook’s mind racing. I heard faint curses and then some rustling before he spoke again.

“Give me your address, I will be on my way shortly,” he mumbled, I took a deep breath and gave him the location and then the line disconnected.

True to his word, Jungkook arrived fifteen minutes later. He was quiet when he walked in, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on Yoongi, sprawled helplessly on the couch. His jaw tightened for a moment, but he said nothing. I noticed Jungkook was wearing his pajamas. This is why he was so fast, he just got up and rushed here? 

“Will he be okay?” I asked, my voice softer than I intended.

Jungkook ran a hand through his messy dark hair and sighed, kneeling beside Yoongi. “Yeah. It's not his first time being like this.”

I bit my lip, watching as Jungkook carefully adjusted Yoongi’s position, making sure he was comfortable. The whole situation felt too surreal.

“Why is he like this?” I asked. The question had been gnawing at me ever since I found him outside, and I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Why would he show up like this, covered in bruises?”

Jungkook’s eyes flickered to me for a moment, his expression unreadable. He didn’t speak immediately, as if weighing how much he could reveal. After a long pause, he finally said, “Yoongi doesn’t handle emotional pain well. He’d rather take physical pain than face whatever’s going on inside. It’s easier for him, in a way.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. Physical pain over emotional pain. I had always thought Yoongi was this hard, untouchable person, but hearing that made me realize how much he was hiding beneath that façade.

“That’s… that’s not normal,” I whispered, my heart aching for him.

Jungkook gave me a look, as if to say, You don’t know the half of it. He stood up and turned toward me, his eyes piercing right through me.

“I’m taking him home,” Jungkook muttered, his voice a little softer now. “I’ll make sure he’s settled in. But Y/N…”

I looked up at him, surprised by the seriousness in his voice.

“He won’t admit it, but he needs help. And I don’t think he’ll let anyone in if he knows they’re worried...”

I nodded slowly, feeling the weight of his words.

Jungkook gave Yoongi one last look before he crouched down and gently shook him awake. It took a moment, but Yoongi stirred, groaning as he slowly blinked his eyes open.

“Yoongi,” Jungkook said, his voice low and commanding. “We’re taking you home. Can you stand?”

Yoongi didn’t respond right away. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, and he winced as he tried to sit up. “I don’t want to go home…” he mumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion.

Jungkook’s eyes softened for just a second. “We don’t have much of a choice. Come on.”

With a little effort, Jungkook helped Yoongi stand, supporting him as they made their way out of my apartment. My eyes followed them as they left, a mixture of concern and confusion swirling inside me. I had no idea what was going on in Yoongi’s life, what demons he was fighting. But I could tell it was more than just the things I saw at work.

I stood in the doorway for a while after they left, the quiet of my apartment settling back in around me. There was a lot more to Yoongi than I had ever realized, and I couldn’t help but wonder—what else was he hiding?

The night felt long, and I knew that nothing was ever going to be the same after tonight.

-

I tossed and turned in my bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to escape the thoughts swirling in my mind. Yoongi. What was going on inside his head? Why would he let himself fall to such a low point? I had been so wrapped up in my own problems, so focused on myself, that I failed to look outside my bubble.

Was he suffering just as much as I was? Or worse? His words, those harsh, cutting words, still echoed in my head. I couldn’t ignore them, no matter how much I wanted to. The damage had been done. There was no coming back from that—at least not for me. His actions, his words, they had already crossed a line I wasn’t willing to forgive.

I didn’t trust him anymore. How could I? But despite my resolve, I still wondered—why? Why had he let himself get to that point? Why was he hurting like this? Was he just as lost as I felt sometimes?

But that didn’t change anything. I couldn’t let my guard down. Not now. Not after everything he had put me through.

By the time morning came, I hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. I forced myself to get up, get dressed, and head to work, though it felt like everything was happening in a haze. When I walked into the building, everything felt louder, more intense. But my mind was still stuck on Yoongi.

As I walked down the hallway, lost in my own thoughts, I almost bumped into Jungkook.

"Hey," he said quietly, his tone almost cautious.

I glanced up at him, blinking a few times as I tried to focus. "How's Yoongi?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

Jungkook gave me a quick glance, and I could tell from his expression that Yoongi’s condition was still on his mind, but he didn’t want to dwell on it. “He’s fine. Just a little bruised up. He’ll be at the ball tomorrow.”

I nodded, but the words hit me harder than I expected. The ball? He was going to attend? After everything that happened?

Before I could process any more thoughts, I heard the click of heels approaching. Tina. Of course, she couldn’t leave us alone. She came up to us with that smug look she always wore, her eyes narrowing as she took in our whispered conversation.

“So, what’s going on here?” she asked, her voice dripping with false sweetness, arms crossed against her chest. “Are you two flirting?”

I rolled my eyes, not even bothering to entertain her question. I had better things to do than to deal with Tina and her constant attempts at stirring drama. "She's all yours." I muttered to him.

Jungkook, on the other hand, wasn’t as forgiving. He snapped back at her harshly, his tone cold. “No, Tina. We’re not flirting. I suggest you stop with the snarky comments or I will make you regret it.”

Tina’s eyes widened slightly, and I could see the jealousy bubbling beneath the surface. She looked from Jungkook to me, trying to read our expressions, but I refused to give her the satisfaction of a response.

Instead, I just turned and walked away, not bothering to waste my time on her games. Tina was starting to get pathetic even more in my eyes. 

Jungkook sighed behind me, clearly frustrated, but he didn’t say anything more.

It was strange—despite everything that had happened, despite the weight of my own emotions, there was something comforting about Jungkook’s presence. Maybe it was his steady calmness, or maybe it was the fact that he didn’t play games like Tina. Whatever it was, I didn’t feel as alone when he was around.

But even with that small comfort, my mind couldn’t let go of Yoongi. He was still a mess. And no matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise, I couldn’t help but feel responsible for part of it.

I had to focus. On the work. On moving forward. Because if I didn’t, I might drown in all of this.

-

The afternoon sunlight streamed softly through my apartment windows, warming the room as I sipped my sugarless coffee, the cup cradled in both hands. At my feet, Hades curled up, his soft fur was shining under the soft rays of the sun. My eyes kept drifting to the royal blue dress hanging on the back of my bedroom door.

Rya had talked me into it—her determination was unrelenting. “You deserve to look stunning, Y/N,” she’d said, dragging me into store after store until she found the dress.

I reached for the diamond hair accessory on my dresser, its glimmer catching the sunlight. My fingers grazed it thoughtfully as I imagined how it would sit in my hair, which Rya had insisted I style in soft, flowing beach curls. I sighed, setting it down again.

Hades stirred, flicking his tail against my ankle as I took another sip of coffee, trying to ground myself. My thoughts were tangled, looping through the chaos of the past few weeks. Yoongi. Jungkook. The picture. The insults. And now, the ball. A part of me was still so anxious, but beneath it all was a simmering determination to get through this. To face everything head-on.

My phone buzzed on the counter, interrupting my thoughts. I picked it up, my heart sinking a little when I saw my parents’ number.

“Hi, Mom,” I said, forcing brightness into my voice.

“Sweetheart,” came my mom’s familiar voice, warm but tinged with hesitation. "Have you been alright, my girl?"  I paused, should I tell her about what happened to me or keep it to myself. I swallowed thickly and forced a steady voice, it was tough not being able to be understood by your own mother. I knew what she was gonna say so I did not bother letting her know about this. "I am okay, mom. How's dad?" "Oh, you know, he has a new hobby which is grilling. He is quite alright per say." I humed in response and there was a pause. “Your brother’s parole was denied.” she served it as if it was the most casual thing ever. I frowned and rose up from my bed, biting on my lips. The words hit me like a dull thud in the chest, but I kept my voice steady. “What now? Should we change the attorney?”

“We’ll figure it out,” she said, trying to sound reassuring. “We’ll visit him soon and see how we should proceed.”

I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. “Alright," I trailed off. I couldn't believe his parole was denied. That probably wrecked him completely. 

We chatted a little longer before saying our goodbyes, but the call left a small crack in my composure. I set the phone down and took a deep breath. Focus, Y/N. Tonight is about showing up and holding your own.

-

The drive to the MNT Media headquarters was a blur. Taehyung had picked me up in his sleek black Genesis GV80 SUV, his reaction when he saw me leaving my apartment still fresh in my mind.

“Wow, Y/N,” he had said, his eyes widening as I stepped outside. “You look... incredible.”

I’d smiled, a little shy under his burning gaze. “Thanks, Tae." I was not used to compliments, but I took enough time to look at myself in the mirror. I did look quite well tonight. That dress hugged my curves perfectly and it showed everything that had to be shown and everything that had to stay hidden. The color perfectly contrasted with my skin. The mask was hiding who I struggled to be, it was made from royal blue diamonds and it shined under the lighting of my apartment.  And the jewlery in my hair only added to the effect of luxury. 

Tae however, he was wearing a black suit, tailored to perfection, with a crisp white shirt and a black bow tie. His mask—a gold and black design that made him look impossibly suave—only added to his charm. His brown locks of hair tossled and messy suited him perfectly. He looked like a handsome prince. And for a moment I found the thought of him liking me ridicilous. Why would someone who looked so perfect would like someone like me? As we drove, he threw out compliments like they were second nature, his voice laced with a playful flirtation that made me laugh despite my nerves.

“You’re going to steal the show tonight,” he said, his eyes briefly flicking toward me before returning to the road. "You are exaggerating." I gazed at him with soft grin and my eyes raked over his face and that smug smirk from my response. However, my eyes focused on his veiny hands that held the steering wheel. I stared at them for a little too long as he obviously noticed my stare. "Something wrong?" I snapped out of it and looked away, clearing my throat. "No- not at all."  I saw that dumbass smirk smugly at me. I wanted to punch him but instead a small giggle escaped my lips.

When we pulled up to the grand entrance of MNT Media’s headquarters, I felt a wave of anxiety crash over me. The paparazzi were already gathered outside, their cameras flashing incessantly, blinding all the people that passed by. The building itself was a towering masterpiece of glass and steel, lit up like a beacon in the night. It screamed 'you are out of this world, Y/N' in big bold letters.

Taehyung parked, stepping out first before circling around to open my door. “Ready?” he asked, holding out his hand like the real gentleman he was.

I nodded, placing my hand in his. I felt electricity run down my spine as I felt the warmth and softness of his skin. He held my hand ever so gentle as if he was afraid I'd break. I spared a glance at his face and then my focuse went on my exit from the car. As I stepped out, the flashing lights of the cameras hit me like a tidal wave. I felt overwhelmed for a moment, but Taehyung offered his arm, and I clung to it like a lifeline.

“Just keep your eyes forward,” he whispered, leaning close so only I could hear. “You’ve got this.”

I took a deep breath, straightened my back, and let him lead me inside.

The ballroom was breathtaking. The lights were dimmed, casting everything in a soft golden glow. Crystal chandeliers hung high above, their facets sparkling like stars. Guests milled about in masks, their laughter and conversation blending with the sound of a grand piano being played in the corner. The air smelled faintly of expensive cologne, champagne, and roses.

Round tables draped in white silk lined the edges of the room, while the center was open for dancing. Everything oozed luxury—from the gilded accents on the walls to the servers circulating with trays of expensive champagne.

“Not bad, huh?” Taehyung said, his tone light as we stepped inside.

“It’s beautiful,” I admitted, my eyes sweeping over the scene.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice quieter this time.

I glanced up at him, his expression softer now, less playful. It was cute really, all I could do was give him a soft grin in response.

As we moved deeper into the room, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of the evening settling over me. And whatever happened tonight, I knew it was going to change everything.

I scanned the room, feeling a little overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of it all. Everywhere I looked, there were important people—CEOs, celebrities, politicians—all dressed in their finest. The men wore tailored suits with intricate masks, while the women dazzled in luxurious gowns, their jewels glinting under the chandeliers. The anonymity of the masks made it impossible to identify anyone from Jeon Enterprises however.

Taehyung and I found a spot near one of the round tables draped in white silk. He handed me a glass of champagne, the bubbling liquid catching the warm golden glow of the chandeliers.

“You’re doing great,” he said, leaning closer so I could hear him over the soft murmur of conversation.

I gave him a small smile, grateful for his calming presence. “Thanks, Tae.”

We lounged there for a while, sipping our champagne and observing the scene. Taehyung’s easy charm and lighthearted comments kept me grounded, though my thoughts still occasionally drifted to the potential encounters lurking behind the glittering masks.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw them—Rya and Hoseok.

Rya looked absolutely stunning, as she always did. She wore a deep crimson gown with a plunging neckline, the fabric hugging her petite frame and flowing elegantly to the floor. Her dark hair was pinned up in a sophisticated bun, and her mask—a delicate creation of red lace and gold��perfectly matched her dress. She exuded confidence, but there was a cautiousness in her eyes as she approached.

Hoseok, by contrast, looked sharp and understated in a classic black suit paired with a sleek white mask. The suit was tailored impeccably to his lean frame, and the silk pocket square matched the ivory tones of his mask. His usual bright smile was subdued as he stood beside Rya, his hands in his pockets, his posture slightly hesitant.

They stopped a few feet away from me, and for a moment, the air seemed to hang heavy between us.

“Y/N,” Rya said, her voice tentative.

I smiled softly, deciding tonight wasn’t the time for grudges or rehashing old wounds. The ball was too grand, the stakes too high for petty arguments. “Rya. Hoseok,” I greeted politely, nodding to each of them. “You both look amazing.”

Relief washed over their faces.

“You too,” Rya said, her smile finally reaching her eyes. “That dress... wow. You look incredible.”

“She’s right,” Hoseok added, his tone sincere. “You’re... glowing, Y/N. Like, really.”

I gave a small laugh, shaking my head. “You two are just trying to butter me up.”

“No, really,” Rya insisted, stepping closer. “I’m so sorry about everything. We are. I didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand—”

“Not tonight,” I interrupted gently, raising a hand to stop her. “Let’s just enjoy the ball, okay? We can talk about it another time.”

They exchanged a glance before nodding in unison. “Okay,” Rya said. “Thank you, Y/N.”

“Thank you,” Hoseok echoed, his smile finally warming.

I felt a small weight lift off my chest. It wasn’t forgiveness—not entirely—but it was a step in the right direction. Tonight wasn’t about grudges or misunderstandings. It was about standing tall, embracing the moment, and maybe even letting myself enjoy it.

Taehyung, who had been quietly observing the exchange, leaned closer and whispered in my ear, “See? You’re a natural at this.”

I gave him a playful nudge, but his words made me smile. The night was still young, and for now, I was determined to make the most of it.

The conversation with Rya and Hoseok had settled into an easy rhythm, the earlier tension softening with every passing minute. I was just starting to feel comfortable when the grand double doors at the far end of the ballroom opened, drawing everyone’s attention.

I turned toward the entrance, my champagne glass frozen mid-air. That’s when I saw him—Jungkook.

He was dressed in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo, his broad shoulders commanding attention even amidst the sea of masked guests. His dark mask was minimalistic yet elegant, fitting his sharp, chiseled features like it was made for him. But what truly caught me off guard was the person on his arm.

Tina.

She clung to him like her life depended on it, her smug expression practically radiating across the room. Her gown, a striking emerald green with a dangerously high slit, screamed of someone desperate to make an impression. She looked ecstatic—proud, even—and for good reason. To show up with Jeon Jungkook at her side? That was a trophy in itself.

My stomach twisted uncomfortably as I watched her lean closer to him, giggling at something he said. But Jungkook didn’t seem invested in her. His eyes were scanning the room, restless, as though he was searching for someone.

Someone?

Before I could make sense of it my eyes shifted to the second couple that had just walked in.

This time, it was��Yoongi.

The sight of him stole my breath for a moment. He was dressed in an all-black ensemble as well, but with a velvet jacket that added an edge of understated luxury. His mask, a rich silver that contrasted against his dark hair, gave him an air of quiet mystery. But it wasn’t just him.

On his arm was Gina.

Gina—the same girl from the cafeteria who had made those snide comments about my weight. The same Gina who had once asked Hoseok to this ball and been pushed away. She had traded in her usual uniform for a glittering golden gown that hugged her figure like it had been poured onto her. Her mask sparkled with rhinestones, matching the shimmering confidence in her eyes.

The sight of her with Yoongi made my chest tighten, though I couldn’t quite explain why. Maybe it was because she had made me feel so small that day in the cafeteria, and now she was walking in like she owned the place.

I stared longer than I should have, my gaze flicking between the two pairs—Jungkook and Tina, Yoongi and Gina. "The hell, Tina and Gina?" Rya asked in disbelief. Hoseok giggled. "Their names rhyme." "They are both equally evil." Rya answered with a flat tone, "that's why." I burst out laughing at this, because let's face it. It was true, both of them thrived on attention. I wonder how the Boss and Yoongi fell for their traps.

“You’re staring,” Taehyung’s voice broke through my thoughts. He leaned in close, his lips brushing my ear. “Don’t let them see they’ve gotten to you,” he murmured, his tone soft but firm.

I blinked, snapping my gaze back to Taehyung. His brown eyes were warm, reassuring, and I gave him a small nod. He was right. I wouldn’t let them have that satisfaction.

But it seemed I wasn’t as subtle as I thought.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jungkook’s head turn in my direction. His eyes, sharp and focused even behind the mask, landed on me almost instantly. I couldn’t see his expression entirely, but something flickered there—recognition.

And then Yoongi’s gaze followed.

It was as though time slowed for a moment. Jungkook and Yoongi both stared at me, their attention laser-focused despite the room full of people.

I felt exposed, vulnerable, even though I was fully covered by my mask and gown.

“Looks like you’ve been spotted,” Taehyung said, an annoying lilt to his voice as he lifted his glass to his lips.

I exhaled slowly, trying to calm the sudden flutter of nerves in my stomach. “Let them look,” I muttered, tilting my chin up slightly.

But as much as I wanted to exude confidence, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this night was about to get a lot more complicated.

A hush fell over the ballroom as a woman walked onto the stage at the far end of the room. The murmurs around me stilled as all eyes turned toward her. Octavia Leeroy, the CEO of MNT Media, stood tall and commanding under the spotlight.

She was stunning—her elegance more commanding than any gown or mask in the room. Dressed in a sleek, black floor-length gown with subtle sequins that caught the light, she radiated power and sophistication. Her mask was a bold gold creation, but her presence alone was enough to command attention.

As she took her place at the microphone, her voice carried through the room, smooth and steady.

“Welcome,” she began, her tone warm yet authoritative. “Tonight is a celebration—a celebration of not only our successes but of the people who make those successes possible. Each of you represents a piece of a puzzle that drives industries, builds communities, and inspires change. But let’s not forget, behind every mask, every polished exterior, are sacrifices, challenges, and battles fought in silence.”

I felt a lump form in my throat as her words resonated. She spoke with a sincerity that cut through the grandeur of the event, sharing stories of her struggles—the nights she worked tirelessly, the people who doubted her and the moments she doubted herself.

Her voice wavered only slightly when she spoke of the cost of ambition, but she never faltered. She had built an empire with blood, sweat, and tears, and now she stood as a symbol of resilience.

A wave of admiration surged through me. This is what strength looks like, I thought to myself, soaking in every word. She was everything I dreamed of becoming—powerful, respected, unshakable. When Octavia finished her speech, a thunderous applause erupted, echoing through the grand ballroom. I clapped along with the crowd, my heart swelling with a renewed sense of determination.

As the applause faded, the music resumed—a gentle, lilting melody that invited couples to the dance floor.

I turned back to Taehyung, who was already watching me with a mischievous glint in his eye. He extended his hand, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “May I have this dance?”

I hesitated for only a moment before taking his hand. “You may,” I replied, my voice light. Rya and Hoseok also joined the dance floor and swayed in the slow rhytum of the piano music.

Taehyung led me to the dance floor, his confidence putting me at ease. He placed one hand on my waist, the other still holding mine, and we began to move in time with the music.

At first, our steps were measured, almost formal. But as we swayed, something shifted. The space between us grew smaller, and the intensity of his gaze deepened. His fingers lingered on my waist, his touch light yet deliberate.

“You’re full of surprises tonight,” he murmured, his voice low.

“Me?” I countered, my heart fluttering as his gaze dropped briefly to my lips. “You’re the one making all the bold moves.”

He chuckled, spinning me gently. “Maybe I like seeing you off guard.”

Before I could respond, I felt a pair of hands catch me mid-spin, steadying me. The grip was firm, different.

When I turned to look up, I froze.

Jungkook.

His dark eyes locked onto mine, a flicker of something unspoken passing between us. His mask did little to hide the sharp angles of his face, and the faintest hint of a smirk played on his lips.

“Mind if I cut in?” he asked, his tone smooth yet edged with something deeper.

I blinked, my breath hitching as I realized I had no choice—Taehyung had already stepped back, a deep scowl at his lips as he let Jungkook take the lead without any other word. 

Jungkook’s hand slid to my waist, his other still holding mine as he began to move us effortlessly across the floor. His proximity, the intensity of his gaze, left me completely unmoored.

“You look proper,” he said softly, his voice carrying a hint of surprise. Proper? Really? What should I expect from a man like him.

“Thanks,” I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

His smirk deepened as he twirled me, his movements confident and precise. “I’d say I look more than ‘not too bad‘.’”

I rolled my eyes, despite the warmth creeping up my neck. “Careful, Jungkook. Your ego’s showing.”

He chuckled, his grip on my waist tightening slightly as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “And here I thought you’d be too nervous to handle a dance like this.”

I tilted my chin up, refusing to let him rattle me. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”

His gaze darkened, his expression unreadable as we continued to move in perfect synchronization. For a moment, the world around us blurred—the guests, the music, the grandeur of the ballroom. It was just him and me, locked in a silent battle of wills.  "You came with Tina?" I asked in a hushed tone as we danced. He frowned but then low chuckle escaped his plump lips. Was he amused? "Are you jealous?" "You fucking wish." I spoke out and Jungkook laughed at that. I have never seen him so cheery.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw another familiar figure on the edge of the dance floor. Yoongi.

He was watching us, his expression unreadable behind his mask, but his eyes told a different story. He was intently staring at me and Jungkook as Gina was tugging his arm to go to the dance floor but by his expression and his stoic frame, he refused. Gina gave up and crossed her arms against her chest.

The tension in the air between Jungkook and me was palpable. I couldn't breathe from the closeness of him. He was intoxicating me, like a bottle of strong alcohol making my knees go weak. I had my breath hitched the entire dance before the music stopped and everyone parted. Jungkook refused to let me go.  "You are really beautiful tonight, Y/N." he muttered, his eyes exploring my face. I cleared my throat and pulled away immediately, "T-thanks." He hummed and soon I saw a few guys call out to him. Jungkook turned around to see who it was then back at me. "I have to go. Talk to you later." he said before he headed toward the group of people as I was left alone at the dance floor.

Suddenly, a voice called my name from behind me.

“Y/N?”

I turned around, my steps faltering as I came face-to-face with a man I hadn’t seen in years. Richard Delgrassi.

“Mr. Delgrassi?” I stammered, the surprise evident in my tone. What was he doing here?

He smiled warmly, his salt-and-pepper hair adding a distinguished edge to his polished appearance. Dressed in a charcoal-gray tuxedo and a black mask that matched his sharp features, he exuded the same air of authority and charm I remembered from my childhood.

“I thought that was you,” he said, his tone brimming with familiarity. “My, how you’ve grown. It’s been what—ten years?”

“More like twelve,” I replied, a small smile tugging at my lips. “I’m surprised you recognized me with this mask.”

“Your eyes, dear,” he said, gesturing lightly. “They’re unmistakable. Just like your father’s.”

At the mention of my father, a pang of nostalgia hit me. Richard Delgrassi had been one of my father’s closest associates back when our family was still living the high life. My father, Benjamin, had owned one of the most successful car manufacturing companies in the country. His name had once been synonymous with innovation and luxury in the automobile industry. Richard had been his right-hand man, helping to expand the business and secure lucrative deals. But as fate would have it, a series of unfortunate events—including betrayal from within the company—had forced my father to sell his empire and move abroad, leaving behind the life he had built so painstakingly.

Now, Richard was a prominent politician, known for his advocacy for economic reform and his push for ethical practices in business. His transformation from a business mogul’s associate to a public figure had been nothing short of remarkable.

“It’s been ages,” I said, trying to suppress the rush of emotions his presence stirred. “How have you been?”

“Well, politics keeps me busy,” he said with a chuckle. “But I’ve been keeping an eye on the industry. It’s hard to let go of one’s roots entirely, you know.”

I nodded, understanding exactly what he meant.

“And you?” he asked, his tone shifting to genuine curiosity. “What are you doing these days? Last I heard, your family had moved overseas.”

“I’m working here now,” I said, straightening slightly. “At Jeon Enterprises.”

His brows shot up in surprise. “Jeon Enterprises? That’s unexpected. What are you doing there?”

“I’m part of their marketing team,” I explained, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “It’s... challenging, but it’s been a learning experience.”

Richard studied me for a moment, a glimmer of intrigue sparking in his eyes. “Jeon Enterprises, you say? That’s an interesting choice. They have quite the reputation—for better or worse.”

I tilted my head slightly, curious. “You know them?”

“I’ve crossed paths with their CEO, Jungkook, a few times,” he said thoughtfully, his eyes shifting behind me. I didn't have to turn around to know he was staring at Jungkook. “He’s a sharp one, but his company’s ethos has always been... pragmatic, shall we say. I’ve been looking for an organization that values long-term growth over short-term profits, something more aligned with my goals.”

“And you think Jeon Enterprises could be that organization?” I asked, intrigued.

“Perhaps,” he said, stroking his chin. “If they’re willing to adapt. But enough about me—how do you find it there? Are they treating you well?”

The question caught me off guard. I hesitated, the memories of Tina’s snarky remarks and Yoongi’s cold demeanor flashing through my mind. But then I thought of the moments when Jungkook had, in his own quiet way, come to my defense.

“It has its ups and downs,” I admitted carefully. “But I’m learning a lot.”

Richard nodded approvingly. “Good. That’s what matters. And who knows, perhaps our paths might cross again soon in a more... professional capacity.” I saw him pull out a business card out of his pocket and give it to me. Did I just made the first client join our company? My heart skipped. I accepted it. "Then, we should discuss this over a meeting at our company soon. "Excellent. See you soon, Y/N. And give Benjamin my regards."

A mix of nostalgia and newfound curiosity swirling in my chest. For years, I had tried to bury the life my family had left behind, but seeing Richard here, so firmly planted in this world of power and influence, made me wonder if maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t entirely out of reach for me either.

As he excused himself to speak with another guest, I couldn’t help but feel that this meeting was more than just a coincidence. Perhaps, amidst all the chaos, this was the start of something new. Something I hadn’t even realized I was searching for.

-

The evening had been going surprisingly well so far. I stood among a small group of representatives from various companies, discussing Jeon Enterprises and its potential as a reliable partner. My nerves had simmered down, and I was finally hitting my stride in the conversation.

“So, what makes Jeon Enterprises stand out from its competitors?” a tall, sharp-suited executive asked, his tone curious yet skeptical.

I took a deep breath, summoning the confidence I had been building over the months. “Aside from our innovative approach to market trends, Jeon Enterprises is focused on creating long-term solutions rather than short-term fixes. We prioritize adaptability, ensuring that our clients’ needs are met even as industries evolve. And with the resources we provide, we’re not just a business partner—we’re a growth catalyst.”

The executive nodded thoughtfully, and I could see that I was making headway.

But just as I was about to elaborate further, I heard the telltale clink of heels approaching.

And then it happened.

A sudden cold splash against my side made me flinch, and I looked down to see a vivid crimson stain blooming across my royal blue gown.

“Oh no!” came Tina’s voice, syrupy and fake, as she stood there holding an almost-empty glass of wine. “I’m so clumsy. I didn’t see you standing there, Y/N.”

Her tone didn’t match her words; there wasn’t an ounce of remorse in her expression. Instead, her lips curled into a smug smirk as her gaze swept over me, clearly reveling in the scene she’d just created.

Around me, the small crowd went silent, their eyes darting between Tina and me. The heat of their stares burned on my skin as I stood frozen for a moment, staring at the spreading stain.

Tina’s mockery didn’t stop there. “Oh dear, that dress must have cost a fortune. It’s such a shame, really.”

I clenched my fists, biting back a sharp retort. She wanted a scene, and I refused to give her one.

Forcing a tight smile, I turned to the group I had been speaking with. “Please excuse me for a moment.”

Their sympathetic nods did little to ease the weight of humiliation pressing down on me as I stepped away. As I walked past Taehyung, who had been nearby, he immediately stood and reached for my arm.

“Y/N, let me—”

“No,” I said quickly, not wanting to draw more attention. “I’ve got this, Tae. I’ll be fine.”

He hesitated but nodded, his concern clear in his eyes as he let me go.

I made my way toward the restrooms, my chest tightening with every step. The laughter and conversation from the ballroom felt like it was directed at me, though I knew logically that wasn’t the case. Still, the weight of humiliation was suffocating.

Once in the restroom, I tried dabbing at the stain with water, but it was no use. The red had seeped too deeply into the fabric. Sighing, I gave up and left, heading toward the balcony for some air.

The cold night breeze hit me as I stepped outside, the quiet a welcome reprieve from the noise and judgment inside. I leaned against the stone railing, my eyes sweeping over the city lights below. They sparkled like a sea of stars, but even their beauty couldn’t distract me from the ache in my chest.

I felt humiliated, small, like no matter how much effort I put into proving myself, people like Tina would always find a way to knock me down.

“Thought I might find you here,” came a familiar voice from behind me.

I stiffened, glancing over my shoulder. Yoongi stood there, his mask pushed up slightly on his forehead, his bruised face partially illuminated by the soft glow of the lights. I noticed him not taking off his mask at all at the ball room. Probably because he didn't want anyone to see his bruised face.

“Did you come to add to the humiliation?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

He sighed, stepping closer but leaving enough space between us to keep it comfortable. “No,” he said simply. “You looked like you could use some air.”

I turned back to the railing, the weight of the evening pressing down on me again. “Well, congratulations. You were right. I don’t belong here.”

His silence was surprising, and when I glanced at him, I saw something I didn’t expect—regret.

“I didn’t say that,” he said after a moment, his voice low.

“You didn’t have to.”

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I know I’ve been... a jerk.”

I scoffed at the understatement but said nothing, letting him continue.

“I’ve said things—done things—that I’m not proud of,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “And I can’t take those back. But for what it’s worth... I don’t think you’re out of place here. Not tonight. Not ever.”

His words hung in the air for a moment, and I stared at him, a cocktail of emotions swirling inside me. Regret? From Min Yoongi? It was almost laughable. Almost.

I turned back toward the city lights, gripping the railing tighter. “You think a couple of kind words will fix everything?” I asked, my tone sharp.

He didn’t respond right away, and I could feel his gaze on me, heavy and searching.

“I’m not trying to fix anything,” he said finally. “I just... I wanted to say it.”

“Well, you can’t just ‘say it’ and expect me to forget everything else.” I spun to face him, the emotions I’d been suppressing all night bubbling to the surface. “You humiliated me, Yoongi. Over and over again. And for what? To make yourself feel better?”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. “I deserve that.”

“You deserve more than that,” I snapped. “But that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is what you did that night. Do you even realize what could’ve happened? Driving drunk to my apartment like that? What the hell were you thinking?”

Yoongi blinked, clearly not expecting the shift in conversation. His face darkened, a flicker of shame passing over his features. “I wasn’t thinking,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just... I needed to see you.”

“To see me?” I threw my hands up in disbelief. “So you thought, ‘Hey, let me risk my life and possibly someone else’s because I’m having a bad day’? What if you’d hurt someone, Yoongi? What if you’d hurt yourself?”

He took a step closer, his expression pained. “I know,” he said, his voice rough. “I know it was stupid. I wasn’t in a good place—”

“That’s not an excuse,” I cut him off, my voice trembling. “You don’t get to make reckless decisions and then shrug it off because you ‘weren’t in a good place.’”

He looked down, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “You’re right. It’s not an excuse. I just...” He trailed off, shaking his head as if searching for the right words. “I didn’t know how to deal with... everything. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

I let out a bitter laugh, turning away from him. “Clearly.”

Silence settled between us, the tension thick and suffocating. The sounds of the city below seemed to fade as I struggled to rein in my emotions.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, the sincerity in his voice catching me off guard. “For all of it. For the things I said, the way I treated you, for... showing up that night. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

His words hit me harder than I expected, but I wasn’t ready to let go of my anger just yet. “You’re right, I didn’t,” I said coldly. “And sorry doesn’t erase what you did.”

“I know it doesn’t,” he said quickly, his tone pleading now. “But it’s all I can give you.”

I turned to face him again, searching his eyes for something—anything—that would make sense of the man standing before me. He looked vulnerable in a way I’d never seen before, the usual cool confidence stripped away.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” I said finally, my voice breaking. “You hurt me, Yoongi. Over and over. And I don’t know if I can ever trust you again.”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “I understand.”

The weight of his gaze was almost too much to bear, and I looked away, my chest tight with a mix of anger, sadness, and something I didn’t want to name.

“I’m trying to be better,” he said quietly. “I don’t know if that matters to you, but... I thought you should know.”

I didn’t respond, my emotions too tangled to form a coherent thought. Instead, I turned back to the city lights, the cold air biting at my skin.

Yoongi stayed for a moment longer, as if waiting for something—an answer, a reaction, anything. But when it became clear I wasn’t going to give him one, he sighed and stepped back.

“Have fun at the ball, Y/N. You deserve it.” he said softly before turning and walking away, leaving me alone on the balcony with my thoughts.

I gripped the railing tighter, the ache in my chest growing stronger as I watched him disappear into the shadows of the ballroom.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t know what I wanted anymore.

[maidragoste]

Needy

Aegon II Targaryen x Reader

Warning: +18, NSFW, unprotected sex.

MDNI!

A/N: It was supposed to publish Jacaery drabble first but I woke up thinking of Aegon and I could not avoid it 🤭

If you enjoy reading please do not hesitate to leave a comment or reblog 🥰💖💖

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes. Also, I don't usually write smut so I apologize if this is a mess, have mercy on me lol

Thank you for reading!

When you put on that pretty new skirt, a little shorter than you were used to using, to go to the Helaena house it had been with the intention of attracting Aegon's attention. But you never imagined that when he offered to take you back to your home you would end up being fucked by his fingers in the passenger seat of his car.

Your skirt was lifted, your panties to one side and two Aegon fingers didn't stop moving quickly inside you while with his thumb rubbed your clitoris seeking to give you another orgasm.

You had already cummed before and made a mess on the seat but Aegon instead of worrying about it he continued fucking you and telling you how pretty you looked making you fall in love with him even more.

“Come on babe, I know you can give me another one” Aegon said increasing the intensity of his movements making your moans increase “Come on, be a good girl for me and let me see again how pretty you look while you cum” his words were like a switch because you began to move your hips desperately trying to reach your orgasm faster.

You cried his name as you felt the knot in your stomach unravel, wetting his fingers and part of the seat again. You felt empty as Aegon's fingers left your insides. You thought disappointedly that it was over, that you would just be best friends with his sister again, but then Aegon put his fingers in his mouth and the image of him sucking his fingers to taste your juices made your pussy throb. You are greedy and want more so you went to sit on his lap. You looked at the bulge in his pants before looking into his eyes.

“I want your cock, can I have it?” you asked directly, forgetting about any modesty you may have had before. If this was going to be the only time you could have Aegon then you wanted to have the whole experience. “Please,” the smile on his face made your desire for him increase.

“Come on, take me” as soon as you had his permission your hands went to his belt but you were too anxious so you were having a hard time unbuckling it making him laugh “Look at you, so desperate to have me” he mocked before helping you.

Maybe at another time you would have been embarrassed but the only thing you were thinking now is that you want him. So once him got rid of the belt you hurriedly pulled down his pants and boxers revealing his erection. Aegon watched enthralled as you lowered your hand to your wet pussy and then spread your juices over his cock, moving your hand up and down making him sigh. Seeing that he was starting to get impatient, you directed his cock towards your entrance and slowly began to put him inside you. Aegon gasped as he felt your walls tighten around him and you dug your nails into his chest as you began to ride his cock. Then he lunged at your mouth, giving you messy kisses because in the middle of them he couldn't help but moan at how good your pussy felt. Hearing it only made your lust increase. You love hearing him needy for you, feeling the warmth of his hands on your waist, his tongue and teeth on your neck. You're so caught up in your haze of lust that you can't help but let out a surprised scream when he begins to ride you on and off his cock at a more intense pace. Now it's you who seems needy, whining to Aegon not to stop, that you love the way his cock feels, that you're close to cumming and you want to cum along with him.

The volume of your moans increase as you get closer to reaching your climax, Aegon should put his hand over your pretty little mouth and try to shut you up because the last thing he wanted was for someone passing by on the street to hear you and interrupt but he doesn't because he loves to listen to them. Now the next time you come home the only thing he will think about when he sees you will be this image, you cumming on his cock, looking at him with eyes clouded with ecstasy and moaning his name.

Aegon cums inside you and you feel his heavy breathing against your neck. You wonder if now is the time to go back to normal but he surprises you by giving you kisses on your neck and gently caressing your waist making you melt in his arms.

“Are you coming home next Saturday?” he asks, looking at you without stopping his caresses.

“Helaena is busy on Saturday,” you respond, knowing that your best friend had planned to meet up with her college classmates that day.

“I'm not asking you if you're going to see Helaena, I'm telling you to come see me” he smiled when he saw the surprise in your eyes. “I want to fuck you in front of the mirror in my room, what do you think?”

Your response comes with a hungry kiss.

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[beloved-calypso]

・ ゜ ʚɞ ゜ ゜𝕳𝖔𝖜 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖇𝖊𝖉𝖗𝖔𝖔𝖒? ♡ ・ ゜ ʚɞ ゜ ゜‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡ 18+!

♡ 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝓊𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝒷𝑜𝒹𝓎 𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝓅𝒾𝒸𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝓊𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓁.” – 𝐿𝓊𝒹𝓌𝒾𝑔 𝒲𝒾𝓉𝓉𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓈𝓉𝑒𝒾𝓃 ♡

All pictures and gifs are not mine but belong to their original artists. ♡

I. -> II. -> III.

ᴍᴅɴɪ!!! ʏᴇᴘ, ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴀ ᴛᴡᴏ ꜰᴏʀ ᴏɴᴇ. ᴇxᴄᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇʟʟɪɴɢ ᴏʀ ɢʀᴀᴍᴍᴇʀ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇꜱ.

~ XOXO 💋🎀

౿૮꒰ྀི pile 1 ๑◞꒱ა

[2 of Swords rx, Emperor, Judgment rx]

Well pile 1, your sexual prowess is rough and playful. I think you have a dominant streak, or at the very least, you like to take the reigns from your partner, and guide how the night goes. I think ya'll are natural leaders, and have the need to take control for yourselves. The ones that pick this pile are definitely toppers. I'm seeing some wild-girl cowgirl positions mostly front facing, but some back rides as well. Do some of ya'll go to a ranch and ride horses? Ya'll have strong thighs and stamina. Ya'll like to grind and ride and have a fun time doing so, may have a reference for teasing and play-fighting. You make sure that your partner is the focus and that they are completely distracted and absorbed by you, like nothing matters in comparison to the moment. Your partners find this irresistible, tempting. Your demeanor feels playful, I can see you being the initiator, and rarely will you ever be denied. You may like to sex it up in unfamiliar spaces, experiment here and there and try new things. You can be a bit demanding, even forceful, but your partners will like it. They find it sexy, and are relieved that they have found a partner who can speak their mind and is able to handle even the awkward, embarrassing parts of sex with grace. I think you give them the space to think, to pause for a moment in their busy, possibly tumultuous lives, and let loose with your sex. You create a bubble like atmosphere where it's just you and your partner, and you both can relax and be yourselves, all giggles, smiles, and laughter. I can see you directing the way things play out; play fighting, subduing, and then consuming. I see you being the type of lover that is excitable, loud, and always un-serious. You may like to start off with foreplay-touching, squeezing and embracing-and then the main event, making sure needs are attended for and that you both are satisfied. Not seeing many quickies. You like to enjoy yourself, and take as much time is needed to commit to the act. Sex is a fun exorcise to stress and negativity. Climax's are maximized and prolonged. I can tell ya'll are lovers of penetration and motion, and are very good at pacing. I heard you put the motion in the ocean 😂. I genuinely laughed with those one. But ya'll are so free and enticing. I can see that the best parts of your sex are the way your partners can relax with you, melt in you. They are comfortable enough to let you take control, and they are relieved at someone that can give them pleasure just as much as they take it from them. Your sex feels so fun and freeing.

⊰᯽⊱┈───── ✧

౿૮꒰ྀི pile 2 ๑◞꒱ა

[9 of Wands rx, 8 of Swords, Knight of Cups]

Ya'll are slow lovers. I think the most important thing other than exploring each others bodies is exploring the others' minds. Vulnerability is a big highlight here. In order to satisfy you, your partners need to come with mental stimulation and not just physical. I'm getting in general, you like to unravel your partners, do to them as you would a piece of chocolate in a wrapper. Your partners feel quite naked with you, figuratively and literally. It's hard not to attach to you because in order to bed you, your partners feel like they have to sacrifice something to you. I got a vision of you in a cave at an altar, lit with candlelight, and a person with a hopeful, almost fearful, look on their face, on their knees with an offering presented. They can't come to you with an empty plate and expect to win you over. I don't think ya'll would give your time to casual relationships either. Partners would have to work at lowering your defenses. You're like a princess protected by a moat. On the outside, you may come off as closed off and uninterested, but there is much activity going on in your mental space. You have a lot to offer, but partners need to come to you with just as much. You're quite selective and come towards those that match your energy. I think you prefer sex at a slow, measured pace. I'm getting my lovemakers here, and the energy is very dream-like and cozy, like a person wrapped up in blankets, eyes closed, and day-dreaming. There's also a pronounced aspect of wetness in your sex. Lots of fluids are exchanged here, and a playing of those fluids. Why did I hear, "relaxed cumplay,"and "slip and slide", lmao. You may get very wet, like to play with oils and lubricates, and are attracted to sweat and moist skin. It's also the emotions revealed in sex that attract you. I see your partners get so worked up that they climax big and long. You transport people into a fantasy. You may especially like to cater to people and agree to whatever you wish they share with you. There's also a need to please and serve. Your touch is very soft and giving. I'm getting roleplay and sensory play. Your bedroom is such a secluded and sacred space that every partner will feel like stepping into it, is like stepping into a new world. I think you like to push your partners and make them open up to you, but gradually and slowly, so that they are willing. ✨️Very Lilith vibes.✨️It's giving the impression of control through submission. This pile is more into vanilla stuff but enhanced, like conventional kinks if that makes sense. Sex while soft and slow won't be boring. It will be emotionally fulfilling. The excitement that comes from the build-up alone will be enjoyable. If you imprint anything on your partners, it's that sex isn't a race, it's a journey, and the small things do matter in the end goal.

⊰᯽⊱┈───── ✧

౿૮꒰ྀི pile 3 ๑◞꒱ა

9 of Cups, The Emperor, Wheel of Fortune

People here have a big personality and a competitive streak. Sex with you is exciting and unpredictable. There's a want to prove something through sex, as if it's a battlefield of some sort, and only one can come out the winner. I feel like a few people in particular have a thing for woman empowerment, and want to prove just how powerful they are through sexual means. Ya'll use it as a style of communication, as an expression of sides of yourself that can't be easily seen or received. I think this pile has sex for the fun of it, and there's a pinch of mischief that comes out once the bedroom door is closed. This pile likes to play coy, likes to tease and rile up their partners and prolong their anticipation. I think ya'll are quite wild in the bedroom, and I just saw a vision of two people going at it like tumbleweeds, lol. I think the want for sex often corresponds with your moods, and your tastes can vary widely, so your a sporadic lover, the type able to adjust to anything thrown at them and improvise, also the type able to be 100 different people in the bedroom. Pile 3 are some minxes. I think some of the people here are short, and get a kick out of acting bigger than they are. It's cute. I think a big thing that comes out is your masculine side. Like I said that competitive energy stems from a need to please and be the best pleaser. Your masculinity makes you eager and able to confidently do things others would be too shy to do. I think ya'll focus on creating multiple climaxes; multiple sessions, multiple places, multiple positions. The possibilities are endless, and there are many records to break is my point. Ya'll are very driven and full of energy. That translates into a fast and frenetic passion of the moment. Your partners absorb your energy, try to match you and share in your delight. I see lovemaking in the morning, a couple fresh from deep sleep, still looking disgruntled, but warm sunshine cutting through the curtains and laughter seeping through blankets. I'm not seeing specific kinks, but I see a platter with a variety of assortments. Ya'll are comfortable in your bodies and may like to study on different, sometimes extreme, positions to try next. I think this pile are Kama Sutra naturals. Sex isn’t taken too seriously, but it brings some measure of emotional fulfillment. Your partners find satisfaction quickly, completely, and they succumb to a warm afterglow in the end. I feel this pile has the best hugs and the best aftercare. I feel the comfort of a bear hug and the warmth that comes with it. It feels very tender and very at odds with what would be an exhausting but vigorous bout of sex, but it works out in an endearing way.

⊰᯽⊱┈───── ✧

ᴀɴʏ ᴄʀɪᴛɪᴄɪꜱᴍꜱ ᴏʀ ꜰᴇᴇᴅʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴀʀᴇ ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇᴅ. ɪ'ᴍ ᴛᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴀ ɴᴇᴡ ᴅɪʀᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙʟᴏɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴍ ᴏᴘᴇɴ ᴛᴏ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴘɪɴɪᴏɴꜱ ᴀꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ɪᴍᴘʀᴏᴠᴇ ɪᴛ. ♡

ᴅɪꜱᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀ

© lolita-bonita — Please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other social media platforms without my permission. This is the only platform that I post this type of content. If you see my work being posted anywhere else, please kindly report them to me. ♡

⊱┈───── ✧

✨️ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: Tarot is not an exact science, nor can it produce information that is factually true. All things posted are alleged and for entertainment purposes only. The future is fluid, and what may happen is based on your choices and actions, not what I and a deck of cards say. You are still the creator of your future. ✨️

⊰᯽⊱┈───── ✧

[daycourtofficial]

I got cursed like Eve got bitten - part II

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand’s Sister!reader | WC: 2.3k

Summary: reports of a rare powered fae popping up in Illyria send Azriel and Rhysand on a journey through the past, unraveling a truth they thought long buried

Previous part | Next part | Masterlist

Being labeled as ‘tainted’ had a few perks.

The best perk was that no male in the camp wanted your hand in marriage nor sought you out in any way. They behaved as if you were diseased, avoiding you at all costs outside of the tavern you worked in. 

It worked well for you - even the most handsome of males and females in your village did nothing to make you feel any sort of attraction.

You had lived in your village for a century, the familiar homes and people doing little over that time to ever make you feel a part of the community. You had always considered leaving, but your village was rather progressive with allowing you to run the tavern the barkeep had left to you when he died a few years prior, and you knew you wouldn’t have nearly as good luck in any other village.

You had been working in this tavern for nearly seventy years when the previous owner died, leaving the entire place, including the apartment upstairs, to you. At first several of the males of the village had been upset before quickly realizing you would just refuse to serve them their only source of alcohol at any sign of tension.

You lived over the bar and most of your patrons were the males of your village, which allowed you little access to the females. It wasn’t that you didn’t like them - they all seemed fine, several were even friendly when you lived in a smaller shack. Some part of you found it incredibly difficult to connect with them, every attempt you made to develop friendships with them were quickly sabotaged by your own inability to follow up. 

You felt guilty every time you did it, but something inside of you rang out wrong, wrong, wrong. So between your lack of interest in being outside of your bar and the very close knit group of friends you had (approximately no one), not much really tethered you to this village.

You had heard rumors throughout the day from the other women that the High Lord had been snooping about the village. You hoped so - perhaps he could see first hand how little the armies beneath him respected him or his policies, how they sneered and called him a variety of names, their favorite being some variation of ‘wingless pointy eared bastard’. You weren’t sure why the nicknames bothered you so much - you had no attachment to the High Lord, nor had you ever met him nor had a desire to do so. 

It just gnawed on some part deep inside of you.

Thoughts of the High Lord quickly dissipated as you spent the afternoon pouring drinks and serving tables. The males of your village found you unmarriable and a potentially bad omen for females everywhere, but they did enjoy the alcohol you cured.

You’d take their money over their acceptance any day.

The door opened, the chill from outside coming in as you looked up briefly to find a beautiful male in the doorway, his pointy ears and violet eyes giving away his identity immediately.

You put down the glass you were drying, focused instead on the male who stood in the doorway, unmoving as he looked toward you. Something about his gaze felt so familiar - he looked at you with fondness and longing, and it was starting to upset you. You began turning to go back to the task at hand when a second male appeared from the High Lord.

He was taller, his eyes deep, rich hazel pools of warmth. He had some slight freckling across his strong Illyrian nose, some of them reaching down to the sharp jawline you were sure could cut paper. The male the High Lord brought was clearly Illyrian, his large frame making that abundantly clear. Yet he had these wisps of black shadow that circled him in a frenzy, leaving trails of smoke in their wake.

The sight of him knocked the air from your lungs - he was stunning, perhaps the most gorgeous male alive. His downturned eyes and long eyelashes gave him a perpetual look of sadness that just made you want to kiss the corners of his eyes.

You widened your eyes at the thought, where did that come from?

You bowed slightly towards Rhysand, the movement spurring him into movement away from the door. It was not a deep bow, but just enough for it to count. The High Lord made a slight face, one you couldn’t discern. Shock at such a display of nonchalance in his elegant presence, you presumed.

“High Lord.”

You moved around the bar, walking toward them. You really didn’t have time to cater toward him and the male with him. You weren’t even sure what the two of them were doing so far out in Illyria. The tavern was full of patrons, all looking toward the two males who just entered. You felt their gazes on your back making your scars tingle.

“Do you have a table you’d prefer us to be at?”

The High Lord’s voice was soft, his eyes unmoving from you as he asked. His question caught you off guard, making you eye him suspiciously. Why was he speaking to you like this? The males of your village often completely disregarded any preferences you might have, and they were absolutely unnoteworthy in the grand scheme of things.

Why was the High Lord addressing you at all?

You eyed him warily before you pulled out a chair from the table in front of you, the wood scraping the floor. You tapped your nails on the top of the table before moving away to tend to your other patrons, all of whom had their gazes fixed on the High Lord and his companion, several of them openly sneering at the pair.

You really, really didn’t want a brawl to break out in your pub. 

You tended to the other tables, your feet swift across the stone floor as you tried to ensure even the most unpleasant of males was content with your service. The whole night your eyes never strayed too far from the High Lord and his companion. Their eyes never strayed from you either, their gazes were piercing as you flitted about, feeling their eyes with every movement.

You got back to their table, and you hadn’t been able to really look at the High Lord’s companion until you faced him. He was sitting down, his long legs closed and tight beneath the table, as if he were incapable of allowing himself to linger for too long. Sitting down made him look even more massive - he was nearly as tall as you are in the chair.

His wings were massive behind his back, the black leathery skin seemingly connected to his shoulders with the way the wispy black shadows that followed him curled on his skin. They looked antsy, an occasional wisp darting a few inches away before being pulled as if some invisible leash were keeping them back.

But him. Your heart stopped at how beautiful he was up close - his hazel eyes betrayed nothing, but golden flecks inside of them sang to you, desperate for you to keep looking at them. Your gaze flickered down to his hands, and your breath got caught in your throat at the deeply scarred tissue. 

The male flexed his hands before hiding them beneath the table, his eyes still on you. 

Despite their disappearance, you couldn’t help but continue to look at where they had been, the sight of them floating around in your mind, the image burning inside of you. You cleared your throat, looking between them. “Can I get either of you some wine?”

The High Lord looked to his companion before nodding his head, the silent male doing the same before you turned around, heading back to the bar. You hadn’t heard or seen them speak to each other, but you’ve seen them staring at each other this whole time, lost in thought. Their faces gave nothing away, but perhaps the High Lord had an additional consort to the High Lady. The male was quite pretty, despite his inability to speak or look anything other than strained.

You headed behind the bar, popping the cork on a fresh bottle of wine. Pouring two glasses, you dropped them off before tending to your other patrons. The night went by in a blur - several males gathered at different tables, hunched together, voices low. Everyone in the tavern spent the evening paying attention to the High Lord and the male with him, discretion be damned, but no one approached either of them. 

They sat silently at their table all night, making their way slowly through the one glass of wine you poured. The night moved on, patrons of the tavern making their way to the door, each one stopping to gawk at the High Lord. You came back from the store room to watch the door close behind the last of your patrons, save for the High Lord’s party of two.

He pulled another chair out and brought it to their table, leaving space for you to sit before he tapped his own nails against the wood. You watched his violet eyes assess you at his invitation - the way you stood there, eyes moving in uncertainty until finally you dropped your rag at the bar, taking the seat he offered. He looked at you, something twinkling in his violet eyes. 

“I’m Rhys, this is Azriel.”

The High Lord pointed to himself before nodding towards the male who made no movement at the acknowledgement. His arms were crossed over his chest, eyes almost squinting in assessment, as if he tried hard enough, he could see right through you.

“We wanted to speak with you privately.”

His voice wavered just slightly - he seemed confident, but every time he spoke to you, he had to suck in a breath as if preparing himself.

“What does this pertain to?”

Rhys took a deep breath, his eyes trained on yours. “I will cut this short. We know you are an empath.”

Your heart stopped in your chest. It became hard to control your face, but you tried to remain neutral. He kept speaking, but the words all muddied together, your brain unable to pick up the different syllables and words. Your eyes briefly roamed over the bar again, ensuring no one was still in the building. When you looked back, Azriel had been tracking your eye movement.

“I am unfamiliar with what you speak of, I don’t know what an empath is.”

His violet eyes were so much like your own as his gaze pierced into yours. His face adopted a sense of familiarity as he looked at you. “We both know that’s bullshit.” He sighed, taking another sip from his glass. Azriel still hadn’t spoken, but his eyes never left you, tracking all of your movements. Your ears roared, uncertain how they had known you were an empath and what they were going to do to you now that they knew. You surveyed the room, trying to get a sense of anything you could use against them to get to the door.

Would the males of your village help if you were able to make it outside? Would they stand up to your High Lord? Or would they leave you, the tainted goods that you were?

You stiffened, your jaw going rigid as you quickly assessed your options. You schooled your features, looking toward the High Lord in challenge. He merely shrugged before scooting his chair back, the wood making a high pitched noise as it rubbed against the floor beneath. “Fine, if you wish to pretend you do not possess such powers, we will be going.”

You almost missed how wide Azriel’s eyes went, back to their normal size in the blink of an eye. A trick of the light, perhaps. The two stood, Rhys nodding to you before turning, Azriel lingering behind in contemplation. He looked at you as if he might say something, his first words of the night. Your voice stopped him before he could, your eyes looking back to the High Lord. 

“Why are you looking for an empath?”

The High Lord turned back to you, his mouth slightly quirked in amusement. A predator assessing their prey. And you had put yourself directly in the predator’s path. 

“We wanted to help train an empath, keep them safe while we help them develop their powers.” 

He took a few steps toward you again, now standing next to Azriel. The silent male just watched the exchange as if he were taking notes.

You cleared your throat. “What would such training entail?”

“Daily training with the High Lady. Practicing techniques. Learning the scope of these powers. It would be difficult, tiring work, as no one has seen an empath for a very, very long time.”

His voice got softer by the end, a melancholic lilt to it. 

“And in return?”

“In return, I sleep soundly knowing one of my enemies did not get an empath in their ranks. And that a wingless female has some control over her powers.”

There it was.

He choked briefly on the word. Wingless. 

The word came from his mouth like venom, Azriel visibly flinching in the wake of it. You had kept your eyes on Azriel since the motion, your eyes moving over his icy exterior, taking in every part of him. His body screamed hypervigilance, his muscles not even twitching in your presence until Rhys had said it.

But his eyes screamed with need. They were practically hypnotic the way they called to you. Something about them felt so familiar, the brown ring around his iris melting into green, strokes of warm gold bridging the gap in color. They were beautiful eyes. Something stirred in you at them - a deep sadness, an impossible weight in your chest leaving you stranded.

But buried somewhere amidst the grief and despair in his eyes laid a small drop of hope that was so strong it nearly consumed you.

Perhaps that is why you agreed to go with them. 

A hope induced decision.

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[lottins-only]

CROSS THE LINE II | Jude Bellingham

pairing: jude bellingham x fem!reader, unnamed fictional RM player x fem!reader

word count: 2.5k

summary: after a fallout with your boyfriend, you find solace in a spontaneous night at the movies, where you run into his golden boy teammate. one thing leads to another and you cross the line. what happens next?

A/N: happy holidays yall 🥳 lmk what you guys think!! <3

warnings: infidelity (once again, i don't condone it. 🫣), non explicit smut

PART ONE

before all of this, you’d always imagined an affair as something out of a movie: clandestine meetings, tensions running high, stolen moments, secret rendezvous. but in reality, it’s messier, quieter. it’s second guessing yourself every step of the way, staring at your reflection and admitting you’re a horrible person time and time again, and then doing it anyway. 

it doesn’t start with a bang, no dramatic explosion of passion. after the night at the cinema, things unfold slowly. you text every single day for weeks, conversations ranging from the mundane to the deep. you learn about each other, piece by piece. and jude, you realize, is like quicksand. the more you discover, the deeper you sink. he’s too funny, too kind, too good. unfairly handsome, and somehow better for it.

he has an uncanny way of making you unravel. of making you open up so easily that sometimes you don't notice it's happening. you, usually reserved and guarded, find yourself sharing without hesitation. you suppose its the way there's no judgement from him, no disinterest or impatience.

and then there’s the way he lets you in. with every detail he shares, every message, he pulls you in like a magnet you can’t resist. he tells you about the running joke he’s had with his best friend for years, humor inexplicable to anyone but the two of them. the trivial argument he had with his brother that was inconsequential but still annoying enough to stick in his mind. his new favorite song, sent with a note about how it makes him feel. formative memories he’ll never forget, now shared with you. it’s as though he’s placing his heart on a silver platter, daring you: know me. know me and want me.  

and you do. want him, that is.

that’s the exact reason why you find yourself in his bed one afternoon. 

his room is dimly lit, the curtains drawn against the waning sun. you sit on the edge of the bed, your hands twisting in your lap, nerves running high. jude sits beside you, eyes locked on yours, searching for the final hint of hesitation. a sign that you might leave. but you don’t move. you can’t.

when he leans in, his fingers brushing against your cheek, it feels inevitable. of course you’re here, with him. where else would you be? his touch is warm, grounding, and when his lips finally meet yours, it feels like everything that’s ever happened in the world has led to this moment.

his hands find your waist, sliding under your shirt as the kiss deepens. his touch is firm and warm, yet capable of sending shivers down your spine. you don’t stop him when he pulls your shirt over your head or when his lips trail down your neck, leaving your skin tingling.

 “what are we doing?” you murmur almost to yourself as he bites on a sensitive spot. 

jude pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and full of desire, but there’s something else there too: something deeper, more vulnerable. 

“whatever you want” he says, his voice low, his hand grazing your cheek tenderly. “i want this. i want you”

you nod wordlessly, and the rest happens in a blur. his weight presses you into the mattress, his skin warm under your fingertips as you trace the muscles of his back. he kisses you like he can’t help himself, and you kiss him back just as desperately. plush lips and calloused hands taking their liberties, roaming all over your body, eliciting sounds and sensations you’ve never experienced with anyone else. you don’t hold back either, not when his golden brown skin is all yours to explore, to kiss, to bite. to revel in. 

he moves against you, his hands gripping your hips as you arch into him. there’s nothing slow or tentative about it now. his movements are purposeful and you meet him with equal attention . when he finally pushes inside you, you let out a rush of breath, almost like a sigh of relief. it’s overwhelming, the way he fits perfectly inside of you, the way it feels familiar and routine, like he’s done this a hundred times before. 

the room is filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, the creak of the mattress as he rhythmically thrusts into you, his low murmurs against your skin that range from curses to your name to soft groans. your nails dig into his back, and he doesn’t flinch, only moves harder, deeper, his focus entirely on you. “you feel so perfect, so good” he whispers, like its a confession he’s been waiting to make for the longest time. 

you don’t think about the guilt or the consequences. there’s only jude, the way he feels, the way he moves. for now, that’s all that matters.

afterwards, you lie in bed, your head on his chest, his hand softly grazing your now frizzy curls. his heartbeat is steady beneath your ear, a comforting sound. 

“so,” you say, breaking the silence as you trace his chiseled chest with your finger. “you won’t believe what happened at work today. this guy left his mic on during a teams meeting and got caught badmouthing our boss.”

jude’s chest vibrates beneath you as he laughs silently. “no way. what did he say?”

you tell the story, and he listens intently, chuckling softly. you think two things: first, never in your life did you imagine having pillow talk with jude bellingham. and second, the knowledge that you made him laugh gives you such a rush of serotonin you want do it over and over again.

seasons change, your situation doesn’t. months go by and jude and you are sneaking around. no one knows, not even your closest friend or your mother– people who know you better than anyone, people who love and accept the parts of you that you consider deeply embarrassing and shameful. you don’t share this, because it’s different. this secret is well and truly a condemnation of your character. but that doesn’t mean you want to stop.  

you find yourself at a real madrid christmas party one evening. you’re there with your boyfriend, of course. the man who feels more and more like a stranger as the days go by. the man in whose phone, just last night, you’d found incriminating dms with an instagram model. it hadn’t fazed you. after all, you were doing the same.

you sip on a glass of champagne, watching jude from across the room. he’s in his element, charming everyone from the staff to the players to the wags. his laugh carries over to where you’re standing, the butterflies in your stomach fluttering at the sound. 

and yet, despite all the mingling, he hasn’t approached you.

you hate yourself for keeping track, but you’ve noticed. he’s made his rounds, talking to everyone, making small talk that leaves people grinning. but you? not a glance, not a word. it’s like you’re invisible.

you can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy as you watch a group of wags giggling at something he says, leaning in closer as if trying to soak up his presence. your nails dig into the stem of your glass, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

“you okay?” your boyfriend asks, his hand resting lightly on your lower back. you must be having a very visible reaction for even him to notice.

“fine” you lie, forcing a smile. don’t touch me, is what you really want to say.

you’re not fine though. not as you steal another glance at jude, who’s now leaning against the bar, talking to vini. he looks relaxed, like he hasn’t a care in the world, like he doesn’t feel the tension that’s suffocating you.

you tell yourself it’s better this way. no one is gonna suspect anything if he avoids you. but still, it stings.

and then, as if he senses your eyes on him, he finally looks your way. the moment is brief, a flicker of recognition  before he looks away quickly, returning his attention to vini like nothing happened.

the champagne in your glass suddenly feels too heavy, and you set it down on the nearest table before excusing yourself to the restroom.

Inside the rest room, you splash cold water on your face, hoping it will calm the heat in your chest, the ache in your gut. but it doesn’t.

the sound of the restroom door opening makes you freeze. you glance up and flinch when you see jude.he steps inside, shutting the door quietly behind him, his eyes locking on yours immediately.

you watch silently as he leans back against the door, his hands shoved into the pockets of his suit pants. he looks calm but his jaw is visibly clenched. 

“you’ve been avoiding me” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

“i had to” he replies, his voice low. “you know why”

you do know why. but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“you talked to everyone in that room except me” you continue, voice sharper than you expect. “it’s like i don’t even exist to you”

“you think i wanted to ignore you? do you know how hard it is to be in the same room as you and pretend like–” he cuts himself off, hands rubbing the back of his neck.

“pretend like what?” 

“like i don’t want you,” he says, the words coming out in a rush. “like i don’t think about you all the time. like i’m not going crazy knowing you’re here with him”

“then why avoid me?” you ask, your voice trembling.

“because if i talked to you” he says, stepping even closer. “if i got too close, i don’t know if i could stop myself”

your lips meet just then, as if drawn together like magnets. you kiss fiercely, desperately. his hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him. you can taste the sweet champagne on his lips, can feel the heat from his warm hands. when you pull away, you’re breathless, but you feel renewed. like touching him made up for the fact that you had to put up with your boyfriend for the whole evening. 

“i’m breaking up with him tonight” you blurt. “I found out he’s been cheating”

“what an asshole” jude says without skipping a beat.

you laugh bitterly as you adjust the top of his turtleneck. “i’m doing the same thing”

jude smirks. “yeah, bit hypocritical isn’t it?” he says, and you both burst out laughing, the sound echoing loudly in the bathroom. 

you sit with it for a bit, the weight of your actions settling in between you two, both of you knowing what an awful thing you’re doing. you, to someone who’s been a partner of yours for some time. him, to his teammate who he doesn’t particularly like, but still owes some loyalty to, some obligation of decency.

“i don’t regret it” he says quietly, as if reading your thoughts. he grabs your hand and enterwines your fingers.  “i don’t regret any of it”

“me too” you murmur. and you mean it. 

that night, you keep your word and dump your boyfriend. it's an anti climactic ending, both of you mentally checked out of the relationship in the end to even care. still, you feel the weight lifting off your shoulder. good riddance.

that's how an affair with your boyfriend’s teammate unfolds and then ends. if you’re wondering how a relationship with your ex’s teammate begins, here it is: first, you scrub any trace of your previous relationship off the internet (you were always pretty private anyway). then, you gaslight everyone who knows all three of you into believing the relationship was never that serious, so what's the harm if you're seeing the other guy now? stranger things have happened. thankfully said ex-boyfriend conveniently leaves the team and the country at the end of the season, so it makes things easier for you. third step is to keep a careful distance from your new man in public for several months to maintain the illusion that there was no overlap with your past... relationship? situationship? or was it friendship? we’ll never know. finally, hard launch on a sunny afternoon at one of your favorite cafes in madrid, on a random wednesday in late summer. that’s how you do it.

so here you are, seated across from each other. you sip on a latte; jude’s having tea. he’s just come back from an adidas shoot, and he’s exhausted, you can tell by the tired smile on his face and by the way his body is slouched slightly in his chair. the only expression of affection he can muster is the soft brush of his leg against yours under the table. 

you chat about the book you’re currently reading, how the price of pastries in the cafe are atrociously high. yet again, you marvel at how easy it is with him. talking, laughing, slipping into comfortable silences. its like you’ve known him for years. 

“someone’s taking a pic” he nods towards someone behind you. you don’t look back, just smile softly. “going according to plan” he murmurs, taking a sip of his tea. 

you’re silent, thinking about how luckly you are, to have him, to be with him. you continue to chat, and now you’re on the topic of the show you’re watching. jude confesses he watched an episode without you on the plane back from an away game, and you gasp indignantly, kicking his leg under the table. 

“ow” he mutters. “i couldn’t sleep!”

“you couldn't watch anything else?” you say, dabbing at a coffee stain that had tainted the sleeve of your shirt. When you look up, jude’s looking at you with such a tender look on his face that you want to look away. 

“what?” you say, half self consciously. 

“nothing” he grins. “its just that you’re so beautiful. everytime i look at you it gets better”

your stomach is immediately filled with butterflies, and all you can do is grin back at him shyly, cheeks heating up from his words. sometimes being with him feels like you’re on a rollercoaster ride, in a good way. except the rush you get is from basking in his warmth, in his love, in his presence. 

needless to say it was all worth it in the end. thank god for late night cinema trips. 

[lessi-lover]

a terrible santa II l.williamson x reader

you've signed leah up as the santa for the yearly street christmas party and she's not so fond.

a terrible santa II l.williamson x reader 1.7k

snowflakes clung to the windows like they were desperate for their first christmas, the edges of their fragile crystals barely gripping the glass, as if afraid to melt away.

"mil, go show mummy how to wrap a present properly." you teased, lifting your daughter off your lap and gently pushing her in leah's direction. amelia huffed, clutching a roll of wrapping paper under her arm, walking over to leah like it was the most serious task in the world.

"mummy never folds the corners right." she said matter of factly, with only enough gravitas a four year old could come up with. your wife however was not so impressed, sliding her mum's present behind her back in shielding for the apparent approaching elf.

"excuse me. but i'll let you know i'm an excellent gift wrapper!" the blonde defended, hand placed dramatically on her chest as if accused of murder. you stifled a laugh, leaning back against the couch, as you watched your daughter try to pull the gift from under your wife's legs.

amelia pouted dramatically, unraveling the roll of shiny red paper. "but mummy always uses too much tape! i do it better." she stated, snatching the child scissors from the table and setting herself down on the carpet.

"i'd like to agree with you on that one, lee. but an excellent wrapper wouldn’t leave a mountain of tape on every gift like you do." you quipped, raising an eyebrow as she begrudgingly handed over the gift to the clearly impatient elf.

leah narrowed her eyes at you, the corners of her lips twitching into a knowing smile. "it’s called ensuring structural integrity, my love. i don't think your gifts could survive a hurricane if they tried."

"well thank goodness there are not usually hurricanes in london, babe." you teased, sipping your tea and watching leah as she carefully measured another piece of tape.

amelia, who had been watching the two of you with wide eyes, suddenly piped up, "mummy, don't worry i'm teaching mumma how to wrap good!"

you chuckled softly, eyes meeting leah's as amelia proudly presented amanda's gift that she'd now rewrapped, which was, predictably, a little crooked but potentially better than leah's five layers of tape.

"oh, really?" sliding your body off the couch and scooching over to where your wife and daughter were sat next to the fire. "well, i think we might be out of trouble then."

as amelia’s tiny hands clutched the gift, her eyelids slowly began to fall, the soft light of the christmas tree casting a warm glow on her face. she shuffled closer to leah, nestling her head into her mum’s chest, a soft sigh escaping her lips as her body relaxed against the blonde.

"mummy, i’m tired." amelia murmured, her voice thick with sleep as she clutched onto leah's pyjamas. leah smiled softly , gently lifting her little girl up and cradling her in her arms, brushing away her stray hairs.

you watched the two of them for a moment, your heart swelling as leah held your daughter close. you shifted on the rug, pulling the blanket over your legs as you took in the scene, watching as leah swiped her fingers gently over the tiny blonde's face.

"this is nice, isn’t it?" you murmured, your voice low, so as not to disturb the moment. leah nodded, her eyes warm as she looked down at your daughter, stroking her hair softly. "yeah," she whispered back, "it’s going to be a really good christmas."

the fire crackled beside you, its warmth filling the room as the snow outside continued to fall, soft and steady. you shuffled over to leah, resting your head on leah's shoulder as you now brought your own hand up to lock with amelia's tiny hands.

"by the way," you started casually, grin taking over your face as you guiltily looked the other way. "i signed you up as santa." leah looked at you, her brow furrowing in confusion. "what?" she asked, trying to maintain quiet for amelia's sake but barely managing to hide her horror.

"yeah, i thought you’d make a great santa. big beard, little red boots, and you’re always so good with the kids. figured it was about time we gave it a try," you teased, trying to suppress your grin as she narrowed her eyes at you.

"we give it a try? babe, i'm sorry but i don't see us getting into the fat suit together."

"oh, come on. i’m sure you’d look adorable with a long white beard. suits your face shape!" you teased, leaning further into her body with a hopeful look in your eyes. "yeah, because nothing says 'merry christmas' like pretending to be an old man who breaks into people's houses and eats their cookies."

"babe, please! it’ll be fun. we can even take some cute family photos while we’re at it. mil will love it!" leah shook her head. "no, no. i’m good at being the one to do all the other christmas magic. but i am not putting on a santa suit."

"baby, i love you but no." leah's voice was firm, but the way she looked away from your pouting face told you that she was close to breaking. "i am not putting on a santa suit. that's your job love, not mine."

"well the street party is next saturday night. so you better improve your wrapping skills. you're going to be a very very sexy santa." you smiled, picking amelia up and walking with her in your arms over towards her bedroom.

"you're lucky i love you!"

~

the christmas party was in full swing with kids on the jumping castle the street had hired, parents drinking away their yearly stress and a few elderly couples that you swore only came out of their houses for the free food.

you had to hold in your laugh when you caught sight of leah in the corner, standing with an oversized red jacket draped over her shoulders, a fake beard barely clinging to her chin, and the unmistakable presence of someone who had been roped into a very unflattering santa suit.

you tried to suppress your laughter as you walked toward her, holding a plate of gingerbread cookies. "well, well, well, look who finally decided to embrace her inner santa."

leah gave you a look that was somewhere between amused and mildly exhausted, the fake beard itching her skin as she pulled it down when the kids had walked away. "you’re a dead woman," she muttered under her breath, as you pulled down the beard to snap back into her chin.

"you look great, babe." you said, unable to keep the grin off your face. "i told you, you’d be perfect as santa." she shot you a look. "yeah, thanks for that," she said, adjusting the outrageously sized buckle. "i have to admit though, the kids do love it."

you watched as amelia who was absolutely delighted to have santa visit the christmas party, played along with the other kids who lived down the road, a lot of them roping a few of the older ones into playing on the jumping castle.

but it wasn't long before the tiny blonde ran over to where you and leah were standing, her big coat down to her ankles as the cold nipped at the exposed skin of her cheeks. "mummy, you're santa!" she exclaimed, tugging at the long red pants.

leah leaned down, scooping amelia up into her arms and holding her close. "well, i am santa tonight, sweetie," she said, despite the ridiculousness of the outfit she managed to sound serious. "and i’ve got a big sack full of presents just for you ready for christmas day."

you had warned leah against telling amelia about presents, knowing that the four-year-old was prone to way too much excitement and a complete lack of subtlety. but leah, of course, had brushed off your concerns with her usual charm.

well, you were now witnessing the consequences of that decision. amelia, perched on leah's (santa's) lap in her oversized suit, was barely containing herself. her hands were wiggling with excitement as she whispered loudly to her mummy, "mummy, are you really santa? are you sure? cause i saw that big bag you brought in, and it looks like you’ve got my presents in there!"

you could see leah trying her hardest to keep a straight face, her eyes darting nervously toward the other kids that had gathered around. "shhh, bubba," leah whispered, her voice high and strained. "we have to keep it a secret, remember? santa’s magic only works if we surprise everyone!"

"but i want to tell them!" amelia protested, her voice suddenly too loud for the crowded room. "i know what’s in the sack!"

you quickly swooped in, trying to stop your over excited daughter before it got any more out of hand. "mil," you said gently, crouching down next to her, "it’s a secret, remember? you can’t spoil the surprise. think about how excited everyone’s going to be when they open their presents!"

amelia looked between you and leah, still buzzing with energy. "but mummy said it was for me!" she squealed. leah groaned softly, but you could see a hint of amusement in her eyes. "okay, fine, but you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone else, alright? otherwise santa won’t come next year."

amelia’s eyes went wide with horror. "i promise!" she whispered urgently, crossing her little fingers in front of her chest. leah locked her pinky with the girl quickly before she had shot off her lap and charged towards the other kids.

you shot leah a pointed look. "hey, how was i supposed to know she’d have such a big mouth?" the blonde tried to defend herself, arms coming up in innocence as the obnoxiously long sleeves towered over the sight of her hands.

with a soft shake of your head, you stood up and turned away, leaving leah to continue her little 'acting job' that she so graciously signed up for. "yeah, well, let’s hope you can keep a few secrets tonight," you teased, heading towards the snack table.

"don’t worry, love. you’ll be on my lap sooner or later and i’ll be sure to make you teach me how to keep some things a secret!"

~

[3igbootyl0ver]

who hurt you? [ii]

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: Tara mistakenly puts herself in a relationship she thought would be full of love.

word count: 1822

warnings: (Tara's POV), mentions of abuse, violence, angst, swearing

a/n: ok hi guys this is mostly Tara's POV and won't really be focusing btwn her and r's relationship. the next part would probably be the last one too but im always up on doing head canons for this pic. anyways apologies for any inaccuracy for this part, if ya'll have any feedback or suggestions feel free to dm me or send anonymously.

part [i] | part [iii] | part [iv] | part [v]

Tara never meant for any of this to happen.

She first met Amber a year ago, at a party that invited everyone from both Blackmore and Woodsboro High. Tara went with you at first, but you quickly got caught up in the chaos of the event, drinking with friends to drown your frustrations over the rivalry, leaving Tara to wander through the crowd alone.

Tara glanced around the room, feeling a bit out of place without you. It was her first real taste of a high school party, but somehow, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. You were missing. Some were celebrating—laughing, dancing, and basking in the glory of their win over Blackmore—while others attended this party just for an excuse to get drunk, but Tara wasn’t feeling the same rush. That was when she noticed Amber standing off to the side, holding a drink and watching the crowd with a knowing smile.

Amber had been a wild card that night. No one expected her to show up, least of all Tara. But Amber’s reputation preceded her—everyone knew she was sharp, calculated, and, most importantly, she knew how to play the game. She wasn’t just there to celebrate; she was there to get ahead.

Tara’s initial impression of Amber was a mix of admiration and curiosity. Amber seemed to hold herself in a way that suggested she knew something no one else did. And that intrigued Tara, even if she couldn’t quite explain why.

As Tara wandered away from the chaotic center of the party, she ended up near Amber. The two of them started talking, mostly small talk at first—what they were doing after high school, the thrill of their victory, and the peculiar tension between Woodsboro and Blackmore. Tara found herself drawn to Amber’s cool confidence, the way she seemed to have everything under control.

But what started as a simple conversation slowly shifted into something deeper. Amber had a way of making Tara feel like she was the only one in the room, even when there were dozens of people around. Tara’s mind kept drifting back to the feeling Amber gave her: like maybe she could be something more, something beyond the quiet girl who never quite fit in.

And so, things began to unravel.

Tara never meant for it to go this far. It wasn’t supposed to be anything serious, just a casual connection. But somewhere along the way, Amber made it clear that she wasn’t just interested in Tara’s company—she had a plan, and Tara was a part of it. Tara hadn’t realized how deep Amber’s intentions went until it was already too late. Now, Tara was left to figure out how she’d let herself be pulled into something so complicated—something that, in hindsight, was far more than just a meeting between two people at a party.

Everything was bliss when Tara and Amber started dating. She was kind, gentle, and attentive—the kind of person who made Tara feel understood and like the most important person in the world. It felt like a dream. Amber would send her thoughtful texts, surprise her with little gifts, and always knew how to make her laugh. Tara felt safe, seen, and loved in a way she hadn’t before.

But as time went on, Amber’s true colors started to surface—slowly, almost imperceptibly at first.

It started with small criticisms. At first, they were disguised as concern, little comments about Tara’s appearance or habits that Amber claimed were meant to help her. "You know, if you ate healthier, maybe you wouldn't feel so tired all the time." Or, "I don’t think that outfit is really doing you any favors." Tara tried to brush it off, telling herself it was just Amber wanting her to be her best. But the comments grew sharper, more frequent.

"You always mess things up," Amber would say when Tara made a mistake, like forgetting to pick up groceries or missing a text. "Why can’t you ever get anything right?" Her tone wasn’t playful anymore. It was condescending, even cruel. Tara began to feel like she couldn’t do anything without Amber pointing out what she’d done wrong.

The verbal jabs escalated when Amber started to get possessive. At first, Tara thought it was just a sign of how much Amber cared. But Amber's jealousy started to feel suffocating. She'd ask Tara where she was going, who she was with, and why she didn’t tell her first. "You don't really need to hang out with them, do you?" Amber would ask, her voice dripping with insinuation. It would have been even worse if she had hung out with you. It was as if you were Amber's breaking point. "They don’t even care about you like I do." "I’m better than them; why are you still hanging out with them?"

Tara found herself apologizing constantly—for things she didn’t even understand; she would say sorry just to avoid the tension. 

It was always the same cycle: Amber would get irritated for no reason, her voice would grow cold and sharp just to insult Tara. "You always do this; you always make everything more difficult than it has to be. Why can’t you just do things right?". The next day, Amber would be apologetic, trying to console Tara, making her forget everything that happened the day before. She said all the right things, but Tara couldn’t ignore the knot of anxiety that lingered in her chest. She had a way of twisting everything, making Tara feel like she was always in the wrong, walking on eggshells.

And soon, the emotional abuse turned into physical fights. One day, Tara had dinner plans with Mindy when Amber confronted her again, "You always do this," she snapped. "You always choose them over me." Her voice was cold, venomous.

Tara tried to explain, but Amber wasn’t hearing it. "You think you can just leave whenever you want? No, you’re not going anywhere." Before Tara could react, Amber grabbed her by the arm—tightly, her fingers digging into Tara’s skin. "You’re hurting me, Amber; let me go!" Tara shouted, trying to pull away, but her grip tightened. She twisted Tara’s arm painfully, forcing her to sit down.

Tara’s heart was racing. She didn’t recognize this version of Amber—this wasn’t the woman she had fallen in love with. The love they once shared felt like a distant memory, replaced with anger, control, and fear. Tara was terrified, but she didn’t know how to escape. Before the day ended, Tara made up an excuse to Mindy that she couldn’t make it. She thought about her friends. Chad, Mindy, You. How will she be able to explain herself? She’s embarrassed and ashamed of herself if she were to ever face either of you. 

There was once when Amber picked up Tara from school when she saw her talking to you, both of you giggling like lovestruck teenagers, like you were in love with each other. And Amber simply couldn’t have that. Once both of them got back to Amber’s house, she gripped Tara’s arm, demanding an explanation. "So you’re just whoring around your school with someone else? Especially them? You’re just a slut, aren’t you?" Amber seethed, her nails digging into Tara’s skin, leaving another mark on her skin. Tara stood there, tears streaming down her face, knowing no matter what she said, it would be dismissed, twisted, or ignored. "You’re mine, Tara. I’m not letting you go anywhere," were the last words she heard before being shoved down the stairs, undoubtedly leaving bruises all over her body. She knew the next day Amber would whisper apologies, giving her kisses and hugging her in an attempt to make her forget.

Tara began pulling away, distancing herself from you, from Chad, from Mindy, from Anika—everyone. It wasn’t that she didn’t care anymore, but she couldn’t bear the thought of Amber’s wrath falling on them, especially you. She couldn’t risk you getting hurt because of her, couldn’t risk Amber turning her anger on the people she loved. The more Tara tried to protect her friends, the more she isolated herself.

Every moment felt like a calculation; every text, every phone call, every plan made without Amber’s approval felt like a risk. Tara started to feel like a prisoner in her own life, like Amber was always there—watching, waiting for her to slip up, to make a mistake.

Amber had a way of making her feel like she was constantly under surveillance, always one misstep away from an explosion. Tara couldn’t shake the feeling that Amber was breathing down her neck, that every time she laughed too loudly with a friend or spent too much time away from her, Amber would find out. And when Amber found out, the consequences would be brutal. Tara had learned that the hard way.

It was like living in a constant state of fear. Tara’s heart would race whenever she saw a message from you or heard from one of her friends. She hated that it had come to this—that Amber’s control over her had stretched so far that she couldn’t even speak freely without worrying about the fallout.

But more than anything, she hated that the woman she loved, the woman she had trusted, had become someone she feared. Every day, she woke up wondering how much longer she could live like this. How much longer until Amber's control over her—and over everyone she cared about—was too much to bear?

Amber’s behavior spiraled even further. The emotional abuse had crossed into physical violence, and Tara was left unsure of where it would go next. Amber would apologize, beg for forgiveness, and then turn around and hurt her again. Tara began to feel like she was losing herself. She was afraid of what might happen if she tried to leave, afraid of what Amber might do. 

Though she would still post pictures of them together, of them being in a happy relationship for people to see online, the reality was far different. Behind the carefully staged photos, the smiles seemed forced, the laughter hollow. She knew the posts didn’t reflect the late-night arguments or the hidden marks on Tara’s body. Yet, there was comfort in the illusion, in maintaining a facade that everyone else admired. It was easier to keep up the pretense than to confront the discomfort of what was really happening—of the slow unraveling that no one could see. The attention, the validation from likes and comments, provided a temporary sense of relief, a distraction from the gnawing uncertainty she felt every time she looked at Amber when the camera was off. It became a blurred line for Tara to interpret what was the reality and the sick image she created of her and Amber online. 

But one thing was clear: this wasn’t love anymore. And Tara didn’t know how much longer she could stay in a relationship that was slowly suffocating her.

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

a/n: next update might be awhile bc exam season is coming up and im a chill girl that needs to rest so you'll probably hear from me in like 2-3 weeks :p

[aquaquadrant]

from eden, part IX (act II)

Word count: 15,401 Warnings: Self-deprecating thoughts (not really, Jimmy’s just a listener and doesn’t know it), strong language, internalized racism, past abuse/experimentation, dehumanization, self-hatred, kissing, mature implications (fade to black), voluntary decapitation Summary: The Double Lifers have successfully thwarted the invasion by Hels Tek, but not unscathed. Now that Tango’s been outed as Bravo’s doppelgänger, the remaining threads are starting to unravel, and Jimmy suddenly finds himself fighting to save Tango from his own inner demons. Can their love survive the fallout?

A/N: This chapter had to get split into two parts bc Tumblr sucks, here's a link to the first half if u missed it. Hope y'all enjoy, please reblog/comment if you do!

Also please don’t think too hard abt the technical portal/redstone junk. I’m throwin a lotta random terms and conditions out there in the hopes of creating a feasible explanation for how portal travel works, and how Hels differs from other worlds in that regard. It’s possible there are contradictions or other things that I didn’t fully think through, but these details aren’t really important. Just try to suspend ur disbelief. - Aqua

~*~

from eden, part IX (act II) - no tired sighs, no rolling eyes, no irony

~*~

“Right then. Uh, thank you all for coming on short notice.”

Grian’s tentative welcome is met with a chorus of rather subdued greetings from the Double Lifers. Everyone is gathered in a loose semicircle around spawn, standing in their respective soulbound pairs and groups. Jimmy would’ve preferred to have this conversation sitting down, inside somewhere, but Tango had insisted on spawn.

Only now does Jimmy realize that the open nature of the forest clearing at spawn is less enclosed than a room filled with fourteen people would feel, and he understands.

Tango hadn’t been very talkative on the way over. But every time he said something, it was with that same forced ‘Everything’s fine!’ kind of attitude. It’s really starting to frustrate Jimmy, making him want to grab Tango by the shoulders and shout, ‘No, actually, everything’s not fine, and that’s okay!’

But he doesn’t think that’d be well received at the moment.

Tango, standing beside Jimmy, is still maintaining his fake nonchalance. To an untrained observer, he’d actually look quite casual. Simply standing with his hands in his pockets, listening intently to Grian with a plain, but not unpleasant, expression. The only indication Jimmy has that he’s at all uncomfortable is the complete lack of movement.

He doesn’t fidget, doesn’t pace, doesn’t shift his weight- all things that might otherwise be taken as signs of anxiety, but are usually normal for Tango. The stillness, though subtle, is concerning. It means he’s tense and on-guard. As if expecting an attack at any second. Which, to be fair, Jimmy doesn’t blame him for. 

But more concerning is the fact that Tango can so easily and convincingly pretend that everything’s fine. He must’ve had a lot of practice.

(Ten years, remember?)

(Of course he’s a good liar.)

(Surprise, surprise.)

Grian clears his throat. “So, as we all know… there was an attack yesterday by some strange fellas who came in through a hacked portal of some sort. I’ve locked the world down for the moment, but until we know all the who’s, why’s, and how’s, I’m afraid that’s only a temporary solution… since I’m sure you all don’t wanna be stuck here forever.” 

He says it matter-of-factly, not a hint of any frustration, annoyance, or other ill-feeling in his voice. But Jimmy sees Tango’s face twitch anyway. Unsurprisingly, the guilt is getting to him.

“But that’s why we’re here,” Grian continues, taking a more upbeat tone. “Tango has kindly agreed to explain a little better what’s goin’ on, so hopefully, we can get to the bottom of this and uh… come up with a plan for moving forward.” He gestures invitingly towards Tango. “Tango?”

(Here we go…)

Tango clears his throat. “Right, yeah, thanks.” He takes a small step forward, casting a quick glance around the clearing. “Okay, so here’s the deal. I spawned in a world called Hels, where every player is sort of an evil counterpart to an overworld player elsewhere in the universe. At least, that’s what I’ve gathered from the Helsknight fiasco.”

Jimmy can actually see the sudden realization that settles over all the present Hermits- minus Pearl, who seems as out of the loop as the others.

Grian’s eyes widen. “Oh my gosh, that makes so much sense…”

“Oh, dudes,” Ren breathes, running a clawed hand through his hair. “Not gonna lie, I completely forgot about that…”

“Same here,” Impulse says, looking stunned. “I mean, it was over and done with so fast, and Wels didn’t seem worried, so I guess none of us really thought to look into it? Man…”

Scott puts a hand up. “Um, what’s tha’ Helsknight fiasco?” he asks, frowning.

“Oh, right.” Tango scratches the back of his head. “So, you guys know of Welsknight, right? One of our fellow hermits?” At the group’s hesitant nods, he continues, “On Hermitcraft’s seventh world, there was this player who randomly joined and attacked Wels. None of us ever saw him, but when Wels explained the situation later… he said Helsknight was some kinda evil clone, and that he came from a place called Hels.”

Murmurs of surprise and confusion ripple through the group. Jimmy longs to put a hand on Tango’s shoulder as a reassurance, but based on how tense he is, that’d probably set him off.

“Wait, really?” Pearl asks, her antennae curling in surprise. “What’re the chances of that?”

“I know,” Cleo agrees, “it was really strange, in hindsight…”

“So this Helsknight guy,” Joel says, knitting his brows together. “He’s what Bravo was talkin’ about, one of those Hels players? Like all the other people that came through the portal?”

“Yeah,” Martyn chimes in, “I- I noticed a lot of uh, ‘Hels’ in the names in chat. Or like, ones with ‘bad’ or ‘evil’ kinda vibes.”

“Yep.” Tango nods stiffly. “Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t know Helsknight or- or how he joined Hermitcraft, but it was obvious he was Wels’s counterpart. I mean, he said he was ‘all the darkest parts’ of Wels, right?” He folds his arms. “Well, I’m that for Bravo. A sort of uh- a personification of his badness, I guess.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Bigb cuts in, holding his hands up. “So- so you’re sayin’ that we all have these… Hels versions of ourselves?”

“Evil doppelgängers, yeah,” Tango amends. “I mean, I don’t know why it’d only be for some players and not others, and Hels is plenty big enough for every player in the universe to have a counterpart. You go to any of the major cities around spawn, and it’ll definitely feel that way.”

“What’s this… Hels world like?” Pearl asks, her red eyes wide with a sort of morbid fascination.

Tango’s expression darkens. “It’s an ancient world, infinite and deadly. The overworld and nether are fused into one crazy, messed-up realm full of these weird hybrid kinda biomes, and- and you can’t access the end. The bedrock ceiling makes it so hostile mobs spawn basically everywhere, but you can’t find naturally spawning passive mobs for like, hundreds of thousands of blocks around spawn, ‘cause the early players murdered them all. And no portal travel in or out- at least, that’s what we thought.”

Jimmy’s starting to see why Bravo described Hels as ‘an inescapable prison of horrific violence and suffering.’ 

Grian raises his eyebrows. “No end?”

“No portals?” Bdubs echoes disbelievingly.

Etho, who’s been listening with rapt attention, tilts his head. “That Bravo guy, he mentioned something about my, uh… my doppelgänger?”

Tango shrugs. “He must’ve met them at some point in the last ten years, yeah. I- I dunno, I never did.” He pauses, creasing his brows as he glances around the circle again. “Actually, I don’t think I ever met any of your guys’s Hels. Or, if I did, I don’t remember.”

That makes Jimmy frown. “What do you mean?”

Tango gives Jimmy a sidelong look. “I uh, I wasn’t really that social for most of my time there, I spent my childhood being a general menace- most kids do, actually. There’s no infrastructure to look after kids, we- they’re basically on their own. So you can imagine it’s- it’s an interesting world to grow up in.” Idly, he kicks at a clump of grass. “Bunch’a little monsters runnin’ around unsupervised, causing chaos, trying not to get brutally killed by hostile mobs and players, it was great.”

Horror seizes Jimmy. “That’s awful.”

“That’s just how it was,” Tango says bluntly. “I mean, try setting something like that up without an admin, right? See how that goes.”

“Wait, Hels doesn’t have an admin?” Grian repeats.

“Nope. At least, not when I was there.” Tango shrugs. “They hadn’t for a long time before I even spawned, so- so the whole place was basically anarchy, every player for themself.”

Aghast, Scar shakes his head. “What in the world…”

“How long did you spend living like that?” Impulse asks softly, his eyes sad.

Tango’s avoiding everyone’s eyes now, staring off somewhere into the middle distance. “Oh, probably ‘til I was like… fifteen or sixteen? Somewhere in the teen stage? That’s when I met Atlas.” A bitter smile splits across his face. “He told me he was recruiting for his redstone company, Hels Tek, and- and of course he threw in lots of cheap flattery, blah blah blah, and in my young, naive stupidity, I fell hook, line, and sinker. Turns out all he wanted me for was a blaze farm.”

There’s a brief silence.

“What?” Jimmy asks, confused. Is that what Atlas had meant about a farm design? Did they just want to force Tango to make farms for them? He knows Tango’s a bit of an innovator in that regard, but that’s an awful lot of trouble to go through for something that could easily be done by someone else.

“He… wanted you to build a blaze farm?” Impulse asks slowly, brows knitting together.

Tango laughs; a sharp, dry exhale. “No, no. Not to build one. To be one.” He reaches a hand up to tap one of the blaze rods hovering around his head. “I uh, I dunno if you guys have noticed, but these things here aren’t just for show. They’re real, functional blaze rods, and they just so happen to be respawnable.”

Jimmy’s stomach drops.

Oh.

(There we go, now they’ve got it.)

(Makes sense, right?)

(Honestly, it’s so obvious…)

The clearing is deathly silent now. All Jimmy can hear is his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. Everything is clicking into place, all the strange things he’s seen and heard suddenly making perfect, horrible sense.

They used Tango as a blaze farm. An actual sentient player, reduced to nothing more than a simple mob. A player with complex thoughts and feelings, with creative ideas and passions, with hopes and fears and dreams. They locked him up like an animal to use for profit- and even now, ten years later, he still can’t fully escape from it.

Jimmy has a sinking feeling he knows what Tango’s nightmares are about.

Tango keeps talking. “They didn’t start with that, of course.” There’s a bored sort of quality to his voice, like he’s merely commentating on the weather. “There was this uhh awkward phase where I thought I was helping with redstone experiments, when actually I was the test subject.”

It’s kind of surreal, actually. To be standing here and talking about this so casually. It’s like Jimmy’s having a nightmare he can’t wake up from.

“And once I caught on, well, they uh- they didn’t exactly have to play nice anymore,” Tango laughs. “That’s where I got these fabulous accessories.” He waves a hand, cuff jangling around his wrist.

Jimmy feels sick. They put the cuffs on Tango to lock him in a farm. To think he’s still had those on him, all this time-

“After that,” Tango continues briskly, “it still took, like, another year of testing for them to develop the most optimized farm.” He delivers the information almost disinterestedly, studying his claws. “It was a pretty smart design, nice and compact.”

Jimmy glances around the clearing. Amidst the shocked, horrified faces, he finds Impulse- who seems to be focused on taking slow, deep breaths, his hands curled into fists at his sides.

(Uh oh, no Impulse to the rescue…)

“Wither roses dealt constant damage,” Tango rattles off, “triggering my blaze rods to respawn as quickly as they could be skadoodled away by hoppers, and they had regen on an automatic clock to keep me alive- though there was a backup respawn anchor for any accidents.”

Wither roses. Of course. Jimmy can picture it, in his mind’s eye; Tango chained up among the ashen flowers. What must it have felt like, to be withering all the time? His health constantly wavering between the icy blackness and the regeneration, every minute of every day. How absolutely miserable.

Jimmy somehow finds his voice again. “How… how long did you spend like that?” he asks hoarsely, stepping next to Tango.

Tango won’t look at him- though he’s carefully watching out of the corner of his eye. “Oh, I dunno… four or five months, maybe?” 

Months. Jimmy’s heart aches. He can’t even begin to imagine what that existence was like. To spend all day trapped in a farm that’s constantly hurting him- and by wither effect, no less. Not to mention how dehumanizing the entire concept is on its own.

“How’d you get out?” Jimmy asks tentatively. “If- if you don’t mind.”

Tango snorts. “Yeah, so, one day, the charge on my anchor ran out when no one was around, so I was able to kill myself to get back to world spawn. And that’s when the portal to Hermitcraft appeared.”

Etho steps forward. “I thought Hels didn’t allow portals?” he asks, his voice as cool and unreadable as his partially-concealed expression.

Jimmy’s taken aback, his feathers puffing up unwittingly. He doesn’t understand how Etho can grill Tango about technical details in such an upsetting situation. In fact, he’d almost think that Etho doesn’t care at all- except the question makes Tango pause. In his expression, Jimmy can see his mind working, and realizes what Etho has done.

By circling back to a scientific topic, he’s provided Tango a distraction. Something less personal for his mind to focus on, and take everyone else’s focus off of him. Already, Jimmy can see that Tango’s less tense as he starts to explain.

“We didn’t have portals in Hels, but we knew the concept from data-mining.” Tango spreads his hands. “Locked comm commands, hidden recipes. But portals to Hermitcraft are made by the universe, right? So- so whatever is preventing Hels players from making portals, it- the universe can circumvent it. ‘Course, at the time, I didn’t know how it appeared or where it was gonna take me, but I went through. And apparently, somehow, a portal appeared in front of Bravo that took him to Hels at the same time. The universe must’ve tried to send Bravo to Hermitcraft, glitched ‘cause of Hels’s wonky portal technology, and swapped us by mistake.”

Etho hums noncommittally. “So it was an accident.”

(Oh, sure.)

(That’s what they think…)

(Yeah, he ‘accidentally’ didn’t tell anyone the truth for ten years.)

Jimmy angrily pushes the thoughts away. So long as Tango didn’t intend to strand Bravo in Hels, that’s all that matters to him.

Tango gives Etho a funny look. “I mean, that’s not the point? Bravo’s been trapped in Hels ever since, ‘cause of me. This whole invasion thing was my fault, they were tryin’ to get me back for the farm and help Bravo escape Hels, and... I dunno, get back to his life? Or, the life I stole from him ten years ago.” He shrugs. “So yeah. Secret’s out, sorry I’ve been lying to some of you for a decade, now, and- and sorry you all got dragged into my mess. I didn’t mean t- well, anyway, that’s- that’s what happened.”

“God, Tango,” Jimmy breathes, reaching a hand out, “I- I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” Tango asks incredulously, jerking away from Jimmy. “Wh- for what? That’s just what Hels is like, okay, if it wasn’t the farm it’d have been some other terrible thing, so y’know, it’s- it’s whatever.” He lets out another harsh laugh, raking his claws through his hair. “If anything, I’m the one who should be sorry, I mean, I- I’ve been lyin’ for ten years and-”

“They put you in a farm?!”

Everyone jumps. Impulse’s voice is suddenly several octaves lower, quite a bit louder, and warped with distortion into something truly demonic. His pupils have eaten up the rest of his eyes, turning them solid black. The teeth bared in a scowl look bigger and sharper than they used to, and the hands at his sides have sprouted claws. His horns and tail have grown longer, too, and Jimmy can see what looks like dark, leathery wings sprouting up behind him. His entire body is outlined by a bright golden glow, like his skin has abruptly become as hot as lava, and the absolute fury in his expression burns even fiercer.

Ah. This must be ‘full demon’ mode.

Bdubs quickly jumps in front of Impulse, grabbing him by the shoulders to ground him. Jimmy instinctively steps in front of Tango, wings snapping out to shield him from view.

But the damage is already done. Jimmy hears footsteps, and by the time he looks over his shoulder, Tango is gone.

“Tango, wait!” Jimmy turns to follow him, but a hand suddenly grabs his arm.

Martyn is there. “Don’t chase him,” he says lowly, “he’ll only panic more.”

Jimmy wants to argue, but the severity in Martyn’s solitary eye sobers him. “Alright,” he relents, folding his wings. “I… guess I’ll give him a few minutes to calm down…”

“Right, then.” Martyn gives a short nod, putting his hands on his hips. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

“Tell me about it,” Jimmy mutters, gazing back over the clearing.

Impulse is starting to settle back down, Bdubs in front speaking to him in low tones while Etho and Joel each hang onto an arm. It looks like his extra demon-y features are reverting back to his usual state, though he still looks furious.

Grian is sitting against a tree, wings splayed out around him. He’s massaging his temples like he’s warding off a headache, his eyes squeezed shut, groaning, “How did I not see this coming?” while Scar, crouched beside him, rubs his back soothingly.

Ren is pacing back and forth across the clearing. “I should’a killed more of those guys,” he growls, tail lashing, ears pinned flat against his skull.

“Hey, you did all you could,” Bigb says comfortingly. “I was the one that got us killed. If I’d kept my shield up, he wouldn’t have gotten that shot on me.”

“I wish we’d realized that Atlas guy was in charge,” Martyn laments, crossing over to them. “If we’d stopped him from leaving, we could’a gotten a lot more information.”

“I wish we’d known Tango was dealing with all this,” Cleo says bitterly, her crossed arms resting on her knees, Scott leaned against their side. “I mean, honestly… ten years and we never knew? That’s- that’s- that’s rubbish. We’re rubbish friends.”

“Hey, hey now,” Jimmy says, lifting his voice to address the group, “this wasn’t anyone’s fault, okay? You guys have been great friends to Tango- otherwise, he wouldn’t have stuck around for so long, right? It’s- it’s just his way, to try and deal with things on his own without askin’ for help. You know that.”

Cleo exhales slowly. “Yeah, I know. Still sucks.”

“Yeah.” Jimmy glances over at Impulse, who seems to have recovered himself back to normal, sitting cross-legged next to Bdubs. “You alright, Impulse?”

Impulse gives a slight nod, expression guilty. “I’m sorry. I- I almost never lose control like that, I just got so angry… not at Tango!” he quickly clarifies. “Never at him. I- I just… thinking about what they did to him, everything he went through…”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Bdubs murmurs, squeezing Impulse’s hand. “That’s- it’s freaking crazy, right? With th- hyaugh, evil Hels world, puttin’ people in uh, in farms… sheesh.”

“Yeah, it’s alright,” Jimmy assures him. “I know you didn’t mean anythin’ by it. I’m sure Tango does, too, he was just so on-guard the whole time… he just got spooked, that’s all.”

“Jimmy,” Pearl says urgently, fluttering over to him while tailed by her small pack of wolves, “d’you know- uh, is- is everythin’ Tango said true?” she asks, concerned.

Jimmy swallows. “It’s true. I mean, I- I didn’t know about the farm specifically, but based on what I overheard Atlas say- it makes sense.” He rubs the back of his neck. “And gosh, I didn’t know how awful Hels was, but the way Bravo talked about it…”

“But, um…” Bdubs pipes up hesitantly. “Just- just ‘cause Tango is Bravo’s… uh, Hels… doppelgänger, whatever… doesn’t mean he’s evil, right?”

“I know!” Jimmy cries, throwing his hands up. “That’s what I’ve been tryin’ to tell him! He doesn’t believe it. He thinks he’s a monster for what he did, killin’ those guys and burnin’ down the ranch.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Martyn scoffs. He’s coaxed a still-seething Ren to lay down now, absentmindedly stroking Ren’s ears as his head rests in Martyn’s lap while Bigb starts to braid his hair. “It was self-defense, yeah? A bunch of strangers invaded your home, and he defended it. There’s nothin’ wrong with that.”

Jimmy has a feeling it’s more to do with how Tango killed them and how the fire got started, plus the fact that Jimmy got hurt in the process. But Tango didn’t share those particular details, so Jimmy’s not about to now. Besides, in his opinion, that doesn’t change anything.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he says ruefully. “But he still blames himself for what happened. For all of it.”

“Well, that’s stupid,” Cleo deadpans. Then she pauses. “Or- sorry, his feelings aren’t stupid, but I- I hope he knows that none of us feel that way.”

There are exclamations of agreement and similar sentiments from the rest of the group, which helps ease some of the tightness in Jimmy’s chest. He knows his friends, and knows they’re all good people who wouldn’t judge Tango like that, but it’s been hard not to let Bravo’s words get to him.

“I’ll tell him,” Jimmy promises them. “I’ll try to make him understand, he just- I think he’s always been afraid this day would come, that he’s just been tickin’ down borrowed time.”

“What d’you mean?” Grian asks, rising to his feet. “It’s not like he knew they were coming, right?”

Jimmy shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. It’s more like… he’s always had that possibility hanging over him.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” Impulse says quietly. “The first time he saw a communicator portal open, you would’ve thought he was being sent to his death. It… makes sense, looking back now.” He puts his head in his hands, sighing. “Man, there were so many signs…”

Grian walks over, pulling his communicator out. “So hang on, the world itself is called Hels, yeah?”

“Yeah, why?” Jimmy asks.

Grian doesn’t respond, silently scanning his comm with his brows knit in concentration. And then something very strange happens. For a moment, it almost seems as if Grian’s eyes flash purple, and Jimmy hears his voice in his head.

(There it is. Hm, firewalled. Gonna be tricky.)

Then Grian pushes his glasses back up, and it passes.

“Right,” he says briskly, putting his comm away. “I can’t find the world, so the portal thing checks out. But since Tango’s cut this meeting a bit short, do you have any other information? Anything the Hels guys might’ve said or done that we should know about?”

Jimmy blinks. Grian’s just looking at him expectantly, giving no indication that there’s anything out of sorts. Jeeze, he’s used to having random thoughts, but the stress of everything must really be getting to him if he’s imagining his friend’s voices, now.

“Um, actually,” Jimmy says, “the collar they put on Tango… he said it’s using some sort of… modified wither rose to dampen his fire? It’s uh, also dampening our soulbond.” He clears his throat, glancing away. “As a- as a fun little side effect.”

“Have you tried removing it yet?” Etho asks, stepping around Impulse with his hands in his pockets.

“I did, earlier,” Impulse chimes in from the ground. “Just with my hands, but uh, he acted like it was hurting him.”

Jimmy nods. “Yeah, Atlas locked it on him with a key, and I’m pretty sure he still had it when he left. So I think that might be the way to get it off.”

“Well,” Joel cuts in, straightening up from where he’d been leaning over Impulse’s shoulder, “surely not the only way, right? I mean, you could always…” He makes a noncommittal noise, and draws a finger across his neck.

Jimmy bristles, wings flaring out. “What, decapitate my soulmate?!”

Joel holds up his hands. “Hey, hey, we don’t know if that thing’ll respawn on him!”

“His cuffs do!” Jimmy points out.

“Yeah, but isn’t it worth a shot?” Joel counters.

“I… I guess,” Jimmy relents, letting his feathers smooth back down. “But I’d rather look into a few other options before jumpin’ straight to decapitation, if you don’t mind. Tango’s been through enough as it is.”

Joel backs off. “Alright, fair enough.” 

“Okay…” Grian turns to address the rest of the group. “Well, um… this has been an interesting revelation, to say the least. I think we’re gonna have to do a bit more research to figure out how they got here before we just… open the world back up. So that means we’ll all be stuck here a bit longer, is that- is that okay with everyone?”

“Yes, yes of course,” Bdubs says vehemently.

“Yeah,” Impulse agrees, “whatever it takes.”

Further murmurs of assent ring out from among the group. Everywhere Jimmy looks, he sees faces full of sympathy and understanding, not a single trace of resentment or annoyance to be found. God, he loves his friends.

“Thanks, guys, I appreciate it,” he says gratefully. “I’m gonna go check on Tango, but we’ll keep you updated if anythin’ changes.”

“Right, okay then.” Grian claps his hands together. “Uh- I guess that’s all for now?”

Nodding, Jimmy turns and takes to the sky, leaving spawn behind him.

His mind is still reeling from all the heavy revelations, his stomach twisted up into knots, but he’s at least comforted by knowing that his friends are behind them. Seems that the fears Bravo tried to instill were completely unfounded, nothing more than vicious, desperate attempts to sow division between Tango and the others. Jimmy really shouldn’t have doubted them.

(That went… surprisingly well.)

(Give it time.)

‘Oh, shove off,’ Jimmy thinks.

~*~

He finds Tango back at the spare room in Impulse and Bdubs’s house.

Thank goodness for that. He hadn’t exactly been sure if Tango would consider this a safe place to go. But with the ranch destroyed and the world on lockdown, it’s not like he has a lot of options.

Tango’s sitting on the bed with his back to Jimmy. At a glance, he seems relaxed, but his legs are curled under him in a way that’d allow him to spring up in an instant. And the way his pointed ears swivel back toward Jimmy tells him Tango is quite alert.

(So deceiving…)

“Hey, Tango,” Jimmy says softly. “You alright?”

“Oh, hey.” Tango doesn’t turn around just yet, shrugging a shoulder. “Sure, yeah.”

Jimmy lingers by the bed for a moment, uncertain. “Um, Impulse didn’t mean to lose his temper like that,” he offers. “He wasn’t mad at you, he was mad at the situation, that’s all.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Just, in the moment- I- I- thought…” Tango sighs. “Anyway. So- so I guess I should head out, huh?”

Jimmy’s stomach drops. “What? What’re you sayin’?”

“It’s over, right?” Tango asks, his voice tight, shoulders hunched by his ears. “They don’t want me around, and I don’t blame ‘em. I mean, once Grian opens the world again, it’s only a matter of time before another portal from Hels opens up. And- and who’d want to go through all that again, right? So don’t worry, I get it, it was my fault, so-”

“No, Tango, I promise- none of them blame you, alright?” Jimmy sits down on the bed- not too close. “None of them believe what Bravo was sayin’ about you. None of them think you’re some… some evil monster that deserves to be locked up in Hels.”

Tango finally turns around. His body is coiled with all the tension of a drawn arrow. “That’s ‘cause they didn’t see me- what I did- back at the ranch,” he says sharply. “They don’t know the whole story.”

Jimmy rubs the back of his neck, exhaling slowly. He knew Tango would hold that against himself. “Well, I do, and I-”

“No, you don’t.”

Jimmy blinks. “Wh- oh, you mean the Helsknight thing?” he asks, furrowing his brows. “Look, honestly, based on what you told Bravo, I don’t blame you for doing that. You were just scared you’d get sent back, that doesn’t make you evil. I know you-”

“No, you don’t,” Tango says again, more intently. “You don’t know everything about me, Jimmy.”

Jimmy’s stomach drops. “Wha’d’you mean?”

Tango smiles without humor, a hard look in his eye. “You wanna know why I like making those- those crazy mob farms? Why I try to kill them in creative, fun ways?” He tilts his head. “Because I like it. I like to make their deaths entertaining. I’ll even sacrifice efficiency for it, I’ll go out of my way to do it. And I- it doesn’t stop there, I’ll kill passive mobs for no reason. Cats, frogs, things that don’t even have drops, for absolutely no reason. That’s not normal.”

Despite himself, Jimmy feels a chill run down his spine. “That’s not… those are just mobs, it’s- it’s not evil…”

(Are you sure about that?)

Tango exhales sharply- a short, bitter laugh. “Okay. You know why practically all my mini games end in death? Huh? You wanna guess?”

Distress shoots through Jimmy. “Tango-”

“I like to watch players die, too,” Tango says. “And I like it to be entertaining. I enjoy it, that’s- that’s just plain sadistic.” He rakes his claws through his hair. “That’s what I am, I’m a- a sadistic monster, okay, I always have been.”

“Stop it, don’t say that!” Jimmy protests, his heart twisting. “You’re not- people actually sign up for those games, you know. And it’s not like death is permanent, it doesn’t matter-”

“So?” Tango interrupts harshly. He jumps off the bed and starts pacing. “What- does that make any difference? Doesn’t matter if people enjoy them, okay, my- my reason for making them is wrong. Designing games is fun, sure, but I- that’s never what it’s been about. I like to make players struggle, and suffer, and die in the end. I like to watch them experience pain and fear in a trap of my own creation. I like the feeling of control it gives me. No matter how you look at it, that’s- I- I’m messed up.”

Jimmy can’t take this anymore. He rises to his feet. “Tango, stop, that’s enough,” he says, his voice stern. “I know I haven’t known you very long, but-”

“Yeah,” Tango snaps, rounding on Jimmy, “you haven’t! That’s the whole problem! I’ve kept a huge chunk of my life secret from you, my own soulmate. I’ve kept it from the Hermits, too- my friends of nearly a decade. I’ve deceived and lied to everyone I ever cared about. I’ve pretended to be this- this benevolent game maker who just wants everyone to have a good time, I’ve kept so much of who I really am hidden ‘cause I knew that if you guys ever saw the real me, you’d hate me.”

Jimmy’s mind is reeling. Tango’s clever eye for game design is something Jimmy’s always loved about him, the way he could create fun challenges even amidst the throes of a death game. After all, the first time they really interacted was when Jimmy died to his ‘Dare to Flare’ challenge back on the Third Life world. And that had been a laughably simple game compared to some of the things he’s done on Hermitcraft.

Even though it ended up costing Jimmy a life, the rush of adrenaline had been thrilling. And even though in hindsight, he knew it was a deliberate ploy by Tango to thin out his competitor’s lives, Jimmy’s never resented him for it.

So to suddenly realize there might’ve been more to it… that Tango might’ve actually enjoyed watching him burn to death- beyond the simple satisfaction of having outsmarted his competition, of course- is… unsettling, to say the least.

(What a start to a relationship!)

(The red flags have been there from day one.)

(A sadist and a liar, lucky you.)

But nevertheless, Jimmy holds his ground. “I don’t hate you.”

Tango tenses. “You should.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Jimmy insists. “I love you, Tango.”

“No, you don’t!” Tango snarls, and the hurt in his voice is raw and ragged and bleeding. His eyes are burning with rage, and Jimmy’s almost certain that if it weren’t for the collar, he’d be on fire right now. “Alright? Just shut up! You love this- this version of me that I’ve presented, okay, this lie I’ve been living. You love Tango the friendly redstoner, who makes ridiculous high-pitched noises when he’s flustered and who’s funny when he’s mad and who can’t fight his way out of a one-block hole. You don’t love the sadistic blaze hybrid that sets things on fire and- and rips people’s throats out with his fucking teeth, don’t be stupid!”

The silence that follows is deafening.

(And there it is!)

(Finally showing his true colors.)

(He did try to tell you…)

For a moment, Jimmy is too stunned to speak. Tango’s never yelled at him before, not seriously, and the sting of his words is almost a physical thing.

Tango seems just as shocked at his outburst as Jimmy is, his face paling as his anger quickly extinguishes. The next words out of Tango’s mouth are almost guaranteed to be an apology, but Jimmy isn’t letting him off that easily.

“Now hang on just a second,” Jimmy says lowly. “You don’t get to tell me how I feel about you. I’m a grown player. I’m not some poor, innocent idiot that you’ve manipulated into loving you, alright? And it hurts that you’d think so little of me, that I’d stand here and just lie about my feelings to you.”

(Ooh, someone finally grew a backbone-)

Jimmy silences the thought, violently forcing it out of his mind. He’s got no patience for that sort of thing right now.

“I’m sorry,” Tango whispers, “I didn’t-”

“And what’s more,” Jimmy continues, gaining steam, “do you really think I’m the type of person to judge someone so harshly for things outta their control? You honestly think I’m some- some shallow, heartless jerk who’d turn on you, just like that? Or- for that matter, you think the Hermits would? After ten years of friendship, you have that little faith in them?”

Tango’s eyes widen. “No, no it’s- it’s not like that,” he says quickly. “I didn’t mean-”

“I don’t care that you’re from Hels,” Jimmy presses, taking a step forward. “I don’t care what you did in the past, or that you kept it from me. I don’t care if some random guy thinks you’re just the manifestation of all his evil- frankly, I think that says more about him than it does about you.” He comes to a stop in front of Tango. “I love you. The teeth, the claws, the death fascination or- or whatever you wanna call it- I love all of it. All of you. And I wish more than anythin’ they hadn’t got that damn collar on you, so you could feel that love through our soulbond. But you’ve felt it before, right? Before I knew? Well um, it hasn’t changed, I promise you that.”

Tango stares back up at him. Now that the anger’s gone, he just looks scared. “You don’t-” His voice breaks. “You can’t.”

“Yes, I do,” Jimmy answers, unwavering. As difficult as this conversation has been, this part’s easy. “I promise, cross my heart.”

Tango shudders, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “Please,” he whispers, “don’t… I can’t- if I let myself think that but you don’t mean it, I- I can’t handle that. Please. Just tell me now, okay, get it over with…”

Understanding settles over Jimmy. Creasing his brows, he takes a slow, deliberate step forward. “I mean it,” he says, lifting a hand to cup Tango’s cheek.

Tango trembles, but he doesn’t move away. He swallows, licks his lips. “Say it again?” he asks, almost a plea, his eyes darting to take in every inch of Jimmy’s face- like he’s unsure whether he can truly believe what he’s seeing, almost searching for any hint, any trace of doubt in Jimmy’s expression.

There isn’t any. Jimmy leans in. “I love you.”

Something glimmers in Tango’s eyes; a warm light Jimmy hasn’t seen since before the ranch burned. 

Something like hope.

Love rises inside Jimmy like a wave- love and the sorrow of shared grief, the fierce determination to withstand it, and the agony of all the past suffering he can’t take away. It’s overwhelming and exhilarating, this sudden rush of emotion. A whirling maelstrom that makes his head spin. But his love burns brightly through it all, a sole lantern against the storm.

Maybe he can’t make Tango believe he’s worthy of love. But he can give it anyway.

Jimmy moves slowly, tilting his face down towards Tango’s. He keeps his eyes open until the very last second, giving Tango plenty of time to move away or say something to stop him, to give any sign at all that he isn’t feeling the same.

There isn’t any. Their lips meet gently, like a familiar greeting. Like the way sunlight falls through the window every morning.

And just like that, the dam breaks. Suddenly Tango’s kissing him back, fervently, pushing against him. Jimmy’s legs hit the bed and buckle, sending him backwards, Tango falling on top of him. His hands cling to Jimmy’s shirt, twisting in the fabric, and his tears wet Jimmy’s face, salt on his tongue. Above the pounding of his heart in his ears, he can just make out the words Tango’s murmuring between kisses, breathless and desperate.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I love you.”

Jimmy pulls him impossibly closer, whispering, “I never doubted.”

They don’t need words after that.

~*~

“Jeeze, they weren’t kidding,” Tango mutters, taking in the ranch with wide eyes.

The ranch looks even worse than Jimmy had been imagining. Nearly the entire first floor is gone, just a wide-open plot and their lonely front door sitting ajar. Aside from the odd block here and there, it’s just empty. A couple trapdoors from the furniture in the living room. The smooth stone slabs that made up their kitchen countertops. An occasional unbroken glass pane floating where there used to be windows.

It’s not a home anymore, not by any stretch of the imagination.

Up the intact cobblestone staircase, the second floor has only fared slightly better. Some of the walls are still standing, charred and moth-eaten as they are. He thinks most of the bathroom’s interior was spared, as it was primarily made of different stone materials. Polished andesite and the like. The chests in their storage room made it, of course, even though the room itself didn’t. And their bedroom seems to have gotten the worst of it. From down here, he thinks it might just be the bed itself that’s left.

The roof is gone, leaving their cobblestone chimney awkwardly sticking up from the ground to nowhere. The path up to the house and the surrounding fields have been torn up to make a ditch. Necessary as it was, it’s quite the eyesore. And to top it all off, one of the custom trees that Scar helped build has been hastily chopped down, due to its proximity to the nearby forest. There’s just a couple of logs and solitary leaves left floating in the air.

It hurts. Everywhere Jimmy looks, there’s another source of heartache. Another precious memory that’s been turned to ash. It’s almost enough to bring tears to his eyes.

But he’s also aware of Tango standing beside him. He knows how much Tango is already beating himself up for the fire, and the last thing he wants to do is add to that guilt.

Jimmy turns to give Tango a rueful grin. “Talk about your fixer-uppers, ey?”

Tango exhales slowly. “Man, it’s so…” He glances at Jimmy, expression pinched. “I’m sorry, you worked so hard-”

“It’s fine,” Jimmy says, shrugging. “It’s just a building.”

Tango hesitates. “It’s… alright to be upset. This was our home, and I- I got all ‘rahhhrr angry-burny rage mode’ on it and-”

“Not your fault,” Jimmy says, voice gentle but firm. He puts a hand on Tango’s shoulder. “If anyone’s to blame, it’s the Hels fellas for attackin’ us in the first place.”

Tango makes a noncommittal noise, scuffing the upturned dirt with his boot. “Sure.”

It’s clear he’s not convinced, but Jimmy leaves it there for now. Their conversation from yesterday is going to take some time to fully sink in. He crosses over to a haphazardly-placed double chest near the front of the ranch and crouches beside it, lifting the lid with a creak.

“Martyn said everything they were able to save is in this chest here, let’s see…” He rummages through the chest’s inventory. A lot of it is random junk; miscellaneous blocks, half-stacks of wheat, dropped weapons and armor from the fight. But there are a few good finds, like some of the clothes from their closet, a couple of flower pots, one of his framed embroidery pieces...

“Oh, hey, look at this!” Jimmy calls excitedly. “My gloves!”

He pulls the gloves out, looking up from the chest to see Tango standing over him. His eyes widen when he sees them- happily surprised at first, and then the familiar dawning of guilt and regret.

“You uh… maybe I should take those back, for now,” Tango says quietly, his ears lowered. “Or- or maybe just forever, yeah.”

“Ey, stop it, no take-backs,” Jimmy chastises him, slipping the gloves on. “Gloves couldn’t have prevented that fire, anyways. And I like wearin’ ‘em, because that way it’s sorta like I’m holdin’ your hand all the time.”

A grin tugs at Tango’s mouth. “Aw, that’s real cheesy, honey,” he teases, even as a faint blush colors his cheeks.

“Yeah, but I mean it,” Jimmy says loftily. “I’m keepin’ them.”

Tango holds his hands up, chuckling. “Alright, alright…” His gaze travels back towards the ranch, up towards the storage room with its rows of chests. “Guess we should still have plenty of materials to rebuild, huh?”

“Should do, yeah,” Jimmy says, straightening up. Having the gloves back is an immediate comfort, despite the fact he’d only gone two days without them. He foldings his arms, gaze sweeping critically over the remains of the ranch. “I guess for now, we’ll just focus on the structure? Y’know, get the place liveable again and worry ‘bout the decor and landscapin’ later…”

“Oh, that’s what you think!”

The loud voice makes them both jump. Jimmy whirls around to see Bdubs- of course, because there’s absolutely no mistaking that voice.

“Bdubs!” Jimmy laughs, clutching his heart. “What- what’re you doin’ here?”

Bdubs puts his hands on his hips. “I- I can’t believe what I’m- ‘no interior decor’, yeah right! You’re not gonna get outta that very- so easy! I tell you!”

Tango snickers. Luckily Bdubs’s sudden appearance hasn’t seemed to cause more than a brief startle. “Oh, yeah? You gonna help out, then, shorty?” 

“Hey!” Bdubs barks incredulously- though it’s clear from his expression he’s not really upset. “I’m tryin’ t- augh, n’you- you stu- yes. Yes, yes, I’m here to help, of course. For goodness sakes. I- how kind, are I! Sweet, kind Bdubs…”

“And handsome, too,” Jimmy adds cheekily.

That makes Bdubs beam, puffing his chest out. “Yeahhh, c’mon baby!”

“Don’t encourage him,” Tango groans.

“Oh, stop it!” Bdubs huffs. “Anyway, Impulse would’ve come, of course, but he and Etho- the redstone guys, you know, uh, they’re havin’ a- a- little chat, little brainy-thing… brainstormin’ ‘bout the portal stuff with Grian. But never thy fear! I saw you guys head out and, in my eternal wiseness, have already called in the forcements!”

Jimmy exchanges an amused look with Tango. “Well, any help is appreciated,” he amends.

“Sure about that, Timmy?” calls Joel’s voice, as the man himself appears over the hill.

And he’s not alone. Cleo’s taller figure looms over him, Scott and Pearl walking on either side of her as a small pack of wolves weave between their legs. The trio is followed by Martyn, Bigb, and Ren- the latter seeming to have recovered his friendly disposition and wagging tail. Finally, Scar emerges from behind a tree to round out the group, calling out a cheerful, “Hello there!”

Joel comes to a stop next to Bdubs and claps him on the shoulder. “We figured you two could use the help, what with you not bein’ builders and all.” Cheeky man.

Jimmy snorts. “Gee, thanks,” he says sarcastically. But slights at their building skills aside, he’s actually quite touched.

Tango blinks. “You guys… all came to help out?” he asks, sounding amazed. 

“Of course!” Bdubs declares. “We ha- we help!”

Cleo shrugs, giving a hapless grin. “You know, I- I- I really don’t know… why Bdubs invited me? I’m not that great a builder. But I can supervise, I guess? And- and heckle. Always heckle.”

“And reach tha’ tall bits,” Scott offers, lightly elbowing her hip.

“And reach the tall bits,” Cleo laughs. “Right. Yes.”

“It’s the least we can do,” Martyn chimes in, slinging an arm around Bigb’s shoulders, “since that portal stuff is way over my head.”

Bdubs pulls a face. “Uh…” He speaks to Jimmy and Tango behind his hand, despite making no effort to lower his voice at all- for comedic effect. “Normally, I would’ve offered my perfect redstone prowess to uh, to help the other guys out with their little portal thing, you know, but eugh- I knew someone would have ta’ keep all these jokers in line.”

“Ah, of course,” Tango replies sagely.

“Well?” Bdubs turns expectantly to the others, throwing his arms up. “Get movin’ then! Sheesh! Stand around, waitin’ for- for no raisin…”

“Yes, my liege,” Cleo drawls, rolling their eyes.

Ren claps his big paws together. “Yeah, we’re burnin’ daylight, my dudes!”

Pearl’s fuzzy wings unfurl from beneath her red cloak. “Let’s see what we’re workin’ with!” she says excitedly, fluttering up to the storage room.

Just like that, the other Double Lifers descend on the husk of the ranch. Placing down temporary chests and crafting benches, sorting through the remaining resources, filling in the ditch with dirt. Multiple conversations start up immediately as everyone sets to a task, and the atmosphere is comfortable- even if a bit strange.

Jimmy can’t recall a time when this many of them have worked on a project together. Not on Third Life, not on Last Life, not here. Something like this just wouldn’t be possible during a death game. Large gatherings between different groups are always fraught with tension and uncertainty, by the fear of a trap or a backstab or a fight breaking out.

But it’s nice. Pearl is hovering above the second floor, working with Cleo to build the walls back up while Scott prepares some stairs and slabs for detailing. Scar and Bdubs are already bickering about how to do the landscaping while Joel grumbles at them, waist-deep in the ditch with Bigb and Martyn placing dirt. Ren’s started tearing down the damaged trees, clearing room for replanting, and Pearl’s wolves mill about, filling the air with curious sniffs and yips.

Tango’s watching the scene unfold with wide eyes, and it suddenly occurs to Jimmy that this is the most people Tango’s been around since the difficult conversation at spawn. Impulse was checking on them throughout the rest of the day, of course, and a few of the other players stopped by now and again, but not in big groups or anything.

Jimmy steps closer to Tango. “Is this okay?” he asks softly.

Tango looks at him in surprise. A smile spreads across his face, and he takes Jimmy’s hand. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Yeah, it is.”

Jimmy smiles back. “Then let’s get in there.”

~*~

Jimmy lets out a low whistle. “Dang, this looks even better than before!” he says, craning his head to look around the room.

After a full day of building and the gradual dispersal of the other Double Lifers, Jimmy and Tango are now seeing their new bedroom for the first time. They were around for the bulk of the structure building, but once it came time for the interior, Bdubs and Scar had insisted it be a surprise. Everything about it is perfect, from the custom furniture to the quilted wool rug to the fancy frame Scar built around their double-wide bed.

Tango clears his throat. “Maybe, uh- maybe we can just…” He kicks one of the beds with the toe of his boot. “... scooch this over a little…”

“Nope,” Jimmy declares, sweeping Tango off the floor and onto the bed. “Nice try, mate, but you’re stayin’ right here next to me.”

“Okay, okay, fine! I ju- don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Tango huffs, but he’s grinning as he says it.

~*~

“Alright, fellas,” Grian says, clapping his hands together, “here’s what we’ve got so far…”

Jimmy leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Tango is a little tense beside him- probably just nerves. But it could be worse. They’re gathered in the living room of Impulse and Bdubs’s house; Grian perched on the arm of the sectional across from Jimmy and Tango, Impulse and Etho sitting adjacent to them. The familiar setting and fairly limited company seems to have helped put Tango more at ease for what might end up being a tricky conversation.

“We’re... pretty sure we know how the Hels peeps got here,” Grian continues, “but there are a few things we need to clarify, first.” He glances at Etho, inclining his head. “Etho, you wanna explain?”

“Oh yeah, yeah.” Etho stands up. “Tango, may I see your comm, please? I uh, just need to look at it for a minute.”

Tango blinks. Anxiety flashes across his face for just a brief second before disappearing. “Oh. Uh, sure?” He pulls the item from his inventory, holding it out.

Etho takes the communicator. “So,” he begins, sitting back down, “you said that in Hels, players can’t make portals with their communicators, right?”

Tango gives a short nod. “That’s right. That comm isn’t the one I spawned with, they took that from me at Hels Tek. X made me a new one, after I got to Hermitcraft.” He gives a dry laugh. “I told him- I told him I lost it. Which, I mean, that’s- it’s technically not a lie, just... not the whole truth.”

Jimmy gives him a sympathetic look. He might no longer be worried that the others will reject him, but this still can’t be easy to talk about.

Etho studies the communicator, his mismatched eyes narrowed in concentration. “So after you got a new comm, you were able to use it to make portals?”

“Yeah,” Tango says, “it uh, it’s taken me to each Hermitcraft world and everything in between, no problem. Hubs, solo worlds, creative- you name it.”

Etho hums. “Can you use your comm to travel to Hels?”

“No.” Tango glances away. “I’ve looked for it, a few times. Never shows up.”

That brings a couple more questions to mind, but Jimmy files them away for later.

“Interesting.” Etho seems to be delving deep into the communicator’s hardware, typing rapidly. “So uh, the portal issue isn’t centered on players that spawn in Hels, just their communicators. And since overworld communicators can’t find Hels, there must be something about the world itself preventing it.”

Tango knits his brows together. “I suppose…?”

It’s at this point that Grian leans forward. “Have either of you heard about firewalls?” he asks.

Tango shakes his head, but Jimmy’s heart jolts. He has heard that word before; just the other day, when he thought he heard Grian’s voice in his head. But that’s not exactly something Jimmy wants to bring up right now. Or ever, maybe. His weird, random, intrusive thoughts don’t need to be anyone else’s problem.

“Um…” Jimmy pretends to think about it for a moment. “I think I’ve heard the term somewhere before, but I- I dunno what that actually means.”

“Right.” Grian spreads his hands. “So firewalls are a sort of added security measure that admins can use when making a new world. It’s like, an impenetrable barrier ‘round the world that makes it basically impossible for anyone unauthorized to join via portal.”

“Wait, really?” Tango asks, eyes widening. “What- why haven’t I heard about this? Do all worlds have these?”

Grian makes a noncommittal noise. “Well, firewalls are kinda outdated. Developments in server security and comm travel have basically rendered them obsolete. I mean, when’s the last time you heard of a private world being raided, besides ours?” He shrugs. “Plus, it’s a real tedious process to set one up, so they aren’t used often. Mostly for multiplayer worlds that are invite-only, if an admin is particularly concerned about hackers.”

Jimmy holds out a hand. “So wait, hang on, this- what’s this got to do with our situation?”

Impulse catches his eye. “If you try to join a firewalled world without permission, it doesn’t show up on your comm.”

“Oh,” Tango says, realization dawning in his expression. “You think Hels has a firewall?”

“It’s the only thing I can think of,” Grian says, nodding. “However, it’s a bit odd, ‘cause firewalls are usually just one-way… meaning that they keep players out, but they don’t stop players from leaving. So if that’s what’s goin’ on with Hels, it’s a firewall unlike any I’ve ever heard of- where it’s meant to keep players in, too. I’m not exactly sure if that’s why comms made in Hels can’t make portals, or if that’s due to something else entirely, but uh, that’s my best guess.”

Tango runs a hand through his hair. “That’s… I mean, this is the first I’ve heard of firewalls, but that doesn’t sound impossible…”

“So,” Jimmy speaks up hesitantly, “so how did the Hels Tek guys open a portal here?”

“How, indeed?” Etho repeats, finally looking up from Tango’s communicator. “Well, we know the portal was red, not purple. That’s like a comm portal, the way their light syncs up with the world they lead to. But uh, you know, the players coming through had items and armor on them, and they didn’t show up at world spawn. Their spawns didn’t reset, either, they uh- they kept spawning back on the other side. That makes me think this was actually a hacked nether portal, not a comm portal.”

Tango frowns. “Hang on, we- we didn’t have nether portals in Hels, either. I mean, how- there was no point, the nether and the overworld were combined into one realm.”

“Right.” Etho’s got that look in his eye- the glint of an idea about to take off. Jimmy’s seen it in Tango countless times. “You know how nether portals work?”

Tango coughs into his fist. “Oh, right, of course I know all the uh, super technical skadoodle bits, but- but maybe you should go over it.” He jerks his head towards Jimmy and Grian. “You know, for these uh, non-redstone people here.”

“Please do,” Jimmy chuckles.

Etho’s eyes crinkle upwards, like he’s smiling behind his mask. “Basically, they grab the coordinates they’re made on and translate it to nether coords, and vice versa. From what you’ve told me about Hels, being a fusion of the nether and overworld realms, a nether portal couldn’t work ‘cause it’d be like… giving it coords to a place it already is? It’d just crash and never ignite. But if you gave a nether portal frame coordinates to a different place… like, say, a different world…”

Even with Jimmy’s scarce knowledge of portals, it’s easy enough to catch Etho’s meaning.

“That’s crazy,” Tango protests. “How’d they- how could they possibly have gotten coordinates to Double Life?”

“I don’t think they did. I think they got coords to you.” Etho leans forward. “Think about it. The portal didn’t open at spawn, it opened down the hill from the ranch- where you were. I think that was intentional, considering you’re the whole reason they came.”

Jimmy’s mind is spinning. “But... how? And how’d you figure all this out?”

Etho shrugs a shoulder. “Uh, educated guess? Like, just kinda based on the things Bravo said, and what Tango’s told us about Hels and the players it spawns. But um, looking at his comm just now basically confirms it for me.”

“Wait, really?” Tango asks, surprised. “How?”

Etho tilts his head. “Communicators are pretty special items. They’re unique to the player they spawn with- even a replacement communicator like this one. It might not have the hard locks on it that prevent it from summoning portals, but it’s still unique to you. And based on its data, I can tell your player data is a little different. I think it has to do with you being from Hels.”

Tango hesitates. “Okay, and…?”

“If you and Bravo are really counterparts,” Etho says, “then I’d expect your data to be similar. Like, the same word in different languages, in a metaphorical sense. So if Bravo’s data was fed into a nether portal, it’d translate it to your data, and open a portal at your coords. Plus or minus a few blocks, probably.”

Jimmy knits his brows together. “So… you’re sayin’ they used Bravo to open a portal to Tango?” he surmises.

Etho nods. “I’d need Bravo’s comm or a look at his player data to confirm, but that’s my best guess, yeah.” He holds the communicator back out to Tango.

Tango stashes the communicator in his inventory. “So wait, what about- how does the firewall thing factor in, here?” he asks. “If it stops comm portals, wouldn’t it stop a nether portal, too?”

“Yes and no,” Grian answers. “A firewall works by constantly scanning for portals. If it finds one trying to form, it’ll crash it. If a nether portal was used to travel between different worlds, rather than two realms on the same world, a firewall would recognize it all the same.”

“But,” Etho continues, “if they somehow figured out how to stabilize the portal… like, by sending a constant stream of updates… it’d constantly reset the scanner of the firewall. Sort of like an update suppressor. That way, the uh, the firewall can never actually register the portal as a problem and shut it down. So that’d be one way they could keep a hacked nether portal open, even in the face of a firewall.”

Tango exhales slowly. “Okay…” he says, “and how do we stop them from doing that ever again?”

Impulse winces. “That, we’re not sure about. I mean, if Bravo wasn’t there for them to grab a signal from, I guess that’d stop them. However they built a portal, it probably needs his data to function.”

“Oh, well, great.” Tango throws his hands up. “No way he won’t help them again, he hates my guts. Only reason they haven’t come back yet is ‘cause Grian locked the world down, I- I guarantee it. But we can’t just all stay locked in here forever, you’ve all got lives and other worlds to get back to.”

Jimmy frowns, putting a hand on Tango’s shoulder. “Tango, anyone who’s got a problem with you has a problem with all of us.”

“For sure,” Grian agrees.

“Besides,” Impulse says, shrugging, “not to toot our own horns or anything, but I think we handled ourselves just fine against them.”

“You mean Pearl’s wolves handled them,” Tango says flatly. “And you guys had the element of surprise. I guarantee the only reason they went down so easy is ’cause they weren’t expecting much resistance. They show up again, now knowing what they’re up against, and that’s- that’s gonna turn out a whole lot differently.” He crossed his arms. “I need to leave, before Grian opens the world back up.”

“And what, just wait for them to come after you?” Jimmy demands, his wings puffing up. “Absolutely not.”

Tango makes an unhappy noise in the back of his throat. “It’s- you understand it’s only a matter of time, right?” he stresses. “Maybe it won’t be right after Grian lifts the lockdown, okay, maybe it’ll be days, or weeks, or months. Either way, it’ll happen eventually, and when it does… whether it’s- if that happens here, or back on Hermitcraft, or the next Life world... the result will be the same. People I care about will get caught in the crossfire, I- I’m not lettin’ that happen again.”

Jimmy pauses, wings drooping. The distress in Tango’s voice is sobering. There’s no question that Tango cares fiercely about his friends, and the guilt for putting them in harm’s way must be staggering. But still, he insists, “We don’t mind stayin’ put-”

“For how long, though?” Tango asks pointedly. “I can’t ask you guys to stay here forever. Like, I- I can’t stress enough how obsessive Atlas is. He came for me after ten years, okay, he’s not gonna just give up or lose interest. There will always be the risk of them opening another portal to me, so long as Bravo is in Hels.”

“So what if Bravo wasn’t in Hels?” Impulse cuts in.

Tango gives him a confused look. “What do you mean?”

Impulse’s eyes are alight with excitement as he gains steam with his idea. “What if we went to Hels and got him out? That way, he’s not mad at you for being stuck there anymore, right, and Hels Tek can’t use him to make another portal.”

“What, you mean we open a portal to Hels?” Tango asks, raising his eyebrows. “I- I thought we already established that our comms can’t take us there, what- how are we supposed to get there?”

“The same way they got here,” Etho says. “We use your data to open a hacked nether portal to Bravo. Ahah.”

As intimidating as the prospect of encountering Hels Tek again is, Jimmy has to admit it’s probably the only solution. They can’t just ignore the problem and hope it goes away, not if it means Tango could get randomly attacked at any moment. And with all of the Double Lifers together, they stand a much better chance of succeeding.

“That’s a great idea!” Jimmy exclaims. “We grab him, shake Atlas down for the key to the collar while we’re at it, and get out. Problem solved.”

Tango doesn’t seem nearly as enthused. “No way. Absolutely no way. That’s- that’s way too dangerous, if you guys get stranded there- and Atlas is already looking for more hybrids to make farms with, he was about to take Jimmy for a feather farm!”

A brief silence follows this revelation.

Grian grimaces, ruffling his wings. “Oh, woof.”

“What?” Impulse asks, taken aback. “That’s why he had Jimmy chained up, too?”

Jimmy blinks. “Oh, is that what he meant?”

“What’d you th- you didn’t know?” Tango asks incredulously.

Jimmy holds his hands up. “Hey, hey, I didn’t spend much time thinkin’ about what he said to me!” he says sheepishly. “I was more concerned about you.”

Tango pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oh. Oh, great. Well yeah, that’s what he wanted you for, to stick you in a feather farm skadoodler for all eternity.”

Jimmy swallows. No wonder Tango’s been so against the idea of them going against Hels Tek again. Death is no big deal- they’d simply respawn. Few injuries cause lasting damage. But being trapped in a farm like that, with no means to escape…

“Well,” he says, “that still doesn’t change my mind. You’re his number one target, okay, you can’t go without backup.”

“No,” Tango huffs. “Let me do it. I- I know Bravo shouldn’t just be left there forever, but that’s not your guys’ faults! It’s my life, my mistake, you guys shouldn’t be putting yourselves at risk like that-”

“Tango,” Jimmy interrupts, “we’re not gonna make a portal to Hels and just send you through alone-”

“Well, I’m not letting you guys come with me!” Tango shoots back. “Most of you guys are hybrids or monsters, too, and I’m not gonna risk Atlas turning you into farms.”

Grian clicks his tongue. “Ey, we wouldn’t let that happen.”

“Yeah,” Jimmy says, “and what’s the alternative? You just take off to some solo world until Hels Tek comes a’knockin’?”

Tango shrugs. “I mean, I’d be fine with that-”

“No,” Jimmy says firmly. “I’m not lettin’ that happen. This is our only option, to put this problem to bed forever, and we stand the best chance if we do it together. We have to take it.” He grabs Tango’s hand. “Please, Tango.”

Tango hesitates, staring at their intertwined hands.

Now more than ever, Jimmy desperately wishes that he had some sense of what Tango’s thinking- even just the slightest insight to his thoughts, the faintest impression of an emotion through their soulbond. Especially since he’s had his confidence in reading Tango so thoroughly shaken over the last week. It’s scary to consider that he might not know Tango nearly half as well as he should, that Tango can so effectively mask his true feelings even from him.

“... fine,” Tango says, after a small eternity. “Fine, okay, we- let’s plan an invasion to Hels, sure.”

Jimmy gasps. “Really?”

“But,” Tango says warningly, “we gotta go about this extremely carefully, alright? No willy-nilly ‘rushing in blindly without a plan’ nonsense. And- and once we’re there, if at any point I tell you guys to flee, you- you best be fleein’, got it? With extra flee. No stupid heroics of noble stupidness.”

It’s a chance. That’s better than nothing. “Yes, alright!” Jimmy cheers. “Thank you!”

(Yay, we’re going to Hels- said no one ever.)

(Do they know what they’re getting into?)

(Oh boy, here we go.)

Etho shrugs. “Whatever you say, Tango, you’re the uh, you’re the Hels expert, here.”

Impulse folds his arms. “That’s a dirty condition you kinda tacked on the end, there,” he mutters, “but I’ll accept it.”

“Alright then.” Tango gives a tired sigh, but the corners of his mouth are curling into a smile. “I- I guess we’re doin’ this. We’ve got some room in the basement at the ranch, we can build it there.”

“Excellent.” Grian grins. “Let’s build a portal to Hels, fellas.”

~*~

Jimmy’s startled awake by a shout.

Heart pounding, he squints into the dark room. As his eyes struggle to adjust in the scarce light, he can just barely make out Tango sitting upright in bed. His rapid, shallow breaths wheeze through clenched teeth, faint sparks emitting from his dim blaze rods as they try to ignite.

“Tango,” Jimmy whispers, sitting up, “you okay?”

Tango’s breathing hitches. Then he turns to collapse against Jimmy’s chest, clinging fiercely to his shirt. His entire body is trembling. “Nightmare,” he manages to get out.

Jimmy’s heart twists. He knew it was only a matter of time, but that doesn’t make it any easier to see. Gently, he wraps his arms around Tango, then his wings for good measure. “I got ya,” he murmurs. “I’m here.”

Tango tucks his face against Jimmy’s shoulder and falls silent. Maybe he’ll want to talk about it in the morning, maybe he won’t. But for now, Jimmy just holds him, and hopes that’s enough.

~*~

Jimmy stares at the redstone circuitry laid out before him. “I understand none of this.”

Though it’s only been a few days since they started work on the portal, they’ve already made a lot of progress. Impulse and Etho have been over basically around the clock, with Bdubs and Joel tagging along more often than not. They’ll watch the redstoners work until they get bored, and inevitably wander upstairs to bug Jimmy. Grian checks in on them every now and then, and the other Double Lifers have popped by for little visits, so it’s been a lot of activity at the ranch. Lots of people coming and going.

It’s strange, but not necessarily in a bad way. Almost like an actual pleasant community feeling. Neighbors helping neighbors and all that.

A dedicated digging session has left them with a bit more space in the basement, allowing them to section off a separate room from Tango’s sugar cane farm. They finished it with a stone floor and simple wooden walls at Bdubs’s insistence (he considered it unacceptable to just leave it all as freshly-dug dirt). An obsidian portal frame (complete with corners at Etho’s insistence) stands empty against the back wall, leaving abundant floor space for the redstone- of which there is plenty.

Redstone dust wires criss-cross through rows of repeaters and hopper lines. It’s all far beyond Jimmy’s capacity to understand, of course, but even Tango seems a bit baffled. He’s claimed many times that his understanding of redstone is surface-level at best, and that his real skill comes in applying the various components and systems in creative ways. But he’s at least been able to help with the construction, the actual placing of redstone components.

“Right,” Tango laughs, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s- lemme see if I’ve got this right…” He points at a long line of redstone dust. “Main circuit to the portal.”

Impulse nods. “Yep.” 

Tango steps gingerly around the redstone, gesturing towards a rather complex looking amalgamation of observers and comparators. “This nonsense over here will turn my skadoodle bits into a fireable signal.”

Etho, leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets, chuckles. “Pretty much.”

“And this,” Tango waves at the hoppers, “will count out the final coords before they hop on the main bus line to the portal.”

Jimmy nods hesitantly. “Okay… okay, cool, so- so is it done, then?”

“Not quite,” Impulse says. “We need a player detector.”

Tango creases his brows together. “What, like a- like a pufferfish? A skulk sensor?”

“No, more like a- a whole separate system,” Etho explains. “It’s more than just registering your presence. We need something that can read your data, pick out your coordinates, and send them to the portal for translation to Bravo.”

Tango exhales slowly. “That… sounds pretty complicated.”

“Oh, it will be,” Impulse says, folding his arms. “I mean, just think about how much data each player contains, right, all the codes that dictate our behavior and biology… we don’t wanna overload this thing, so it’ll require some heavy-duty filtering.”

“Not only that,” Etho continues, “but uh, if that firewall thing turns out to be a problem, we’re gonna have to figure out a way to stabilize the portal, too. That’ll take some tinkering with different power sources til we find the exact right input to override the firewall’s checker.”

Jimmy winces; he’d been hoping for a quicker solution. It’s already been over a week since the invasion, and he knows Tango hates being stalled. The sooner they get this problem taken care of, the sooner they can stop worrying and get back to their normal lives. Jimmy himself doesn’t have anywhere else to be, but the other Double Lifers do. And even if they don’t mind the unexpected stay-cation, it definitely bothers Tango that their lives have been disrupted for his sake. Goodness knows he’s already got enough of a guilt complex.

But Tango simply gives a bemused smile. “Well, let’s get started, then.”

~*~

“Are we really sure we wanna do this?”

Jimmy winces at Tango’s tone. “I know, I know,” he says regretfully, “it wasn’t my favorite idea either. But if it can get that collar off’a you, we gotta try, right?”

Trying to remove the collar manually had resulted in a sharp, shooting pain through Tango’s neck at the slightest movement. Trying to remove it with redstone had proven unsuccessful- clearly, it was designed to be insulated against any outside signals. Trying to pick the lock had resulted in nothing but a lot of frustration. So that left them with their last resort.

They’ve moved outside, round the back of the ranch, to avoid getting blood stains all over their newly refurbished house. A random bed has been placed down to provide them with a quick and easy respawn, their items temporarily stowed in a chest. Impulse holds a Sharpness V sword, tail flicking as he watches them apprehensively.

“I’m only gonna do this if you’re okay with it,” he tells Tango seriously. “We can go back to the drawing board, come up with some other things to try…”

“No, no,” Tango shakes his head, “I don’t- you shouldn’t be wasting time on this, you’re already working pretty much nonstop on the portal.”

The frustration in his voice is evident. Impulse frowns. “I don’t mind…”

“Well, I do!” Tango says, crossing his arms and glancing away.

Jimmy exchanges a look with Impulse before putting a gentle hand on Tango’s shoulder. “I know there’s a chance it won’t work,” he starts quietly, “and we’ll have killed ourselves for nothin’. No one likes gettin’ their head cut off. But it’ll be over quick, we’ll respawn straight back here, and then at least we’ll know we tried everything.”

Tango makes a noncommittal noise. “Hey, I- I’m not afraid of a little decapitation, alright, I just… I feel kinda bad putting you through this, you know?” Guilt creeps into his expression. “It’s not your neck that the stupid thing is stuck on. You shouldn’t have to-”

“We’re in this together,” Jimmy tells him steadily. “So if you’re willin’ to try it, I’m happy to die along with ya.”

Tango manages a faint laugh. “Jeeze, honey, you- you don’t have to make it sound so dramatic. We aren’t on a three-life system anymore.”

Jimmy shrugs. “Well, that’s how I feel! Honestly, if there’s even a chance this’ll get that thing off’a you, I’m down.”

“Alright.” Tango takes a quick, steadying breath. “Okay, I wanna try.” He glances at Impulse. “Uh- commence the chop-ificating, then, I guess.”

Impulse nods; he’s keeping his expression and general demeanor calm, reassuring. “Okay, then. So here’s what I’m gonna do…” He carefully sets the edge of his blade along the rim of Tango’s collar, so that the metal is just barely touching skin, and then pinches the collar between the fingers of his other hand. “I’ll give it one quick, clean slice, and try to pull the collar off your body, okay?”

Tango tilts his chin up. “Okay,” he whispers. He’s nervous, now; every muscle in his body is rigid.

Jimmy reaches for his hand. “I’ll be right there with ya.”

Impulse tightens his grip on the sword. “Tango, gimme a countdown whenever you’re ready.”

“Alright.” Tango exhales shakily, closing his eyes. “Five... four... three... two...”

Jimmy closes his eyes and squeezes Tango’s hand.

“One.”

Pain slices across Jimmy’s neck- an intense, searing burn, like he’s swallowed a bucket of lava. There’s a rush of vertigo, the world spinning off-kilter around him. He’s instantly thrust into darkness, that all-consuming void with which he’s rather familiar.

And then it’s over. He’s back, sitting on the bed with Tango in a piled heap of limbs. 

Jimmy sucks in a breath. Now that everything’s stopped spinning, he can see that the collar is still around Tango’s neck.

“Oh, babe,” he murmurs, sweeping Tango into a hug. “I’m sorry.”

Tango’s laugh is muffled against his shoulder. “Worth a shot, right?”

Impulse, standing a few feet away and holding a bloody sword, looks dismayed. “No good,” he says as he walks over, putting the sword away. “Your body respawned before I could pull the collar off. But uh, that’s… not the only issue.”

That makes Tango look over. “What is it?”

“I caught a look at the inner face of it,” Impulse says, frowning, “the part that’s actually touching your skin? And, um… it looks like there’s a bunch of little… spikes on the inside of the collar?”

“Spikes?” Jimmy repeats, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah, I don’t know how else to describe them?” Impulse rubs the back of his neck. “Um, they’re black in color, not super big... probably thinner than my pinky finger but not like, needles or anything…”

“Oh.” Tango blinks. “It’s the thorns. They’re wither rose thorns. That’s how it works.”

Jimmy’s heart jolts. “What?”

Tango spreads his hands. “When Atlas locked the collar, it must’ve caused a- a bunch of thorns to pop out and dig into my neck. But they aren’t- they don’t have the full strength of wither rose, so that’s why I’m not getting the full wither effect, and after a while, you know, they sorta- they numb the area, so I don’t feel them. But when we start yanking on the collar, it forces them deeper into my skin, so it hurts.”

“Oh... my gosh,” Jimmy breathes, aghast. “That’s- that’s horrible!”

The whole concept of the collar is already inhumane- to treat a fellow sentient player like a simple animal. But this? This is just plain evil. 

Impulse seems to be trying very hard not to get upset again. “Well, then,” he says, voice tight. “That rules out my next suggestion, which was to just go at it with a few sharp axes. I don’t wanna like, hammer those thorns deeper into your neck...” His expression turns thoughtful. “What if we try and get something sharp between your neck and the collar, slice off the thorns all the way around? Then we could-”

“No,” Tango interrupts. “Look, I- I appreciate the help, but if we tweak this thing the wrong way, it could probably jab an artery, or puncture my trachea, and then I’d respawn and be right back at square one again! No, I- I think we’re done.”

Impulse looks like he wants to argue, but Jimmy catches his gaze, giving him an imploring look. 

“Alright,” Impulse relents. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

“Yeah,” Jimmy says, “we’ll get that collar off, I promise.”

“It’s fine.” Tango’s avoiding Jimmy’s eyes. “It... might not be the worst thing, you know, to have my fire locked down. Considering our fancy new house and all.”

Oh, they can’t have that. Jimmy puts a hand on his shoulder. “Tango,” he says seriously, “your fire is a part of you, and I’m not gonna rest til we’ve got it back.”

Tango sighs, but when he looks up, his eyes are fond. “I know.”

Impulse exhales slowly. “Do you... wanna try and get the cuffs off, then?” he offers.

“What?” Tango jolts. “Why? They aren’t hurtin’ anything.”

Impulse holds up his hands. “Hey, it’s okay, I just thought... if they’re from that terrible place, maybe you’d wanna get rid of ‘em?”

“And y’know,” Jimmy chimes in, “it’d be a lot easier for someone else to crack them off ya, couple good swings with an axe, maybe…”

“That won’t work,” Tango says stiffly. “They’ve been on me for so long now, been through so many respawns that if I’m not the one to remove them, it- they’ll just keep coming back.” 

Impulse inhales through his teeth, understanding dawning in his eyes. “Oh, man.”

“Are you sure?” Jimmy asks, his heart sinking. He isn’t overly familiar with the universal rules that determine what does and doesn’t respawn along with a player, but Tango seems pretty certain.

“Yeah. They’re basically part of my data now.”

“Oh.”

The unspoken question is glaringly obvious: ‘why haven’t you removed them yet, then?’ The cuffs seem just as well-made as the collar, but surely there’s a way to cut through them. At least, he should’ve been able to find a way sometime during the last ten years- even if he wasn’t comfortable asking any of the Hermits to help him.

But Jimmy can tell Tango’s already hit his limit for today. It’s a subject he’s always avoided discussing in the past, so they’ll just have to wait until he’s ready.

(Oh, gonna make that mistake again?)

‘Shut up,’ Jimmy thinks.

~*~

“Need some help, hun?”

“Ack!” Jimmy gives a start, accidentally yanking out the feather he’d been teasing. He whirls around. “Tango!”

Tango holds his hands up. “Sorry, sorry!”

“Jeeze,” Jimmy laughs, catching his breath, “I- I thought you guys were still working on the portal!”

“Well, yeah,” Tango says, closing the door behind him, “but Etho thinks we need a redstone ore block and we didn’t have any layin’ around, so he and Impulse went mining.” He crosses over to sit on the bed, curiously studying the feathers strewn about. “Doin’ some preening?”

“Um...” Jimmy ducks his head sheepishly. “Yeah, just- just the uh, burned ones... they’re startin’ to itch.”

Tango gives him a sad smile. “Hey, it’s alright. You don’t have to hide it from me, I- I won’t get all weird mega guilt-trippy about it.”

Jimmy softens. “I just... I know you’ve been beating yourself up about it, that’s all.” He gazes at the burned feather in his hand. “It was an accident. I don’t blame you.”

“I know.” Tango runs a gentle hand over one of Jimmy’s wings. “Can… can I help?”

Jimmy smiles. “Sure.”

~*~ 

“Wait, are you serious?” Tango asks, eyes wide. “You think the portal’s ready to go? Right now?”

Grain nods. “Yeah, I do.”

Jimmy glances between them with raised eyebrows. They’d called Grian over for a little update on the current state of the portal project- now complete with the fancy player detector system that the redstoners have been painstakingly building over the past week. But once Etho explained that the final step was stabilization, Grian had dropped a bomb on them.

“I’ve uh… been doin’ some research,” Grian continues, “and I’m pretty sure that Hels has a firewall that’s just been sorta… inverted? It’s still a one-way barrier, it just stops players from making portals out rather than in. ‘Course, it’s still inaccessible by comm portal, but our little set-up here should circumvent that. Once we’ve gotten the portal to lock onto Bravo’s coords, there shouldn’t be anythin’ stopping it from forming.”

Etho scratches the side of his mask. “Well, if we don’t have to stabilize the portal, that’ll definitely simplify things,” he says. “We might actually have everything we need already.”

“Couldn’t hurt to fire it up,” Impulse agrees, glancing at Tango. “Just to give it a little test drive? If we do get a portal open, we can easily shut it down right after. We don’t have to actually go through it.”

Tango hesitates. “But wouldn’t Grian have to lift the lockdown?”

“Yeah, I will,” Grian amends. “But I’ve actually just finished settin’ up a firewall, so when I lift the lockdown, we’ll still be protected. We’ll be able to leave through any portal we want, but no one else can get in without bein’ on the whitelist.”

“Wait, really?” Tango looks surprised. “Why- did you let the others know? I- I’m sure they’ll wanna get back to their other worlds.”

“Ey, I only just finished it!” Grian defends. “I wanted to let you lot know first, so there wouldn’t be any panic or confusion if people started randomly leavin’ through portals. I’ll inform the others, but uh, I’m pretty sure they’ll wanna just stick around til we get this done. Especially if the portal’s ready to go. All that’ll be left to do is come up with our plan of attack, and we’ll need all hands on deck for the actual mission.”

“Yeah,” Impulse says easily, “Hermitcraft can wait.”

Tango chews his lip. “I… I guess we can try it,” he relents.

“Great!” Grian pulls his communicator out. “Gimme a second to lift the lockdown, okay…”

Jimmy turns to Tango, taking him by the hands. “Hey, is this alright?” he asks softly. “We don’t have to try it today if you don’t wanna.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright,” Tango assures him, squeezing his hands. “It’s just- it’s a bit sooner than I was expecting, you know? But this is good. I mean, if this works, then this whole business will finally be over.”

Jimmy’s eyes trace the collar around Tango’s neck. “Yeah. And not a moment too soon.”

Obviously they’ve still got a pretty significant task ahead of them. It’ll be no easy feat to storm Hels Tek, not if they’ve got as much muscle backing them up as they did for the invasion. Atlas is one slippery fella, and it might be hard to get Bravo to listen to them long enough to cooperate. But getting the portal in working order is another hurdle down, so they can shift gears towards the impending mission. And once that’s done, there’ll no longer be a threat hanging over them.

Suffice to say, Jimmy’s looking forward to getting back to his domestic bliss.

“Okay,” Grian says, glancing up, “lockdown is officially lifted. Go ahead.”

“Alright, Tango.” Etho pushes away from the wall. “Uh, just hop onto the redstone ore block whenever you’re ready, I guess? Everything should be in place.”

Tango exhales shakily, looking nervous, but he manages to give Jimmy a smile. “Here goes nothin’...”

Turning away, he steps onto the redstone ore block, which immediately lights up. It starts a sort of ripple effect along the dust that connects it to the rest of the redstone, triggering all kinds of ticking and flashing. It’s all Jimmy can do to follow the signal as it travels towards the portal frame-

Static fills the air, and the portal ignites. Swirling red light fills the frame.

“Oh, nice,” Grian breathes.

“Yes!” Impulse cheers. “We did it!”

“Okay, uh, Tango?” Etho nods at him. “Go ahead and step off the block, now.”

Tango doesn’t respond. He’s staring at the portal with an unreadable expression clouding his gaze, almost as if in a trance.

Jimmy quickly hurries to his side. “Tango,” he murmurs, gently shaking his arm, “come on.”

“Huh?” Tango jolts. “Oh, oh right, sorry!” 

He steps aside, and the portal remains lit. Impulse grins. “Alright, looks like we’re good,” he says, stooping over to hit a button next to the portal. A piston extends across the redstone line, and the portal extinguishes.

Jimmy lets out a breath of relief. An irrational part of him had been worried that Hels players would immediately start pouring through. “You okay?” he asks Tango quietly.

Tango nods. “Yeah, sorry,” he says with an apologetic smile. “I’m fine, it just… kinda hit me all at once.”

“Yeah,” Impulse says, “I definitely wasn’t expecting to have a working portal today, either. But hey, good job guys!”

“Yeah, nicely done, fellas,” Grian says, sounding pleased. He starts typing on his communicator. “I’m gonna let the others know we’ve got the portal workin’, and tomorrow… we’ll all meet to start planning our invasion of Hels. I’m sure if we put our heads together, we can come up with a solid plan to get Bravo, get that key from Atlas, and get out.”

Tango snorts. “Oh, sure. Easy peasy.”

“Don’t worry,” Jimmy says, putting a hand on Tango’s shoulder. “We won’t go through til we’re all good and ready, yeah?”

Tango’s expression softens. “Yeah.”

“Right.” Grian puts his communicator away. “Get some rest, everyone, and we’ll see you tomorrow. Details in chat.”

~*~

<Grian> portal done. meet @ impulse and bdubs tomorrow at noon for hels invasion plotting. all ideas welcome

<PearlescentMoon> Ooh :0 

<InTheLittleWood> wait seriously? already??

<Renthedog> YO amazing job on the portal guys! :D 

<BdoubleO100> oh THANKS A LOT for volunteering us to host GRIAN!!

<Grian> :P 

~*~

Later that night, in the dark quiet of their room, Tango rolls over to nestle his head beneath Jimmy’s chin, claws bunching up the fabric of his shirt.

“Thanks,” he murmurs.

Jimmy hums. “For what?”

“For… not givin’ up on me.”

“What’d’you mean?”

“I mean… you know, I- after everything I did, and- and everything I said…”

“I already told you, that doesn’t matter to me.”

“Yeah, I know. But when I realized the secret was out… that things were- that we couldn’t just go back to normal… I mean, I was convinced it was over. Everything, my- my new life, my freedom, my friends. Us. But you never gave up hope.”

“Of course. It’s been a long road here, alright, I- I’m not givin’ that up without a fight.”

Tango tilts his chin up to look at Jimmy, red eyes glowing in the dark, and leans in to meet his lips. They kiss slow and sweet. Warmth hums in Jimmy’s chest.

This hasn’t been an easy journey, and he knows there’s plenty more challenges still ahead. Even if the mission to Hels goes well and they achieve all that they want to, the experiences Tango’s been through won’t magically go away. It’ll take time. Healing isn’t linear. But with everything out in the open now and the support of their friends, Jimmy’s hopeful that Tango can start to unlearn his self-hatred. Jimmy will be there every step of the way.

All too soon, Tango pulls away. “We should get some rest,” he whispers, settling against Jimmy again.

“Yeah,” Jimmy sighs ruefully, draping a wing across Tango. “Gonna need all two of my brain cells at full strength.”

Tango huffs a soft laugh. “Love you, honey.”

Jimmy closes his eyes, smiling. “Love you, too.

~*~

Jimmy wakes up to a cold bed.

That immediately sets off alarm bells in his head, because since when has Tango gotten out of bed before him? Then he opens his eyes and realizes it’s still night; a faint crescent moon hangs in the starry sky visible through their window. Their room is dark and empty. Tango is nowhere to be seen.

The alarm bells become a siren.

No, no, no, no, no.

Jimmy springs out of bed, sparing a second only to grab his shoes off the floor before throwing the door open. His heart is in his throat as he flies down the stairs to the main level- all dark and empty- and hooks the corner to wrench open the basement door. 

Already he can see the chilling red glow from the portal cast across the wall, a shadow of bleeding light, and a million curses scream through his mind. His stomach feels like it’s knotted in on itself and his lungs are burning for air, he’s moving faster than what seems physically possible and yet not nearly fast enough as he crashes down the stairs and bursts into the portal room, mouth opening to cry out-

Just in time to watch Tango vanish into the red light.

~*~

Somewhere in Hels, a player walks through a portal.

Tango’s heartbeat pounds in his ears. He’s already started shaking- if it weren’t for the wither effect flowing from his collar, he’s certain his blaze rods would be igniting right now. It’s a bizarre mix of emotions. The scent of ash and the sight of netherrack are comforting, in a way. Familiar. But it’s also terrifying, because there’s no mistaking where he is.

(There’s a reason he doesn’t like hanging out in the nether.)

Fear threatens to swallow him. He pushes it down; he’s got a job to do.

Forcing a steadying breath through his clenched teeth, he takes in his surroundings, ears pricked cautiously. He’s definitely not at spawn- he’s at the border of a basalt delta, actually, fine gray particles fluttering through the air. Aside from the portal behind him, there’s not a structure in sight. No sounds save for the distant bubbling of lava and the distinctive slap of magma cubes.

Tango frowns, chewing his lip. The portal was supposed to take him to Bravo, so he must be around here somewhere. Why he’s not at Hels Tek, Tango isn’t sure. Maybe they’re out on an errand run? Either way, he ought to start looking around.

But first, he’s got to break the portal so no one can follow him. Everything he’d packed made it through with him, thankfully, so he equips his pickaxe and turns back to the portal-

Just in time for Jimmy to emerge, running straight into him.

The collision knocks Tango to the ground, pickaxe flying from his hand, his forehead stinging where it smacked against Jimmy’s chin. Blinking spots from his eyes, he pushes himself up on his elbows with a groan. Once his vision stops spinning, he locks eyes with Jimmy, who seems just as shocked as he is.

Both of them shout at exactly the same moment.

“What are you doing here?!”

~*~

[wileys-russo]

hey! no clue if your requests are open but if they are how about leah x reader where leah plans a date where they go golfing, hoping to impress reader with her skills but reader actually plays golf too and ends up being better than leah at it. so leah is just completely dumbfounded and slightly annoyed (in a good way) but also impressed. also cueing some teasing from r about being better.

big swing II l.williamson

"this is where we're spending the day?" you laughed as leah pulled up to the golf course, grinning at you as she parked the car. "i told you we were doing an outdoor activity and to dress for the occasion." leah hurried out of the car and to your side, popping open your door.

"thank you, charmer." you smiled, pecking her lips as she closed the door after you. "when the hell did you pack those?" you shook your head as leah popped her boot, grabbing out a set of clubs.

"never you mind my girl." leah grinned. "oh you're a sick sick woman." you sighed, seeing the engraved LW on each club, your girlfriend shoving your head playfully before slinging the clubs over her shoulder, locking her car and holding out her hand for you to take.

she booked you both in, promising to take you out for lunch afterwards as you watched on in amusement as she made a point to greet everyone you came across, relishing in the fact they all knew her by name, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye clearly trying to impress you.

she made sure to introduce you to everyone as her girlfriend, dropping the word as often as she could with a proud grin on her face. "hey stewart, can you hook my girlfriend up with a set of clubs please?" leah leant forward on the counter with a charming smile toward the older man.

"i'm just gonna go put my clubs in the cart love." leah murmured quietly, kissing the side of your head and stepping outside as stewart brought out a few different sets for you to try.

selecting the ones you were happy with you were quick to pay for them before your girlfriend returned, earning yourself an annoyed scowl from the taller blonde as you met her outside, handing her your chosen clubs to load in the back of the cart with her own.

"today was supposed to be on me, cheeky girl." leah tutted as you slid into the cart beside her, kissing her cheek and mumbling a thank you into the skin as she started the cart, driving you to the first hole.

"you go first babe, show me how its done." you waved for her to start as leah hopped out of the cart, riffling through her clubs and pulling out her driver, sending you a wink as you leaned against the cart, dropping your sunglasses down onto your nose as she positioned herself.

you clapped politely at leahs first shot which sailed straight down the green, the blonde nodding in satisfaction as she made her way back to you. "do you want a hand picking out which club to use?" leah offered with a somewhat cocky smile, and so deciding to play into her ego you nodded.

leah selecting your club she took your hand and guided you to the tee, making a show of demonstrating where your hands go and how to swing, only stepping away once you assured you were okay.

you smiled to yourself as your first shot went straight, it didn't go as far as leah's but it did remain on the fairway and you shrugged happily. "nice shot gorgeous, must have a good teacher!" leah winked as the two of you drove down to where your balls sat.

"mmm something like that."

~

it turns out, it was something like that however not what leah imagined.

she'd taken you golfing in hopes of being able to show off, wanting you to be impressed and proud as well as giving herself an opportunity to get a little handsy with you as she showed you the ropes.

however, leahs plan was unraveling with every hole the two of you played. you'd rejected needing her help and much to leahs absolute horror you were winning.

by now she'd put two and two together that you'd clearly played before, your shots all effortlessly successful as you'd send her a smile and a wink afterward, asking if there was anything she'd have you do differently as your teacher, only winding up the defender further.

"so. did you plan on ever telling me you're secretly a golf pro?" the blonde asked moodily as you returned by her side after making a birdie with a happy grin. "you never asked." you smiled smugly, stealing a kiss and gesturing for her to take her shot.

"you never asked." the blonde mocked under her breath with a huff, only widening your smile at how much this was getting to her. her annoyance grew as she missed an easy putt, smacking her club into the ground and swearing loudly.

"hey hey williamson we treat our tools with respect here, this isn't a football pitch there isn't someone who comes and fixes the grass at half time." you teased, the blonde sending you a murderous glare as you grinned, blowing her a kiss as she tapped her ball in and made her way back to you.

"don't be a sore loser." you cooed, grabbing her face and kissing her cheek repeatedly as she pushed you off. "i love golf! why didn't you tell me you were so good, we could have played together already." leah pouted with a frown, crossing her arms over her chest.

"because i hate golf. the only reason i'm decent is because its the only way my dad ever tried to bond with me, we spent almost every second sunday playing golf and he was not a patient teacher." you laughed, grabbing her hands and squeezing them gently.

"you'd still destroy me on the football pitch lee, now stop being so stroppy." you kissed her knuckles. "we're going for a kick around for our next date then." leah decided firmly making you laugh and agree, pulling the older girl into a proper kiss.

"now, would you like me to show you how to properly swing captain?" "oh fuck off!"

[forthechubbies]

Stowaway°One Piece Drabble I II

Zoro X Chubby!Reader

Your words were stolen from your lips as you were forcefully lifted onto the man's shoulders, your heart pounding with fear as you were carried towards the captain.

Your pathetic attempt seems to have no effect on the wretched creature. "Release me this instant!" "Filthy scum, remove your repulsive hands off me!" His monstrous grip held your feeble legs captive, restricting any chance of escape.

"Captain!" He bellowed, causing everyone to freeze in terror. "Stop!" A fiery lash scorched your backside. "You kick me again, and I swear to God-"

"What's the matter?" Luffy mumbled, his voice heavy with sleep.

"Then what's that slab of meat stuck to your cheek." Usopp murmured out of suspicion from his Captain.

"Ooh, looks like we've got ourselves a little stowaway," He purred, a sly grin spreading across his face. Zoro pulled you close, his strong arms wrapping around your body. "She's an imperial, and she's got the power to bring the whole damn navy down on us." His voice was low and dangerous, sending shivers down your spine.

"Ouch..." you groaned, rolling your eyes at the agony shooting through your wrists from his death grip. "Oh, spare me the drama, darling. I swear, I have zero intentions of harming your precious little boat... or its oh-so-charming crew, especially the lovely brute who seems hell-bent on snapping my wrists like twigs." You emphasized the word "lovely" with a sarcastic smirk, even daring to wriggle free from his clutches.

It wasn't til two girls and a man appeared where things started to get interesting; Nami took the liberty of informing the uneducated of your bloodline...and your wealth.

Nami was the first person to realize the trouble their in. "Zoro, Let her go! Right now!"

"Yea!" Sanji added. " You heard,Nami Swan,Let her go, Block head." Sanji bellowed, unleashing a insult mocking his pathetic excuse for a love life and his habit of manhandling stunning women.

In response, Zoro shot back with a devilish grin, " They can barely catch their breath, let alone complain." His words oozed with a shocking confidence, leaving no doubt about his ability to satisfy any woman lucky enough to cross his path.

The flames of the dispute ignited swiftly, ensnaring you to be caught between two rugged men. They were nothing but wild beasts, you mused, as you pressed yourself closer against Zoro, feeling the intoxicating rush of danger coursing through your veins. The confrontation escalated, teetering on the edge of violence.

You skillfully maneuvered your way out of the treacherous territory, evading the watchful eyes of the two pirates. Just as you were about to catch your breath, a tantalizingly long rubber band coiled around your voluptuous waist, forcefully yanking you towards the captain's commanding presence.

A rapid realization hit you like a ton of bricks. It's his arm!

"Luffy, No!"

"Damn it, Luffy!"

"LUFFY!"

You heard some stuff before bumping into the captain's arms. But Luffy didn't seem to care much - "Are you a real princess?" His eyes twinkled as he hugged your soft toy-like body.

You stood there, utterly astounded by his mind-boggling talent. A gasp escaped your lips, mingling with a sense of horror that coursed through your veins. "What on earth are you?" you whispered, your curiosity piqued to its very limits. And then, with an audacity that defied all reason, you reached out and pinched his cheeks, unraveling his skin stretched like mochi. "Oh my goodness... You're a rubber man?" It seemed utterly and completely... impossible.

Luffy giggled and pulled his arms back to his sides. "Hey, I asked you something first, so you gotta wait for my answer!"

You nervously cleared your trembling throat, a feeble attempt to steady your quivering voice. "Y-yes," you stammered, desperately trying to adjust your disheveled nightgown, hoping to salvage even a shred of regal composure that remained. "Tell me, do you truly bear the mark of a pirate?"

Fearlessly, He smiles. "I'm gonna be the pirate king."

Of course , you don't believe him but that light in his eyes showed his determination.

Pirates are real? The maids often would fill your brain with these nightmare inducing stories of cut throat pirates slaughtering anyone in their way.

Trembling with terror, you couldn't bear to stay put any longer. Without a second thought, you darted further into the ship, seeking refuge behind a sturdy, locked wooden door.

[scarluna]

Y/N, a gifted but self-conscious graphic designer, lands a job at Jeon Enterprises, a powerhouse ruled by the sharp and controlling Jeon Jungkook, whose ruthless perfectionism hides behind an enigmatic façade. Though admired and feared, Jungkook targets Y/N’s insecurities, using them as weapons against her.

Beside him stands his best friend, Min Yoongi, a sly and unpredictable force whose hot-and-cold behavior leaves Y/N questioning his motives.

Tangled in a web of cold authority, teasing games, and unspoken desire, Y/N must navigate a dangerous love triangle where ambition and emotion collide, threatening to unravel everything.

Pairing: Jungkook x Fem!Reader x Min Yoongi

Genre/Tags: plus sized reader, enemies to lovers, ceo!jungkook, graphic designer!reader, mafia!yoongi

Link to the other chapters: ACT I / ACT II / ACT III / ACT IV / ACT V / ACT VII

Chapters: 6 / ?

Chapter Warnings: mature language, bullying, slow burn, enemies to lovers, love triangle

ACT VI.

The crisp winter air nipped at my cheeks as I stepped out of my apartment building, my scarf wrapped snugly around my neck. It was a lazy Sunday, the kind of day where I would’ve normally curled up with a book or caught up on my favorite shows. But today was different. Today, Taehyung had insisted we spend the day together—no work, no drama, just us.

As I adjusted my coat, making sure not to freeze despite the sun outside, I saw him across the street, standing next to a streetlamp. He looked effortlessly handsome in a cream-colored sweater under a beige trench coat, his dark hair slightly tousled by the breeze. His eyes lit up the moment he spotted me, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

In his hands was a small bouquet of flowers—white daisies and pink tulips, delicate and cheerful.

“For you,” he said as I approached, holding the bouquet out with a boyish grin.

“Flowers?” I teased, taking them gently. “Are you trying to win me over?”

He smirked. “Maybe. Is it working?”

I laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s a good start.”

We began walking down the quiet street, the crunch of our shoes against the pavement mingling with the sounds of the city waking up. A few blocks away, we found our favorite little café, the one with the cozy atmosphere and the best hot chocolate in town.

Taehyung held the door open for me, and we were greeted by the familiar scent of cocoa and cinnamon. The café was warm, a stark contrast to the chilly weather outside.

“Two hot chocolates?” the barista asked with a knowing smile as we approached the counter.

“You know us too well,” Taehyung replied with a soft chuckle. We have been visiting this coffee shop back when we were only college students. This place held memories of us. And I cherished it a lot.

Once our drinks were ready—complete with whipped cream and a sprinkle of cocoa powder—we found a corner booth by the window. The steam from the mugs curled into the air as we sat across from each other, the sunlight streaming in and casting a golden glow over his face.

“So,” he began, his tone playful. “What’s on your mind, Miss Y/N? Besides how devastatingly handsome I am.”

I rolled my eyes, taking a sip of my hot chocolate to hide my smile. “I was actually thinking about how certain someone managed to spill wine on my dress last night.”

His expression softened, the teasing replaced by genuine concern. “You handled that so well. I would’ve lost my cool.”

“Well,” I said, swirling my spoon in the whipped cream, “I guess I’ve had enough practice dealing with people like Tina.”

He reached across the table, resting his hand over mine. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. You are more badass than you think.”

His words warmed me more than the hot chocolate ever could. "I honestly don't know what I will do without you, Tae. I am grateful to have you in my life." I spoke out, it was the truth, I never expressed my gratefulness but now I did. I wanted him to know that I cherished him. Tae's cheeks flushed.  "I will always be here, Y/N. No matter what." My heart skept a beat. I grinned at him and brough the glass toward my lips as if to hide my blush. "So, what's the deal with your Boss tho?There seems to be tension between him and you. I didn't like how he stole you away from me last night..." I froze. My smile faltered and I cleared my throat. "He is just . . . a bit controlling, that's all." "Controlling? He is possessive of you, Y/N. His eyes are feral when he is around you." My frown deepened and I shook my head. "That's not true. I mean, he did made fun of me and my way of work but that's all. He thrives for perfection." Tae's eyes darkened, he stared at me for a minute longer, before a deep sigh escaped his lips. "I just want you to be self-aware of your surroundings, Y/N." Maybe he was right. Maybe I was too caught up between him and Yoongi to even notice what was happening. I couldn't keep this up. My feelings didn't matter, all that matters is my job and how I do it. An awkward silence stretched between me and Taehyung. We were both lost in thoughts now. Gosh, he shouldn't have mentioned Jungkook. Because with Jungkook there is also Yoongi.

After we finished our drinks, we spent the rest of the day wandering around the city. Taehyung led me to a park we used to visit back when we were teenagers. The trees were bare, their branches dusted with the season’s first frost, but the air was alive with laughter from families and couples enjoying the day.

We stopped by the frozen pond, watching as kids skated in clumsy circles. Taehyung nudged me gently with his shoulder.

“Remember the time I tried to teach you how to skate?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. “Don’t remind me. I think I fell a dozen times..”

“And I caught you every single time,” he added, a proud smile on his face. He was the cutest with how he smiled, it was like stars appeared in his eyes everytime he did.

We walked on, stopping occasionally to take in the sights or to snap a picture. At one point, we found a street musician playing a soulful tune on his guitar. Taehyung pulled me to the side, bowing dramatically.

“May I have this dance?” he asked, his voice dripping with charm.

“Here? In the middle of the park?” I asked, laughing nervously.

“Why not?” He took my hand before I could protest, spinning me gently in a slow circle.

People passed by, some smiling at the sight of us, but I didn’t care. For a moment, it felt like the rest of the world had disappeared, leaving just the two of us.

By the time the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, we found ourselves sitting on a bench overlooking the river. Taehyung wrapped his scarf around my neck, ignoring my protests that I was fine.

“I don’t want you catching a cold,” he said, tucking the ends neatly under my coat.

“Thanks, Dad,” I teased, but the truth was, I didn’t mind. He was caring by nature, and maybe to be cared for felt good...

As the day came to an end, I realized how much I needed this. No work, no stress, no complicated feelings about Yoongi or Jungkook—just a simple, perfect day with Taehyung..

“Still cold?” he asked, noticing my movements.

“Not really,” I admitted. “This scarf is ridiculously warm.”

He smiled, his hands shoved casually into his pockets. “It’s because it’s mine. Everything I own is top-tier.”

I nudged him with my elbow, grinning. “Oh, please. That’s the most Taehyung thing you’ve said all day.”

He laughed, the sound light and easy, and I couldn’t help but smile wider. There was something about him—his energy, his warmth—that made everything feel okay, even after the chaos of last night.

As we turned the corner onto my street, he slowed his pace.

“You know,” he began, his tone softer now, “I really enjoyed today. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you so relaxed.”

“I guess I needed it,” I replied, glancing up at him. “Just a perfect day with an old friend.”

“Old friend?” he repeated, pretending to be offended. “I’ll have you know I’m as youthful as ever. If anything, I’ve only gotten better with age.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped me. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” he shot back, his grin widening.

I didn’t respond, but the way my cheeks warmed betrayed me.

When we reached my building, we stopped just outside the entrance. The soft hum of the city buzzed in the background as we turned to face each other.

“Well,” I said, clutching the bouquet of flowers he’d given me earlier, “thanks for today. Really.”

“Anytime,” he said, his voice gentle. “I mean it. If you ever need to escape, just call me. I’ll be there.”

For a moment, neither of us said anything. The streetlight above cast a faint glow on his face, highlighting the sincerity in his eyes.

“You’re a good friend, Tae,” I said softly, though the words felt heavier than they should have.

His smile faltered for a fraction of a second, but he recovered quickly, his expression warm and playful again. “Only a good friend? I’ll have to work on upgrading that title.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Goodnight, Taehyung.”

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he replied, his voice low and filled with something unspoken.

I turned to unlock the door to my building, but before I could step inside, I heard him call my name.

I turned back, and there he was, standing a few feet away, his hands still in his pockets. “Don’t forget to put those flowers in water,” he said, a lopsided grin on his face.

“I won’t,” I promised, holding up the bouquet.

And with that, he turned and walked away, his figure disappearing into the quiet night. I stood there for a moment, watching him go, the warmth from the day still lingering in my chest.

As I finally stepped inside, I couldn’t help but smile to myself. Today had been perfect—simple, sweet, and exactly what I needed. 

-

The scene outside the company building was unlike anything I’d ever seen. Reporters shouted over each other, their cameras flashing relentlessly as they aimed toward the entrance. Police cars were parked haphazardly along the curb, their lights casting ominous blue and red hues against the surrounding buildings.

My heart sank as I tried to push through the crowd, clutching my bag tightly. The questions flying through the air were disjointed but enough to spark unease in my chest.

“Is it true Jeon Enterprises is under investigation?” “CEO Jeon Jungkook has yet to make a statement—”"Is there a suspect already?"

I forced myself to block out the noise, stepping up to the security guard at the entrance. My heart was thumping fast and loud in my chest. This entire atmosphere looked like a crime series. I had no idea what happened but whatever it was, it was serious.

“I work here,” I said, fumbling with my badge. My hands shook slightly, and I hated how obvious it was.

The tall bulky guard dressed in a black suit squinted at my badge, then gave me a short nod. “Go ahead.”

His words did nothing to calm me as I entered the building, the usual hum of productivity replaced by frantic whispers and hurried footsteps. Police officers roamed the lobby, speaking into radios, while employees stood in clusters, their faces pale with shock.

What on earth happened?

I hurried toward the elevator, my pulse quickening with every step. The ride up to our floor felt like an eternity, and when the doors opened, the sight made my stomach churn.

Officers were everywhere, combing through desks and confiscating files. The normally pristine office space was in disarray, papers scattered and voices raised in hushed tones.

“Y/N!”

I turned to see Rya approaching me, her expression frantic. I could see the paleness on her face, she was definitely shocked and panicked.

“What’s going on?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Rya glanced around before pulling me aside, her grip on my arm tight. “Tina... she’s dead.”

I froze, her words not registering at first. “What?”

“They found her body last night at her apartment,” Rya said, her voice shaking. “And the last person who was seen with her was Jungkook. Police came and took him with them twenty minutes ago. They treated him like a suspect!”

The air seemed to leave my lungs. My mind raced as I tried to piece together what she was saying. Tina? Dead? And Jungkook?

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “That doesn’t make any sense. Jungkook wouldn’t—”

“I know,” Rya interrupted, her voice urgent. “But the police don’t care about what we think. And the media is having a field day with it. They are also got a search order to see if they can find any clue on what happened, Jungkook's office is a raided mess. Cops took everything.”

I glanced around the chaotic office, my chest tightening. Jungkook wasn’t just my boss; he was someone I had come to respect despite our rocky start. The idea that he could be involved in something like this was incomprehensible.

Rya’s hand hovered over the remote as the reporter’s voice filled the tense air of the office.

“Breaking news this morning,” the reporter began, her tone grave. “Authorities have confirmed the discovery of a deceased individual late last night at their apartment. The victim has been identified as an employee of Jeon Enterprises and was last seen attending the high-profile masquerade ball hosted by MNT Media just days ago.”

Rya and I exchanged a glance, our breaths caught in the shared silence. The weight of the words was crushing, and my mind raced to process what I already knew.

“Last seen at the ball...” Rya whispered, her voice barely audible, but I caught the way her hands trembled as she gripped the remote.

I swallowed hard, fighting the knot forming in my throat. 

The broadcast continued, showing images of the ball—the glittering chandeliers, the elegant gowns, the masked faces. And then it switched to a live shot of an apartment building cordoned off with police tape, officers moving in and out under the glow of harsh floodlights.

“Sources close to the investigation report signs of foul play, though no official suspects have been named. Jeon Jungkook, CEO of Jeon Enterprises, has been confirmed to have been the last one who saw the victim alive, and authorities have expressed interest in speaking with him.”

“Damn it,” Rya muttered, her voice cracking slightly. 

I didn’t answer, the words sticking to the back of my throat. We both knew it was. There was no need to say it out loud.

Instead, I fixed my gaze on the screen, where the reporter was now recounting snippets. “The victim was known to be a driven and outspoken employee, with significant professional ties and ongoing disputes that may have played a role in the events leading up to their death.”

"Y/N... this is bad. Really bad. The board is already panicking, and if this gets any worse, it could take down the entire company.”

I felt like the floor was tilting beneath me, the weight of the situation pressing down on my shoulders.

“I need to find Yoongi,” I muttered, my voice steadier than I felt.

“Yoongi?” Rya frowned.

“He’ll know what to do,” I said, more to convince myself than her. “He always does.”

Without waiting for her response, I turned and started toward his office, my mind a whirlwind of fear, confusion, and determination. Whatever was happening, I needed answers—and fast.

His free hand clenched into a fist at his side. “I don’t care what strings you have to pull—just do it.”

He ended the call abruptly, exhaling sharply before he turned, noticing me standing hesitantly behind him. His expression softened slightly, though the strain in his features remained.

“It’s a mess,” he admitted, his tone heavy. “As you already know, Tina was found in her apartment late last night. She has been shot in the head.”

I swallowed hard, the reality of his words sinking in. Shot in the head? What kind of an animal would do that to her?! Surely, Tina was not one of the best people, she was selfish and her ego reached the skies, but not even once did I wish her death. “And Jungkook? Why are they linking him to this?”

Yoongi’s gaze flicked to the side, conflicted. “He was seen leaving her building around the time they estimate it happened. There’s footage from a security camera, but it doesn’t show much. Just him walking out.”

“That doesn’t mean he did anything,” I said quickly, feeling a surge of defensiveness I didn’t expect.

“I know,” Yoongi said, his voice firm. “But right now, appearances are everything. The media doesn’t care about proof—they just want a story. And Tina being...” He hesitated, his expression darkening. “Well, let’s just say she didn’t make herself any friends around here. People are talking, and not in Jungkook’s favor.”

I was trying to process everything. Tina’s death. Jungkook being questioned. The chaos in the office. It felt like the ground beneath me was shifting, and I couldn’t find my footing.

“Do you think he did it?” I asked quietly, almost afraid of his answer.

Yoongi met my gaze, his dark eyes steady. “No,” he said firmly. “I’ve known Jungkook long enough to say that he’s not capable of something like this. But whether he did or didn’t isn’t the issue right now. It’s about what people believe.”

The weight of his words settled heavily in my chest.

“What do we do?” I asked, desperate for some kind of direction.

Yoongi sighed, “For now, we wait. The lawyers are working on getting him released, but until then, we need to keep things from spiraling. The company is already under enough scrutiny.”

I nodded, though it felt like a hollow gesture. Waiting wasn’t exactly my strong suit, especially not when someone I cared about was at the center of it all.

“What about us?” I asked hesitantly. “What can I do to help?”

Yoongi’s gaze softened, and for a moment, the weight he carried seemed to lift just slightly.

“Just stay out of the crossfire, Y/N,” he said gently. “You’ve already been through enough. Let me handle this.”

I bristled slightly at his words, not because I didn’t appreciate his concern, but because I hated feeling powerless.

“Yoongi,” I said firmly, standing. “I’m not going to sit on the sidelines while everything falls apart. If there’s anything I can do—anything—just tell me.”

He studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before he finally nodded.

After leaving Yoongi’s office, I couldn’t shake the weight pressing down on me. Tina’s death had sent shockwaves through the entire company, and though I’d never liked her—she’d been awful to me more times than I could count—this wasn’t what she deserved.

The thought of her lifeless and alone in her apartment was too much. No matter how cruel she’d been, she was still a person, someone with her own struggles and stories I’d never known. She was still someone's daughter, sister, cousin. . .

I needed to talk to someone.

I found Hoseok and Rya in the break room, sitting at one of the tables near the window. Both of them looked tense, their earlier easy smiles replaced with furrowed brows and quiet whispers.

“Hey,” I said softly as I approached. They looked up, and Rya immediately slid over to make room for me.

“Y/N,” Hoseok said, his tone heavy. “How are you holding up?”

I sat down, clasping my hands together to stop them from trembling. “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “This whole thing with Tina... it doesn’t feel real. I know we didn’t get along, but...” I trailed off, unsure how to put the jumble of emotions into words.

“She was a nightmare,” Rya said bluntly, though her voice lacked its usual bite. “But I never thought... this. I mean, she could be petty and cruel, but murder?”

Hoseok frowned, leaning forward. “Nobody deserves that,” he said quietly. “Not even Tina. She could be terrible, sure, but she was still a person.”

The room fell silent for a moment, the three of us lost in our own thoughts.

“I keep thinking about the last time I saw her,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “At the ball. She seemed so... smug. Like she was on top of the world. And now, she’s gone.”

Rya crossed her arms, looking conflicted. “Do you think someone here could’ve done it? I mean, everyone knew she had enemies, but this is... extreme.”

Hoseok shook his head. “I don’t want to believe it, but with the police here, searching the office...” He trailed off, his expression darkening. “It’s hard not to wonder.”

“And Jungkook?” Rya asked, looking at me. “Do you think he’s involved?”

“No,” I said firmly, surprising even myself with the conviction in my voice. “I don’t. He might be cold and distant sometimes, but he’s not a killer. He’s... he’s better than that.”

Hoseok and Rya exchanged a glance, but neither argued.

“What happens now?” Rya asked after a moment. “If Jungkook is being investigated, what does that mean for the company? For us?”

I shook my head, feeling the weight of uncertainty settle over me again. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I think we need to stick together. Now more than ever.”

They both nodded, and for the first time in a long while, I felt a glimmer of solidarity between us.

As the three of us sat there, piecing together what little we knew, I couldn’t help but feel that this was just the beginning of something much bigger—and much darker—than any of us could imagine.

-

The morning was gray and oppressive, the atmosphere at Jeon Enterprises thick with unease. I was called to help clear out Tina’s desk under police supervision, a task I didn’t relish but couldn’t refuse. The sight of her empty chair sent a chill through me. Tina had been vile, no doubt about it, but to think she was gone—and in such a horrific way—made my stomach turn.

The desk was surprisingly tidy for someone as chaotic as Tina. Neat stacks of papers, pristine stationery, and a drawer full of color-coded folders. Yet as I sifted through the surface level, something felt off. It was too perfect, almost staged.

A detective stood nearby, arms crossed as he observed. “Anything that seems unusual, set it aside,” he said flatly.

Unusual? Where did I even start? Tina herself was a cocktail of ambition and cruelty, a persona that could fill a thousand file folders with secrets. As I reached into the bottom drawer, my fingers brushed against something that didn’t feel like an office supply. It was wedged under a stack of legal pads—a worn, leather-bound journal.

I glanced at the detective, who was momentarily distracted by another officer. With a quick, furtive motion, I slipped the journal into my bag. I told myself I’d hand it over eventually, but something about it called to me. A gut feeling. Tina had gone out of her way to hide this. Why?

Once I got home that evening, I pulled the journal out and set it on my kitchen table. The leather was cracked and faded, the corners worn down like it had been carried around for years. When I opened it, the faint scent of Tina’s signature perfume wafted up, mingled with something darker—ink and secrecy.

The first few pages were mundane. Meeting notes, to-do lists, sketches of presentation layouts. But as I flipped further, the tone shifted. The handwriting became erratic, the words slanting across the page with a kind of manic energy.

November 3: Another meeting with K. Promises, promises. Does he think I’m stupid? I’ll take what’s mine before he screws me over.

November 12: Y/N is such a naive little thing. Too easy to push around. If only she knew how far out of her depth she is. Pathetic.

I recoiled at the venom in her words. My name was scrawled there like a curse, surrounded by complaints about nearly everyone in the office. Tina hadn’t just disliked people—she’d despised them.

And then there were the cryptic entries:

December 1: The deal is in place. If K tries to back out, he’ll regret it.

December 15: I’m not playing games anymore. If they think they can silence me, they’re dead wrong.

The entries stopped abruptly a week before her death. My fingers trembled as I turned the pages, my heart pounding in my chest. Who was “K”? What deal? And what had Tina meant by “silence”?

Before I could dive further, my phone buzzed. The name on the screen made my blood run cold: Richard Delgrassi. My father’s old associate. 

“Mr. Delgrassi? How did you find my number?” I said cautiously, picking up the call.

“I called your father, wanted to check up on you.” his voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it, like a blade sheathed in silk. “Are you okay? I heard about your co-worker Tina.”

I swallowed thickly, deep sigh escaped my lips. "I am fine, sir. It just . . . shocked us all."

“I am really sorry to hear that, if you need anything, please let me know. If you want to leave the company and start somewhere fresh, I will help you out." Leave. Why would I want to leave? I hummed. "Of course, sir, I will let you know." I heard him shuffle on the other side of the line. "What about Jungkook, I heard he is at the police station for questioning." I started pacing back and forth, "Well, right now we don't have much information on what happens next, but hopefully police would release him soon." "I hope so too." he spoke but something in his voice didn't feel sincere. "Alright, I just wanted to check up on you. Know you have someone you can count on." "Thank you, sir..."

The line went dead before I could ask anything else. I stared at the phone, my heart hammering in my chest. 

I glanced back at the journal, its leather cover now looking more sinister than mysterious. Whatever Tina had been involved in, it wasn’t just office politics. It was something far darker, and I was smack in the middle of it.

-

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I stood in front of the police station, staring at the cold, gray walls. It didn’t feel real—none of it did. My mind kept replaying the moment I heard the news: Tina, my manager, was dead. Murdered. And Jungkook, the CEO of the company I’d worked for, was the prime suspect unofficially.

The shock of it had hit me hard. Tina’s death had left a void in our office, and the fact that Jungkook, the man I already thought I knew so well, was now behind bars... it shattered everything.

I took a deep breath before walking through the sterile halls of the station. The fluorescent lights buzzed above me, making the air feel thick and oppressive. I passed the front desk, where the officers barely acknowledged me and suddenly bumped into someone.

The impact jolted me slightly, and I looked up to find Yoongi standing there, his dark eyes sharp and unreadable as ever. He sighed heavily, as if seeing me here was the last thing he needed.

“What the hell are you doing here, Y/N?” he asked, his tone low but laced with irritation.

I straightened my posture, refusing to let him intimidate me. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m here to see Jungkook.”

Yoongi crossed his arms, his expression hardening. “You shouldn’t be here. This isn’t your fight, and it’s definitely not safe.”

“Not safe?” I scoffed, keeping my voice low so the officers milling about wouldn’t overhear. “I work at the same company, Yoongi. Tina was my manager too, in case you forgot. This affects all of us, not just you.”

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “That’s exactly why you need to stay out of it. Let the police handle this. Do you even realize how messy this is going to get?”

I glared at him, my frustration boiling over. “Messy or not, I have a right to know what’s going on. Jungkook isn’t just some random CEO. He’s—”

“He’s what?” Yoongi cut in, his tone sharp. “Your boss? Your friend? Someone you think you can trust? Newsflash, Y/N: trust doesn’t mean a damn thing right now.”

I felt the sting of his words but refused to back down. “You’re unbelievable,” I shot back. “You act like you’re the only one allowed to care about what’s happening.”

Yoongi ran a hand through his messy long hair, his jaw tight. I could notice he has been sleep deprived too, the dark circles under his eyes screamed tiredness. “I care because I know what’s at stake. And you showing up here, trying to play detective, is only going to make things worse.”

I stepped closer, narrowing the gap between us. “Then why are you here, Yoongi? If you think it’s so dangerous, why aren’t you staying out of it?”

His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, he didn’t answer. I saw his eyes darken and he took a sharp breath through his nose, hands now resting on his hips. "Fucking hell, why are you so stubborn?" "Maybe I am good at annoying the hell out of you." His eyes narrowed but he didn't say anything. There was a silence stretching between us before he finally turned around and headed down the hallway.

“Fine,” he muttered over his shoulder. “If you’re so hell-bent on getting involved, follow me. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

We made our way to the interrogation room, where Jungkook was being held. My heart felt like it was lodged in my throat as we approached the small, glass-walled room. Jungkook sat inside, his hands folded on the metal table in front of him. He looked tired, his usually sharp features drawn and pale.

The officer standing outside the door nodded at Yoongi, allowing us in. I hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, the air thick with tension.

Jungkook glanced up, his dark eyes meeting mine briefly before shifting to Yoongi.

“Didn’t expect visitors,” he said, his voice low and rough.

Yoongi pulled out a chair and sat down, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. “We’re not here to chat. What’s going on, Jungkook?”

Jungkook leaned back in his chair, his gaze flickering between the two of us. “You tell me. One minute, I’m at the office; the next, I’m hauled in here like a criminal.”

“Did you know Tina was dead?” I asked, my voice trembling slightly despite my best efforts to stay composed.

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t answer. “I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Then why are you here?” Yoongi pressed, his tone firm.

Jungkook let out a bitter laugh. “Because someone saw me with her at the ball, and apparently, that’s enough to make me the prime suspect. Never mind that half the company was there."

I glanced at Yoongi, who didn’t break his stare. “And what about Tina? Did she say anything to you that night? Act strange? Mention something... off?”

Jungkook’s expression darkened. “She didn’t say much of anything to me. She was too busy playing her games, like always. I told everything to the police but they still keep me in this godforsaken hole.”

“Games?” I asked, leaning forward.

“Y/N, you know fully well how she was,” Jungkook said, his voice bitter. “Testing people's limits, making sure everyone knew she had the upper hand. But I didn’t play along, and maybe that pissed her off. Who knows?”

Yoongi tapped his fingers against the table, his gaze never leaving Jungkook. “You need to give us more than that. If you want us to help you, we need something concrete.”

Jungkook’s eyebrow raised, he was shifting his eyes from me and Yoongi. I looked away, avoiding his gaze. “Help me? Since when are you two playing detectives?”

I rolled my eyes. "We are trying to help you out." I snapped and Jungkook shifted in his seat, letting out a deep sigh of defeat.

The tension in the room thickened, and I felt a pang of guilt watching Jungkook sitting there, defiant but vulnerable. I glanced at Yoongi, his steely demeanor unwavering as he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.

"Do you know for how long you will be captive here?" I finally asked. Jungkook shrugged. "No idea, until they find an evidence that the killer was not me." "What happens to the comapny now?" I pressed, "is it gonna shut down?" "I will take over." Yoongi muttered, "for the time being, until Jungkook gets released." I frowned glancing at Jungkook who hummed, I guess they managed to talk this through.  "Fine, we will keep digging and see what we will find."  "We?" My Boss frowned, "Y/N, I don't want you to get involved in this." "See?!Told her the same thingg, she doesn't listen." "Stop blabbing about the same things, I want in and I want to help. You two, adult men, act like kids. Jungkook, your situation here is not colorful at all. The quicker we get you out, the quick it would be your name to be cleared in front of the media." -

The sharp chill of the late evening air greeted us as we stepped out of the police station. I pulled my coat tighter around myself, my mind still racing with everything that had just transpired. Jungkook’s face, a mixture of frustration and vulnerability, was etched in my memory.

“I’ll call a cab,” I muttered, fishing my phone out of my bag.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow, stepping toward the parking lot. “Don’t bother. I’ll drive you.”

I stopped mid-dial and turned to him. “No offense, but I don’t think that’s a great idea.”

His expression didn’t change, but there was an edge of impatience in his voice. “Why? Because I’m not the most charming chauffeur? Or are you still mad at me for that club thing-y?”

“Neither,” I said quickly, my tone defensive. “It’s just... I don’t need you to babysit me, Yoongi. I can take care of myself.”

“Clearly,” he said dryly, gesturing to my phone. “And you’ll do that by waiting alone outside a police station at night for a cab? Genius plan.”

I opened my mouth to argue but stopped when I realized how ridiculous it would sound. With a resigned sigh, I slid my phone back into my bag. “Fine. But no commentary while you drive.”

“Deal,” he said with a small smirk, leading the way to his car.

The ride started in silence, the hum of the engine the only sound between us. Yoongi’s driving was calm and efficient, and for some reason, it annoyed me that he didn’t seem as rattled by everything as I was.

“Yesterday,” I began, breaking the silence, “when I was cleaning out Tina’s desk... I found something.”

He glanced at me briefly before returning his eyes to the road. “The journal.”

I blinked, surprised. “How did you—”

"Do you think I am that stupid?"  There was silence, he narrowed his eyes, "don't even answer this, Y/N." I chuckled at that and shrugged my shoulders. "I saw you take a suspicious looking book off Tina's desk without the police looking so..." "I figured that it's better to find who did it first with a solid evidence, before turning it to the police." I hesitated but continued, “It’s... disturbing. Tina wrote about people she hated—colleagues, clients, even... me.”

Yoongi didn’t react visibly, but I caught his fingers tightening slightly on the steering wheel.

“She was ruthless,” I continued. “Manipulating people, sabotaging careers—it’s all in there. And then there are these cryptic entries about a ‘deal.’ She doesn’t say who it was with, but it’s obvious it was risky. She mentioned being scared, like she knew it might backfire.”

Yoongi’s jaw clenched. “And now she’s dead.”

I swallowed hard, the reality of it hitting me again. “Yeah. And I don’t think it’s a coincidence. Someone she crossed or someone involved in that deal... they might have wanted her gone.”

“You said the police don’t know about it yet?” he asked, his voice tense.

“No,” I admitted. “I didn’t trust them to handle it the right way, especially with the way they’re already treating Jungkook.”

“Smart,” Yoongi said, nodding approvingly. “But if that journal is as explosive as you say, keeping it quiet might put you in danger.”

I bit my lip, anxiety bubbling in my chest. “I know. But what choice do I have? If it can help clear Jungkook’s name, I can’t just ignore it.”

Yoongi pulled into a quieter street, the streetlights casting long shadows over the car. He turned to me, his dark eyes serious. “You’re not doing this alone, Y/N. Whatever’s in that journal, we’re going to figure it out together.”

For a moment, his words surprised me. Despite his often aloof demeanor, there was an unexpected warmth in his voice.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, meaning it.

He nodded once and turned his attention back to the road, the rest of the drive passing in contemplative silence.

When we finally reached my place, he parked at the curb and leaned back in his seat. “Keep the journal close. Don’t let anyone else see it for now.”

“I won’t,” I assured him, opening the door.

As I stepped out, he called after me, “And Y/N?”

I paused, turning back.

“Be careful,” he said, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

I nodded, clutching my bag tightly as I headed up to my apartment, the weight of the journal—and everything it represented—feeling heavier than ever.

[muzanswaifu]

A Step Ahead - V (Chapter finale)

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

Yandere! Tomioka x Fem! Reader

18+

Previous Choice: "Stop and ask him where he's taking you"

This is the fifth round of the game and the end to the first chapter. Census has determined that you shall ask the man where he's taking you. Why can't you just listen? He's been angered. Tread carefully.

Warnings: Yandere, Slow Burn, Stalking, Kidnapping, Non-con, Kissing, Violence, Smut later on

-

-

-

You needed to get more answers first before you could make a proper decision.

Digging your feet into the sodden snow, you planted yourself into the ground, temporarily stopping his drag of you.

“Where are you going?” you burst out, forcing the words from your lips in fear they wouldn’t come out at all.  You weren’t saying no to him, but you weren’t saying yes either. It all depended on what his intentions were.

But the moment you stopped, you felt his grip tighten, his fist burning a tight ring around your arm that made you whine in pain. It scared you. But not nearly as much as the look in his eye as he slowly turned back to face you, his brows pinched and eyes scowling. You’d upset him.

“Would you rather I take you back to your home? To your family? To your mother?” 

You cringed at the question, unsure of his implication. “W-what?”

He scoffed. “I’m sure they would like to know that you’ve blatantly disobeyed them. Punishment would be in order.” Your eyes widened with his statement, dread growing in your gut. You’d never told him your family was waiting. You’d never even told him you’d snuck out.

“H-how did you know that?”

He never answered, returning to tugging you along with him to an unknown destination. His grip was far firmer now, still bruising you.

You tried to wriggle away, tried to rip your arm away to no avail. The man was strong, far stronger than anyone you’d ever encountered. It was like you weren’t even struggling as not once did his hold falter, much less his movements onward. You were starting to tear up, fearful of what was to happen to you. Suddenly getting in trouble with your parents was the least of your worries. 

“W-wait! Who a-are you?!” you cried, still attempting to take your arm away from him without any progress. You even tried unraveling his fingers from you with your free hand, but they were melded to your bone like steel. Your hand was starting to turn purple from the lack of blood flow.

“You’ll soon understand,” he growled sternly, giving another harsh jerk to your numbing arm.

Against your best interests, you began to wail and scream, overwhelmed with the pain of his grip. It hurt terribly, he was frightening you, it was all too much. You viciously tried to pull away from him, desperate in your attempt to escape, but he wouldn’t let go. Your legs ceased to move correctly on their own and the fallen ridged branches on the ground scraped at your legs and clothing, tearing them to shreds.

Suddenly he flung you around, pressing you up against a nearing tree and slotting you between himself and the trunk, making you feel even smaller than you already were. His hand was wrapped around your mouth, silencing any noise you attempted to make and slightly suffocating you. His skin was calloused, and he smelt like moss. A fresh rush of tears glazed your eyes as they met with his intense gaze. Your faces were only centimeters apart.

“Do you want me to tie you up? Gag you?” he asked, as if it were a common question. As if he wasn’t a danger to you.

You hesitantly shook your head, shutting your eyes and praying he understood you. He sighed and carefully released your mouth, laggardly in case you changed your mind.

“Then hush,” he whispered, leaning in until your noses brushed together. His tousled hair ticked your face as the wind blew it against you, his eyes piercing right through you with their obsession. He delicately tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear.

“I'm doing this for you, (y/n).”

You gasped.

But that only paved the way for his next embrace, his lips instantly slotting against yours, closing the distance. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, couldn’t get away. He tasted bitter like tea, minty almost. It seemed displaced as you would more so expect a man who acted like this to taste disgusting and horrid. Nevertheless, you tried to turn away, to get away from the unwanted kiss, but he wouldn’t let you. The hand that had previously silenced you returned, wrapping under your jaw and squishing your cheeks together, forcing you to remain merged and eliciting a groan from him. Saliva began to drool down the side of your mouth from how sloppy it was. Your head was becoming light, your vision blurring.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally pulled away, a strand of spit breaking between your lips and falling down your chin. You openly panted and gasped for air, swallowing as much oxygen as you could. Your mind slowly cleared, and the gravity of the situation began rushing in again. Your body was shaking, a panic taking over you as well as a strange thrill. It wasn’t your first kiss, but it was most certainly your most passionate, and you hadn’t even been participating.

“I’ll wake you when we’ve arrived.”

Before you could even answer, even comprehend what he’d said, a sudden strike to your neck had you choking, a darkness spreading across your vision.

You fell unconscious.

This concludes the first chapter.

[myownwholewildworld]

iv. two inches - acta, non verba

chapter 3 | series masterlist | ao3 | chapter 5 pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. summary: will the stars finally align so you can have who you want? a/n: hiii! sorry it's taken me a month to update 🥲 after watching gladiator ii, i knew i had to come back to these two asap. as always, all interactions welcome, i do appreciate you liking, sharing and/or commenting! take care 💖 warnings (spoilers): 18+, mdni. smut incoming. sexual tension galore. marcus jerks off to the thought of you. kissing. breast worship. mentions of past sexual trauma/marital abuse. the tip goes in. misogynistic views. infidelity. dialogue in italics means it’s spoken in gaelic (unless stated otherwise, i.e. latin). marcus is 49, ofc!reader (callie) is 26. w/c: ~8.4k. dividers by @\saradika-graphics taglist at the end (let me know if you want to be added/removed please!)

Niamh’s appearance had startled you, bringing you back to reality. For a second you had let yourself rejoice in the moment, in having Marcus—quite literally—on the palm of your hand. You had not intended on it going so far; on grabbing his manhood with resolution and pumping him with delight. His hardening dick had been so hard to ignore, you just gave in to temptation.

His initial reticence to not be touched was what had spurred you on. Marcus had attempted to reject your advances, although unsuccessfully. Him turning you down only encouraged you more, wanting to prove to him how badly he desired you, even if he tried to conceal his lust.

The sooner he realised he wanted you, the faster your plan would move along.

And by the Gods did he realise, his steely cock living proof of his appetite for you.

What you had not expected though was your own body’s reaction to Marcus’ undeniable desire. Your pussy had been gushing all along, each stroke on his girth unravelling something within you — especially when you hinted at the idea of slotting his cock between your lips to suckle on him. That simple thought sent a warm wave down your spine, your folds wetting almost instantly. In fact, you could still feel the dampness your thighs were harbouring for him.

And it was all part of your scheme, anyway. Eventually you planned on it happening — sooner rather than later, preferably. If you experienced a few orgasms thanks to him in the process… well, even better. The trash sex Iain had subjugated you to for a decade was the only thing you had known in the bedchamber — not once did you climax, yet many a times—if not always—you wailed in pain. Considering how your flesh had reacted to Marcus, perhaps the General would be useful in more than one way to you.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you glanced at him over your shoulder — a quick peek through your lashes, your teeth nibbling on your bottom lip.

You were riding together on his horse, his arms tight around your shoulders pinning you in place. His bulge was pressing against the soft curve of your ass — no wonder your pussy was still laced with slick.

Knowing Marcus was in hell right now, you wiggled your hips back, the plumpness of your buttocks nuzzling his swollen groin. The General swallowed a groan, his arms tighter around your shoulders, and you smirked to yourself, feeling his erection hard pressed against you. Marcus had found no relief since Naimh interrupted you both and was still at full mast. And understanding that caused your insides to melt.

Truth be told, you would have liked to finish what you started. Not for his sake, but for your own. Making him come in your mouth would have partially put out the hellfire that burnt inside you, wreaking havoc in your seam.

The animosity between Marcus and Maximus shimmered in the atmosphere.

The Commander had only brought his own horse and yours had deserted you, which meant that, if you were to come back, you had to choose between the two Romans. Maximus had gracefully offered you to ride with him, and the mischievous sideways look he shot in Marcus’ direction didn’t escape you.

But before you could accept or decline, Marcus had mumbled something under his breath before ordering you to ride with him. Maximus was delighted with the whole exchange, and you understood that the Commander was actually teasing the General.

A little possessiveness wouldn’t hurt. It meant you were stirring Marcus in the right direction — yours.

You ventured another sneaky look at Acacius, your curiosity concealed by the cover provided by the trees.

His lips pursed in frustration, but his eyes distilled exhaustion. Marcus had lost enough blood to put a man to sleep for a week, but here he was, standing and conscious, away from Dhuosnos’ realm.

You had made sure of that, not only by mending his wounds, but also by killing one of the attackers. That ambush had left a crawling suspicion in the back of your mind, bothering and nagging. There was something weird about it all but couldn’t pinpoint exactly what.

Maximus spoke, filling the silence and voicing your inkling.

“And you’re sure you didn’t recognise them, General?”

Marcus slowly shook his head again, his chest rubbing your back with the motion.

“No. They spoke that barb— uhm, the local language,” he muttered, briefly looking at you sideways, almost apologetic.

You knew how the original sentence was going to finish: that barbaric language. A reminder of who he was after all—your enemy. You shouldn’t lose sight of that, of the true purpose of your actions.

It felt wrong, how your lust awakened for none other than your enemy. Yes, you intended on bedding him, but your previous thought of getting Marcus to make you come now angered you. Your arousal felt like a betrayal to the memory of your family. You shouldn’t wet at the idea of fucking him — if anything, you should feel disgusted of your own reaction.

Straightening your back, you just rolled your eyes with disdain, letting him know of your annoyance.

“I’ll ask around, see what I can find out,” Maximus thought out loud, then glanced at you through the darkness. “Did you recognise any of them? Their accent?”

Slowly shaking your head, you grasped the saddle’s horn.

“No, I didn’t. I’m not sure they were from around here,” you explained, wondering if you were saying too much.

They hadn’t recognised you, which showed they were not your clansmen. But they were pretending to be.

You went quiet, your frown deepening.

“What’s bothering you, my lady?” Marcus’ breath caressed your ear, your skin bristling instantly.

“Nothing,” you replied quickly.

Too quickly.

“I’m sorry you had to defend yourself,” he whispered, his husky voice low so only you could hear him. “I should have paid more attention. I won’t let it happen again.”

Suddenly you realised he thought this was your first time killing someone. Little did he know, you probably had reaped as many souls as he had. You were no stranger to the battlefield — your father had taught all his children how to wield a sword, how to take a life. You learnt how to detach your soul from your body whenever someone’s life was cut short in order to preserve part of your humanity. It was the only way you could live with yourself, because it didn’t matter if they deserved it or not, it still gnawed at your conscience at night.

Marcus, on the contrary, seemed to be oblivious to how much pain his killing had caused. Had caused you.

Another reminder.

But then you realised what he had said. He wouldn’t let it happen again — a fissure in his impassiveness. Was he starting to care about you?

So you played on his protectiveness, on his words. Pouting lips, doe eyes and all, you nodded.

“I… I just wanted to protect you, Dominus. I was afraid he would hurt you,” you mumbled back, faking your fear for him.

The decade with Iain was paying off after all. To survive by your late husband’s side, you had to master the ability of make-believe, to pretend you were feeling ways you truly weren’t — afraid, amused, sad, happy, distraught, content. You had acquired the skills to feign a whole range of emotions, and this would be useful with the General.

He bought it.

“Don’t worry about me, Callie,” his voice was but a whisper, but that wasn’t what distracted you.

His broad—massive actually—right hand had landed on your right knee, squeezing it lightly, as if to soothe you; your suffering for having killed a man. His touch was light and brief, but long enough to leave goosebumps in his wake.

You were not sure which one of you were more taken aback — him because of his sudden show of worry, or you because of how that had made you feel.

“But I appreciate what you did back there,” he quickly added, clearing his throat, both of his hands gripping the leather reins.

“I would do it all over again, Dux Meus. For you.”

Perhaps you were buying it too.

Nay, can’t be.

The whole ride back to Inbhir Nis castle was literal torture. A tempting nymph on his lap, warm and inviting, was the last thing Marcus needed to worry about.

But instead of the last, you had become the first on a never-ending list of concerns. Curbing his desire for you had been a herculean task, one he did not accomplish. Because as soon as the door to his chambers closed behind him, he stripped himself of all his clothing.

The moment the jail of his armour was gone, freed from its heaviness and tight grip, Marcus sighed, just finding a miniscule relief.

The erection that you provoked him was as hard as a couple of hours ago, shaft throbbing against his happy trail. It had been at least two hours since you had worked him to this state of unsatisfied lewdness and now it was just damn uncomfortable to be at full mast.

A warm bath was awaiting him, and Marcus only took a second to dive in. The hot, milky water was welcoming, soothing his strained muscles. There were herbs floating around — rosemary, lavender and thyme, at least the ones his sense of smell recognised.

A scent that had hit him before, when he encountered you getting out of the garderobe a few weeks ago. Why did that aroma remind him of you? Why would you just not leave his mind? This thought of you lingering was dangerous, distracting. But so fucking alluring too — there was something about you, the mischievous aura you exuded, that reeled Marcus in.

It was intoxicating, really. No, you were intoxicating. And he just wanted to drown in it, in you.

Marcus grunted in frustration, one hand sinking under the water to find his heavy balls and massage them gently. His head tilted back, resting on the edge of the wooden bathtub, and his eyes squeezed shut when his imagination took him back to the moment you wielded his cock.

Now that the haze of his fainting had lifted, he should have shown himself some self-restraint to stop whatever this was. But he couldn’t, the memory of your tight grip too unravelling, too compelling.

So, in the privacy and safety of his bedchamber, he gave in to temptation. A last squeeze on his full testicles and then he was pumping his thudding dick to the thought of you doing exactly the same. His hand was your hand, and that was everything Marcus needed.

His thumb pressed on the slit, just as you had done. Then the bobbing of his hand picked up a faster rhythm, his free hand drifting down to hold his balls again, and Marcus jerked himself off while he envisaged you sealing your lips around his plump head, just as you had teased.

That was his undoing — you suckling on him, milking him dry with your mouth. Marcus could envision it perfectly: on your fours between his hairy, thick thighs, hand twisting on the base of his shaft while you sucked in his mushroom head, dick pulsing hard for you. And you glancing up at him with those green orbs — full, hypnotising eye contact, almost too intimate.

A few more strokes on his cock, imagination running wild, and he finally came. His breathing hitched and accelerated, becoming irregular, as his fist clutched harder around his girth. Spurts of white, tacky robes left his slit, his glans just peeking out of the water, and landed on his chest.

It took Marcus a couple of minutes to come down from his high. This was a new low for him, having to masturbate himself to the thought of someone because he was too horny to let it go. Too proud to ask you to finish what you had started. Too loyal to his cheating wife.

The last thought annoyed him, not wanting to think about Livia at this precise moment. He resented her, probably more than what he should. But her betrayal stung like fire licking on his skin, their holy matrimony reduced to a farce. For all he knew, he did not have any children of his own blood now. Marcus loved them equally though, but it still gnawed at him that he had been raising the children of another man unknowingly.

The life he had carefully built seemed to have crush down to its foundations. Marcus truly did not know what to expect upon his return. He had left abruptly, called by the Emperor and Agricola, with no time to discuss his family life with his wife. He didn’t think he could just go back to normal, not after what had emerged.

Being out here in the wild Caledonia, Marcus felt his life on hold, postponing the inevitable. But he couldn’t think about that now, not when he had so many tasks ahead of him.

Absentmindedly, Marcus cupped some water and washed the cum off his chest, watching it swirl around in the tub.

A knock, then the creak of the door as it opened.

His heart jumped and he quickly sat back up in the bathtub, water splashing as he did. He had forgotten to put on the latch.

He hoped to hell it was Atticus, at least.

“Dux Meus?”

Wrong, fucking wrong.

Had he thought of you so hard that he had willed your presence?

Your profile peeked through the crack in the doorframe.

“Can I come in, General?”

Your ask was a mere formality, because before he could say anything, you had already entered the room and closed the door behind you.

Marcus’ back straightened, his relaxed muscles tautening again in your presence. Could he have no moment of respite, when he would not be haunted by bewildering scents and suggestive lips?

For a brief second, Marcus watched you look around, taking in the details of the room. A big, four poster bed with translucent veils hanging from every side; the matching oak furniture; the vivid, colourful tapestries on the bare stone walls telling stories he never heard of; a wonky standing shelf with a small library, books he had flicked through at candlelight before bed; the rudimentary chimney where a fire burnt and crackled.

Because even in spring, the thick walls of the castle kept a cool atmosphere inside. The pyre warmed up the room, but Marcus thought the temperature shot up the moment you stepped closer to where he was.

“What are you doing here?” his question sounded almost accusatory, his fingers gripping the edges of the tub, knuckles whitening.

His wary demeanour didn’t put you off, light feet closing the distance with a smirk.

As you approached, Marcus couldn’t help but marvel at the sight of you. Your green skirt flowed around you, hugging your voluptuous hourglass figure in all the right places. Your red hair framed your delicate features, freckles dotted around your nose and cheeks on your moonlight skin. Cherry lips as plump as figs, reddened and curled up. Some flickering green eyes as fiery as the orange sparks in the flue stared at him with unknown intent. A marble neck that led the path to the esplanade of your collarbone, and then, right underneath…

His mouth watered, and his cock inevitably pulsed again. Your full breasts almost spilt over the low squared neckline of your dress, like sunny hills welcoming him home. Pebbled nipples greeting him. A deep cleavage so inviting, he could imagine pumping himself in between them, his glans just peeking through and kissing the center of your clavicle.

Another twitch in his groin made him steel himself and drawing a deep breath in to calm himself.

You crouched down, squatting right beside the bathtub, and placed one soft hand over his.

“I just wanted to make sure you were alright, Dux Meus. That your wounds were not bleeding, and the stitches were holding up,” the concern tinting your voice felt real to him.

Marcus cleared his throat, tense.

“They’re all fine. My healer certainly knew what she was going,” he conceded, then remembered. “Except for the blunt tip of the needle. That I did not appreciate.”

You laughed and patted his hand a few times in jest.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure an acclaimed General like yourself can withstand a little bit of pain, Dominus,” you joked, long eyelashes batting at him. “But for that I am sorry, I had to work with what Naimh had at hand.”

“Thank you. For saving my life twice,” he whispered, almost solemnly. “I am indebted to you, Callie.”

You waved a hand to dismiss his gratitude, gifting him a crooked smile that quickly reached your eyes.

“You killed two men. I think we are even, Dux Meus,” you muttered back, a low, wicked husk that knocked him off his senses momentarily.

With the smile still painted on your round lips, your eyes slowly drifted down his chest. The milky water was murky enough so you wouldn’t see through it, wouldn’t see how hard he was getting again.

And then you bit and licked your lips, the grin almost fading as a darker, sensual expression transformed your face — a mesmerising gesture that forced Marcus to follow your sight. Then he saw what had caught your attention: his cum floating around, gathering around the herbs that scented the now lukewarm water.

A moment of silence stretched between you, his heart racing up as your gaze lingered on the water, as if you were hoping for his erection to peep its head out above it.

Your fingers reached down into the water; palm cupped to trap some of his wasted seed. It filtered through your fingers until it all fell back into the bath water. Swirling your fingers around, you grabbed a tiny bunch of rosemary, dragging it across the water until the small leaves caressed the exposed skin of his chest.

The summit of your tongue licking your bottom lip as your eyes locked intimately.

So fucking suggestive, Marcus’ breath hitched, close to losing his mind.

“Marcus,” you cooed, your wet fingers dropping the rosemary and lifting up.

Your hand slid to his, wrapping around his wrist, a warm touch that spiked his heart rate.

A thunder crawled under his skin the moment you guided his hand over to your bosom. You squeezed his hand, smoothing it over your lush left breast. He couldn’t help but cradle it, feeling the taut nipple grazing the thin fabric, rubbing his palm.

“Please,” you almost sobbed, moving his hand in circles over your boob.

To hell with everything. He shouldn’t let himself be distracted by the pleasures of the flesh during such an important campaign, but Marcus wanted you so badly — his new erection living proof of the desire that burnt for you.

Just one time, to satiate the caprice, and then he could go back to his duties.

Your mouth was agape, beckoning like a siren. And as he was about to relinquish to the temptation you offered, leaning forward, another knock on the door swept the moment away.

“Dominus, Commander Maximus necessitates your presence immediately,” Atticus forewarned him before his steps faded in the distance of the hallway.

Perhaps you despised Atticus more than you hated Marcus, and that was a feat to beat.

The universe was intent on your plan not taking form at all, otherwise you could not explain all these fucking interruptions. Another person might have taken the hint, but not you. Stubborn as a mule, you would not stop at anything — Marcus would fall in your tangled web, whatever the cost.

You only needed to remember to keep a cool head. Among the hatred, pleasure shimmered, and it certainly bothered you. How your body had a mind of its own and responded to his obvious desire, damp fold hidden away between your thighs.

It’s just an act, you reminded yourself.

But as much as you tried to convince yourself, your drenched pussy agreed to disagree.

Huffing and puffing, you went down the spiral staircase and sauntered towards the kitchens. You were in dire need of some light-hearted jest, and the old cook would help take your mind off things with his banter.

Cormag wasn’t there, just Isla and Brighid shuffling around the hearth, keeping it alive. The smoky smell filled the room, almost suffocating, and you coughed.

“That chimney is close to getting clogged,” you managed to say, clearing your throat. “Should put the fire out and get one of the helping lads to go in there and clean it out.”

Isla turned around, her head bowing down as a quick curtsy. They all really needed to stop doing that, even when no Romans were around.

“We can’t do that yet, mo bana-phrionnsa (my princess)”, she replied, her hands busy kneading the flour on the counter. “Apparently there is a feast to be had tomorrow, one of the Romans’ birthdays. We’ve been asked to start the preparations for it, so will have to pull an all-nighter…”

Brighid voiced her discontent, crouched down by the fire, feeding it some logs.

“I don’t understand why we are wasting so much food on them. My family’s starving, we barely have any bread left, and these cu…” she quickly looked at you, embarrassed, but you nodded, encouraging, “these cunts eat like gluttons. Last night you were not here, my lady, but some of them even started throwing the food around at one another. Disgraceful.”

“Aye,” Isla agreed. “I had to pick up some unspoilt veggies off the floor. My nan has not had anything to eat for the last two days, she was worried that my siblings and I wouldn’t have enough to eat.”

Their struggles broke your heart. Not only because they were your clan, but because of the injustice of it all. No person should go to bed hungry, and these undesirable guests were forcing people to go without a meal.

You knew both of the maids, their families. Brighid’s son was three and had started to talk; her husband had returned with you from Raedykes and now was an amputee, trying to find a job to provide for his family. Isla’s parents had perished during the battle of Mons Graupius too, serving your father till their final days.

It was frustrating, but it was even more infuriating. Your hands were tied, and you could not wait to break free of your tethers. You looked forward to the moment this all would be over, that you could face a defeated Marcus Acacius and impart upon him the same misfortune he and his people left in their wake.

You stayed with them a little longer, helping out where they needed you to. A couple of hours later, tired and in need of your niece and nephew’s hug, you were flying by the hallways of the keep, heading back to your aunt Bonnie’s crannog, when male voices stopped you in your tracks.

The door to the great hall was ajar, Maximus’ raspy tone filtering through.

“Cassius’ henchman and some of his men went back to the spot where you were attacked. There were patches of blood on the grass, but the bodies were gone,” the Commander husked. “I find it weird, honestly.”

“So do I,” Marcus agreed. “I didn’t want to say it before, but one of them spoke in Latin to me. His accent was… definitely Roman.”

“That makes no sense,” Maximus replied, their voices clearer now. “What did he say to you?”

“Just ‘Die, bastard’. That was all, but I could tell he was fluent.”

“Leave it to me, I’ll see what I can find out.”

Heavy steps approached, and you knew they were close.

Picking up your skirt, you ran down the corridor, mixing with the shadows until darkness wrapped around you.

“What were you fucking thinking, Callie? You could’ve gotten killed!”

Torcall was not impressed with your outing, to say the least.

You rolled your eyes at him, arms folded. You shouldn’t have explained why you had been missing for so many hours, but you were not one to lie to your allies. Especially if they were family.

“I didn’t have a choice, Torcall. He saw me leaving and decided to accompany me. What should I have done? Tell him his gallantry was no longer needed because I decided not to go? That would have been so suspicious,” you reasoned, your own anger flaring. “And I was in no real danger, anyway. They were Caledonians.”

You downplayed that on purpose. They were Caledonians, aye, but they were really intent on killing you. You were still ruminating on that detail.

“And you killed one of them. For him. To protect the fucking General of Rome,” Torcall barked, teeth clenching. “Why didn’t you let them finish him? All of our problems would be over.”

His accusation, although deserved, enraged you. Even more so because you had thought exactly the same thing, and still decided to defend him.

“You’re so short-sighted, seriously. If I did, his entire army would have come hunt me down, ye eejit (idiot)!” You stood up, the legs of the chair screeching against the cobblestone. “Half of the castle saw us leaving together, I would’ve been the first one they suspected. And you know they tend to kill first and ask questions later.”

Torcall scoffed, fury distorting his features. But then a change of demeanour: he got up too and closed the distance between you two. For a moment he doubted, and then his arms wrapped around you, hugging you close to his chest.

The sudden proximity made you feel weird. Uncomfortable.

“I was just worried for you, Callie,” Torcall mumbled, his breath fanning over your ear. He leaned back, his hands lingering on your shoulders. “You’re like family to me. To my children.”

The intensity his eyes distilled caught you off guard. They were soft and pleading now, all his anger forgotten. And then they drifted down, landing on your mouth.

The whole atmosphere shifted, your heart beating wildly. Surely this all felt wrong to the both of you.

“You are family, Torcall,” you remarked. “You’re my sister’s husband, that’s actual family, not ‘like’ family.”

Your words carried meaning, and more than meaning — a subtle warning. A reminder too, of who he was and who you were to him. He shouldn’t forget himself. Torcall was your brother-in-law, and although pain had brought you closer these past weeks, it meant nothing more than that.

At least to you.

Torcall cleared his throat, his arms falling slack to his sides.

“Aye, I guess we are,” he sighed, pinched the bridge of his perfectly straight nose, and sat back down on the chair. “So, were they our brethren? You said they were Caledonians.”

You were relieved at the change of subject, the tension between you fading.

Nodding, you sat too.

“Aye, although their accent was not really from around here. But Acacius seemed to think they were Romans,” you added, your fingers drumming on the wooden table between you. “Think he’s wrong though, you can’t fake an accent like ours so easily. Do you reckon it’s got something to do with the attempt on the General’s life a few days ago?”

Torcall seemed to take a moment, contemplating his answer before he spoke. His eyes flickered for a second, his pupils a well full of doubts, something you thought odd.

“I don’t think so. They were just lads, highly doubt they could pull something like that off,” he commented, almost cautiously.

You frowned, eyes slightly squinting.

“They could be part of a larger group. You said so yourself, people don’t listen to reason when they feel threatened. Perhaps some of them have decided to take justice into their own hands. I never got a chance to speak to my cousins yesterday—”

“I did,” Torcall cut you off.

The wrinkles between your brows deepened.

“You did? You went to Bun Craobh?”

“Aye, had some errands to run,” he didn’t add any further explanation to that. “Ran into them and told them about your plan when I realised you hadn’t spoken to them yet.”

“That wasn’t for you to do, Torcall,” you replied, mildly infuriated at him for taking the liberty to do so. “What the hell did you tell them?”

“Nothing in too much detail, mainly because they’d try to talk you out of it the same way I did,” there was a note of reproach in his voice, one you decidedly ignored. “Just that you were planning on spying on the General to get details of their next steps.”

How you got to Marcus was none of his fucking business. Now you questioned whether you should have shared that information with Torcall or not, if he was going to fucking judge you at every step of the way. What you did and how you got what you wanted was entirely up to you. You hadn’t broken free from Iain to fall under the controlling hands of another man.

“Tiugainn (come on), Callie. I just told them enough so the word would spread that Murdoch’s only living daughter is planning on fighting back. Give the people a reason to hope,” he pleaded, sensing your anger.

“Aye, but next time, ask me. I don’t appreciate you bypassing me in these matters, not when I’ve got enough enemies at my doorstep.”

Marcus did not like all this unwanted attention. He was adamant this had been one of Maximus’ jokes, just to get on his nerves.

The General did not like celebrating his birthday. In fact, hated it. His wife would throw lavish parties back at home, wasting gold on unnecessary decorations and gifts — Livia would use any excuse to show off how full their vault was. Having made himself from nothing, Marcus understood how hard he had to work for each and every denarius to his name.

His most trusted Commander knew this and ignored it completely. He had mobilised the people of the castle to prepare a feast, food filling tables and wine spilling out of goblets in celebration. A fire had been lit in the big chimney presiding the great hall, white flower arrangements hung from the stone walls. There was even music being played in the background, the soft sounds of the lyre accompanied by a female voice who sang in Latin and praised all his conquests.

And what angered him most: there was a good handful of meretrices (prostitutes) lingering around. Most of them were local freedwomen, but others were slaves that Agricola’s men had brought with them. Marcus had not allowed his own army to bring any woman into this new land, needing them focused on the task ahead. Agricola was, on the other hand, very lenient in that respect — encouraging almost.

“How are you this beautiful afternoon, Dominus?” A sensual hum whispered in his ear tightened his muscles uncomfortably.

Looking over his shoulder, Marcus saw the blonde woman who had been eyeing him for a while. She was wearing a white toga, obviously one of the Roman slaves brought from overseas.

Unrequited, she sat on his lap, her round butt cheeks kneading his soft bulge, while one of her arms wrapped around his neck.

“Would you like a taste?” she asked with a bright smile, bringing a cup to his lips.

Marcus shook his head no, one hand stopping the chalice from getting closer.

“No, thank you. And I rather be left alone,” he told the prostitute, rejecting her advances flatly.

She just laughed, putting the goblet back down on the table. Then she leaned forward, her lips brushing the artery on his neck.

“Oh, we don’t really need to play this game, Master,” she whispered in his ear.

Unbothered by the suggestive talk and her pressing onto his lap, Marcus swept the great hall, a burning sensation in his chest commending him to.

Your eyes locked through the observing crowd. The green orbs that stared him down were filled with playfulness. Suddenly, that sensual wickedness transformed into brief anger, then disappointment.

It took Marcus a second to understand why you seemed upset. He had forgotten about the prostitute sitting on his lap, talking his ear off.

You stiffed, chin lifted up with disdain, and turned around with a wooden jug on your hands.

Fuck. Wait, no. It’s not what it seems, he wanted to say.

Marcus tried to get up, almost throwing the woman to the ground in his haste to get to you.

“I won’t require your services,” he politely declined when she looked at him in surprise.

“Oh…” her disappointment was visible, but it wasn’t the one he cared to soothe.

“Don’t worry, love, come here. The General seems in a hurry to leave. Some important matters, I wager,” Maximus extended his arm towards the blonde woman, inviting her onto his lap.

The sneering look Marcus threw Maximus’ way did not go unnoticed, his Commander laughing it off.

Ignoring him, he quickly walked off the dais, following your trail among the crowd. Your fiery red hair was like a beacon, one he followed to the main doors. A second later he was in the hallway and looked around, just in time to see you disappearing into the garderobe storing the wine.

Why he was following you, he was not sure. Why he needed to put your mind at ease, he was not sure either. All he knew was that the crushed expression you had given him stirred something within him.

In a few strides, he was right behind you, his hand holding open the wooden door to the garderobe.

“Callie,” he called you, your name rolling easily off his tongue, like a trained whisper.

Annoyed didn’t cut it, disappointed didn’t either. You were pissed. There you were, breaking your back to get Marcus to yield to you, for a prostitute to easily find comfort on his lap.

The man behind the façade was unknown to you, but you hadn’t taken him for someone who enjoyed his free time in the whorehouse. Judging by how his hand cupped the small of her back and how the blonde was basically licking his neck, you were mistaken.

You were not jealous though. Just pissed, that was it.

Mumbling to yourself, you had walked out of the great hall to refill the empty jug with his favourite wine, not wanting to see such a spectacle unfolding in front of you. The burning sensation in the pit of your stomach would eventually fade, you were sure.

Although the door behind you was open, the inside of the garderobe was pitch-black. Patting blindly in the dark, you found the open barrel.

As you were about to turn the iron tap on, the sound of your name made you jump on the spot. Your pulse accelerated and the jug fell from your hands, clattering on the stone floor. You didn’t need to look to know who it was — considering how your skin bristled and warmth pooled low in your tummy, you already knew.

“Fuck, Marcus!” you exclaimed when you turned around to look at him.

Your heart rate spiked again, for a very different reason this time.

He had followed you; he had left the prostitute behind to come look for you. That had to mean something. Perhaps you had a tighter grip on him than what you originally thought.

And that pleased you immensely, to your dismay. The butterflies in your belly should be fucking dead, not fluttering their wings in excitement. Your heart kept on pounding against your ribcage, even harder when Marcus entered the tiny room and swung the door behind him, leaving it ajar.

A sliver of light flooded in through the crack, just enough so you could make out his features and the hard lines of his body.

Suddenly, the garderobe felt extremely small with him inside too.

“It’s not what it seems. I wasn’t—”

“You owe me no explanation, Acacius. What you do or you don’t do, it’s not my business,” you cut him off with the right amount of bitter venom distilling from your tongue.

The General pursed his lips in frustration. A dose of his own medicine wouldn’t hurt him.

“It’s not like I’m waiting around for you to make up your mind,” you added, lying through your teeth.

But you were such a good liar, Marcus was none the wiser. He believed every word. His nostrils flared and his hands tightened into fists on his sides.

“What do you mean?” his raspy voice came out in a threat.

You cocked a brow, proud chin up.

“You know what I mean. Or do you need me to draw it down for you, so you understand?”

The provocation was, most probably, the last straw for him. Marcus almost snarled at you as he closed the distance. He grabbed both of your wrists with his thick fingers, yanked at them and pushed you into his chest.

The sudden display of anger took you by surprise. A pleasant surprise, especially when you noticed his swollen bulge pressing on your belly. Saliva pooled in your cheeks and slick in your pussy.

“I know that’s not true. You wouldn’t be so desperate—”

“I am desperate?” you laughed, the shaking of your tummy stroking the lump in his white toga. “You can fool yourself, Marcus, but don’t try to fool me.”

Marcus stiffened, pulling your wrists down and around his waist as his head bowed down to you, his lips ghosting over yours.

He was about to kiss you.

“You’ll be missed on the dais. I’m sure that blonde is looking for you. Is she the reason you are so hard right now?” you grumbled, your best attempt to get on the last of his nerves.

“She can go to hell. I want you,” he groaned, his mouth brushing yours.  Your pussy gushing some more. “You are the reason why I can’t get it down.”

Marcus didn’t wait for your sneering reply — his mouth crushed yours, teeth colliding. The tip of his tongue pulled your teeth apart and he laid waste to your mouth. The stroke of his tongue on yours tasted sweet, warm. It swirled around in your cavity, looking for a crack in your determination to remain impassible.

But you were only human. You had wanted this since the moment you came up with your plan to destroy the General — you would never admit it out loud though.

So, you gave in, your tongue responding to his with little whimpers as your hands laced together on the small of his back to push him into you, feeling his erection through the fabric. One you knew how big and curved and thick it was. One you wanted to know the feel of in the most intimate way possible.

Marcus moaned in your mouth, and you breathed him in, bewildered by his taste and the herby smell his skin gave off. Your throat let go of a similar quiet wail, as you stumbled back, your back meeting the cold wall behind.

The General kissed you fiercely, the same way he waged war upon his enemies — relentless. His hips grinded against yours, rubbing his bulge on you to get off while his lips abandoned your mouth to lick the marble column of your neck. He trailed the path of your vein, leaving wet kisses on his way down.

Then he brushed the point where your left breast swelled, and the tip of his tongue skidded through your skin until it found the valley of your boobs. He licked between them, both of his hands cupping them up.

“I need to see them,” he whispered, your skin bristling instantly as his thumbs travelled up and rubbed the visible nipples. “Been dreaming about them since I met you. Can I?”

You did not expect him asking for permission, not when you assumed that, as the conqueror he was, he only took with no consideration.

Nodding with half-lidded eyes, surrendered to your own desire, you let him pull the neck of your dress down until both of your breasts were spilling over the hem.

“Good Gods, you are beautiful”, he muttered, marvelled at the sight of your boobs. His thumb brushed your taut left nipple, and you shivered. “They are perfect, columba (dove). So round and so full and so—” Crouched down over you, Marcus briefly licked it. “So fucking tasty.”

With no warning, his warm lips sealed around the tight button, and you couldn’t help yourself but moan, your hands burying in the nape of his neck and lightly pulling from his silvery curls. Marcus sucked it in, his tongue twirling around the nub. Then the caress of his wet muscle was replaced by his teeth lightly biting on your nipple and tugging.

Perhaps the sweet scent of the wine filling up the garderobe messed with your senses, with how you perceived the intensity of it all, of him.

You sobbed loudly, your cunt drenching and beating in response. Pressing your knees together, you wondered if this was how it was meant to be — how sex should feel every time. Warm, desperate, slick, needy. Because if this was it, if this was how it was supposed to be, you could never have enough.

A rush of wet warmth dripped onto your woollen loincloth, your lower belly inundated with a coiling feeling unknown to you — like a tense bow ready to fly an arrow.

Marcus’ right thumb found your unattended nipple, stroking it slowly as his devilish mouth devoured your other boob like a man starved. His tongue flicked and rippled against the tiny lump between his lips while his hips rutted into you, your dress and his toga impeding the contact you most craved.

“By Mars I swear you’re so fucking perfect,” he managed to say between licks before moving on to your other tit.

The General repeated the same process again and your legs trembled with elation. Tilting your face up, you massaged his scalp, soft moans slipping from your plump lips. His smothering tongue was so persuasive, lapping at you with precision, your mind went numb with pleasure. The coil in your belly tightened harshly, so much so you had to bite down your bottom lip to stop yourself from screaming his name.

Your damp pussy pulsated, another wave of slick wetting the pearly skin between your inner thighs.

“Marcus, oh, God,” you whispered, short of breath — your heart pounding in your ear drums, deafening.

“Let go for me. Come for me, sweetheart,” Marcus whispered before attacking your nipples again, one with his mouth and the other with his thumb.

His clothed cock rubbing low, right between your thighs. The roughness of your underwear abrasing your begging, writhing clit.

You couldn’t take it anymore. The overwhelming sensation between your legs was too much — your leaking cunt wanting to find release. And it did: the coil inside you finally snapped, warmth and dew soaking you. All your limbs went slack as you felt the last wave of your climax washing over you.

Then absolute peace, your brain numb with your first experience of an orgasm. Now you understood what other women whispered about when the men were away.

Speechless, you laid back against the wall as Marcus towered over you, a satisfied grin curling his lips.

“You’ve done so well for me,” his praise fell like sugary water from his lips, the palms of his hands cradling your face as he pressed his erection against you.

His tongue flicked between your lips, coaxing them apart, and you obliged. A soft, almost puritanical, kiss pressed on your mouth before his lingered to your cheek, then your ear.

“Callie, please, I need to fuck you,” the inflection on the word need made you whimper.

Unable to still find the words, feeling all mushy and heavenly, you nodded.

The sigh of relief that bubbled up Marcus’ chest would have made you laugh in other circumstances. But there was nothing laughable about this, about two people chasing the highest of highs.

“Praise be to the Gods,” he prayed at your acceptance, his broad hands landing on your hips to turn you around.

The cold stone wall greeted your nipples, the General pinning you against the wall with your back leaned on his hard chest. Tilting your hips back, your ass sweetly nuzzled his swollen groin, then his hands rode up the skirt of your dress, exposing your loincloths.

You gasped when Marcus pushed your underwear down to your knees slowly, his fingertips dragging along your velvety skin.

“I just know you’re gonna take me so well, mel (honey),” he purred in your ear, cupping your naked buttocks. “So, so well.”

The side of his hand slid across the fold between your ass cheeks until it found the dampness you harboured for him.

Marcus groaned in your ear, and you reciprocated, his touch so welcomed your clit twitched in response.

“Marcus, please,” you implored, eyes shut and mouth agape.

“I know, mel, I know.”

His clothes rustled behind you and knew he was naked from the waist down. Tempted, you looked over your shoulder just to confirm your suspicion, and your knees almost gave way. Pearls of precum topped the plump head of his throbbing cock, his hand holding it from the base.

As beautiful and tempting as last night, his dick twitched in need. Marcus stroked himself in a feeble attempt to calm himself. Leaned towards you, his lips nipping the crook of your neck, his beard tickling your sensitive skin, and you whined in desperation.

Guiding his thudding cock between your thighs, you felt it drag across your seeping furrow, wetting himself with your slick. The warm touch of his shaft along your puffy lips made you moan uncontrollably, back arched and your butt pressing onto his lower tummy.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, sweetheart. I’m going to feed it to you slowly,” he husked, voice raspy with want.

You wept some more, his cock sliding through your seam easily and freely. His mushroom head hitched on your clit, and then slipped back down to your entrance, catching too. Marcus pushed in ever so slightly, just half an inch, and your head tilted back, resting on his shoulder.

Another half an inch and then you felt it: the trained reaction of your inner walls clutching, not wanting to let him in. Years of abuse had taught your body to put up a fight, to squeeze your hole shut so your late husband wouldn’t hurt you.

You fought with yourself, asking your pussy to let Marcus in, as he intruded another inch.

He felt your hesitation, your inner struggle.

“Relax, columba, you’re too tight,” he groaned behind you, one hand sliding across your hip to your belly and diving between your thighs. Two of his thick fingers caressed your clit, the flick of them over your bundle of nerves softening your body. “That’s it, sweetheart, relax. I got you.”

Your inner walls loosened up ever so slightly as Marcus rocked his hips back and forth behind you, fucking you with just his tip. Easing his way in, helping you calm down as only his throbbing, leaking head pumped in and out of you. He was only feeding you a couple of inches, your pussy hugging him extremely tight as he did.

“Too damn tight,” he whispered, and you knew he was grasping for control, the pulsing of his cock rhythmic with the gentle petting of his fingers on your clit.

“Marcus, I can’t—”

Perhaps the trauma your husband had inflicted upon you reached further down than you thought. What a fucking moment to realise that.

“Shhh, it’s fine, it’s okay, mel. I’m more than happy with just the tip for now,” he reassured you, soothing your nerves. “Anything you give me willingly, I’ll take.”

True to his word, Marcus kept on fucking you with just the first two inches of his thrumming dick while his fingers worked your clit with expertise. Not too long after, your felt that burning, coiling sensation converging in your swollen pussy again, your cunt smothering Marcus’ tip even more.

“Oh, fuck, melculum (my little honey)… Come for me again, yes, come all over me,” he moaned in your ear.

At his command, you let go. A rush of liquid fire lapped at your pussy, then leaked over Marcus’ erection as you shrieked. Gathering your ridden-up skirt around your waist, Marcus wrapped one of his strong arms around you to keep you standing on your feet, rutting into to shallowly so he wouldn’t feed you more than two inches.

His cock pulsed hard in your entrance, a gruffy groan rumbling in his chest, almost tearing his throat apart. Marcus pulled back quickly, leaving you empty, and the tip of his cock rested on your left buttock as he jerked off.

A minute later, his warm white seed sticked to the skin of your round globe, dripping to the floor when it got to the cliff of your ass cheek.

Marcus kissed the back of your neck, both of you breathless and sweaty.

The first time you both found relief, together.

“You’ve done so well, mel,” he lauded you again, pulling your loincloth up.

You felt exhilarated, high and fucked out. Numb and spent. Satisfied.

You hoped he was too. He hadn’t been able to bury himself deep down in you, but you hoped you had been enough.

All the bravado you had showed him so far faded, a carefully built façade, and you felt slightly insecure with what had just happened.

“Marcus, I—”

Suddenly, the door to the garderobe swung open.

Marcus reacted quickly, pressing you against the wall some more and his hand placed against the wall, his arm blocking your face from the sight of the unwanted guest. His entire body along with the darkness shielded you from being recognised.

“Oh, Ò DHÌOL (oh my god)! Tha mi duilich (I’m sorry), General, tha mi cho duilich! (I’m so sorry),” you identified Brighid’s panicky voice and even though you couldn’t see her, you knew she blushed.

Then the door slammed shut.

Both of you started laughing.

@orcasoul @immyowndefender @sjc7542 @fairiebabey

@thepalaceofmelanie @harriedandharassed @whoaitspascal87

@verybigvag @jessthebaker @ivoryandflame @missadangel

@pepperstories @mewantpeepaw @inept-the-magnificent

[rookinthecrownest]

Bedtime Stories For a Demon: The Day The World Disappeared, Part IV (Lucanis x Rook Fanfic)

Word Count: ~ 5.2k

Rook is trapped in the Fade. Spite is determined to get her out. But the truth of the prison is slowly unravelling itself.

Part I

Part II

Part III

Madeleina Mercar can’t sleep.

And this is quite unusual, because for the last few nights – really, ever since she can remember being at home, she has simply woken up to the next day. Every night was a dreamless slumber, shuffling her between moonlight to sunlight with little fanfare. Not so much as a violent twitch of her body while her mind convinces it she’s falling off a ledge.

Since Spite’s visit earlier, something hasn’t felt right. There’s not one thing she can really point a finger at. It was more of an ill-defined uneasiness that started bleeding into her interactions with her parents.

Later in the afternoon, she went to help her mother with the shop as she always did. It was only today that she realized that there were never any customers. Eurydice baked the bread and croissants and tartes every morning and arranged them neatly onto silver display trays. Each day, they went un-eaten, and Madeleina had no idea what happened to the excess, because she certainly never saw her mother carting in boxes of those leftover pastries into their home.

When she asked her mother about it as she was sweeping the floors (that never seemed to have any dust on them), Eurydice had simply returned a blank stare and asked her what she would like for dinner.

Madeleina had blinked, confused at the sudden shift in subject.

“Um …” she began, and really thought hard about it. Her face scrunched in concentration.

What had she eaten lately?

She remembered … well, she only remembered her favourite meal. Dolmades and vegetables with Tzatziki on the side. The same thing, every night.

“I want spiced lamb stew” she answered a few moments later. Madeleina didn’t even remember what her mother’s lamb stew tasted like but certainly wanted the opportunity to.

Her mother had nodded, airy and light, as if she hadn’t even heard, then went back to fussing over the displays that would certainly go unnappreciated.

Madeleina doesn’t question it until she’s sitting at the dinner table, and she doesn’t smell spiced lamb stew – she smells Dolmades. Sure enough, the stuffed grape leaves appear in front of her, with a side of grilled carrots and eggplants, and Tzatziki dip. As they had the night before. It was as if the conversation in the bakery earlier hadn’t happened at all. Since her mother didn’t acknowledge it, Madeleina didn’t either. She wordlessly ate her Dolma and ignored the sensation of the food turning to ash in her mouth.

Later that night, her father told her a story, before he went off to work for the evening. The same story, every night. Always The Sleeping Princess. And after Spite had tried to retell it in his own disjointed way, evoking all those strange memories as he did, she couldn’t help but notice how stilted her father’s delivery was tonight.

Almost as if he was reading from a script he couldn’t deviate from. A character in one of his own stories.

Had it always seemed that way and she just hadn’t noticed? Or was he becoming … different?

She desperately wanted to say something but her lips wouldn’t make the words. Just like at dinner. Would it even matter if she did, or would he brush her off like her mother had?

Deciding it wasn’t worth the effort, Madeleina listened and nodded at the appropriate times while he spoke, as the figures of the Princess, the King, the Demon, and the Hero danced behind her eyes, brought to life by her over-active imagination.

Madeleina’s eyes fly open as a memory starts to take shape in the back of her mind.

A memory of stories brought to life by magic. Her magic. In front of an ornate hearth, in the company of a man who’s face she still cannot see. A man whose name is as familiar as breathing, and yet entirely foreign as well. The phantom smell of coffee and chocolate and cinnamon lingers in the air, even now. She hasn’t been able to stop smelling it since Spite left. Wherever they are, it’s warm. Safe. Comforting. A private little haven for the two of them, forged first in blood and comradery, then molded into something tender and sweet with time and trust.

Lucanis.

Home.

Madeleina shakes her head.

No, this was her home.

A sleepy little village tucked safely between a forest of great Sycamores and the Hundred Pillars. A bakery that she tends with her mother, while her father plays at the tavern down the street every night.

A bakery without any customers, she reminds herself.

Madeleina tries to blink the thought away, but Spite’s words keep nagging in the back of her mind like a small dog yipping and snapping at her heels.

The young mage takes a slow, deliberate, inhale and closes her eyes, trying to focus harder on that memory.

She needs to figure this out. If there’s nothing to be worried about and she can go back to her regular, day-to-day, mundane life.

A day that repeats like turning wheel, a snake eating its tail.

Madeleina pushes the thought to the back of her mind, and with some reluctant effort, she’s back in that elusive memory.

Madeleina sees the stone hearth again. She can feel the hard, wooden chair beneath her. The warmth of the fire spreading like a wave across her body. As before, she tastes something sweet and familiar on her tongue - cinnamon and dough. He’s sitting across from her, partially shrouded in the dark. His voice is muffled, as if he were speaking under water.

Madeleina shuts her eyes tightly tries to focus harder. Spite’s words come streaming into her consciousness, guiding her down the turbulent river of her thoughts.

You show him. Wonders in front. Of his eyes. Stories brought to life. With magic. He measures nights. By your tales. Days. Waiting for the next

When she remembers Spite’s words, something strange happens.

She opens her eyes to find her chest glowing, as if someone set her heart alight with blue flame. It flickers weakly in the dark, almost like a beacon. There’s the sensation of being tugged towards some unknowable, far-off direction she couldn’t pinpoint. It’s stronger now than it was before. She’s almost afraid she’ll fly out of her own window, trying to find whoever is pulling at her heartstrings. Acting on instinct alone, Madeleina places a hand over her chest, inhales deeply once more, and concentrates on the strange sensation in her chest.

The scene bleeds into her mind’s eye again, a bit sharper now than it was before the sudden interruption.

The fire feels warmer, a balm to her sore joints and muscles. The desserts on the table smell fresher, sweeter than they did before. The leather of her father’s journal in her left hand feels rough, and weathered with time that shouldn’t yet have come to pass.

Her free hand flourishes across her vision, and right in front of her eyes the castle from The Sleeping Princess blinks into existence in sharp, striking detail.

Stories brought to life with magic. Just as Spite had said.

“It’s incredible, Rook” The man across from her breathes.

His voice is low, soft and gentle. Each word a velvet-soft petal falling upon waiting ears. The sound practically wraps around her like a warm blanket on a cold winter’s morning. She could live in that feeling.

Madeleina blinks in the memory.

His face his clearer now, coming into clear focus. Rimmed in the contrasting warm orange glow of the fire and eerie blue light of her magic, Madeleina drinks his features in like a madwoman dying of thirst, and he an oasis in the sand.

His eyes draw her in first. They’re big, and the most beautiful shade of earthen-rich brown she’s ever seen. She could fall into them for an eternity and be content to drown in their warmth. His black hair is styled into a mullet and feathered at the sides – almost like the wispy wings of a bird. His beard frames a strong, square jaw. His features are accentuated by soft lips, and an aquiline nose.

Breathtakingly, devastatingly, handsome. Words are inadequate, and so her body settles for a releasing a soft breath she didn’t know she was holding.

She continues moving through the motions of the story, bringing every figure and every scene to life with a wave of her hands, like she was the director of a theatre production.

“Well, go on” He motions to her eventually, with an expectant look flickering in those perfect brown eyes. At some point, the illusion she had been maintaining disappeared into the ether. She was too busy studying him like an art piece from one of the old master’s to have noticed. Lucanis is resting on his forearms now, practically at the edge of his seat.

Lucanis. Waits for what happens next.

He waits for you.

Only you.

Madeleina grins widely, pleased by his reaction. “Impatient, are we?”

He smirks, and she’s undone at the sight. “Spite wants to know how it ends”

She raises an eyebrow and folds her arms over her chest, “Oh? And you’re not the least bit curious?”

Lucanis’ lips quirk into a little smile, and her heart melts into her stomach. “I might be” he adds, as he takes a sip of his coffee.

That same melted heart is somehow solid enough to able to thrum erratically in her chest, flitting about like a crazed hummingbird trapped in a cage. A faint smile works its way onto her lips but she’s afraid the quickened rise and fall of her chest will give her away. So, she does the only thing she can think of and takes a sip of her own coffee. She’s not really thirsty, but the cup is large enough to hide the blush spreading across her face. The coffee is a bit lukewarm by now, clearly forgotten over the course of the story the two were enraptured in.

Satisfied that blush is gone and the pounding in her chest has settled, she sets the coffee aside and wrings out her hands.

“Sorry, I was feeling a bit parched there. On with the story”

A lie, a terrible lie. But a needed one.

As her free hand flourishes the figures into being once more, the memory cuts off abruptly. She opens her eyes and grips the fabric of her shirt through the thick blanket.

The warmth of the fire dissipates slowly, receding like a tide and although she’s under the covers, Madeleina feels cold. There’s no smell of coffee or cinnamon anymore. Lucanis is gone, and in the wake of his memory, a horrible realization settles in.

A piece of her heart is living outside of her body, somewhere far beyond her reach.

And she has no idea how to get to him.

“Lucanis”

She whispers his name like a prayer in the dead of night and hopes that wherever he is, he’s listening for her.

~*~

Lucanis Dellamorte has been sleeping more than usual these last few weeks, which was quite paradoxical because he wants to spend every waking moment making sure Rook’s rescue plan goes perfectly. He’s convinced he’s driven even the patient, kind-hearted Professor mad with his meticulous planning.

Unfortunately, it’s easier for Spite to traverse the raw Fade and keep an eye on Madeleina while he’s asleep. So, Lucanis acquiesces and lets himself drift into a dreamless slumber as Spite monitors the situation.

Once they told the group of the danger and time was running out, everyone was firing on all cylinders. It was a cacophony of organized chaos in the Lighthouse until the Veilguard was geared up and ready to head to Arlathan Forest through the Vir’Evas.

The entire trip through the Tevinter countryside to rescue Rook has him so on edge he’s lucky to get a few uninterrupted hours, much to Spite’s annoyance. He puts on a calm demeanour for the group, but each day that passes, given what he knows is happening inside that prison, Lucanis grows more agitated. Spite can feel it too. The demon’s … fear, for lack of a better world, is palpable under his skin, rolling across his body like a passing thunderstorm.

If the other members of the Veilguard have noticed, they have the good graces not to say anything.

The group is speeding along verdant hills in a large Dalish Aravel with Strife, Irelin, a few Veil Jumper mages, a sizeable quantity of Lyrium, and a few Resonance Amplifiers.

Bellara and Irelin are holed away in their own little corner, still furiously studying the Resonance Amplifiers and coming up with all sorts of far-fetched theories on how to … reverse their something, so they’ll weaken the veil instead of strengthening it. He may have spent a good portion of his career hunting mages, and he did know his way around a sordid variety of dangerous magic, but the finer points of magical theory are lost on him. Their chattering, as a result, filters in through one ear and out the other. Unfortunately, the amount of magic they’re using to try and get them to work is making the backs of his eyeballs itch something furious and is a lot harder to ignore than talking. He tries to blink the sensation away to no avail, so he settles for getting up and moving closer to Davrin and Assan’s corner of the Aravel.

The Griffon squawks excitedly at his approach. Lucanis gives him a quick smile and ruffles his head. Davrin is still working away at his wood carving. A wooden chess piece, Lucanis has noticed.

A little Rook.

The sight of has his heart squeezing in his chest.

He and the Grey Warden have settled into an easy friendship, one brokered by Rook, of course. She had that effect on people – was able to make them see past petty differences. Madeleina eased tension just by existing. Like a little sun, catching everything in her orbit and bathing it in her light.

Although he still thinks Davrin all too pretentious and self-righteous, he does have one endearing quality that Lucanis has come to appreciate. He can tell when is the time for words, and when is the time for silence. And Davrin is more than content to let Lucanis sit beside him in companionable silence as he continues carving his wooden figurines.

Assan stands on his hind legs next to him and watches the Tevene countryside roll past them.

He wiggles his hind legs and looks into the air, then to Davrin expectantly. His right ear flops as the Griffon tilts his head, pleading.

Davrin smiles and gives him a quick nod towards the air above them, “Just don’t go too far, boy. Stay where I can see you”

The Griffon needs no more encouragement, and a moment later, he’s leapt into the air and flying circles overhead, squawking delightfully.

Lucanis watches the young Griffon joyfully, freely flying through the air. With Spite’s wings, he could be up there too. But the absence of Rook is like a stone in his chest, keeping him and Spite grounded.

“Incredible, isn’t he?” Davrin remarks offhandedly, while he carves out dainty triangular designs on the side of the Rook tower.

Lucanis didn’t realize he was still staring up at Assan, basking in the sun, and gliding on an air current just to the west of the Aravel.

He makes a noncommittal hum of agreement.

“A little young to have seen so much, though” The assassin remarks, after another few moments of silence, recalling the fight with the Gloom Howler in the Cauldron. Remembered Assan's squeals of terror as the Gloom Howler had him in its claws, about to be blighted with Arch Demon blood.

Davrin’s lips quirk, “Not unlike a certain illustrious leader of ours”

Lucanis hadn’t given much thought to Rook’s age. It was just another thing in a growing list about her he thought he’d have time to ask about. Her age, her birthday, bothering Neve about what kind of jewelry she likes (or if she even likes jewelry), her favourite flowers, more of her favourite food and drink than he’d already gleaned from their time together. He wanted to know it all. To know her in her entirety.

But he didn’t ask those questions. Not her age or her birthday or her favourite flowers or her taste in jewelry. She was definitely younger than him by a good margin, but the gap between them could span as large as a decade, for all he knew. Madeleina certainly had the recklessness of youth. That he’d seen in spades, because she was constantly hovering at the edge of death’s door and he was constantly pulling her back by the scruff of her neck.  But she also possessed a wisdom well beyond her years, and he never once factored her age in as a detriment to her ability to lead the team, although she might disagree.

“I expect in these times, that’s become more and more common. Growing up faster than one’s years.” Davrin murmurs, nicking some decorative dots on the tower’s side with the tip of his blade. “I don’t envy the decisions Rook’s been forced to make. I’ve a good five or six years on her and I don’t know that I would’ve fared any better even with that experience on my side”

Lucanis didn’t quite know what to say, so he let Davrin continue talking.

“All this to say,” The Warden shoulders him gently, “Try not to worry so much about Rook. If there’s anything I can say with confidence, it’s that she’s not going to let anything keep her down. Including some weird, nightmare-inducing Fade prison that’s trying to siphon her memories and – “Davrin stops abruptly when he sees the frown spreading on Lucanis’ face, “… I’ll just be quiet now. You get the picture. She’s tough, don’t worry”

He looks down at his wood carving and continues working at it, glancing up at the sky every once in a while, to make sure he can still see Assan.

Lucanis sighs and closes his eyes. He tries to focus on things he can hear and smell to keep his thoughts from winding him up like a children’s toy. The rustling of the leaves on the wind, the smell of pine and oak, the sound of Halla hoofbeats beating against the ground and low grunts of effort as they pull the aravel through the woods.

Try as he might to distract himself with this world, his mind continues to cycle back to Madeleina in the Fade. The very idea that the Fade prison could cause her to forget about him, forget about all their time together, as absurdly terrifying. It makes his skin crawl, and Spite rattle angrily in the back of his mind.

He’s mid-way through thinking about how he’s going to wring Solas’ neck the next time he sees him (and he isn’t entirely certain the thought only came from him), when Lucanis feels a pinch in his chest. Like someone was plucking a thread attached to his heart. He closes his eyes and reaches for Spite through their shared connection, much easier now with the newfound alliance.

Spite. What’s happening?

The demon bristles behind his eyelids.

Calling. To us. Through the Fade.

Is she in danger? He asks quickly. Lucanis can hear his heart pounding in his ears as he waits for the Demon’s response.

Don’t. Know. Spite replies after a thoughtful moment. Go. To sleep. I will. See.

Lucanis blinks as a hand waves in front of his face.

“Lucanis?” Davrin snaps his fingers for good measure, “Hey, Lucanis. You alright?”

He shakes his head and waves off Davrin’s concern, “I’m fine – it’s just… Spite and I sense something off with Rook.”

Davrin frowns, his brown eyes alight with concern. He sets his blade and wood carving down, before leaning closer to Lucanis, “What’s going on with her?”

“I don't now. Spite needs me to go to sleep so he can investigate”

He ignores the knot of anxiety forming in his stomach and tries to settle into his spot on the wooden floor of the aravel. It’s not the most comfortable place to fall asleep, but with about a year of sleep deprivation to catch up on, the bumpy ride on dirt paths hardly poses an insurmountable obstacle.

He turns to Davrin, “Watch my back?”

Davrin grins, “Do you even have to ask?”

The Warden claps him gently on the shoulder before quietly returning to his whittling, “Just make sure our friend’s alright. I promise not to let trouble disturb your beauty sleep”. Davrin huffs, “Maker knows you need it”

Lucanis rolls his eyes. As much as he wants to quip back, the feeling that Rook is in danger in the Fade has him desperate to let sleep take him as soon as possible and reigns in the impulse. The assassin draws his legs in to his body and rests his head in his arms, before closing his eyes and letting sleep take him.

Assan squawking overhead as he flies in circles, the wind whipping the trees and the sound of soft hooves beating on gravel soon fade away into a dreamless slumber.

Wait for me, Madeleina.

~*~

Spite Dellamorte hates the Fade Prison with an intense, all-consuming passion, even though he is Spite and not Passion. He doesn’t completely understand how that works. There’s still a lot of things about existing in the material world that are confusing to him. Sometimes, he doesn’t know how much of him is him, and how much of him is Lucanis. The edges between the two have blurred significantly since they made a new alliance. So much so, that his human host seems to have put new emotions in front of him to grapple with that weren’t there before. More things that aren’t him, on top of the memories from Rook’s journal that also are not him.

Regardless, Spite was determined to answer her plea for help.

The young Demon flies circles around her home inside the Fade prison. The journal’s essence flickers in and out, just a little weaker than before. Then, an emotion he’s felt from Lucanis bleeds into him, one they both know all too well from their time in the real Ossuary – fear. Fear that it won’t be strong enough to get him out. That he could be trapped in here, with her, unable to open the door that frees her.

He has to be the one that opens the door.

Spite ignores the thought as much as he can, and lands softly on her windowsill. He peers into her bedroom, expecting her to be doing something mundane, like she was before. Instead, he finds Rook sitting on the corner of her bed, with her head buried in her arms and knees pressed close to her chest. Her chest is rising and falling rapidly. He can hear soft, muffled sobs escaping from the narrow space between her face and her arms.

Spite is Spite, he is not comfort or compassion. But Lucanis’ nature has once again, made him feel things he’s not supposed to be feeling. He doesn’t want to see Rook crying. He hates the sight of it, actually.

Spite taps on the glass several times, harder than he normally would, to make sure she hears him above the sound of her soft sobs.

Rook looks up at him, her green eyes bathed in a sea of red. Her face is puffy and tear streaked. She looks awful. Rook shouldn’t look awful. He doesn’t like that she looks awful.

Smells like. Salt and Lavender. Not right.

He taps the window again.

Rook wipes the tears from her face with her arm and slowly walks to the window sill, before unhooking the latch.

Spite ruffles his feathers and flits to perch on the back of her chair, as he did before. Madeleina closes the window and sits back down on her bed slowly, sniffling the entire time.

“Rook” He croaks, tilting his head. “Why. Are you crying.?”

Rook inhales sharply and closes her eyes before exhaling. “S-Spite …” she whimpers his name, and he hates how that sounds.

She draws her knees in close again and frowns deeply. “W-why do I keep seeing Minrathous burning? P-people being h-hung in the s-street” she takes a shaky breath between words. "E-every time... I look ... in the m-mirror - I s-see it ..."

Rook has a distant look in her eyes, like she’s staring through him at not at him.

“A v-voice in my head … it’s … it says … it’s my fault” She cries softly, and wipes her nose with her sleeve again, “He s-says I l-let them take the city … t-the dragon…”

Rook grips her head and shuts her eyes tight, and then takes a ragged breath. “It won’t stop! It won’t stop…” She raises her head and looks at him with pleading eyes, “Spite, how do I make it stop?” Her face crumples as more tears threaten to spill from her eyes, “S-Spite … help me… it w-won’t stop … my head…”

Spite tilts his head and thinks.

She’s starting to remember things, but not the right things. He’s rightly quite confused. Solas’ prison so far has been showing her what she wants to see - her parents, her childhood home - familiar things that would presumably function to keep her from wanting to leave. Why would it be showing her a blighted Minrathous? What purpose would that serve?

He remembers the day they found her in the music room, days after she’d returned from visiting Neve in Minrathous.

Smells like … cheese and salt. He had thought, as Lucanis brought her a cup of cioccolata calda to share.

They sat beside her, and she quickly wiped her hands of the remnants of the cheese wedge she’d been eating and moved over. He remembers Lucanis’ fretting over her mental state very well. Locked in their pantry, he thought of little else.

Knowing Treviso was safe brought him little relief every time he watched her go into the infirmary to talk with Varric’s ghost because she couldn’t cope with his death. When she stopped coming to dinner, he started drinking more coffee and staying awake even longer worrying over her. Pacing back and forth, paralyzed with inaction, with uncertainty on how to help her.

It turns out he was severely overthinking the problem.

All he had to do was tell her a story.

Maybe Spite had to do the same, like the first time he came. She was only remembering the bad that came from that decision. It figures the Dread Wolf’s prison wouldn’t want her to remember the good she did during that time.

“This place. Doesn’t want you. To know what. You saved.” Spite begins, “Minrathous fell. But Treviso. Lived to see. Another day. Because of you.”

Rook releases the name on a soft breath, “T-Treviso?” Her brows furrow in confusion, “I … I’ve n-never left Tevinter…”

Spite preens and plucks at a loose feather as she speaks.

“Saved Lucanis’. Home.” He squawks, “He trusted you. Above all others. And you saved him. There when he. Needed you most. And he will. Never forget.”

Rook’s eyes flash with recognition at the name, “Lucanis – tell me about Lucanis. P-please, Spite. I think… I think I remembered him last night – his face, his voice … but it’s gone again”

If Spite looked like Lucanis, he was sure his face would split in a satisfied grin.

He was going to break apart the Dread Wolf’s prison, memory by memory. He would open the door for her and pull her out.

“He came. To you. In the music room. After the Dragon. Took Minrathous”

She closes her eyes, as if trying to picture the scene herself. He can see her eyes flicker back and forth behind closed eyelids.

“He wants. To help you. Like you. Helped him. With Treviso. With Caterina’s funeral.” Spite says, “He helps. Only way he knows how. With a story.”

Rook’s fingers grip the edge of her bed tightly, and her lips press into a hard line, deep in concentration.

“I smell something warm… chocolate?” Her nose wrinkles. “Warm chocolate… like before…”

“Cioccolata. Calda.” Spite corrects her gently, although his own pronunciation of the word is a bit clumsy, “He knows. You love it. He makes it. When he knows. You’re in need.”

Her lips part in a sigh, as if she’s taking a sip in her jumbled memories.

“T-tell me more… please …” Rook whispers, biting her lower lip, “I want to remember him”

“He tells you. The story of how. He became the Demon of Vyrantium. The Wigmaker. And his. House of Horrors. Of blood magic and demons. And freeing slaves.” Spite recites the memory as he had seen it through Lucanis’ eyes. “A story. For a story. He always. Wants to help.”

A small smile creeps at the edges of her lips, “I remember him… I remember him telling me about a terrible pickup line Illario used on a guard”, Spite tilts his head as she giggles, “I couldn’t believe it actually worked, you know”

Rook wipes a stray tear from the corner of her eye, before opening them both. Her green eyes crinkled at the corners as she erupted in a warm smile. Like they did when she would tell them stories.

She swings her legs off the edge of the bed and comes to stand in front of the little Demon.

“He’s important to me… isn’t he? You both are” She whispers quietly. Rook touches her chest, and a faint blue glow erupts from where her heart should be. His chest is alight with its twin flame.

Spite merely nods and flutters his tailfeathers in response.

“He waits. For you. Only you.”

“You said that before” Rook nods and looks around her room, “You also said this place isn’t my home”

Spite nods wordlessly.

“Then what is it exactly? Why… why am I here?”

“A prison. Made by the Dread Wolf. To keep you in. Away from. His plans.” Spite nearly hisses the words out, rage bubbling in his chest. He puffs up into an angry little ball as a result. “A prison. To make you forget. Forget us. Lucanis.”

Rook grips her chest through her shirt and frowns. “The memories they … they come and then… then the day repeats and I forget ... I think…” She releases a shaky breath, “I think I’m living the same day again. And again. And again.”

If Spite could scowl, he would be scowling harder than he ever had in his entire existence.

“Spite” Rook leans in closer, so close he can feel her breath on his feathers. Her eyes are wide with panic now, “Spite… help me… I don’t – I don’t want to forget but each day I think I’m losing more of myself- “

She turns abruptly when the door opens, and Spite is startled enough to let out a surprised squawk. He flies out the window quickly before he can be spotted, leaving Rook to deal with the intruder. Spite hovers outside her window for just a moment, and sees a tall woman pull her into a tight embrace.

The woman, who resembles an older Rook with straighter hair and brown eyes, seems to be looking straight at him. The eyes are soulless and empty. Yet somehow, there is a warning lurking beneath that hollow gaze. She grips Rook tightly, as if to signal to him she will not the girl go.

The sight of it chills Spite to his core.

The Demon calls on whatever essence of the journal is left and propels himself out of the Fade with dizzying speed.

Each day I think I’m losing more of myself -.

He would not let that happen.

If she loses herself to this prison, he will find every scattered piece in the Fade and put her back together himself.

The Dread Wolf will not win.

Demons do not fear Gods.

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

Wooooo okay, well that took a lot longer than I thought. Once again big thank you to @teawithshakespeare (honestly my honourary co-author at this point for how much time I spend rambling in their DM's about this story), and @juneiper-art and @thewardenisonthecase as well for letting me bounce ideas for this chapter off them. I appreciate u guys.

Also, the Fade prison is doing weird things now! It's changing and reacting! Freaky stuff. But then again, the Fade's a freaky place.

I'll give bonus points to whoever can guess which movie I'm sort of loosely basing this off of haha.

I think this part of the fic is coming to an end in maybe another chapter or two.... I really just wanna write the Rookanis reunion :')

Anyway,

As always, thanks for reading! Appreciate all the love and support for this fic <3 MUAH!! See you next time!

-Rookie

[kayleighwinchester]

Five Things You Know About Dean Winchester - and One You Don't: II

(( Here we go, all! The second installment of Five Things You Know About Dean Winchester - and One You Don't! Sickeningly fluffy, for this one! As with most of these so far, much love to @artyandink for suggesting and running the Jensen-a-thon, and thank you so much for all of the love on part 1!)) Dean Winchester was a mystery. 

It was one you were slowly unraveling bit by bit, visit by visit; he would climb in your window every month or so, stay a few days, and disappear again by the end of the week – but slowly, you were learning about him, about who he was, beyond the charismatic smile and easy, confident attitude.

.*

You learned quickly how much touch meant to Dean.

It was like he couldn’t get enough of even the simplest contact. You saw it in even the simplest things – how he seemed to melt into every hug, how he leaned into each kiss, treating all contact like he was a man starved. 

He’d arrived far earlier than usual this time, coming through your window in the early morning; you didn’t want to know what, exactly, your neighbors had to be thinking when he scaled the tree beside the house to your bedroom window in broad daylight. 

You had only woken up about a half an hour before, and had yet to move out of your bed - you were still stretched out like a starfish under the covers, groggy and content, eyes half-following some trashy reality TV show that you, truly, couldn’t care less about. He’d given you that brilliant, million dollar smile of his as he toed his way out of his boots, folded his jacket and placed it in its usual spot on your dresser, and plopped down on the edge of your bed, as if he belonged there. 

“Mornin’, Sweetheart.” 

You didn’t reply – not at first. No, the first thing you had the energy to do was roll over, arms snaking slowly around his middle, your words muffled by his tee-shirt as you offered a mumbled, “Too early.” into his side. You could feel him shake slightly with silent laughter, his hand running down your back briefly. 

“What can I say? Wanted to see my favorite girl. Didn’t even get a motel this time.” 

You let out a small noise of acknowledgement, arms tightening around him. It wasn’t a particularly comfortable position to lay in, even you had to admit that, and, a bit reluctantly, you released your grip, sitting up and scrubbing a hand over your face. “Where were you this time?” You asked. Sitting up fully didn’t last long – only long enough for you to stretch, before you were slouching forward again, your forehead pressing against his shoulder.

His voice still held that barely-contained laughter as he spoke once more. “Chicago. ‘Least it wasn’t a bad drive.” 

You hummed out another soft little sound, letting your eyes drop closed for a moment longer, before you spoke up. “Did you get breakfast on the way?” The last time you’d looked at your alarm clock, it had been just barely seven – it was a good enough excuse, you supposed, to try to stick to the healthy habits you’d been struggling to keep; breakfast was the most important meal of the day, or something like that.

“Nah. Bit burnt out on McDonald’s, ‘n I didn’t wanna stop for real.” He turned slightly, resting his cheek on the top of your head. 

“I can make something.” You offered, finally forcing yourself to sit up once more, quickly turning your face upwards to steal a brief, light kiss. You never got tired of it, the way his eyes sparkled, the way his lips curled up into a smile every time.

“You sure?” He asked, watching you fumble your way out of bed, his eyes lingering on the tiny pajama shorts you wore, before they darted back up to yours. “You don’t have to get up, y’know – I can wait,” 

You shook your head. “I’m trying to actually start eating breakfast,” You informed him, “so I was gonna have to get up sooner or later.” You weren’t sure that helped your case much – he still looked a bit guilty, but pushed himself up off of the bed anyway. 

He followed you like a shadow, only breaking away once you entered the kitchen; you made a bee-line for the fridge, and he stopped in front of the crappy little coffee maker you’d picked up at a resale shop. It wasn’t the first morning you’d spent together, and there was at least a loose routine to it, though you were typically practically falling asleep at the table as he got the coffee going.

For a time, you worked in companionable silence – once the coffee was started, he leaned his weight against the counter, just following you with his eyes. You’d just started on the pancakes, a pan of bacon on the other burner, eggs on the third, when he moved forward, his arms winding around your waist, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder.

“Thank you.” He barely more than mumbled it, his voice giving you the distinct impression that he was far more tired than he’d let on. You opened your mouth to speak, but he continued. “‘N not just for the food.”

He was taller than you – you couldn’t imagine the way he was standing was particularly comfortable for his neck or back – but he nonetheless nuzzled his face into the curve of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. You weren’t sure you’d ever felt him so relaxed – there was no tension in the way he was standing, his hold around you loose and lazy, his breathing even and his heartbeat steady and calm against your back. 

“You better not fall asleep on me,” You warned halfheartedly, though you instinctively leaned your head against his, even if your newfound positions made flipping the pancakes and keeping the bacon from burning a bit more difficult than was strictly necessary. 

“Not going to.” He said simply, pressing a lazy kiss beneath your ear, before he straightened up slightly, though his arms didn’t leave your waist, as if he couldn’t bring himself to lose that contact, his thumbs moving in lazy circles on your sides over your sleep shirt. 

He finally reluctantly pried himself away when the coffee maker let out a chime – one that was beginning to sound a little old, a little like you’d be needing to invest in a new one soon. As you plated the pancakes, bacon, and eggs, moving them over to the table, he busied himself with the coffee – yours with a generous amount of sugar and flavored creamer, and his black – before he settled into his usual seat beside you at the table, his leg just barely brushing yours. 

You’d barely gotten the first pancake onto your plate before he spoke up, the bottle of creamer held in his hand like he fully expected it to bite him. “‘S this any good?” He asked, studying the label intently.

“I mean, I like it.” You offered, continuing to plate up your own breakfast.

A beat, and then, as if he fully expected something – laughter, maybe – he asked, “Mind if I try it?” You glanced up again, startled to find that he genuinely did look a bit like he expected you to say no, or maybe tease him for it. 

“Go ahead,” You encouraged. 

He studied you for a moment longer, before adding a splash of creamer to his coffee, taking a drink. His expression lightened a bit, but there was a certain forced gruffness to his voice as he offered, “‘S alright, I guess.” You pretended not to notice as he added a bit more. You couldn’t, however, not notice the way his free hand settled on your leg, just above your knee, as he ate, his fingers occasionally gently squeezing – and it was only a few moments before he offered, “Really, Y/N, thanks.” He paused for a moment, before he added, “This’s… Nice.” His expression screamed that there were probably a million other words he could have used, but even that one spoke volumes.

Breakfast was a quiet affair, generally, with neither of you being particularly fond of mornings, and this time was no different; the longer he sat there, the more you could see the exhaustion creeping onto his face, the way his eyes began to gloss over just a little, the way his shoulders slumped. If he really had driven all the way from Chicago, presumably through the night, one cup of coffee wasn’t going to be a miracle cure. 

He tailed you like a lost puppy as you cleared the table, and as you gave the dishes a quick rinse off, intending to leave them for later, his arms snaked around your waist once more, his chin resting against the crown of your head. You didn’t have to look up to know his eyes were probably rapidly closing. Still, you’d known him long enough to know his stubborn nature, so you gently offered, “It’s still a little early for me,” A glance at the clock on the stove read just past eight, which certainly was a few hours earlier than you typically tended to get up. “I could use a couple more hours of sleep.”

You could practically feel him sag against you in relief. “I could pro’lly snag a couple hours.” He said – his tone, which attempted to imply that it was a ‘maybe’ and not a ‘definitely’, certainly screamed that he could do with more than just a couple.

This time, his hands never left you fully as he followed you back up the stairs – first his hand resting on your back, then, as you made your way back into your room, his fingers found yours, the contact only breaking for a moment as he fumbled his way out of his jeans, finding a pair of sweats he’d left behind the last time, tucked carefully into the top drawer of your dresser alongside other bits and pieces of clothing he’d forgotten – or maybe left on purpose. 

You lifted the covers as he padded back over to the bed, flopping down beside you with a quiet groan that he couldn’t quite muffle – he always treated your bed like it was the most comfortable thing he’d ever had the pleasure of sleeping on. He rolled over, his arms snaking around you and pulling you close, his lips pressing to your forehead. His breathing had already evened out, soft and slow against your skin.

It was practically instinct, the way your hand moved up to comb through his hair, and you could feel his lips twitch into the faintest sleepy smile, and the words he mumbled against your forehead practically made your heart stop. "Love you, Sweetheart."

(( Tag List? Maybe?: @keanuispunk ))