#So you'll probably only get that in a week

[hollyhomburg]

Prey Animals (13)

—  Pairing: Yoongi x ot6, Yoongi x reader, Bts x reader

—  Genre: Omegaverse, Mafia au, Polyamory au, Found family, Suspense, Eventual Smut, enemies to friends to lovers, Healing & Themes of trauma,

—  Summary: In a world where Beta's are rare, valuable, and often have more than one pack; Beta Min Yoongi does everything he can to keep his mafia heritage a secret from his primary pack. Little does he know he's not the only one who's living a double life.

—  Words: 9.5k

—  Warnings: Sexual abuse, Humiliation, Physical abuse, Dissociation, Ptsd, Psychological horror, Briefly thought about self-harm, Angst, Hurt/comfort, Confessions

—  Check in at the end for my notes on this chapter! — 

(48 days before, Yoongi).  

You pace back and forth in the entryway. Thinking hard.

It’s nearing 6pm and Geumjae is going to be home soon. But Yoongi isn’t here yet. Hadn’t come over to see you at all today and that’s strange. He texted you last night after he walked you home and dropped you off and asked if he could come over tomorrow too.

You’d said yes, but tomorrow is today now and the afternoon slips and passes you by with not even a knock at your front door. The house is empty down to the dust bunnies. Yoongi is usually a man of his word. He’s usually a gentleman.

Gentleman do not leave young ladies waiting.

You’d double and triple cleansed, there isn’t even any mascara on your eyelashes, not dark staining below your eyes beyond the deeply carved bags that have permanently etched themselves on your face since you’ve gotten married. It would be suspicious if you wore any today when Geumjae had explicitly forbidden you from leaving the house, from breaking your routine, while he was a city away.

Your husband is usually very very particular about your routine. But there have been quite a few breaks in it over the last few weeks.

Geumjae smelled like another omega when he came home last night. A scent cloying and sweet, neither the sweetness of flowers nor baked goods just a mindless sweetness. Almost perfume. There was even lipstick on his collar, bright pink like bubblegum.

You hadn't felt anything at all when you noticed, no revulsion or shame or regret, nothing but a tiny bit of relief.

You're not supposed to be relieved that your husband is seeing another omega, you're not supposed to not care. You only care about Yoongi and your meeting tomorrow. He's always on the other end of your phone, waiting.

Geumjae hasn't checked your texts in a long, long time. You're careful to delete all the ones you have with Yoongi after you read them. Committing the words to memory.

Procuring time for your meeting today had taken a fair bit of effort last night, questions about where he'd been and who he'd been seeing a carefully curated ruse. You were the picture of a pouting omega, bratty, expectant. Wondering where your husband had gone and if he'll be here tomorrow.

You're a good actress. You know if you don't pretend Geumjae only makes it worse.

“I’m not allowed to want to spend time with you now. Is that it?” You’d said with a pout, after your careful questions for Geumjae had drawn his suspicious eyebrow. And then tried again, “you keep me locked up in this house without anyone, I hate being alone.”

And that enough had made him grin, Geumjae doesn’t miss an opportunity to deny you again, to torture you in some new way. Isolation is one of his old weapons. Geumjae is only too happy to tell you that he’ll be indisposed all day tomorrow, probably until late. You'll get no respite from your loneliness, no relief and no companionship.

Good.  

You texted Yoongi, told him, and he replied with a little :] Face. Not the emoji, the :]. You haven’t felt so young in years, you certainly have never kicked your feet over a text message. You’ve never felt your age, not since you first put on your wedding ring and said I do.

But Yoongi makes you feel that, almost young, almost anxiety-free. Almost a lot of things.

But now, Yoongi makes you worry.

Usually when you know your husband is going to get home you hide yourself away in some corner of the house. You linger on the couch or the kitchen if you’re feeling brave. Either to fulfill the fantasy of the doting omega wife or hide away if the abuse the day before had been particularly brutal.

You certainly do not wait in the foyer for your husband to return home.

You pace back and forth, eyes on the driveway, waiting for the crunch of pea gravel. The cleaning staff and the private chef were dismissed hours ago. Dinner is in the fridge covered with cellophane. Granted, you’d waited longer than usual to text Yoongi. Longer than you maybe should have.

You (1:12pm): If you’re not going to show up, can you at least give me a heads up.

You (2:30pm): The chocolate lava cake’s gone cold.

You (4:04pm): I'm gonna make you eat all my desserts, even the pies, to say you're sorry for flaking on me. You're a flake, like a pie crust.

You (4:44pm): Yoongi?

You (5:30pm): Are you okay?

All of which had done unanswered, the messages don't even have the little delivered sign next to the text. This is uncharacteristic for him. Abnormal. An outlier in your dataset. A lump of something in sifted flour. You’ve paced back and forth for the last hour before making the decision, opening up a familiar contact. One that you've dared not text. Not since before.

You (5:57pm): I think I might need your help again.

You hit send, and then at the same moment, a familiar dark green sportscar pulls into the driveway. It’s engine a low hum. Any normal person wouldn’t have been conditioned to hate that color or feel fear at the sound of a car, but you have been. The sight of it sets you on edge, makes your heart beat quick but this time you don’t rush to hide yourself away, to be quiet.

Your hair stands on end in the entryway. You begin to tremble viscerally when you hear Geumjae tread up the steps, hear the turn of the lock.

Geumjae is whistling when he comes in, a jaunty tune. He doesn’t immediately notice that you’re standing there. You shy away from his presence and keep your gaze on the ground. You're so good at being still, at sinking into the backdrop. It takes him a few moments to notice you're there.

He lifts his head, eyes wide for a second and then narrowing. You don’t break routine unless you want something and if you want something you usually have to barter. Geumjae likes taking what you don’t want to give. His glare falls into a scowl, and he places his gun down on the small table just inside the door after he takes out his wallet and keys.

He does not click on the safety.

He shoves past you, almost knocking you into the wall. Your shoulder throbs but you follow him. He turns hand raised. You flinch and close your eyes, but the slap never comes.

Geumjae strokes down your cheek, fingering the hollow of your cheekbone. You blink and bite back the impulse to gag. Keeping your lips pursed.

“What. Do. You. Want.”

A bit of saliva hits your face but you do your best not to tremble.  His voice is devoid of emotion or empathy or even rage. That much shouldn’t surprise you. You look into his eyes, the same eyes that Yoongi has only empty. Devoid of their warmth or half-humor. Blank and flat. It takes all of your energy to be brave. But it’s easy to be brave for Yoongi.

“I think somethings wrong with your brother.” Your voice comes out as hardly more than a whisper, but it’s steady. “I think something happened to him.”

~-~

Yoongi’s knuckles are bloody, that’s the first thing that he’s aware of when he comes to.

Blood feels different than water, slippery, and dries quicker on his fingertips as he starts to fight his restraints. His fingers grip the wood, the handrail of the chair he sits in. He startles, a sticky feeling and the taste of blood in his mouth and throat. At odds with the sandpapery feeling of his tongue and gums. The inside of his cheek feels tender. He tongues it where he’s bitten it.

The room is dark, but he’s not alone. Coming out of a chloroform daze is dizzying at best and nauseating at worst. One second the figure is across the room, the next he’s right next to Yoongi gripping his hair and pushing his slack head away violently. Yoongi does not feel it, Yoongi is having a hard time feeling anything in any clarity. He watches as the man in front of him traces his knuckles with a knife, there are small cuts up and down his fingers already, Yoongi can see the bone on one of his knuckles but the rest are thin, almost superficial. They will still scar.  

Yoongi cannot feel the pain, Yoongi can hardly feel anything over the cold.

Panic starts to bleed down his back, just as the realization that he’s immobile. Bound to this chair by a crisscross of dark ropes. The scratchy kind, not soft. He struggles. But they’re bound too tight. Yoongi doesn't have anything on him, not a gun nor a knife, not that he could even move an inch to use it.

“For a second I thought I used too much chloroform. It’s good that you’re awake, now I can make it slow.”

The man is nondescript. Yoongi does not recognize his stature or his voice. Nor the color of his eyes behind the ski mask. Brown, but not dark brown. This person is surely a stranger to him and yet he laughs as though he's just won the lottery practically shaking with anticipation as he drags the knife down Yoongi’s cheek.

“Interesting how this has all played out. You in the chair at the end of my knife for once.”

Yoongi hesitates, the fuzz behind his eyes more indicative of drugs or a hangover rather than a concussion. The man grabs his hair, making his neck arch so he can trace the knife over his jugular.

"You better have a good way to get out of this." Yoongi spits, at least his words don’t come out slurred.

"I don't need a way out." The man hums deep. “I’m not the one whose about to die.”

“You think people won’t know? Come on, I’m watched like a hawk. There’s not a person in this city that doesn’t know where I am and when I’m gone. They’ll know, they’ll find out.” Yoongi’s pulse beats so quick he can feel it against the ropes that bind his body.

“You’re not some god, you’re just cut from the same cloth as your shit brother, and you'll get no fair trial, just like he got, you didn't even wait, you didn't even- piece of shit-” His knife presses under Yoongi’s throat, hard enough that if he breathes, he’s dead. Yoongi’s pulse thunders treacherously loud. A beat of sweat or blood drips down his collarbones. “This is for-”

Yoongi looks up at the sealing. Closes his eyes and thinks of Seokjin. Of the pack. Of Jungkook's curly hair through his fingers, the sound of Jimin's laugh. Taehyung's deep hum at nighttime when Yoongi curls up with him not to sleep but to dream and read. He thinks of Hoseok in the front seat of Namjoon's car. He thinks of Namjoon, his hands. Bigger than Yoongi's. Yoongi’s knuckles go white as he grips the chair and imagines the kiss of the knife against his throat is Seokjin’s lips instead.

The next breath that comes out of his chest goes easy,

The world explodes.

The metal door at the front of the room cracks open with a boom so loud it rattles Yoongi's bones. The room fills with the smell of smoke and gunpowder. Flashes of light bloom in the darkness. Gunshots. Something hot rips by his ear, barely nicking him. The chair explodes, and Yoongi feels at least one shard of wood bury it’s self in his shoulder.

And then it's quiet beyond the ringing in his ears and the figure is no more, lying on the floor in a bloody heap. A bloody heap that people step over. Black figures that half blend into the darkness. Shouting his name, shouting something that Yoongi can’t hear over the ringing in his ears.

Something bright tickles his face, silver hair, a discarded ski mask on the floor. Silver hair covers his face- Moonbyul?

There is another figure, smaller than her, wearing a bulletproof vest that doesn't fit, too big. It makes it hard for you to move but you still duck underneath a tall alpha to cup his cheeks. For a second, Yoongi even thinks it’s real.

Yoongi sags against your body weight. Saying something he can't hear through the ringing. Mouth moving around the words. Your lip- your lip is bloody again and the side of your face-

Yoongi tucks his chin into your shoulder. You're shaking. Blood drips down his ear from where the bullet nicked him.

Face wounds always did bleed a lot

Moonbyul looms over you, pushing you aside gently to cut him loose. The second that his hands are slack he grips yours, both of them in his. His blood slides across your hands. He can’t even speak, can hardly see.

Everything goes from muffled to too loud. Yoongi feels nauseous and tries not to vomit on to you. “It’s okay, Yoongi, it’s okay you're going to be okay-"

Yoongi presses his face against the side of your neck, breathing deeply.

You smell like cake. The fresh kind, just out of the oven, Neither vanilla nor sugary nor milk sweet. Somewhere between sugar cones and fresh bread. You smell like warmth.

Yoongi noses into your scent gland and his eyes roll back.

~-~

Yoongi is on the bottom floor of your house, not in the sitting room where you usually take your coffee and cookies and pastries, but in the grand dining room with the glittering chandelier. It’s nearing 4am and he feels like he’s so tired he could scream.

There are more medical supplies on the table than can be found in the typical small city emergency room, and more opioids too as the family doctor checks him out after stitching up his ear and the cut on his knuckles. The rest are too shallow for anything more than band aids and cream.

But still. Yoongi’s hands are basically sort of wrecked. If it weren’t for the painkillers, he doubts he could move them at all without serious discomfort.

She shines a light in Yoongi's eyes. The family's on-call doctor is paid handsomely for her ability to keep quiet and produce a mostly sterilized mini operating room in any of their kitchens, backrooms, or dens. Yoongi’s seen her remove many bullets and knives in his lifetime. He’s even seen her re-inflate a collapsed lung in a parking garage. She's familiar. Her face pinched in concentration and concern.

There are some people like her that the family keeps on retainers, not a part of the family, not officially but inexorably tied to them. Like the hitmen and the crime scene cleaners that dispose of evidence. She technically doesn't belong to a single house. They're subcontractors in their world, underworld temps.

An emergency meeting of the heads of house has been called, and they gather, looming over Yoongi like a menacing set of helicopter parents or maybe vultures intent on picking him clean.

Geumjae is wearing gloves, black, leather maybe? Or are they plastic? he’s always particular about leaving fingerprints. Certain things have never been trained out of him- even if he’s no longer doing any dirty work.

Yoongi knows better. Geumjae crosses his arms, watching Yoongi.

He disappeared a moment ago, into the other room. It had taken everything Yoongi had in him not to go check on you. He had heard Geumjae's audible command. "Go change and clean yourself up, you're getting blood all over the sofa. And come back down, we're not finished yet."

Geumjae is angry, Yoongi can smell it in the air, probably because it's Moonbyul who was the savior and the hero of tonight. She's the one who actually tracked Yoongi down, who organized the hit on the unoccupied warehouse where he was stored. She gets many appreciative touches to her shoulders and a few approving nods. But her silver eyes remain fixed on Yoongi, not cold, but still calculating.  

You'd gone to her, must have. If you were there when he was found, no one mentions your name. No one congratulates you. It irks him. If he was more awake and less dulled from painkillers right now, he'd probably say something.

“I don’t understand how this happened or why. He’s a beta, he can’t be killed.”

Moonbyul's omega- Hyejin, the only omega in attendance turns back to them, whip-sharp. Correcting her. “Anyone can be killed.”

The head of house of the Miyazato family drops to his knees in front of Yoongi and takes his hands in theirs. It takes everything in his self-control not to rip his hands away, now bound with thin sutures. "I promise Sajangnim, we'll find out who did this and dispatch them swiftly."

The others clamor to offer similar supplications. "I'm prepared to offer 20 men to rotate outside the cottage so that you'll never be alone Beta-shii."

"The 59th precinct is at your disposal, give the order and we'll comb the streets."

"Why would you comb the streets Meimei? The man who did this is already dead."

"But maybe they had an accomplice!"

Yoongi can't tell if it's all the talking that's giving him the headache, if it's the chloroform, or because he hasn't drunk any water in almost 24 hours. Hyejin cracks a bottle of water and hands it over when he asks.

"What kind of family are we if we can't protect our own?" The doctor stops her fussing, and Yoongi holds his head in his hands.

"We all need to be more careful."

"Enough."

Although his words are quiet, the world falls silent. Someone offers their hand to help Yoongi stand but he doesn't need it. Pushing himself to his feet using the edge of the dining room table. "All of this can wait for the morning," Yoongi says thank you and goodbyes, mostly to Moonbyul. Thanking her with a hand on her shoulder. She grips his arm back, leaning low to whisper in his ear.

“You know I’m not the one who deserves your thank you.”

Yoongi swallows and nods. Most of the family files out, sending fearful or jealous glances in Moonbyul’s direction. No doubt her actions tonight have moved her up on the hierarchy. Slipping on their shoes in the entranceway, Double-checking with the men stationed outside the front door.

But Yoongi doesn't pay attention to them. Yoongi walks to the sitting room.

You are sitting there on the same fine furniture where You and Yoongi usually take your tea and cakes. Two men are guarding either window in tactical gear, with all manner of weapons on their waists and holding AK-47s and handguns tucked into holsters at their waists. The dress you wear is dainty and delicate. A white night dress. Yoongi notices one of them looking at you, promptly trailing their gazes away when Yoongi comes into the room.

You turn to look at him and Yoongi almost chokes on his next breath.

The left side of your face is black and blue, and your cheekbone is split. Lip split too, mottled all the way down to your collarbones. So black and blue that he doubts makeup could cover it up. Yoongi can tell by the way that you hold yourself that your body is hurting, that Geumjae has hurt you. All likely, because of him. Because you'd tried and succeeded in saving him.

Yoongi takes one step into the room.

“Shame on you both for not inviting me to the tea party” Geumjae snickers from behind him, to the side, standing out of view. Yoongi’s fists tighten, and the bandages on his hands pull taught. Irritating his cut knuckles. "Can I come to the next one?" He taunts.

At the sound of Geumjae’s voice you turn away from Yoongi and stare straight ahead.   

~-~

(35 days before, Yoongi)

As the weeks drag on Yoongi’s attention gets spread thinner and thinner, the deadline for selecting Don draws nearer and nearer, and Yoongi watches you disappear through his fingers, like smoke or steam.

The softness you’ve shown him and your easy meetings become a memory. No longer. Because you had to tell Geumjae about them to convince him that Yoongi was missing, to save him- you had to let your husband know.  Your simple routine of cooking together and coffee in teacups gets farther and farther away. Becomes little more than a memory.

A good memory. Your last good memory maybe, because Yoongi is leaving soon.

You become more and more silent as the weeks go on. When he sees you at family dinners, you’re vacant. Nothing behind your eyes that looks like life. Your eyes slide over Yoongi like he’s not there. Like he doesn’t exist to you.

During the weekly family dinners, you look more and more worn. Thankful that no one asks you to speak. Hardly even bothering to pick at your food and make it look like you’re eating. Even across the table, Yoongi can’t tear his eyes away from you. He has to keep it in his seat- to not make an issue out of it under the hawk-like eyes of the heads of the family. There's little that he can do beyond jab at Geumjae and watch you fade.

You don’t look at him, even when he speaks to you. You respond when he asks you a direct question. But you keep your responses brief. Your voice cracking like you haven’t used it in days.

He walks by the house near constantly, whenever he’s not called upon, waiting for an opening. An opportunity. Hoping that this time when he walks by there won't be any cleaning cars parked on the sidewalk or one of Geumjae's fancy cars parked in the driveway. It feels like he's some stray, pacing back and forth and scratching at your door.

At family dinner times, if he extends his legs as far as he can go without slouching in his chair. He can get his ankle side by side with yours. Your skin feels cold most of the time. Most of the time you're shivering. Geumjae has...changed your uniform.

Before you saved Yoongi's life, the things your husband made you wear were fancy and demure, more in line with what the other omega’s in the family wear. Now they're scandalous and out of place. Plunging necklines and short hems. Geumjae forces you to wear increasingly more unseemly things regardless of the cold and the season. He can tell you’re uncomfortable with what you’re wearing by the way that you fidget constantly pulling down the hem and up the neckline.

But Yoongi guesses that it’s just another way for him to control you. To humiliate you. To parade you around.

Geumjae invites Yoongi over for tea, and Yoongi can't stay away. He has to see you.

When he enters the house is cold and quiet. There are none of your usual staff around, no cleaning ladies or private chefs. Just more armed guards standing tall and muscled, willowy and quick. All alpha’s. There is one by the door wearing a suit to let Yoongi inside, but the rest are in tactical gear. Geumjae isn’t the only head of house whose called on a more permanent detail in the wake of Yoongi’s abduction.

Everyone is on edge, if Yoongi could be abducted so easily then they’re all fair game. Regardless of the moratorium on murder during the 120-day period.

When Geumjae invites him in you’re just sitting there in the Livingroom. You don’t meet Yoongi’s gaze when he says your name. There is no recognition in your face at all. You are a doll perfectly trained. Sitting pretty and slutty in the clothes that your husband has picked out for you.

You are sitting on the couch with your legs Infront of you. The thong you wear does little to provide any bit of modesty. Most of you is hidden by your legs, pressed together so hard bone meets bone. In any other scenario Yoongi would look away, would give you your privacy, he can see the darkness of your nipple through the translucent lace of your bralette. Too small, much too small. It makes anger boil behind his eyes, makes his hands shake.

There are six armed guards in this room. All alpha’s. One by the exit to the sitting room, one by the entrance to the dining room, one by each window, and one more by the stairs. They’re all from the Min family. Distant relatives and distant cousins. Yoongi even recognizes one of the alpha women for her short brown hair alone. All of them armed to the teeth just like the night he was brought home. They watch you out of the corner of their eyes, Hands on their guns.

You do not raise your eyes to meet Yoongi’s gaze.

Geumjae grins, staring at Yoongi, watching the horror on his face with something like excitement as Yoongi takes in your predicament. “I’ll get your coffee; she told me that’s what you liked. She’d have made honey cakes for you, but she’s been rather busy.”

Geumjae’s eyes rove your body, raking it, tearing it up just by looking. He looks at you like he wants to devour you, consume you and make you nothing but shit after digesting. You shouldn’t feel so hurt by it, but every second his eyes are on you, every inch he sees hurts. A knife poking you from the inside out would hurt less. A bullet would be gentler.

You want to cut out every inch he looks at, what to peel away your skin like a butterfly shedding its chrysalis or a worm hatching wriggly. You wish you could take what he sees, what he likes, and shove it down his throat and make him choke on his own satisfaction.

He likes looking at you, and you hate it. Your vision goes shaky, and your breath starts to feel bigger than your lungs, an earthquake from the inside out, a catastrophe that only you can feel.

You’re trembling faintly. Yoongi’s not sure that if it’s from fear or the cold. Yoongi’s jaw tightens, but beyond that he gives no outward reaction. Of course, Geumjae had interrogated you about your weekly (sometimes daily) meetings. Of course, he throws the evidence of all he knows back in Yoongi’s face now.

Geumjae goes to get the teapot, and the second he’s out of sight Yoongi pulls off his sweatshirt and puts it over your head, guiding your arms through it. You need a little help. One of your hands is so swollen that you can’t open your fingers. Yoongi wonders if Geumjae stepped on it or if you held it up Infront of your face when he was hitting you. Both options make him feel sick with anger. Breath hitching when your fingers skim his for a second. Squeezing his wrist hard.  Yoongi’s mouth goes dry. And he knows he has seconds.

“There you go, there you go. you’re so cold,” but you don’t respond. “it’s alright. You’re gonna be alright, I promise.” He says, barely daring to whisper the words. The men around the room stare straight ahead blankly.

You don't respond. Staring blankly off into space. Yoongi's hands shake with rage, wishing there was more he could do. But all too soon Geumjae’s tapping of his leather shoes returns to the doorway. Holding a fresh pot and a pretty gilded teacup, smiling when Yoongi looks back up at him, crouched Infront of you, standing to his feet at his presence. Barely resisting the urge to put his body in-between yours and his.

“See Yoongi? I told you she only needed a firm hand- she’s as good as tamed now.”

Your tea party does not go as it normally does. Not this time. Yoongi does has a job in the family- and that job is primarily to offer advice. Geumjae actually does need his help with something and Yoongi is bound to offer it. He makes his words clipped and his sentences shitty. Geumjae gets increasingly more annoyed the more predictable Yoongi’s responses become. But Yoongi would rather bite off his own fingers than help.

They talk through the business of the mole, if anyone’s found who orchestrated Yoongi’s abduction yet. Which house- if any house, was the man connected too.  

You don’t even lift your teacup to your mouth. Yoongi tries not to watch you more than Geumjae, tries but it’s hard.

Eventually Geumjae does not feel like playing along with him. Gets tired.

“Eat.” He commands, and you lift a biscuit to your mouth. “chew” he commands. And you chew. Yoongi’s cup clatters into its saucer. “Actually, I changed my mind, spit it out. Can’t have you gaining too much weight.”

Geumjae holds out his hand, and you spit it out into his hand. Geumjae wipes the chewed food on your face. It’s not a lot. You’d hardly taken a bite. But Yoongi does not manage to stay in his seat. Geumjae mirrors him, pressed almost chest to chest with Geumjae in seconds.

“You can’t be fucking serious- you-” rage feels like muteness, Yoongi is going to hit Geumjae, is going to lose his temper if he’s not careful. Yoongi shoves him, and Geumjae laughs.

You pull on Yoongi’s pant leg, just once. And he makes the mistake of looking down.

“I think my brother is tired,” Geumjae says, smoothing out invisible wrinkles in Yoongi’s collar. There is still chewed food on his fingers.  “We can continue talking tomorrow when you’re not so worked up.”

Geumjae looks down at you. “Princess, give him back his sweatshirt, we can’t have him walking home in the cold without anything can we.”

The sweatshirt pools around your waist and goes almost to your knees when you stand up. Yoongi is already fairly average for a man, Yoongi has always liked his clothes big and baggy, and his sweatshirt looks massive on you. The soft swells you had when he first met you are gone now.

You stand up wordlessly, you reach for your hem right there regardless of the guards (and Yoongi’s) eyes on you. You lift them hem over your head. Pealing the sweatshirt off of your nearly naked body without a thought.

You are tiny. Smaller now than when he met you. He can see every one of your ribs when you lift your arms over your head to take off the red sweatshirt.  

Yoongi wonders what else he's made you do Infront of them. Geumjae smirks, looking satisfied.

That’s what does Yoongi in.

"Turn around." He snaps, and every one of the guards follows suit. Even you listen, staring to turn before Yoongi sets a hand on your bare shoulder. Tilting your face up to his. Making you look at him.

His sweatshirt falls to the floor.

The men in their uniforms and guns turn. You raise your eyebrows, like you're confused, like you think it's you being ordered. But Yoongi just cups your cheek.

You almost flinch at the gentle touch, so unused to it. To being touched with anything like this. To being touched without it being painful.

Yoongi can see the blood draining from Geumjae’s face. Can see the guards straighten up, their hands readying on their guns, Nervous.

"Go upstairs and put some close on." You are only too happy to follow Yoongi's orders, to slink past the man at the stairs, teetering on unsteady footsteps as you ascend the staircase up to the second floor.

Only once you’re out of sight does Yoongi address the alpha’s in the room. Each of them standing up a little straighter. As if they finally remember who Yoongi is. They should remember.

He should remind them.

“Turn back around.” They turn. “Take a step back.” They step back. Yoongi watches a drop of sweat blead down Geumjae’s temple. He grins, showing his teeth.

“Hand me your gun.” The guard closes to him takes a handgun out of its holster and hands it to Yoongi. Geumjae’s grin falters just a little.  Yoongi flicks off the safety, appraises the gun quickly before he takes the clip out. Popping the bullets out onto the floor one by one, they fall to the floor with a clink. heartbeat by heartbeat. More than one alpha flinches as the last one falls.  

Yoongi liberates the stock from the barrel lets the gun fall to pieces around him.

“Another.” The next man hands him the gun and Yoongi does not disassemble it, just takes it and flicks off the safety.

“Actually, I changed my mind, look at him. All of you. Look at my brother. Don’t you dare fucking blink.”

Geumjae does not show any outward signs of fear as Yoongi holds the gun by his side. he doesn’t look anything other than cool and calm. Yoongi lets the silence stew for a moment. Just a moment.

"If he does that to her again, you are to call me. Any alpha that does will be compensated accordingly." Geumjae's sneer worsens. But he doesn't interfere. They stand like that. Separate from each other by a few feet. Yoongi’s hand sweaty on the gun.

"If it wasn't for what would happen to her, I'd put a bullet in your head."

"If it wasn't for your sub gender, I'd put one in yours."

Yoongi and Geumjae glare at each other from across the room for a second. Then Yoongi puts on his sweatshirt. He lifts the gun, “I’m keeping this.” And tucks it into the pocket.

He leaves.

He tucks his nose into the collar and puts up the hood against the oncoming rain. Pausing on the street corner. It smells like you. The sweatshirt.

When Yoongi looks back at the house, there is a figure upstairs silhouetted in the window. He nods at you, and you nod back.

~-~

(22 days before, Yoongi)

Yoongi wears your sweatshirt until your scent fades from the fabric. But even after it feels like the smell of rain follows him always. It’s a rainy winter. Not cold enough to snow but cold enough to freeze.

His long walks cover him in it, at the constant complaints of his detail. He can only dismiss the young alphas that the family appoints to guard him so many times. Guarding the beta against another assassination attempt is a privilege they say, an honor. But Yoongi just needs some peace and quiet. Just needs some space and time to think through his plan, more and more flimsy feeling as the days stretch on.

Things get worse and they don’t really get better.  

Geumjae takes Yoongi’s continual presence as a personal threat. He can’t take it out on the beta, so he takes it out on you instead. In the field, Geumjae is the perfect leader, cool and calm and collected. Sure, he shoots first and asks questions never but there are worse heads of house. People who are less competent. Geumjae is capable of showing restraint.

Just not with you.

At home Geumjae lets his worst impulses run wild. Before Geumjae knew about the tea parties (Yoongi has yet to find a word he likes better) he never invited Yoongi to your personal family meals. But now he gets invited to every single one.

He sees you in all manner of get-ups, scantily clad and see-through dresses, skirts that barely cover everything but never anything as bare as the very first time. He sees you wear lipstick smudged. Mascara runny. Bruises boldly on display.

Yoongi promises himself quietly, that if he ever gets you out of here, you’ll never get hurt like this again.

Yoongi tries to intervene, tries to, but it never goes well for you, so he stops himself. Geumjae likes to make Yoongi watch.

Yoongi’s is there when he backhands you after you drop a plate. Yoongi doesn’t keep himself in his seat- can’t stop himself from standing and grabbing his brother's arm before he deals another blow. And maybe it only makes it worse for you because you’re twice as bruised the next time he sees you, but Yoongi’s hands shake with the way you’d looked at him from the floor- holding your cheek defiant and alive. Like you still have a fight left in you.

It’s a look he tries to remember as time goes on and your fighting spirit fades.

You don’t deserve any of this from Geumjae, not the backhanded compliments that have you pushing the food around your plate. The ones that have you not eating at all, not even the sweets that you make, piles and piles of them.

Geumjae makes you bake a chocolate cake, bringing it out to Yoongi on uneven footsteps, the heels you wear towering. It's a pretty cake, topped with cherries and chocolate ganache. It smells like Yoongi smells when he's happy. Only once you've put it on the table does Geumjae push your face down into it.

When Geumjae leaves the room. Yoongi uses a rag to clean your face.

Yoongi’s surprised he didn’t realize it sooner; that you hardly eat at family dinners. Maybe it would be easier to stomach if you weren’t so small. Terribly thin. "She's gained weight since our honeymoon." Geumjae justifies when Yoongi asks. "She's a good wife brother, she knows to do anything she has to do to keep me in her corner."

He thinks back to the moon family dinner and how you’d almost collapsed because of your tight corset. He wonders if that was because of hunger or truly because you couldn’t breathe.

He doubts he’ll ever know the answer.

~-~

Yoongi stops coming over. Stops coming on Mondays and Wednesdays, and you stop texting him.

Well, not entirely.

You develop your own code. You send Yoongi a blank message, a simple text without any words in it, and he’s on his way. And anyone who saw it, Geumjae or otherwise could just assume that it was a typo, a but dial. An accident.

Even if it's anything but.

All he has to do is see your contact light up his phone before he's up and out of whatever place he currently haunts, the docks, an apartment for a meeting, an underground storehouse for stolen goods. You text and Yoongi always comes.

If you don’t send him anything. He knows better than to try.

~-~

(10 days before, Yoongi).

The day comes again when Yoongi gets a text and comes to your house and finds the windows dark, finds the house empty. You are sitting on the couch again. Blankly staring off into space. You don’t react when Yoongi calls your name.

You’re done up but not even the thickest full-coverage makeup could hide the bruises. Yoongi wonders why you try. He gets down on his knees Infront of you and takes your hands in his.

He got an empty text a few minutes ago, he might have stayed nearby at a coffee shop down the block. He’s taken to waiting there when he doesn’t have someone calling upon him. One family or another that wants his ear- or more likely another chance to convince him. The days are counting down, pretty soon anyone but him will be fair game.

Yoongi knows the heads of house are not above murdering each other to become Don. Once the moratorium on murder is over, Yoongi fears it will be all out war.

In truth, Yoongi has no idea who he’s going to choose, no idea at all if he’ll choose Geumjae or Moonbyul or any other family members. Yoongi’s hasn’t thought about it much- but he probably will have to over the next few days.

At least before the Gala.

For now, Yoongi kneels down Infront of you with a creek of his knees, pulling your hands into his. There is no one here. No one here at all besides you and him. “I’m going to take you away okay? Just for today. I’m getting you out of this goddamn house.” You do not respond. Staring blankly ahead. You are already dressed, in comfortable clothes. Yoongi helps you into some snow boots. Yoongi ties the scarf around your neck.

You don’t go far because he’s not sure you could manage it. You still don’t say anything, but you don’t need to. He takes you to a diner down the block. The food is cheap and greasy and filling. The booth in the back of the shop is secluded and there aren't even any cameras.

You eat half your plate, and Yoongi counts it as a win.

You sit on the same side of the booth, and after you're done you lean your head on his shoulder. Your eyes are still staring blankly ahead, and your voice is so soft barely a whisper.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a friend.”

Yoongi tries not to pay attention to the warmth of your body, failing not to luxuriate in it, to savor it, to imprint the feeling of your body resting gently against his. Happy to be a refuge, happy to be a safe harbor however temporarily. He carefully threads his fingers still crisscrossed pink with scars through yours, finally healed enough that you can move your fingers.

The top of your head will smell like him by the time you pull away. He hopes he smells like you too. You’ve never scent-marked him, you’ve never nested or shown even the slightest omegan instinct Infront of him. Yoongi has never put thought to it before. But now he wonders if you’ve just never felt safe enough for any of that to come out. He's still never smelled what your scent is like when you're happy. Maybe there was that one moment when you rescued him- but he's half convinced that was a dream anyway.

“Finally feel like talking Ey?” You exhale against him, your body limp. You don’t pull away from him, you don’t even look up at him. Yoongi wishes you'd fight him, that you'd banter back. But it scares him, it scares him that you don't even have that in you anymore.  

“At the beginning, Geumjae forbade me from talking to anyone that wasn’t him. I was so scared back then." Yoongi can almost taste the memory of that fear on your scent, he breathes in, imprinting the scent of you to memory. Even if it's your sad scent, even if he hates what it represents.

"I didn’t know how to act like you guys do, how to be taken seriously, how to say this the right way, how to dress like that-"

"I don’t act in any-"

"Yes. You do. You’re different but you can’t help it." Yoongi goes quiet, let's you speak. The tone of your voice firm. "I couldn’t understand what they were saying anyway. But it was still so isolating.”

You watch the people bustle back and forth out the distant windows, the people bundled up against the cold and snow. Underneath the table, you clutch at Yoongi’s hand. Your grip isn’t harsh, But Yoongi knows it’s the strongest you can make it.

“I didn’t speak to another soul for weeks, months, not even to him. It made him so angry when I wouldn’t even react, but I’d go to this little place inside my head, far away from Geumjae, far away from anything he could do to hurt me. A place where he can’t touch me. I still go there sometimes. I’m sorry."

Yoongi’s heart is in his throat. “It’s alright.” He says after a moment, unsure what to say to that and unsure how to provide a comfort that you’ll accept, that will do more good than harm.

“I tried to do everything, I tried to be perfect, I tried to be what they wanted and look at where it’s gotten me.” your eyes flicker up to his, “look where it’s gotten both of us.”

You’re silent for a long time after that, but Yoongi doesn’t prod you for more, on the contrary. “You don’t have to speak if you don’t want too, I don’t mind.” You tap your fingers against his knuckles, gently exploring the scarf tied to his wrist, now worn and frayed at the edges because Yoongi hasn’t taken it off in weeks.

You don’t say another thing for the rest of the night. Not when he leans in, resting his cheek across the top of your head. Clouds blanket the city, but even above the cloud cover, there’s not a star in the sky.

~-~

(7 days before, Yoongi)

The promise of home looms, uncertain. Yoongi has not tried to reach out to the pack since before his phone was broken and has not contacted them at all in 113 days. He wonders if they’re going crazy still or if they’re mad enough that they don’t give a shit about him anymore.

By this time next week, Yoongi will have made his choice. By this time next week Yoongi could be on his way to them.

Freedom is a dirty word, tastes like rain on his tongue. What is to become of you then?

Maybe it’s better this way, maybe it’s better if they never know. And Yoongi can live with a mostly clear conscience because at least for a brief while, he'd had gotten to fall in love and have it reciprocated. Not just once but 6 times. Yoongi knows he's gotten more love than most. In the end, he's done everything he could to protect them.

Yoongi closes his eyes looking up at the ceiling in the cottage, intent on daydreaming until he falls asleep. It’s late now, nearing 1am. He really should get some sleep. The gala and the naming of Don is barely 7 days away, 6 if Yoongi counts the days by the date and not by the number of sleeps. The minutes tick down, as important as a heartbeat. The red alarm clock in the corner blinks, and his suitcase remains in the corner, still open. Yoongi has never really unpacked. Never intending on staying for long.

Yoongi has just closed his eyes when a short knock comes at the front door.

(Like I said, Yoongi's conscience is mostly clear, mostly, but not all the way.)

Yoongi blinks awake at the sound of it, quick short efficient wraps against the wood. He runs a hand through his hair annoyance flaring because he’s tired. Wrapped in a robe stolen from the hotel as he opens the front door, the knocking never pausing.

“What the fuck do you- shit-”

You tumble into his arms, clearly having used the front door to prop yourself up. Your front is covered with so much blood that at first it’s hard to tell where you’re bleeding. Panic and fear build and fight to a crescendo as Yoongi drags you inside and kicks the door shut before anyone can see.

Yoongi knows what a lot of blood looks like.

For a horrifying moment, Yoongi thinks that Geumjae has tried to slit your throat.

But then your head moves, lolling to the side in his arms, and he registers that it’s uneven, down your chin to your jaw, not across like a smile. He doesn’t know how you got past the people stationed at the front of his driveway. He wonders how you managed to get them to let you through. Especially looking like this.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

Maybe you just asked nicely. You're kind of a hard person to say no to.

“Don’t apologize, here sit-” you’re holding a blood-soaked cloth under your jaw, Yoongi has to gently cajole you into taking it away. The fibers stick to the gash. The blood barely clotted because whatever cut you was surgically sharp. It’s deep, deep enough that it splits, and Yoongi can see the place where your skin becomes flesh. It's just at the spot where your throat meets your jaw, on the underside of your chin. Yoongi’s not sure if you need stitches. Probably.

 His eyes flicker from it to your eyes.

“He-” You swallow, and wince, and the gash moves. Yoongi has never seen you cry before, has never seen your eyes fill with tears but they do now, wet. Gathering.  “He threw a glass at me.”

Your clothes are soaked with blood. Soaked. Boiling in rage. Yoongi holds your jaw and seals up your gash with a little bit of glue suture that sings so bad that you do cry. And Yoongi can do little more but tell you he’s sorry again and again until he’s done. Forehead pressed to yours letting out these little shushing noises as he tosses the packet and the bloody gauze to the side and holds you.

At least it stops bleeding.

Yoongi wishes he could call Namjoon; Namjoon would know if you needed stitches or medical attention. Namjoon would know what to do- would know what to say and how to get you out of here. He’d soothe your pain and your aches better than Yoongi ever could.

And Seokjin and Jimin would know how to comfort you when you shake so bad that Yoongi can barely do more than dab at it with a cloth. Try to make sure it’s clean of all the glass shards. Taehyung and Hoseok would know how to make you smile after this and Jungkook- Jungkook would hold around your waist, would wrap you up in him to protect you. Using his body as a shield.

They don’t even know you yet and this, Yoongi is sure of. Yoongi is useless at this without them. Yoongi is useless. All these weeks you've been hurting. And he hasn't really been able to protect you at all. Has only been able to minimize the damage and fix you just enough that you’re not dead.

But how many more close calls can you have? How many more days of abuse can you endure?

They’d love you, he’s sure of it.

Exhausted and shaky he stops your bleeding. Yoongi gets you a fresh change of clothes. His sweatshirt is still so large on you that it dusts your knees. It makes you smell like him and if the situation were any less dire it would make Yoongi purr.

While he picks the last of the glass fragments out of your hair, he voices what he’s wanted to say for months. He’s tired of dancing around it.

You watch him wary.

“You know- I could get you out of here if you wanted. If you asked me to do it, I’d make it happen.”

You recoil like Yoongi’s the one to throw a glass in your face. Pulling back from his touch, a shard of glass, pearly, a bit rainbow where it's shattered in concentric circles. Plops onto the small round table.

You're almost breathless with how shocked you are. “I can’t. I can’t leave Yoongi. He’ll kill me. He’ll kill you and I can’t be the reason why you don’t go home, I’ll-” You’re speaking so quick he can’t interrupt, can't tell you to damn the consequences. It’s like all your words have been kept back by a floodgate, rippling out now. Your voice shaky with fear. “He’ll get better once you name him Don, right? Then he just won’t be so angry all the time- right? He'll have everything he wants and that will satisfy him. And he’ll be out of the house so much it will hardly feel like we’re even married.”

Yoongi knows that this is just what you've been telling yourself over the last few weeks. That you'll say and think anything to convince yourself that things will one day get better. Anything to give you just a little bit of hope. You are a creature of survival, and survival subsists on hope.

You look like you’re begging Yoongi to reassure you. When you both know that nothing is going to change, some people are just rotten to the core. And Yoongi can’t be forceful with you when you look like you might run out of here just as quickly as you came. Yoongi wonders how long it will take Geumjae to find you and how badly he’ll hurt you this time.

You both know there will only be more of this- more of you trapped. More pain and more terror. Unless you trust Yoongi.

If you trust Yoongi.

Yoongi speaks- trying to figure out what will keep you here the longest, trying as long as he can keep you out of harm’s way. “You don’t deserve this sweetheart; you don't deserve everything he's done to you. You deserve to be loved.” Yoongi's voice cracks, and he sees from the way you recoil- he must have touched on something sensitive. A soft spot or an open wound that Geumjae has made in you.

How many times has he screamed at you that you’re no better than a worm beneath his boot? That you are nothing? Every bit of love you've ever gotten was something you either had to earn or pay for. You won’t show Yoongi it, but there’s a scar on your lower back. A word that Geumjae put there when you had yet to learn your lesson. Each letter hurt when he carved them into your body. Forever. You know they scared bad. He cut deeper than the one on your jaw.

Worthless.

It's written on you in scar tissue. Written on your soul too. There is no hiding it. The sooner Yoongi learns the better.

“Who’s going to love me, Yoongi? Not when I’m like this,” you gesture to yourself, failing to meet his eyes. Holding yourself like it’s the only thing that can give you comfort. And all Yoongi can think is that there is nothing about you that deserves the utter disgust in your voice. He knows, distantly he can hear Seokjin telling him. This is just the low self-esteem talking. Another side effect of the abuse. Damage that goes deeper than any physical bandage or medicine can heal.

The only thing that could help is time and love, and you only have one of those things.

In 6 days Yoongi will be free, but you? You won’t be free from this until Geumjae puts a bullet in your head or someone puts one in his.

His whispered confession is true as he holds the cold cloth back to the cut on your jaw. Beading with blood from the amount that you’ve talked. He hopes his words will soothe that spot too. Any and all damage his brother has done, Yoongi wants to heal.

“I could love you,” he says it so casually like it's nothing. But it's anything but nothing to you.

You shoot up, standing so quick that the blood rushes to your head and you teeter. You can’t see Yoongi’s concern through the tears clouding your vision. You narrowly avoid his outstretched arms, instead gripping the table to keep yourself from falling over. Shaking your head vehemently. Your shin knocks against the coffee table hard as you back away from him. His hands go out to grab you, but he thinks better of it.

“You can’t Yoongi- he’ll kill you. I won’t be the reason why you die- I won’t.” You promise vehemently. “You need to get back to your pack, you need to make it up to them. They need you.”

He takes one step forward. “But you need me too.” You do, that you can’t argue with no matter how much you want to. “Don’t tell me it’s too late to save you when we both know it’s not.”

“It’s not, but I wish I was beyond saving so that you wouldn’t try.”

“You think I have a choice? That I meant to-" love you, he breaks off, half shouting at you now. "Before I met you, I was going to come to this fucking city, name someone Don, and fuck the family for good. I was going to disappear. But now I can't.”

Yoongi realizes his mistake the second you flinch. Sometimes words can hurt too. Can hurt worse than physical damage. When your voice goes soft rather than forceful Yoongi knows he's fucked up.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be a burden. Let me make the choice easier for you.” You don’t grab your jacket, you fold the cloth, put it on the kitchen counter, and walk out the door.

By the time Yoongi runs after you, you’ve already disappeared down the garden path and into the maze of neon lights. Sinking into the crowds of drunk college kids and businessmen hoping to nurse their hurts in a bottle of liquor. You disappear like a shadow or a wraith. Like you’re already a Spector, already dead.

That night Yoongi dreams of you again. It’s the same dream that he had months ago where he was lying on the fur with the skylight and snow up above. The fur beneath him feels silky and cool, and he lies there just watching you.

The dream is the same. Only this time you're the one with the gun.

~-~

(Read the first Version of this story Here)

Notes:

- Ahhh I really like the line ‘Geumjae likes taking what you don’t want to give.’ I think it sums up his character and the type of abuse he puts her through really well.

- Incase it’s not clear- Geumjae did not believe the m/c and punished her when she tried to get him to go to Yoongi. But because she texted Moonbyul (or Hyejin really, it’s up to you to decide who she texted) they were able to rush in and save him. I have to admit even I’m not sure if she’s actually there when Yoongi is rescued, I think it might just have been him hallucinating because of dehydration. I also think Geumjae could have punished her, left the house in a rage/annoyance, and Moonbyul showed up soon after to go rescue Yoongi. I don’t think it really matters what order of events occurred only that it’s Moonbyul and the m/c that saved Yoongi.

- Sajangnim means boss in Korean! Just for clarification

- I think the moment that the m/c looks away from Yoongi is the moment that Yoongi realizes that he’s falling in love with her and that if he leaves her to Geumjae he’ll never forgive himself.

- (Trigger warning: sexual abuse, rape, non-consensual sex acts), I think that Geumjae made the m/c suck him off and raped her infont of the guards at least once, he probably also invited any of them who wanted her to have her and then cut off the dick of the alpha who stepped up to rape her. He also probably made her do lewd things for their entertainment. I think at least one of the guards did report what happened back to Moonbyul, but she didn’t do anything about it or make any move to save the m/c. If anything she probably just took notes to use it against her in the future, to know how to threaten and subtly trigger the m/c to be more subservient. Moonbyul is more of a fan of psychological abuse than physical.

- I feel as though, maybe Yoongi’s words of ‘it’s alright’ are patronizing? But I don’t know what the m/c could hear in this situation that would be comforting. Idk, maybe I’ll think on it some more and change the dialogue here eventually.

- I don’t know if any of you have ever had your skin glued shut but let me tell you it is so fucking painful! It’s literally like! So much more painful than stitches or worse. Maybe because the stuff my abuser used on me was definitely not body safe and I’m pretty sure it was like- hobby glue or the kind they use in tactical but! It’s the worst!! Truly would rather be stabbed again than have to go through it.

[paladin--strait]

skills showcase - auston matthews

reader gets invited to go with auston to the nhl all star skills showcase with some other wags to show off their own skills. how does it end?

-

i walk into the locker room, skates in hand and a few of the wags by my side. i think we're all a little nervous for the upcoming showcase but i think it'll be a fun, once in a lifetime opportunity.

when i got the message a few weeks ago asking if i'd be willing to be a part of it, i almost told them no. if auston hadn't have talked me into it, i'd be sitting in my seat on the front row, watching my fiancé show off his own talents alongside more nhl stars.

i tie up my skates, tucking in the extra lace string and putting the bottom of my pants over it. i stand, a little wobbly since auston had just started teaching me how to skate the week before last and i'm still not very good at it. i slowly make my way to the hallway, waiting for my turn to go onto the ice when the announcer calls my name and introduces me.

once i hear them say my name, i carefully make my way out onto the ice, stick in hand, and over to auston, he grabs my hands once i make it to him to help me stop. "nice jersey." he laughs, pointing at his blue jersey that i stole from him to wear tonight.

"thanks, it's my fiancés." i joke and laugh, moving to stand beside him.

be laughs at my little joke, but then he gets serious. "where's your helmet?" he asks, frowning.

"they didn't give us one." i shrug, looking up at him.

"i gave you one to wear?" he laughs awkwardly. wondering where my helmet is.

"they told us we didn't need it..." i shrug again, pointing to some of the coordinators that are now on the bench.

"absolutely not. my top priority with you being out here is that you're safe." he says sternly, "you're wearing mine." he unclips his helmet, taking it off and plopping it on my head. he clips the strap together and adjusts it, making sure it's secure and comfortable.

"auston...now i'm the only one out here wearing a helmet..." i pout, crossing my arms and looking down at the ice.

"it'll be alright. i know it's probably embarrassing to you, but if you fall over like you were doing yesterday you'll be grateful." he laughs, tapping the top of the helmet.

i laugh, looking up to see the first wife skating up for the shooting portion of the short showcase. there's only five wags here so it shouldn't last long. she shoots and isn't able to make it past jeremy swayman, who offered to goaltend the shooting portion. he high fives her and she skates off to the speed portion.

she makes it past pretty easily, shooting one last goal and missing it too. the next woman goes and preforms about the same, but this time she made the second goal. after decent performances by all the women, it's my turn. i grip my stick that auston bought me, and skate up to the line.

i start at center ice, bringing the puck down until i get at a good distance and angle to shoot. i make my shot, smiling as i continue skating so i can try and get the fastest time. i trip up a little when going around the cones, but i quickly recover and speed up going back down the ice for my second shot. i shoot, aiming the puck for the top left corner, and make it.

i smile and throw my hands up in the air, skating back to auston who's skating towards me with a huge smile on his face. he picks me up, twirling me around and then setting me back down.

they calculate the scores, and soon determine that i won the little showcase. i smile wide as i skate over to pk subban, who was doing some interviews on the ice. he asks me a few questions about myself and then he says, "where'd you get the helmet from? seems like you're the only one who wanted to wear one." he laughs, holding the microphone up to me.

i lean in a little, "well, they told us we didn't need a helmet, but auston insisted that i wear his because he wants me to be safe. i fall a lot and i just learned to skate week before last so..." i laugh, adjusting my helmet.

pk laughs, saying a few more things before a quick goodbye. i skate over to auston and take off the helmet, handing it back to him. "here, baby.." he takes the helmet from me and gives me a kiss on the cheek.

"you did really well, sweetheart." he says with a smile.

"thank you," i say, fiddling with the hem of the dark blue jersey i was wearing. "i only did well because you taught me how to play..."

"you did well because you were willing to learn. i'm not surprised you skated and shot that well. but damn, you did amazing out there. it's like you're a natural on the ice." he smiles, looking at me.

they soon tell announce that the wags are done in the ice and we can take our leave.

i begin making my way towards the exit off the ice before auston grabs my arm, "my love, if you want you can sit on the bench beside me and watch." he says with a smile.

"will i be in anyone's way over there?" i ask, furrowing my brows.

"you shouldn't be. if they tell you to go, just let me know and i'll take care of it." he says, pulling me along with him and guiding me to the little bench that they set up on the ice for the players.

i sit in between him and sidney crosby, my heart racing. i look over at auston with an excited expression on my face. "auston...i'm sitting beside sidney crosby..." i whisper, smiling with excitement.

he nods and pats my head, "you can talk to him if you want. he doesn't bite." auston laughs.

i shake my head immediately, my eyes going wide. "no! i'll probably embarrass myself." i whisper. "and how do you know he doesn't bite?"

auston laughs a little louder and pulls me close, my body pressed against his side. he taps sidney on the shoulder, beginning to casually talk with him. i watch the other players on the ice take their turn showing off their skills, but the mention of my name makes me turn to look at auston in confusion.

he points to sidney, who's looking at me with a smile and an extended hand. i slowly reach out and shake his hand, listening as he introduces himself to me. sidney and i talk for a bit before it's his turn to go next in the current competition.

i look back up at auston and smile, "i told you he doesn't bite." he says with a laugh, "i'm next. you gonna be okay?" his expression turns a little more serious.

i nod with a smile, "yeah, i'll be okay. how much is left after this competition?"

he thinks for a second before he answers, "not much. maybe twenty minutes?" he says, watching as sidney finishes his turn and makes his way back to his seat beside me before he stands to get ready for his upcoming turn. i wish him luck and watch as he skates off.

-

after the showcase ends, auston drives me to the luxurious hotel and drops me off so i can sleep while he goes to hang out with his friends. i shut the hotel room door and kick off my shoes, cutting on a few of the smaller lights around the room instead of the big, overhead light.

i brush my teeth after i change out of my clothes, spitting out the toothpaste and rinsing with mouthwash. i wash my face and take off the little bit of makeup i had on. i walk back into the room, cutting off all the lights except for the one by the door so auston can see when he comes back to the room.

i turn on the tv and go to youtube, pulling up a video with soft, ambient music and a calming background to help me sleep. i get comfortable under the bed and pick up my phone. i click on my tracking app i have with auston and see that he's still out with the guys, his little icon signaling that he's in a building. i text him goodnight and shut off my phone, plugging it in.

i snuggle into the covers, closing my eyes. my efforts to fall asleep in vain, the cold mattress and quiet atmosphere that's usually filled with auston's snoring now making me almost uncomfortable. i can normally handle him being away, but something about this night is different. i sigh, sitting up in the bed and walking over to his suitcase. i grab the shirt he wore yesterday off the chair, slipping of my sleep shirt and putting on his shirt.

the smell of his cologne, hair products, and even a faint scent of his deodorant comforts me slightly as i make my way back to the bed, sliding in on his side. i pull his pillow close and close my eyes. the feeling of sleep soon overtakes my active mind, the soft music helping lull me to a restless sleep without auston in the bed with me.

-

i wake to a gentle hand on my shoulder, grumbling as i open my eyes. i sit up, my hair a frizzy mess as i yawn. i take a second to let my eyes focus, looking up at auston. "you're back..." i whisper.

he smiles softly, "of course i am, i'll always come back to you."

i smile sleepily at his words, scooting back so he can take his place in the hotel bed. he slips in and immediately throws the covers over his body, grabbing my waist and pulling me closer. we lay in silence for a second before i hear him speak softly. "you still awake?"

"yeah, you okay?" i look up at him in the darkness, my words cutting through the silence.

"yeah, i just wanted to tell you that i'm proud of you." he says, even in the darkness i can hear the smile on his face.

"for what?" i ask, my brows furrowing.

"for doing so well out there earlier. the guys were all raving to me about how good you did, at it really made me think about it." he says, "i guess i was so wrapped up in the excitement of everything that i forgot to truly congratulate you for winning and for doing such an amazing job."

i smile softly at his words, "thank you, auston. did i really do that good?"

"oh absolutely. you did way better than all those other women out there." he laughs.

i laugh along with him, "i don't know, david's wife rebecca did pretty well."

he hums, "she did okay."

i smack his chest softly, laughing along with him a little. "hey buddy, that's my friend you're talking about!" my words make him laugh a little harder, but soon silence fell over the dark hotel room once more. "but seriously, thank you. i couldn't have been able to do that without you."

he says nothing, pressing a kiss to my lips before he yawns and grabs the small of my back, pulling me closer. i yawn after him, hearing him yawn caused me to follow along almost immediately. he chuckles, rubbing my back softly. i close my eyes, finally content. i soon hear the comforting sound of his snores, making me smile as i soon begin to fall asleep as well.

the excitement and busyness of the day floats away from both auston and my sore bodies, gentle snores erupting from both of us as we sleep off the tired feeling in each others arms.

[tricoloreddango]

☆Glass Breaking☆

Chrollo Lucilfer x female reader

Second and last part to [link]. I recommend reading first part to make a sense of the story.

contents: angst / slight manga spoilers / childhood trauma / Chrollo has an identity crisis / mentions of suicide / non-con attempt (only in a nightmare and as a paranoia) / non-consensual touching / mentions of violence / manipulation / generally suggestive.

Do not read it if you’re a minor or uncomfortable with mentioned topics.

Word count: 8.7k

The hotel suite you were made to stay in was all silent, ignoring the occasional buzz of the AC keeping the place cool. The place was all modern, but with some darker and raw design that wasn't helping your current mood. You doubted it was paid for in the first place as well. No, for someone like Chrollo or other members who sometimes visited, it was much easier to get rid of the person that rented the suite, take over once that person is disposed, and protect their identity at the same time.

Said Chrollo was gone somewhere again, having left without telling you much, as he’s been doing so the entire time of your stay here. It’s been few weeks after he’s taken you with him, with it signalling the start of your new way of living. Every question about his whereabouts were dismissed with a wording too general for you to make a specific guess, unless his leaving was for more trivial reasons such as shopping.

Even just the idea of doing something as simple as shopping felt odd when you thought of Chrollo, now that you’ve learned Chrollo isn’t Eric and that Eric was a completely different person in his being anyway. For all you were not told, he might as well be killing someone during his current disappearance. Probably was.

However, his absence was beneficial to you, or so you assumed. Only then you were able to try to spot any of the smallest details that could let you get out of this place, and today, was meant to be another of your escape attempts. You were now standing near the dark grey door leading out of the hotel suite, ready to discover the mechanism of the electronic lock as another thing on the list of crucial to your leaving details. You didn't plan to go much further than to the reception to ask to call for help; rather you'd make someone working here try to reach out hunter association right away.

Only for your dream to be ruined. You froze in your stand, your hand falling off of the handle when you heard a cheery voice behind you, one you didn’t expect to be heard; not today. You thought you were alone in the suite, deducing that with its quietness.

“Here you are, snooping around again,” Shalnark said with a mock disappointment yet his voice stayed as happy as always. Perhaps to him, your attempts were nothing but childish (and rather adorable, condescendingly), amused that you thought you’d be able to leave. A random and nenless woman, surrounded and known by the wolves aroud her, should only choose to submit to her current situaton.

“Boss wouldn’t like hearing about you trying to find a way out, for…” Shalnark paused, pretending to think of the right number as if he didn’t know it immediately, “… fourteenth time this week!”

You turned around with a sense of unease. You should have known that your moves would have been watched around people like them, people like Chrollo. You were still not entirely sure what the roles of Phantom Troupe members were exactly, especially when they were mostly assigned to simply watch you while Chrollo was gone; not to mention they'd been evading any more serious concerns you had.

Their superiority over you exerted itself in the fact that it was hard to tell each time another troupe member was in the chamber as their moves were too quiet to be spotted to an amateur like you, or even hunters. You could be in another room, just a wall between, and you'll be unaware someone has entered.

You looked at blonde haired young man, wondering what should you say. It wasn’t that being caught again stressed you—it was simply being in presence of members like him that made you anxious, knowing about many crimes the Phantom Troupe was accused of. Especially when, regardless of how many escape attempts you had, so far, there was no consequences for you—somehow. Maybe they all found them that funny and pathetic they didn’t even take you seriously.

“Chrollo also does things I don’t like yet he doesn’t consider my opinion on that,” you said defensively, crossing your arms. Your words made Shalnark laugh. Yep, you really were an entertainment for the public at this point.

“You’re always so sarcastic, no wonder boss likes you so much!” he giggled, but then stopped for a moment, as if catching himself in some forbidden act. “Don’t tell him I said that though.”

Your eye twitched at the mention of Chrollo “liking you.” You well remembered his given reasoning for forcing you to be the part of his life, and while you tried to make the sense of his wording back then, it still sounded like a mental talk today. This reasoning wasn't enough excusable to drag you out of your own life anyway. You didn’t want to be liked by Chrollo if this is what being likeable by him means. Were you that much of an odd person to draw his interest? You found yourself common in and out. The sarcastic speech was nothing but you being unable to keep your frustrations to yourself, not an attempt at being sassy.

“And why is that?” you asked with curiosity, wondering if Chrollo happens to have a weak spot Shalnark could have just implied; something to use. “Boss is just trying to be all cool and mysterious, you know. I don’t want to ruin his image!” he teased you, not giving you any serious answer in the end.

Next, his hand was on your back as he led you back deep inside the suite, and into a living room with a good view of the city and spacious couch and glass coffee table, tall ceiling, cement walls—all interior in same gloomy colors. You were pushed down onto the black leather couch, and being shoven a remote into your hand. “If you’re really that bored, just watch some movie.” As if you didn’t have enough of them already. “I have some work to do,” Shalnark announced and disappeared into one of the rooms in the corridor. But before he closed the door, he shouted back at you, “And don’t move anywhere, I will know you did!” The door was slammed shut.

The suite was quiet again, but this time, every second felt like an anticipation for something. You didn’t remember the last time you felt truly calm, as your “hostage” situation had you stay stressed out. You missed your life, you missed your aunt, but above all, you missed your autonomy and feeling of safety.

Yes, your life wasn’t glamorous working as an IT worker all day, neither was your pay. There hadn't been much to look forward to that you didn’t do already everyday. But you had a choice and such ability makes people who they are, as that’s how they express themselves; and at least you weren’t dealing with a deadly group of criminals. You were still unaware of Chrollo’s intentions with you (besides “I want to understand you” talk), not sure how far he’d go in hurting you, but expecting the worst just in case—hence your ongoing anxiety.

The silence was killing you, so you turned on the tv. Switching between channels back and forth, you didn’t find anything interesting, but you stayed on news channels for few minutes, hoping to see a report about yourself. You didn’t. It really got you thinking of multiple theories. Was your aunt uncaring about your disappearance? Or, did she report it, but you just weren’t that important in eyes of public to be put on the news for people to know? Or even worse, was she forced to be silenced, perhaps with violence? Chrollo promised to not hurt her as long as you comply, but you couldn’t believe him. Secrecy leads to mistrust, mistrust leads to resentment.

A random commercial channel stayed on when you shoved your head back against the back of the couch, staring at the ceiling. So much boredom was forced upon you. Chrollo took you outside, knowing you’d be both an annoyance and resentful if he keeps you inside all day, but you never had a full control of the choice where and for how long. You felt more like a dog being walked, and it’s not as if you enjoyed his presence much. You liked Eric from before whole Chrollo reveal, but he was an illusion of who Chrollo truly was.

Another thing was the cause of your kidnapping. Normally, women are kidnapped to be tortured, raped, killed, trafficked or as a hostage. And you instead were living a, somewhat, normal life. With occasional affection Chrollo expressed towards you, it felt disgustingly domestic too.

You could never feel safe regardless, due to how powerless you were. Not even a hunter, not even a nen or knowledge how to learn it you possessed.

You were getting lost in thought until a voice shook you aware again. Twice in a row wasn't good for your health. “A penny for your thoughts?” the voice teased gently.

You immediately sat up straight, seeing Chrollo has returned and was standing inside the room. You were really going to get a heart attack with these people soon!

“Chrollo, what the hell,” you grumbled in annoyance, to which Chrollo chuckled. He was eyeing you bit intensely, liking what he’s seeing, though not in a suggestive way really; you weren’t wearing anything other than a simple sweatpants and T-shirt anyway, unless he foud you desirable like this anyway. He was content with having your person here, especially when you were making his fantasies come true. “I don’t think I’m to blame here. You looked zoned out.”

“I wouldn’t hear you enter even if I wasn’t.”

Chrollo only smiled in amusement, before he walked towards you and sat down on the coach next to you, with a space between you two thankfully. You tensed up impulsively, and even that small wriggle got his attention. Looking sideways at him, you noticed he was dressed up rather casually today, not betraying any location he had spent his time at—just some black jeans and black long sleeve, all mysterious and... You suddenly laughed as you remembered Shalnark’s words. Perhaps the blondie was right.

Chrollo looked at you in curiosity, not at all offended, merely curious. “You’re laughing, something I don’t see often. Care to share why is that?” he said with interest. Looking at him, you switched from laughing to a sigh. Should you really say what Shalnark told you? “Someone described as you trying to be all cool and mysterious,” you said through a snicker anyway.

His eyes widened, but just slightly; there was no embarrassment or anger either. “Shalnark, you mean?” he assumed. When you nodded, he couldn’t help but ask, “And do you find it to be true?”

You didn’t know if the question was meant to be tricky, meant to see how far your disrespect could go, but you went with honesty as always. “Well… you do act all mysterious. You’re also annoying to me, since you hide so much from me.” Yet you fell into your own trap by answering him, as the question made you thought of your current position and your tone was getting heated up. “When will you finally explain everything to me—” you wanted to add angrily, but all of the sudden, Chrollo pulled you onto his side.

His right arm held you close to him, wrapped around your waist, and he ignored you trying to squirm away. He leaned forward to grab the book from the coffee table, one he left behind before leaving today, and leaning back, he looked at you again. “Let me go, Chro—”

“Calm down. You were stressed out lately, so let’s refocus your mind elsewhere,” he said way too calmly for your own emotional state. You felt nothing but gaslit by him; considering he didn’t even address your concerns and with that, acted as if there’s nothing bad going. You had a lot to worry about, having been literally kidnapped.

Any further protests you had, Chrollo kept holding you like this until you finally stopped trying to get away and cursing him, all resigned as he was more stubborn than you. Only then he opened that damn book, left handed too, and started reading aloud for some reason. His arm pressed you even closer to him, with your head forced against his shoulder. You wanted to ask him what he’s doing, but you gave up on the idea, knowing this infuriating man wouldn’t answer you. You really couldn’t handle a man like him—you, always honest, inquiring and expressive; and him, all nonchalant, secretive and confusing.

The further confusion led you to finally look down at the book’s pages, trying to understand him at least through the stories he was reading. Of course you heard him say same words aloud, but you preferred to read yourself. You didn’t even realize when you now were focusing on the story yourself, your mind finally quiet for once in the spread of last few weeks.

‘It was of course nothing to worry about, he accepted the setback only because he was looking for a fight. If he stayed at home and carried on with his normal life he would be a thousand times superior to these people and could get any of them out of his way just with a kick,’ you read. Kafka.

Following with the flow of the book wasn’t that easy, considering you tended to consume books that are easy on the mind as a form of relaxation and not classical literature, but you tried your best. Your another effort was you trying to understand Chrollo, wondering if the book was picked based on its quality, or if it had an even more significant meaning; all without realizing you were giving him exactly what he has wanted the entire time. Understantment and exploration, job forced on you.

Chrollo glanced at you for a second, you all so prettily unaware, and back at the book’s pages. Leaving you confused and uninformed about his intensions and actions was a key part in making you understand him. If you aren’t provided an answer, you’ll look for an answer yourself, with that you’ll be going through a natural process of getting to know Chrollo—a catalyst he has created for you. He could have told you things about yourself, but not only he did not understand everything about himself, your thoughts about him were meant to be more deep should you be forced to think for yourself.

Not to mention a possible attachment. Sometimes you sparked a bit of possessiveness in him as he doubted he’d like any man being so intimate with you. You were his to explore and he was yours to understand.

Reading along with Chrollo eventually put you under a spell of nothingness on your mind, especially that his voice was smooth and calm enough on your ears with them involuntarily soaking in the sound, and you were finally shifting your attention somewhere else than your problem. You didn’t even question his method of calming you down anymore... or his intensions.

But whether you learned something new about Chrollo… you noticed he wants you to enjoy same books he does, as he has occasionally stopped for your sake so you could catch up after needing to reaad some line multiple times; he also liked physical contact more than verbal communication, as his fingers were absently rubbing your arm. And…

“So you’re ambidextrous?” you finally asked after good quarters of break from speaking due to reading. Chrollo turned his head to look at you, also enjoying the little weariness in your voice. Good, you were getting relaxed. “You noticed, huh? It makes things easier, when…” He had to stop himself here, realizing it’s too soon to tell you about his ability. Its existence would propably only scare you further, should you realize how much he can hurt you with it if he chooses to. Regardless, he looked somewhat satisfied that you found out a detail about him. A small detail, but it meant you pay attention to who he was.

“When?” you asked with a raised brow, wanting him to finish his thought. “When I work,” he said simply.

Hearing ‘work’ was like a sudden whiplash. You now were self aware again, having realized you were getting so comfortable in his presence, forgetting he’s a literal murderer and monster. More awake, you tried to get away from him again, which he didn’t let you, no matter how little the space in his arms felt compared to the huge living room or how much the leather squeaked under your protests.

“Don’t struggle, I won’t hurt you,” he said calmly, but his big grey eyes, so empty to observe when looking at them, watched you like a hawk. Chrollo didn’t derive any sadistic pleasure from observing your distress yet it couldn’t be said his intentions were innocent in their nature either—to him, observing a humanity he was lacking that you didn’t, was a show greater than many. It was something you could describe as finding enjoyment at your expense in the end nonetheless.

“But you already are!” you rebutted, your voice now both angry and anxious, “You think I’m not hurt by this situation already? I don’t want to be here. I want to be home.” The situation of his eyes remaining on the same hunt for your emotions made you feel patronized and frustrated with how little Chrollo took you seriously

He didn’t speak for few seconds, looking at you intensely, weighing your words. No hint of pity or sympathy you would have wanted for your comfort or hope. “And what is home to you, exactly?” he finally asked. How infuriating it was to hear, when he was trying to twist it into some psychological or philosophical conversation. You wanted for him to acknowledge your feelings, not to play with them!

“Chrollo, I don’t want to talk to you like this,” you said seriously. "I'm not a psychiatric patient."

“Answer me the question and I’ll answer one of your questions,” he proposed. Your eyes widened at the sudden deal proposal. Not that it shouldn’t be a bare minimum for him to answer questions, if they were about things that concerned you, but if he wouldn’t do it any other way than through gaining something himself first… It was your sole chance. “A-any question?” you asked hopefully.

“Any,” he responded immediately. You couldn’t believe he’d actually promise that, because the question you could ask can be the most invasive and reavaling there is possible. “But why would you want that?” you asked with suspicion. “Didn’t I say it when I had come to visit your aunt?” ‘Visit’ felt condescending and downplaying to you, considering the nature of what happened that awful night. Your aunt on the floor… you never got a chance to see if she’s truly okay afterwards, but you tried to remember what he said exactly.

“It means you are mine and you will be for a while, (Y/N),” he said intensely. “And I plan to make you understand me, and understand you as well.”

And membering it again appeared unpleasant to you. Your face frowned at the thought. You got the message though. “So you’ll answer any question about yourself because you want me to understand you. But you also make me guess everything, so why would you suddenly allow me to know something, anything as well?” you said confused, and now you look frustrated instead. Can this man be any more unpredictable?

“That’s true, but I’m doing this as unfortunately not everything can be guessed. More specific events or opinions, I don’t think even you would have guessed,” Chrollo stated with a small smile, and his fingers now played with the ends of your hair. He noticed it was getting drier upon the forceful and stressful conditions… he’ll ask someone to buy you a better conditioner than the hotel offered. “Tell me what you consider home, and I’ll answer any question, no matter what it is.”

You exhaled shakily. You could bullshit about what home meant to you, giving some pretty and warm answer, but you knew he would see through you. Or rather, he did so already—he must have noticed at some point, that your memories responsible for a process in what made the idea of home to you weren’t happy. Your entire being screamed “something happened to me so I am a bit bitter and not trusting”. What stopped you was the fact that being so vulnerable was extremely scary, not just because it’s Chrollo you are supposed to say this to, but especially because of this argument anyway. Not that your trauma wasn’t easy to speak about for any reason.

“Home to me is…” you started unsurely, and didn’t like how more intense his gaze became, as if staring inside your entire being, “…a nice fantasy, but I don’t think I’ve truly ever experienced home to be the way I’ve wanted it to be,” your voice was shaky.

“That’s rather vague. I still don’t know what home is to you, just that it’s not the way you wanted it to be,” he said bluntly, crushing your heart a little. How can he be so emotionless in the face of you baring yourself to him?

“What?” you moaned out in distress. You couldn’t take the tension anymore and decided to blurt your definition quickly, “Home should be a safe place for me but it never was. My parents, they both were terrible people, one narcissistic and other absent, so I never had that home as I had to raise myself! I didn’t get any warmth or affection so home is nonexistent to me! Are you satisfied now?!” you shouted the last part. It was a miracle you didn’t cry yet.

Chrollo’s face was painted in a small surprise, his eyes rendered more lively too, and eventually, he nodded as if considering your answer to be acceptable. Inside, he felt satisfaction from having you reveal another part of yourself. “Thank you for telling me that. Now I can tell why you’re always so honest yet insecure.”

Your mouth opened in shock, and your hand was flying straight at his face. How dare he treat your experience as something more akin to experiment than you speaking up about your trauma? Rather than caring about your feelings, he was making them to be an observation for his own enjoyment.

To which Chrollo caught your hand with ease and kissed the palm of it instead, something that to you seemed as an attempt to further patronize you. He then held your hand tightly in his, on his lap, not letting go no matter how much you tried to pull it back. His palm was bigger than yours and even more stronger, leaving yours locked in this prison.

“You’re getting so heated over this. I just find what I said to be truth… not to mock you, but to understand you.” You were getting allergic to the word ‘understand’, but Chrollo’s face truly didn’t carry any mockery; instead he rubbed his thumb against your palm soothingly, as much as he can be affectionate. “Eric” was affectionate too, but it was a play. Chrollo wasn’t faking this affection, no matter how new it was for him to be expressing it.

“I don’t want to be understood by you. That’s a shitty reason to kidnap someone for! I think you’re the last person to be able to understand me. You’re just so…” you said through gritted teeth, but your eyes were becoming teary. “Uncanny feeling?” he replied for you, saying exactly what you’d say. “See? I do understand you,” he said calmly, his face showing some eagerness for you to agree with him.

And you wouldn’t. “Predicting my next move isn’t exactly knowing or understanding me! It’s just observing repeated behavior and making conclusions, and speech isn’t that hard to guess!” you protested with passion.

Chrollo laughed quietly, shaking his head. “But I was right about honest and insecure, wasn’t I?” You fell silent. He was right and it made you naked yet resigned, having you finally relax somewhat in his hold with his arm around you. It hurt. Chrollo was hurting you but no matter what you’d do, he’d make you like a fool and say he just wants to know you. He was good at attacking your weakest points.

You moved to the next part of the deal, needing to switch the topic away from you; Chrollo was just a brute in your eyes. Expecting violence from him, instead you were given another type of cruelty.

“In any case, I answered your question. Now it’s time for me to ask you,” your voice was determined, something Chrollo liked. You were making yourself get to know him regardless of what your initial intention was. You were also so beautifully expressive and alive and not ashamed of that, again. He liked to think about your first few meetings and how you behaved back then.

“Go on, darling,” he said with a slight tease. Being called ‘darling’ so suddenly threw you off your game a lot, and you now felt both embarrassed and dreadful. He added more coil to the fire, “What? It’s not like we didn’t do worse things, did you already forget-” “Shut up!” you said, flustered; though more from anxiety. That one night you had before he had revealed his identity didn’t need to be reminded in this moment. Sleeping with your enemy, not realizing he’s one. The fact you felt good back then sounded shameful today, and abused your sense of pride.

Chrollo just wanted to throw you off your game, but you were back on track. “My question is…” you paused, not sure what you exactly wanted to ask. You had so many questions yet only one will be answered, so you had to prioritize the most crucial one. Your aunt, your future, who is Chrollo…

Chrollo tilted his head to the side, waiting for your question. His hand squeezed on yours.

“Okay…” you finally decided. “I want to ask you, why are you like this?” The surprise on his face was delicious to you, a rare moment for you to have control for once in this situation where you were defenseless, but it wasn’t a question to make because you were curious. No, you just assumed that this answer can answer many other questions you had if you are given a chance to understand him enough to read his motives; more beneficial than asking one specific question.

“I would have assumed you’d ask about your aunt or your situation, darling,” he chuckled. “Your question isn’t much specific either, but I guess mine wasn’t too, so I’ll humor you.”

Your legs tensed up, you were sitting your feet on your heels, as you waited in anticipation. You didn’t expect him to open up but you weren’t complaining—you only hoped his answer won’t be anything heavy and burdening for you to remember, as if you didn’t have enough struggle with him.

“There’s many things that can shape a person… but I guess, for me the main reason was growing up in Meteor City,” he said in thought, making you confused. You also were positively surprised he was telling you something so important. “What is that?”

Chrollo stared at you intensely, for a moment having few flashbacks from his childhood, before he spoke, “I don’t blame you for not knowing. Most people are not aware of this place’s existence and it doesn’t exist on official maps.”

Curiosity got into you. What can this place be, for it not being considered to be existing? There were so many undiscovered things on this planet, so many secrets, you wondered just how much he or hunters knew that you didn’t. Another thing to be frustrated about. Though, you were getting a general idea that something bad must have happened in Meteor City for him to mention. You didn’t interrupt, nodding as you were willing to hear him out.

Chrollo continued speaking in composed voice, “It’s a junkyard city. Thought it’s not just trash that’s dumped here—it’s people and strays too. In fact, you can leave anything here.”

Your hand tightened under his and you gasped in horror, making him smile more. Not knowing of a place like this was one thing, but to hear about its environment… you couldn’t bear the thought of people being placed on same level with trash here, disposable as much as garbage. “And you grew up here?” you asked for confirmation, trying hard to not show some sympathy. Yes, the story sounded awful and no child should have been placed in this city, and you could have guessed it shaped Chrollo a lot, but he was still a person hurting you in the end. It’s just that, a human with empathy would experience some volume involuntarily.

Chrollo nodded. He was drinking in your reaction, all fascinated about how you’re feeling about his life-him. You were forced to understand him more and more, but getting there on your own without intending to. “I grew up here. I’m not sure why I was put in Meteor City, or who my parents were, but I certainly never existed in official records. No one in Meteor City does. We’re as nameless as trash is. We are the ones to give ourselves our identities.”

“Is Chrollo just an idea then? The same way Eric was?” you muttered. His hand tightened on yours again. He liked your question, he liked you were getting close to him, he liked how insightful you were with him sometimes for those past weeks. You didn’t have a chance to speak for yourself in your childhood, but in return you have learned how to read others to make sure you’re not doing something wrong.

A skill delightful and lucky for him.

“I guess you could say that. I see myself in you more than I see it in myself,” he mused, his tone both amused and content with you. There was a lot of other things that happened in Meteor City and he wasn’t always so lost. Though it could wait. You’ll get there eventually, and maybe then you’ll agree you two make a full puzzle picture.

His body turned sideways to face you better, and he finally let go of your waist and hand yet put in up on your face instead. “You and I are not so much different,” he stated seriously. Your face scrunched under his words, not liking being compared to the mass murderer and what not (you didn’t know the full extent of his crimes). “I’m not a criminal nor a murderer,” you said with disgust. Chrollo just sighed, bit disappointed by such a black and white answer.

“Yet you still have other ways of dealing with what happened to you, not necessarily the healthiest type—” “What the hell did I even do?!” you said angrily. Surely your coping has been never on this level of debauchery.

“You speak so openly about your opinions and other things yet never about yourself. You’re just as closed as I am. But that’s not my point. You and I both have been denied of a place to call safe or grounding.”

That bastard. Your lips trembled now. Being forced to face your own trauma, the neglect, lack of care and safe environment, even some hint of sympathy towards him and people of Meteor City—you finally couldn’t handle emotions enough to leave them bottled up. “That’s not… it’s not the same anyway. At least I wasn’t living surrounded by trash. At least I went to school. At least I had food on my plate even if we struggled. I still had it better than you—”

“But it’s not only about material things, isn’t it?” Chrollo asked the most sensitive question.

In a sense, your childhood experiences were somewhat comparable. While you had parents growing up, and you had a place to stay, you never quite had a place you could have called home. It was being alone and betrayed and disappointed by everyone and neglected; regardless of what type of physical environment you were raised in.

Chrollo watched your eyelashes get wet enough to the point where the little crystals had to start falling down, like a paper towel that soaked in too much liquid and was dripping wet. He couldn’t cry easily, but it seemed you’ll cry enough for both of you. That living room suddenly felt very small, suffocating you, and Chrollo’s invading speech was swallowing you just as much.

“Yeah, I guess…” you stuttered through a sniffle, “I guess when I think about what happened in my childhood, financial struggle is the last thing that comes to my mind, even if it still existed. It’s the emotional neglect and loneliness that comes first… Items can be bought later in life, but anything else…”

You now no longer were controlling your sobs, and you didn’t reject Chrollo when he pulled you into his arms. His hand rubbed your back and he didn’t scold you for leaving snot on his chest where your face hid. He didn’t say anything, but you had a sense he did understand whether he pitied you or not. His words clearly meant that. You didn’t like being seen as someone of this level of inhumanity and cruelty, and yet, you unfortunately or fortunately had something to relate with. His chin rested on top of your head.

He didn’t know how to express or understand himself, so he looked for answers in hurting others and seeing what makes them feel more and less, depending on what he makes them go through. However, with you he didn’t need to be cruel. He needed to prod you to reveal your shame and things about yourself at best, and your history was similar plenty enough you ended up feeling for him when he couldn’t feel for himself.

When your cries were dying with your emotions being released, you felt sudden emptiness; all wiped out and forced to feel tired. Being embraced by another human, being given an affection you weren’t given much in your life, it was rather easy to fall asleep in his embrace. Working so tirelessly your entire adulthood, you didn’t even have time to make friends either. Close ones at least—since you didn’t like being vulnerable with others.

Chrollo didn’t count how much time has passed since he let you sleep against him. He only counted how many breaths you took and exhaled and how many times you snuggled closer against him. He even counted how many times his heart fluttered in a way alien to him.

Eventually, he carefully lifted you up into his arms and carried to your hotel suite’s room. A couch wasn’t most comfortable.

☆

When you woke up in your bed, it was Pakunoda sitting on it. The outside looked dark enough to be 10PM already, making you feel disoriented as hell.

Whenever you have seen Pakunoda during your forced stay with Chrollo, you felt as if her presence was most bearable among all members. You didn’t let your guard down fully though—all of them were, in the end, dangerous.

You slowly sat up on the mattress, removing the blanket from your body, feeling all hot and thirsty after the nap. Blinking away exhaustion, you looked at her silent form.

“Something’s up?” you asked, curious of her reason to be here. Perhaps it was dinner time, though late as you slept through it.

Pakunoda didn’t answer your question immediately. She pondered over her words to say for a moment, wanting to say something that has been weighing heavily on her mind lately. She wouldn’t tell you of her own jealousy, but she would tell you of her growing sense of pity towards you.

“You’ve made many mistakes, Y/N,” she said sternly.

“M-mistakes?” you asked with voice confused and nervous, but a sense of unease filled your chest. It had to be about Chrollo. Were you too careless?

“When Chrollo,” she didn’t even say ‘boss’ this time, “takes someone into his life, whether it’s a troupe member or you, he doesn’t let them go. You just gave yourself to him the moment you chose to accept him.”

“Accept him? I didn’t accept him!” you protested right away, now wide awake. How can it be said you accepted this man? He took your life when he took you, and he didn’t leave you any choice. He kept playing with you one way or another.

“You did. At least from his perspective. You certainly didn’t reject him,” she warned. “Chrollo gathers possessions by stealing, but he usually releases them by donating them to Meteor City. But it cannot be said for people. Items are just a thrill of chase, holding them isn’t as fun,” just like your aunt’s painting, “but people—he makes them loyal and they stay with him under their last breath. You are perhaps even more precious to him than any of us.” Pakunoda hid her disappointment about this.

Every word Pakunoda said, you had terror spread throughout your body. Your hand gathered the blanket, as you felt nauseous. Your ears didn’t want to hear that Chrollo might never let you go.

“H-how can I be more precious to him, when you’ve known him for years and I was here for just few weeks?” you stuttered from the nerves. Pakunoda sighed.

“Each spider is just a leg. Chrollo is the spider that is completed by the legs. But this is just Phantom Troupe Chrollo. There’s also inner him who’s always incomplete, or should I say had been that much incomplete. You must have been making him feel better recently as he seems to be in a good mood.”

“I’m supposed to be one who completes the real him then?” you sounded quite disgusted and disturbed. You (somewhat) handled understanding why he ended up doing what he’s doing, you handled feeling pity for him, you handled some comparison; but becoming the matching piece to him scared you. A man so ruthless, often cold even if still humane somewhere, one who stole not just you... you didn’t want to live with him nor become like him. “Were you eavesdropping on our conversation?” You had no idea how else she’d be able to refer to all that.

“I didn’t need to,” Pakunoda said seriously. “I know him better than everyone. I can notice him trying to provoke you everyday, craving a reaction for something he didn’t know how he should’ve reacted to,” she sighed. Pakunoda grabbed your hand just like Chrollo did before, but hers wasn’t strangling it. She looked at you with more softness too.

“Then what am I supposed to do?” your voice trembled as you wanted to cry again. “I want my life back.”

Sadly there was no answer.

“You don’t have to have it miserable as long-“

“Don’t even suggest that,” you hissed out. You knew she was trying to tell you the easiest thing you could do is give in, because Chrollo was not letting you go.

“I’m afraid that’s the only thing left for you, besides suicide. Though I doubt you would want to actually die; that is if you would even be able to. I doubt you have many chances to kill yourself,” Pakunoda announced with a small pity. She let go of your hand and stood up, leaving the room for you to think everything through.

You didn’t stifle down your tears. You thought about your entire experience: “Eric” coming into your life, sleeping with him, him hurting your aunt and kidnapping you; now Chrollo refusing to give you any answers, dragging you from hotel to hotel, not letting you go and finally, finding out you’re probably never leaving.

You remembered his words about him saying living with him must be better than working for shitty companies, and while it’s true he has made sure you’re fed and safe, you didn’t feel any calm here. It wasn’t about what he has given you, but about what he had taken from you.

You came to the final conclusion—there’s no way you could have stayed here. You had to get out somehow, you just didn’t know how to assure safety of your aunt—

Nevermind. You weren’t getting out of there. You didn’t want to have Chrollo end up killing Cynthia in spite. Any previous attempt of escape was dumb, you realized with guilt.

Crying yourself to sleep then.

☆

When you woke up in the middle of the night, you felt something warm and heavy against you, creating a breathing sound, behind you. You didn’t have to turn around to guess it’s Chrollo, especially with the cologne you have had time to memorize. The issue was you didn’t want to be held by him. You let him do it before, but circumstances were different. You tried to get out of his grasp to no avail.

“Go back to sleep,” Chrollo said, and his voice sounded rested enough for you to know he didn’t sleep before you woke up; most likely just watched you like a creep.

“No, Chrollo, let me go!” you trashed again. Useless. “What are you even doing in my room?”

“Technically, this room is rented by me-” “Stop being so literal!” It’s always like this. You couldn’t have told if he loved being literal or was simply nothing but being manipulative.

Chrollo only sighed and gently turned you around in bed so you could face him. You gulped in discomfort when your face ended up so close to his, since you both were lying on your sides and he held you close. You both couldn’t see each other that clearly, but moonlight falling inside through the hotel tower’s windows shone enough to make out your contours.

“I’m here because I wanted to. That’s all there is to it,” his voice carried a tease, meant to rile you up a little. Chrollo’s fingers brushed your hair away from your face, his whirlpools of grey marveling in how vulnerable you looked.

Chrollo can be and is a man of control, if he chooses to. With you, he didn’t want to and he couldn’t have, neither he needed to. That why his eyes landed on your lips. He has gotten a taste of them before he took with you, not to mention he has touched your entire body. It’s been weeks he restrained himself from doing more than touches meant to be more gentle and never fully intrusive, but even he wasn’t immune to desire. Desire not even meant to be entirely sexual, mostly driven by your entire persona he forced you to show; of course you were an attractive woman to him as well. Special included, as his attraction didn’t appear without right conditions. Physicality of a woman wasn’t enough for him to get involved.

“I don’t think I can wait. Or rather, I should not have to wait any longer, my love.”

Before you had a time to react or get away, quickly having realized his intention, his lips were on yours and he had you pinned down to bed.

Your scream was muffled by his mouth. Being under him, Chrollo’s hand ran under your shirt, stroking your belly and waist. His kiss was deep and eager, not denying himself for once. Having control himself was negative in an aspect of build up needed to be released upon you. The legs that tried to kick at him, his other hand forced bend to the side and hold down with an irop grip. When you cried out again, he shoved his tongue into your mouth.

When he finally withdrew to give you time to catch your breath back and collect tears in your eyes, them most expressive than ever, he spoke in soft tone, not matching his current cruelty:

“This is just the beginning of our journey, love. Until every breath you take is mine too.”

☆

You woke up with a gasp, sitting up on the bed immediately. Same cement walls, dark wooden floors, big windows and a horrendously sized wardrobe greeted you but there was no Chrollo. It was too dark to be morning yet, but you couldn’t sleep more anyway after a nap before. To make your mood worse, there was rain and storm outside and the sound of raindrops hitting against the glass was too loud for your panicked state.

You realized it was a recursion of a dream, being forced to wake up twice, once in a dream and then in reality. Chrollo didn’t try to force himself on you, but you were still terrified by the idea your mind would have come up with such a nightmare. A meaning was rather clear to you—your own mind was telling you all the control was taken away from you, and that Chrollo wanted to absorb you entirely. The nightmare also caused for you to have new fear instilled into you, making you wonder if Chrollo would ever turn this nightmare into a reality. This paranoia or perhaps a rational and logical thought, depending on how cruel he actually was, made you nauseous from anxiety.

Kicking the duvet off of you, you stood up on your feet, wincing at the coldness of the floor.

You left the bedroom, and walking through the hallway, you ended up in the kitchen to quench your thirst. You felt unease when seeing Chrollo who happened to be here as well, and you were for a second feeling like an actual victim of what happened in the dream.

Chrollo observed you for a while, burning the image of your sleepy form into his mind. You forced your eyes shut to protect them against a bright light and you were rather adorable and vulnerable looking when you were so sleepy and grumpy in the morning. Only to make you feel pierced through with his penetrating gaze, for what that felt like thousandth time in the span of past weeks.

Facing Chrollo not only after a nightmare, but also the conversation with Pakunoda was very intense and stressful. He was now even more scary to you than usual.

“Something’s wrong?” he asked, his voice soft. Chrollo hasn’t gone to sleep yet; and he has appeared in the kitchen right before you, because hearing your noises of distress in the bedroom through his walls, he knew you’d come here for water. It was a perfect occasion for him to continue his game with you.

“I just had a nightmare…” you responded quietly. Gone was your usual neurotic attitude with him, replaced by meekness caused by your fears.

Chrollo approached you and you flinched when he put his hand on your shoulder, a gesture meant to mimic reassurance that he’s there for you.

“What was it about?” he inquired, massaging your shoulder. You were not ready to tell him or preferably you’ll never tell him. Not that he wouldn’t have a few guesses. Perhaps he’d even feel satisfied you thought of him in your dreams as well.

“Uh… I forgot already,” you lied, but you didn’t have enough care to worry about whether he’ll believe you. For once you didn’t want to be honest. For once dishonesty didn’t feel suffocating, even if being blunt was part of your personality. You couldn’t be vulnerable with Chrollo. You wanted to protect yourself.

Surprisingly, he didn’t question you. He simply nodded his head and said, “I see.” He then grabbed a glass and poured a water for you from the fridge, one all fancy.

You accepted the water and drank the coldness eagerly and the temperature helped you ground a little too. Chrollo watched you drink, especially your throat gulping down the liquid.

He took an empty glass from you and put in a sink, and looked at you again. “You don’t have to be alone tonight, you know.”

Your face frowned as a defensive mechanism, with you wanting to automatically say no. “You want me to sleep in same room with you?” you asked with discomfort. How could you do so after all you heard and saw in the last 24 hours? You were exhausted in way different than physical. You were worn out not even emotionally but spiritually.

“Yesterday you were sad too and yet you allowed me to comfort you,” he pointed out, but to you things were now different. You needed only few hours—the talk with Pakunoda and the nightmare—to be creeped out by his presence again.

“And? You wouldn’t give me any other choice anyway if I tried to protest,” you felt proud you came up with a perfect argument. Yes, you weren’t accepting his comfort, you were just resigned because he’d do what he wants no matter what you wanted.

However, Chrollo didn’t seem discouraged in any way. He’ll always be one argument ahead of you. “You felt safe enough to fall asleep in my arms—”

“I was exhausted!”

“Exhaustion didn’t stop you from forcing yourself to stay awake any other day,” he said calmly and you knew he won.

“I… I’m still not in a mood for this again at the moment. I just wanted some water and then I’d go back to sleep…” you argued again, but your hesitation was clear to him.

“In that case, why is your body shaking?” You stared in confusion, but when you forced yourself to focus on your body and not thoughts, you realized he was right. You were trembling and it wasn’t a chilly air in the suite as a cause. It forced you to realize the extent of how shaken up you were at this point. Your tremble became worse as now you were crying.

Chrollo didn’t say anything but he reached out for you and scooped you up into his arms. “Stop…” you said but it came out weakly. You couldn’t tell if you were just too tired to fight him or you were subconsciously craving the comfort.

As he carried you through the corridor out of the kitchen, you once again became enveloped by his warmth, strong and unshaken hold, and his perfume; though now less intense after a shower, but quality enough to stay after having his body washed.

At this point he might be conditioning you to feel relaxed by him anytime you’re distressed, with you recognized familiar sensations.

Chrollo moved you inside his room. To your surprise, it was much smaller than yours. He either wanted you to have a bigger space (how kind of him) or preferred them as a result of growing up in Meteor City. Albeit, the design of the space wasn’t much divergent from your own or the rest of the suite.

He then laid you down on his bed and placed himself next to you, before he pulled a duvet over you two, which also put you in an illusion of being trapped with him despite its warmth. Chrollo held you in his arms but mercifully enough to not do so too tightly, should you feel panicked in your sensitive and crying state.

Just like yesterday, his palmed rubbed you down your spine up and down; to your comfort without slipping under your shirt like it happened in your nightmare. All the same, the fear of him suddenly attacking and forcing you remained in your chest. Thankfully the rain was no longer pounding in your ears, but became a soothing background.

For Chrollo, he wasn’t sure how to comfort your feelings in ways other than physical. He would be able to do so with any other woman… the problem lied in the fact with them he was an actor. With you, he didn’t find a power within himself to pretend. Somehow, you were forcing an honesty out of him too.

He spoke when you finally stopped being so shaky and felt tired enough to close your eyes and fell asleep, “I really don’t want to ever let you go, Y/N.”

With these words spoken into the night and heard by Chrollo only, he knew if you were awake you’d be shaking again.

[alexrosa13]

Valentine's Favourites

Xavier x female!reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: 2,1k word, allusions to intercourse/suggestive topics

Note: fanfiction for my Valentine's Event

for masterlist and request info head to the navigation →

← how Jeremiah is doing ★ continuation of the evening →

~★~

Xavier was preparing for that day for weeks if not months. Finding a perfect spot, making sure that you'll be free from work, writing down the things he'll need to get; food, a gift, flowers...

You couldn't catch a glimpse of Xavier since the morning, when he left your apartment after staying the night, saying that he had some 'things' to take care of and he'll see you later.

You tried messaging him, but the only thing you got back in response was 'I'll see you later' or 'please be patient sweetheart'. You knew he was planning something, but you had little to absolutely no idea what that could be.

Was he planning something? A date perhaps? Maybe a gift? Did he do something stupid and needed to fix it without your knowledge? What was he doing?!

The thoughts were eating you up, but you knew better than to stress yourself out with his secrecy. After all: it was Xavier out of all people, he was full of mystery. You just hoped that he'll be safe.

Your day went by with you doing basic chores and being lazy, since you didn't have anything planned or today. You still had the prince of your heart in the back of your head, was he doing alright?

Deciding to try once more to get some information from him you picked up your phone, entering chat with him.

'Hey, you doing okay there?'

You turned off your phone about to put it back down and focus on the TV, but the moment the screen went blank you heard the sound of notification and in a second you turned it back on.

'get ready, I'll meet u in half an hour, dress comfy'

Instantly you shoot up from your seat, going to change your clothes still staring at the message from him.

Half an hour? Alright, but dress comfy to go where? Comfy as 'home-kind-comfy' or 'we're going somewhere when you don't need to dress up' or 'dress whatever you feel like, you'll still be pretty'?

Why were you overthinking this?!

It's probably just a simple date, right? So you want to look pretty without looking like you tried hard to look pretty.

HOLY YOU HAVE ONLY 30 MINUTES!

Instantly you started looking through your clothes, what is comfy but looks pretty and not like your home clothes? Let's try to look cute in half an hour, sure.

After looking through all of your clothes, with half of your wardrobe now on your bed, you were finally somehow satisfied with the results. Lucky you; did your make-up earlier out of boredom...

You were fixing your hair a little bit when the doorbell sound rang. Instantly you run towards the door, screaming 'a moment' on your way, and stumbling around your apartment at least twice.

Finally you made it to the front door, unlocking and opening them without checking the peephole first. There he stood, perfect like always, with a slight gentle smile on his lips that you returned instantly.

"Hello beautiful." his arms opened, inviting you for a hug and without wasting a second you found yourself in his embrace.

"Hi handsome." you giggled, giving his cheek a peek before breaking the hug.

"Get some shoes on, we're going out." you turned around to follow his instructions, bending over and unintentionally gracing him with the sight of your perfect ass.

He bit his tongue, memories of last night started floating around in his head, but the moment you stood up, ready to go with an innocent smile on your lips, all the improper thoughts left, his mind instead focusing on the present you.

"I'm ready." your high shoes clicked with every step you took while leaving your apartment. Hopefully he won't make you walk around too much...

Without words he took your hand, leading you to the elevator.

During the wait you hugged him close in the tight space, only with you two in it. He let you rest your head on his chest, in his head hoping for the evening to go perfect, his earlier exchange of words with Jeremiah replaying in his head.

"She'll be delighted. Trust me."

"It's just... Maybe she deserves someone better than me to spend her life with."

"Are you kidding me? For someone this smart you're really oblivious sometimes, aren't you?"

Xavier looked at him with a threatening glance, but Jeremiah was completely unbothered by it, still focusing on placing the stuff in the right places.

"She's crazy for you, last time you two came to Philo she was staring at you the whole time, like you were the only thing in the room, no actually, like you were the only thing in the world. Don't doubt yourself so much, my Prince." finally sparing a glance at Xavier he only smiled teasingly. He enjoyed seeing the always calculated and collected person being stressed over his love life.

"Xavier? We can get out now..." your voice broke him from his thoughts, the doors of the elevator were open.

"Yes, sorry." he walked out with you, hands still joined together.

You were walking the streets of Linkon, light conversion about work and life making the time pass faster. You didn't think about your destination, trusting him even if that would mean walking to the stars and back. You would follow him everywhere.

The sun was slowly setting, the warm light making Xavier look more eternal than ever, you couldn't help but admire him from the side, not noticing that he stopped and looked at you too.

"We're here." you woke up from the daze, your head instantly turned and you saw the edge of the forest before you.

"We're going there?" he nodded your head at your question. You looked down at your shoes, you were not prepared for that... "Alright." you braced yourself to try and avoid spraining your ankle. But then you got swept off your feet - literally "Xavier!"

"What?" he asked, acting clueless. He started walking with you in his arms, carrying you like a princess.

"I can walk!" your voice raised in shock.

"I know." was his only answer, not even looking at you, focused on the path ahead.

Knowing that there's no arguing with him you decided to get comfortable in his hold and admire him.

Damn he looked so hot all focused and calm, and all yours. You closed your eyes, your head falling to rest on his shoulder with your arms hugging his neck. You could fall asleep like this, but before your consciousness left for good he spoke once again.

"We arrived." you heard his soft voice right above your ear. Your eyes slowly opened, reviling the beautifully prepared 'tent' from some kind of see-through fabric, with lots of lights everywhere and a blanket(s) inside accompanied by various pillows.

You looked at him, he was carefully studying your reaction.

"You prepared this?" you smiled already knowing the answer. He nodded his head slowly.

"With a little help." gently he put you down onto the blankets. You took in the details of his preparations.

There was a small table beside you, you saw there was a small board with the photos you took together adoring it, beside it lying were snacks and a tiny box, wrapped up like a present. You looked around a little more, imagining how much time he spent here, preparing all of this for you.

"It's really pretty." your gaze returned to the owner of your heart, he sat down beside you, his eyes not leaving your figure for a single moment "Thank you Xavier." you took his hand into yours, squeezing it lightly.

"It's really nothing that impressive." instantly you made the 'zip it' move with your fingers. He smiled and chuckled quietly.

"It's beautiful here, and I know that it took you a lot of thought and time to prepare this, I'm so thankful to have you in my life." you sealed your words with a kiss to his lips, what was supposed to be a quick and sweet peek turned into a make out session the moment his hand flew to the back of your head.

You didn't complain of course. Eventually he pulled away, still caressing your hair gently, with one hand he reached for something behind you, a second later you saw a bouquet made out of what looked like a hundred little flowers, resembling a thousand stars shining in the night sky.

Your smile softened even more, he really did his best today.

With the bouquet now in your hands he moved away a little bit to reach for your shoes, gently taking them off for you. You couldn't help but coo at him a little bit, how could someone look so innocent and angel-like but in reality- hold on wrong thoughts.

Next two hours you spend on cuddles, talking about your past years and the memories you made together, sometimes pointing to the photos for reminders of various moments that passed. You were overjoyed with having him in your life, proud to hold his hand and announce to everyone that this perfect man is all yours.

The darkness of the night sky peeked at you, the moon listened to your stories intensively, sharing your intimacy, watching you with a silent promise not to speak of this moment to anyone.

You were lying down together, desserts he brought already eaten. Your bodies facing each other, the warmth and feelings in your eyes worth more than a thousand words.

Slowly he raised from his lying position, sitting at the entrance of the make shift tent and taking something from the small table into his palm.

He looked at you over his shoulder, soft gaze meeting your eyes, you looked at him with a silent question, but instead of words he graced you with his hand, gesturing for you to take it, which you did instantly, pulling yourself up with his help.

He brought you up to your feet, and walked a couple steps with your palm resting in his.

The grass gently tickled your feet, before he came to stop with you in front of him. The little box now in his other hand.

"I thought a lot those past couple of weeks." his gaze dropped from your eyes to his hand "I can't imagine my life without you in it. A thousand lifetimes are not worth as much as your love." his eyes came back to yours. His hand never let go of yours.

You were confused, not understanding what was happening, but then...

You saw his body slowly leaning down, until one of his knees met the ground. For a moment you still couldn't grasp what was happening. But then it hit you, your eyes widen.

"I know that this is unexpected, but believe me, it's been on my mind for the longest time. I didn't know how to ask you, if there ever will be a right moment, but then I decided to make a perfect moment myself." you squeezed his hand a little to let him know you are listening "I'm sorry that this is not what a princess proposal should look like... But I know that you value little moments much more than grand spectacles, and that's probably one of the reasons I fell so deeply in love with you. With you there are no expectations, no questing my ideas, you're always there to support me, cheering me on every time." you couldn't help but laugh a little, to which he responded with a small smile of his own "So, if you'll only grace me with the honor of having you as my wife, I'll be the happiest man in the universe." he opened the little box, a beautiful ring hid there, now showing to you the prettiest gem you ever seen.

"Xavier I..." you laughed, overwhelmed with emotions, you were not expecting THAT to happen today, how did he manage to hide his plans so well? "Of course I'll be your wife." in a split second the ring found itself on your finger, fitting perfectly. A second later you were snooped up into Xavier's arms with him spinning you around.

Your laughter was his absolute favorite sound in the world. He stopped his spins, but still held you in his arms, a kiss fell onto your lips, instantly you got lost in the feeling, you cling to him like to a lifeline. He hugged you tighter, not letting you move away for even an inch.

You didn't know what gods to thank for sending him to you, but you will forever be thankful for the opportunity to share your life with this man.

You pulled back for air, breaking the heated kiss, your hot breaths mixing. He still didn't let you go. For a moment you could swear you saw tiny lights flying around him.

"I love you my starlight." he didn't even let you say it back before coming back to launch at your lips. Oh how much you loved your innocent looking freaky fiancé.

[kawhh]

Dark!Trevor. I’m yearning, craving, needing him omg

No but hear me out, Trevor’s the guy who “accidentally” kidnaps you. Makes you feel right at home and not wanting to leave, I mean why would you? He does everything, you don’t have a want or even a need. And somehow when he’s gone he always knows what you need.

But maybe it didn’t start that way, maybe he did trick you a little, gave you a special little cocktail and helped you feel better after!! Made himself look like a saint, makes him look so good that you call your friends rambling about this cute guy who helped you and how you can’t wait to repay him. but he doesn’t want payment. Just you. All of you. Doesn’t care how he takes it either.

And so begins dark!Trevor! ₊˚⊹♡ 'Kidnapping' soon to come? I'm very happy to keep going down this specific spiral. Warnings: drugging, a little manipulation, trevor being sort of a red flag.

This man is 100% forcing the issue after seeing you. He wants you. He's going to have you. End of story.

He's not concerned about rushing you, not concerned about causing you temporary distress. As long as it makes you his faster, he truly doesn't give a fuck.

Nothing serious of course, nothing unplanned either. He's not an idiot. He needs to be able to fix you fast himself. It can't be bad enough to have to get medical help. Drugging? It could work. He could work out the specific dosage and antidote for it. Make you a bit dazed and panicked.

You probably come back to this bar often.. means you're local? Means he has time to work out the details, time to find you again soon?

He'd love to start now but.. you might not appreciate him saving you if you're not scared.

It takes him a week to get things together. He's nervous about getting it wrong.

It's incredibly concerning how easy it is to drug you. He really has to make you his fast. You need to be protected - what if someone else did this?

You're stumbling around like a little deer, it's cute. You'll be even cuter scared though. You can't blame him for 'encouraging' a creep to go check on you. It's not like he'll let him actually do anything, you just need to be shaken up.

He only gives you a few minutes, he's a little too paranoid. You're just being cornered a little but you're clearly afraid, confused about how dazed and drugged you feel.

The way you look at him as he forces the creep away from you.. the way you look so pathetically dazed. He already has the water with the antidote for you, forcing you to swallow, claiming that hydration will help with the shock.

He stays with you while you recover, smoothing your hair, cooing at you softly. Reassuring you that you're okay. You're so relieved to be okay and safe that you don't even question it, you're just so glad he was there.

He asks for your number, needing to be kept in contact with you until he can make you fully his. You're so thankful for him.. you don't even hesitate.

[docholligay]

IT'S IMPROVEMENT BINGO TIME.

I worked really hard on trying to do a wide mix of things so I thought most people could get a bingo. I also really wanted to give people a lot of avenues to work on things, hence the multiple card choices. I know you can do and be better, and I think you'll feel a sense of accomplishment for putting yourself out there. You can get up to three bingos one card. Then you can start another card, but you have to redo the item to get the space.

The prize: A 6 hour Eight Days of Content slot! This is a) longer than anything for sale, and b) probably my best attended event of the year, so the best way to get eyes on stuff. In addition, every quarter I'll be giving something away (book review, movie review, stream, etc) for things such as 'community cheerleaders' or 'funny writeups' or what have you, for people who are actively playing.

How to get a card: Pick one of the three cards from the post above. They are just 1, 2, 3. Whichever one you think I have the best approach on. You will send this with your tumblr name to the email below

dholligay@gmail.com (This is also where you will send anything that, in the below, says, 'send me')

I will keep track of it, and you will keep track of it. Together, we will conquer.

So Doc, how do I complete these objectives? A huge list of how is below! You will almost certainly need to join the community:

Holligay's Dude Ranch

This will run through DECEMBER 5TH, 2025.

A note: I CAN PLAY TOO. I can win back my own space--the only extra rule for me is I can't do anything privately (obviously). SO LET'S DO THIS.

If you have any questions, please please please ask!

Do a movie report from the Holligay Movie List: Easy! Watch one of the movies from the list, and give me a 600ish word report on how you felt about it, posted in the community. I reserve the right to ask follow up questions about the movie!

Do one week of the Hybrid calisthenics routine https://www.hybridcalisthenics.com/programs Follow this for one week, take videos of you doing at least two days, and do a small write up. You can just send the video to me, but the write up, post to the community. 

Have a meatless meal: Cook a vegetarian meal, and share a picture with the community!

Call your representative: Call your representative on an issue you care about. Post about what you called about and how it went in the community! 

Try a new art or craft: Try something new! Post a picture and a little write up in the community. 

Go to a social event or party: What it sounds like. Strengthening in-person bonds is important for community work. Take a picture from the event and post it to the community! 

Create an improvement goal with a plan: What it sounds like. Think about something you’d like to improve, come up with a plan to do it, and post your improvement idea and plan to the community!

One minute tree pose: One minute in full tree! Take a video of yourself and send it to me. 

Give effusive praise on someone’s fic: Effusively praise someone’s fic. Send me the link to it. 

Send a friend a loving letter: Send a friend a loving letter! Take a picture of part of the letter and the envelope and send it to me. 

Run a 5k! Post your chip time to the community with a small write up. 

Holligay Cookalong: COMING SOON. I am going to post a recipe every quarter, and if you make it and post a picture to the community, you fill this space

Think Doc is Right About Something: THIS IS BASICALLY YOUR FREE SPACE BUT. You do have to post in the community for what I’m right about! 

Do a two minute plank: Exactly what it sounds like, take a video of you doing a two minute plank, and send it to me. 

Journal every day for one week: Journal! Do a little write up about how you found it on the community

Do a book report from the holligay book list: Just like the movie report, read the book, write up a 600ish word report, post to the community

Volunteer one hour: Volunteer one hour to any HUMAN BASED charity or cause (ask me if you need a clarification). Let me know the event, the cause, take a picture at the event. Send it all to me. 

Join a Holligay book Club: This one’s easy. If you’re at the book club, and you participate, you get the space. 

Do the 15 min stretching video every day for a week: Do this https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kq1RZFV5tM4 for a week! Then come back and tell the community how it was, if you noticed any weak spots in yourself, etc. 

Give effusive praise on someone’s art: Give effusive praise! And link me to it! 

Send a letter to your representative: Send a letter about an issue! Send me a picture of part of the letter, and the envelope. 

Complete a 500ish word answer to a Holligay reflection question: These can be either sent to me personally or they can be posted in the community

Add non-starchy veg to every meal for three days: Just take pictures of your meals, and post a little write up thing in the community!

BINGO CARDS BITCHES

details coming soon, but this will go all fucking year, and there will be three prizes at the end of the year, one being a day during eight days. There will also be quarterly micro-prizes!

I will give you the full details on probably...wednesday? but here are the bingo cards--I did three different randomizations because I love you, so you can pick one that has the best 'approach' for you.

[merlinfromberlin]

Hey! 

I finally finished the first chapter of this fic. :3 

First things first, this whole concept was inspired by @keef-a-corn and their notes on S01E14 of TFP (Sick Mind). More specifically them pointing out the way in which Bumblebee, despite being possessed by Megatron, opens his hand for Ratchet when the latter grabs his wrist. 

You can find the specific post here: https://www.tumblr.com/keef-a-corn/710534208967376896/dats-right-people-its-time-for-keef-watches?source=share 

Please check it out. It’s such a thoughtful and detailed collection of notes on the episode that brings me so much joy every time I look at it. And if you’re at it, they also have notes on most episodes in season 1 of TFP that you should check out, which are just as great. :3 

Summary:

Primus knew, Ratchet would do anything to shield his sparkling from harm. Yet, the War made exceptions for no one, not even at the insistence and threats of grumpy old medics. Thus, sometimes the only thing Ratchet could do was to hold and comfort Bumblebee in the aftermath of disaster.

Or: 5 times Ratchet had to encourage Bumblebee to open his servo. The gritty, the wholesome and the dark.

Or, put differently again: Ratchet (and theoretically Optimus) being Bumblebee’s parent with hints of background Optiratch. Lots of Angst. And 5 different scenarios of Ratchet having to encourage Bee to to open his hand. 

This first chapter is a bit dark and gritty, so please check out the tags and make sure you’re okay before going into it.  Enjoy. ^^ 

[stairset]

I think the portrayal of Spider-Man 2099 in Across the Spider-Verse is in-character in that aside from like Shattered Dimensions he's always been portrayed as a bit of an asshole who slips into anti-hero territory at times and generally has a "needs of the many over the needs of the few" mindset and given his specific circumstances in the movie it's not unreasonable to think he could take the actions he does. However it does kinda suck that since like 99% of moviegoers had no idea who he was before the movie came out their first impression of him is when he's in an antagonistic role and people think "antagonist" and "villain" are synonyms so now I'm gonna have to listen to people who've never read a comic saying he's a villain or isn't a real Spider-Man for the rest of time or at least until he inevitably changes his mind in the third one.

[akechi-stole-my-heart]

shuake week - day one - amnesia

a boy wakes up from a coma. the situation is explained to him by doctors and a boy with raven black hair. his name is akechi goro. this boy found him, bleeding and unconscious, and brought him here months ago. he doesn't remember him.

he doesn't remember anything.

—

the boy visits again. they play a game of chess. the boy is pleasant. he's fake.

this boy, kurusu akira, is lying to him.

—

akechi spends his days getting better. recovering slowly. but no memories resurface. he asks kurusu if he knew him, before.

he tells the truth.

and then he lies.

—

akechi remembers something disturbing. he asks kurusu what it means.

he lies.

—

kurusu introduces him to his friends. these people don't treat him nicely. they don't treat him rudely. it's awkward. it's wrong. they don't like him.

they lie.

—

akechi plays another game of chess. he asks for the truth, politely.

kurusu refuses.

akechi snaps.

the chess game is in ruins. akechi is standing on weak legs, ranting and raving and desiring to…to…

…….why does he want to kill him?

akechi runs.

—

he tries to live the lie. he tries to forget. the memories scare him. 

but they won't go away.

…and he doesn't want them to, either.

he needs to know the truth.

—

kurusu confesses it all. akechi calls him a liar. he breaks.

he's too weak to do any damage.

even still, this time, it's kurusu who flees.

—

akechi remembers.

he remembers everything.

the whole truth.

it hurts.

—

he refuses guests. he thinks about killing himself. he lies.

he lies and lies and lies and 

……….

he tells the truth.

and leaves.

—

akira finds him, again. bleeding, though uninjured. unconscious, yet fully awake. sick and lonely and scared. akira finds him.

and holds him.

and tells him the truth.

i’m sorry.

i won't leave you again.

goro holds him tight. he clings to the only truth that matters.

he is loved.

[tardis--dreams]

I actually realized i hate work. Won't be putting any effort into this anymore ♡

[purple-beans]

I can't sleep again

[animemusicbrackets]

oh i forgot to mention in the bracket announcement that the polls will only be 1 day long (except the final which will be 1 week long)

Sorry to everyone who prefers week long polls i just personally like things to be streamlined

[doodlemancy]

Hey, so, Patreon is lying to you about Apple forcing their hand.

Patreon is getting rid of 1st-of-the-month/per-creation billing, claiming a new decision by Apple has forced their hand. This will hurt a lot of creatives, and their excuse is bullshit. Allow me to explain.

In 2018, Patreon tried to impose a new ill-considered fee structure on everyone that would have cost creators a lot of smaller pledges. They ended up apologizing for this profusely; they have now deleted this apology from their website and unfortunately I was unable to find it on the Internet Archive. This was shameful, but to their credit they backed off quickly when things got ugly.

Back in 2021, Patreon discussed plans to force all creators into a rolling bill structure and get rid of first-of-the-month/pay-up-front billing. The community once again very decisively shouted them down, and they had to walk it back again. This whole fiasco damaged the already shaky trust between Patreon creators and staff.

This week, Patreon announced that, along with extra fees, Apple's policies were supposedly forcing them to move everyone over to the rolling fee structure that they first tried to get us to agree to in 2021. Patreon will tell you they are not happy about this. As a person who spent a long time watching Patreon make terrible decisions, I can tell you-- they are probably very happy about this, because it's exactly the smokescreen they needed to do what they've been trying to do for years, which is pull ALL Patreon creators away from 1st-of-the-month and per-creation billing.

The spin in the news I've seen so far is "Apple bullies Patreon, boo hoo hoo poor Patreon". This is very obviously not what's happening. Mind you: Apple does suck, and they are doing something bad here. Fuck apple. But Patreon and Apple are BOTH the asshole in this situation; Everyone Sucks Here. Patreon has options: they can make the iOS app a reader app and do billing through the browser to avoid the restrictions and the extra fees (Netflix and Amazon, notably, both do this), or they can allow creators to opt-out of iOS billing if they want to use billing models that don't work with it.

It seems most likely to me that the Apple situation is a real fire that Patreon has chosen to use as a convenient smokescreen to do what they've been wanting to do since at least 2021, and maybe since 2018.

What do we do?:

They have a feedback form specifically about this.

They also have a creator discord.

And they have lots of social media pages where they probably really, really hope that this doesn't blow up again, because they never learn. The incidents I've described here aren't the only two other times Patreon has pissed off their creators. They know if they don't contain the noise it'll be harder to get away with it, so make some noise. They've done a lot of work to spin this cleverly so you'll have sympathy for them and they won't get the kind of backlash they know they deserve.

Please don't misuse these links and make threats or spam or something. All you have to do is give well-reasoned feedback. Patreon hates feedback. Make sure they get a nice heaping helping of their least favorite vegetable.

[weaselle]

it was too much i had to make my own post

line cook here. ACCURATE

if you don't get the hate, here's what you don't understand.

it takes up to 2 hours to close down the kitchen.

The last 60-90 minutes before closing time you do almost no cooking because the restaurant doesn't have many people in it and you've already cooked most of their diners.

So if someone walks in during, like, the last hour, the cook is in the middle of an industrial deep clean of the kitchen.

(these numbers can vary quite a bit from place to place but i have worked several restaurants with these actual times and the concept remains the same)

Say the place closes at 10. If you wait til the restaurant is already closed to start all your cleaning duties, you'll be there until at least midnight.

More than that your boss knows that on an average night you can start your clean up as soon as the last rush ends and get out of there around 10:45, even 10:15 on a slow night if you get lucky. That means there are plenty of restaurants where if you do take until midnight the manager is going to come up to you at some point that week and ask you what went wrong that night, and you'd better have an answer.

So this example restaurant closes at 10 pm. The dinner rush ends around 8:30, and shortly after that the cook is going to start getting every single dish possible over to the dishwasher because the dishwasher always gets hit hard and late, and the machine runs for 2 full minutes and only holds so many dishes, so the way that works out is if you wait an extra 30 minutes to give the dishwasher all your stuff it can mean adding like 60 minutes to the end of his shift. And you're gonna KEEP finding shit to send to the dishpit right up until you leave probably.

all these little square and rectangle containers in this cold table have to be pulled out and changed over into new containers, replaced by new full ones, or in some cases filled from larger containers in the back, which can result in even more empty containers to send to the dishwasher.

while it's all pulled apart to do this, you have to clean up all the spilled food and sauce and juices and stuff from the joints and ledges and shelves and drip trays

Once you get your line changed over in this way, and fully stocked, anytime someone orders something that makes use of a bunch of that stuff, you have to restock and re-clean it some. It might already be covered in plastic. Some of it might already be stuck in the back to make room to take apart your cutting board counter to clean. To cook a dish isn't TOO much of a problem at this point, but you're really hoping for zero orders because you still have so much other cleaning to do.

Meanwhile the salad bar and appetizer section and server station and everybody are all doing the same thing. Even the bartenders are stocking olives and lemons and sending back whisks and stir spoons and shakers and empty 4quart storage containers that used to hold the back-up lemons and olives and things. Every section is dumping their must-be-cleaneds to the dishpit as fast as possible because early and fast is the only thing they can do to to help that dishpit not absolutely drown into overtime.

The poor dishwasher is always the last to clock out, soaking wet and exhausted.

Around this time you probably scrub the flat top, which has turned black from cooked on grease and is still about 500 degrees. Line cooks are divided in opinion on water-based or oil based cleaning methods for this, but they all involve scrubbing with (usually) a brick of pumice stone using every ounce of your strength while you try not to burn yourself

you scrub it from fully blackened to gleaming silver and now if somebody orders something that needs the flat top to cook, you can either fuck up your cleaning job or fake it in a couple frying pans and pass that tiny fuck you down to your dishwasher (who usually understands, especially if you help them take the garbage out or clean your own floor drain later)

If there's deep fried stuff on the menu then the fryers have to be cleaned out, which includes straining the oil out into enormous and super-heavy pots full of oil so hot that if you spill on yourself then it's probably a hospital visit and if you slip and fall face first into it it'll be the last thing you ever do.

Then you gotta scrub out the fryer. Like you gotta take the (hot) screen out and reach your arm down into the weird rounded pipes and curved areas (so hot, burn you if you brush against them hot) and scrub off whatever is down there

Depending on your kitchen you might have to do up to four of these. Then you'll have to pour the (dangerously hot) oil back in

oh, and if you didn't dry the pipes and get ALL the water out of the trap and tank?

water reacts with hot oil in a sort of mentos and coke way that can send a tidal wave of oil past the open flame of the pilot light ...HUGE dangerous mess and/or burn down the kitchen if the oil lights up.

Unless! If the oil has been used too hard and needs to be changed, it's time to carry those open topped super heavy pots full of will-kill-you-hot oil and dump them in the barrel outside by the dumpsters so you can put room temp fresh oil in the fryers. whew!

The clean up is not just some light wiping down that can be easily interrupted, is what i'm saying.

You might have to do some kind of walk-in duty (moving around 50lb cases of lettuce and 50lb bags of onions to get to the stacks of five gallon buckets full of salad dressings and sauces to move so you can reach the giant metal pots and bus tubs full of prep and get it all organized and make sure it's all labeled and i have to stop now i'm having flashbacks)

THE POINT IS

by 15 or however many minutes to close, the line cook is doing an intense deep clean and probably has the whole stove taken apart to detail.

For some industrial stoves this means lifting off large cast iron plates that weigh like 20 lbs each and are still quite hot. Whatever metal burners are on there, you gotta take off and clean, you can see here the lines that indicate the large thick cast iron rectangles that sit on top of the burners to allow heavy pots to rest on. Those five (each has one front burner hole and one back burner hole, see?) have to be lifted off and cleaned with soap and a wire brush usually, and then the underneath area also has to be cleaned because a lot of shit falls through the burner holes on a busy night.

if you didn't do it when you did the flat top you have to do the grease trap (which can be like a full five minutes and is always disgusting).. You gotta clean out all the little gas jets in each burner with a wire or something so the burners all flame evenly, and sometimes you have to remove some of the natural gas piping that connects the burners to access where you have to clean.

you gotta clean out the bottom of the oven and the wire racks, and, oh gods, you gotta take down the filter vents from the hood fans above the stove.

See all the lined parts along the top of the wall?

those are hood vents, and as they pull air up they also pull a lot of grease and they have to be taken down and cleaned, then you gotta climb up there and scrub where they go before you put them back...

And then there's the mopping and floor drains and...

Anyway, that's what the line cook is doing when you walk in fifteen minutes before closing and order something that needs to be cooked on that stove. They are doing an entire industrial cleaning of a professional kitchen.

In some restaurants maybe one or two of these jobs will be every other night or even only twice a week, but in many, possibly most kitchens, ALL of these things happen EVERY night. You don't want to leave any food mess that might attract insects or rodents for one thing, so a really good kitchen is as close to brand new as you can get it every night.

IF YOU ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO ORDER SOMETHING ANYWAY, HERE IS WHAT TO DO

open with an apology and ask the server to go ask what the cook would prefer you to order.

Any good server will already know what the cook is hoping for and what will make their line cook go into the walk in and scream. If it's significantly less than an hour to close and they say some variant of "oh anything is fine" they are either telling the lie their boss wants them to say, or they actually do not know what their line cook wants, and you can either use human connection and a conspiratorial just-between-us tone to get them to drop the customer-is-always-right act, or get them to actually go ask the cook.

It might be as specific as "the lasagna is easiest on the kitchen" or it might be a simple guideline like "nothing that requires the flat top" or "any of the sautés are easy" but a good line cook will probably have a system for if they have to make a couple of the most popular items after they start their close, so the answer is likely to include something most people like and you should be good to order that.

but for the love of all that's holy, please only do so at great need. Leave that last 30-60 minutes to the truly desperate and the crew's duties.

[nezuscribe]

(previous part)

it's been a week since you've spoken to arranged!gojo, and he feels like he's about to start going crazy.

you don't speak during your meals, not even when he addresses you in a question. sometimes you spare him a glance, but he'd still rather see your icy glare than see nothing at all.

and he knows he fucked up. he knows that you seeing him alone with anya was perhaps the worst possible place you could’ve caught him, but he's been almost begging you to listen to him, to hear his side. but every time he goes to explain you leave abruptly, leaving him alone, feeling the looks of pity from those around the two of you.

and you know you're being petty. after all, the two of you are only bound by words, nothing else. if anything, the two of you were just becoming friends, so this shouldn't hurt you as much as it does.

but you hear the whispers of the ladies, hear of their secret proposals of how gojo would surely bed them if they just asked. how miserable he must be trapped with you, how this marriage is ruining his life. and you know anya, know about her history with him. before you were his wife you were the higher echelon wallflower, listening to all the gossip, observing from afar.

you've gathered some ideas in your head as to why he might want to speak with you. perhaps he wants to gently break the news that he's found a mistress, one that he actually loves. or that maybe he's already had one and now you know why he's been so secretive.

so the more he tries to talk to you, the more you pull away. you don't know why he cares so much, why this even matters to him. if anything, you feel like he should be content with your silence.

but he's not, and gojo grows more restless by the hour.

he decides he can't live like this anymore. tonight he's going to make you listen to him, even if you want nothing to do with him.

you're holed up in your room, talking with alina as she dabs lavender oil on your neck before you go to sleep. you know she knows about your silence with gojo, but ever friend, she does nothing to bring it up.

well, she wouldn't have to if he didn't come knocking feverishly at your door.

you watch in your mirror as she peeks her head out, her gasp of surprise causing a sinking pit to form in your stomach. you can hear how she scrambles with the titles of my lord, how she explains that you're nearly about to go to sleep.

it's late, the only light is the flickering of the candles on your nightstand. he should be asleep by now.

gods, you wonder for the millionth time this week, why does he care so much?

alina finishes up, closing the door slightly as she turns to you, her eyes finding yours in the mirror.

"i'm sorry my lady," she bows her head almost apologetically, "but my lord wants to talk to you. he's requested me to leave...if you'll excuse me," she bows, quickly leaving, not giving you any time to actually excuse her. you know she can't stay any longer, but you do wish she put up more of a fight. you watch her skirt bustle away, the door being left slightly ajar.

you try to act nonchalant, continuing to dab the oil onto your wrists as you look down, even when you hear the door click shut, even when you can feel his presence several feet behind you.

you sigh through your nose, heat rising to your cheeks.

"what?" you bite out, your own voice shocking you. you want to get this over with, not too desperate to hear about how he's ready to take on a mistress and shun you away.

you can hear him take in a deep breath, your eyes briefly looking up in the mirror to catch his, the same ones that make your knees weak, and avert your gaze.

"you haven't spoken to me in over a week," he says after a beat of silence.

you shrug indifferently, despite the fact that he could probably ask you the specific amount of hours it's been since the two of you had talked and you'd give an accurate number.

"i've been busy," you murmur, taking your earrings off as you place them gently in the little glass bowl to the side.

he doesn't say anything about your blatant lie, just nods slowly, as if he understands.

"i missed hearing you talk," gojo tells you quietly, almost as if his voice had been stuck in his throat, and you wonder if any man before him had ever tried to sweet talk his wife before he told her about his new mistress.

you don't say anything, still refusing to look at him as you stand up from your seat, turning off one of the candles near you as you smooth out some of the wrinkles of your nightgown.

"is this what you really want to tell me gojo?" you say bluntly, looking to the side momentarily, getting a longer look at his bulky figure, how he tries to make himself seem smaller, "that you miss my stupid jokes and dull stories?"

"they're not stupid," he quickly cuts in, his voice a little stronger, brows furrowed, "and i like your stories."

you roll your eyes, moving around the bed, to the side where he's not, and fluff your pillows. you've never found this useful, but it gives you something to do with your hands other than fidgeting with them.

truth be told, you're reflecting. you're scared of what it is he has to say, and so you try to appear stronger, and less caring, despite the fact that it's tearing you apart.

you try not to feel self-conscious of the fact that this is his first time ever seeing your room, or the fact that it's so bland. you didn't come to this estate with many things, and so you've tried to spruce up the space as much as you can, but aside from the few flowers and paintings on the wall, you fear it looks bland compared to everything else he's seen.

"and no," gojo adds, running a hand through his already tousled white hair as his arms crossed over his chest, and you finally allow yourself to stare at him, "that's not all i wanted to say."

he paused for a second.

"i don't know why i followed her out, or why i even stayed to hear her speak, but she kept saying these things about..." he trails off, gnawing on his lips as your eyes narrow slightly.

"me?" you finish for him, and his eyes dart to yours.

gojo nods a little bit, arms bulging a little bit as if remembering what she had said.

"i'm used to people staring at me, i lived with it my entire life. but with you, people..." he struggles to find words, "people stare longer. and i don't know why."

you raise a brow.

"do you want me to explain?" you say and he looks at you briefly, almost in a brazen way.

he shakes his head as if he had steered off track.

"that's beside the point. what i wanted to tell you is that she...she was saying some nonsense and i was about to leave until she offered for me to stay at the hostelry she was at." his blue eyes are wavering, his finger itching to get closer to you. this stupid bed is in the middle of you two and he wishes it were gone.

your breathing hitches a little bit, and you hope he doesn't see the sad tilt on your lips.

"so i banished her. or, well, i guess you saw her and then i banished her, but i would've done it regardless," he explains hurriedly, "look, i'm sorry...really sorry. if you want me to-"

"you banished her?" you cut him off, voice raised slightly in confusion.

his mouth gapes open for a second, and then blinks slowly, nodding.

"of...course," he tilts his head, his gorgeous head, slightly "you know that i am married, right? to you? she was offering to-"

"i thought you were going to tell me that you slept with her. o-or i don't know! that you were going to make her your mistress or something!" you spew out, your voice raised as you pace around the floor, moving a little bit closer to him as his eyes widen.

"why would you ever think that?" gojo says in a panicked tone, nothing like the man who commanded the northern army, but more like somebody who was watching his world burn in front of him.

"why?" you exclaim, shocked, "why? are you daft? every single woman wants to sleep with you! every single time we host those dinners, o-or we go to those parties, they look at you and they look at me and they pity you. i hear the whispers of the ladies, how they wouldn't mind being the other woman."

gojo hears the way your voice wavers, how your lips tremble, and the way you try not to let your bottom lip quiver. he sees the way you try to stay strong, to keep your image unbridled, but right now he feels like he's watching you break and he doesn't know what to do.

"so? what makes you think i'd do anything with them?" gojo argues, his voice raised a little bit, not in shouting, but in genuine disbelief.

you take a moment to step back and observe his behavior, and a nagging voice in your head tells you that he's telling you the truth. that he's concerned and worried, that maybe all he came to tell you tonight was an apology.

but that can't be correct.

so you sigh, your arms crossed over your chest protectively.

"i...i don't know," you murmur, "you sleep in another wing, you're always away. i thought...maybe..." you can't meet his eyes, fidgeting with the ring on your finger.

gojo takes a step forward, lips parted, cheeks rosy and flushed.

the two of you don't say anything for a minute, his chest heaving up and down. you feel like there's a weight both removed and added onto your shoulder.

"why didn't you say anything?" he whispers, "did you think...did you think i was...?" he can't finish the sentence, the words themselves too gruesome.

he doesn't say anything as he takes another tentative step closer.

you watch him, your eyes mirroring one another.

"i made a vow to you," his voice is heavy, traveling across the spanning stone walls, going deep into your bones, "and even if you prefer me to be your friend, i'll keep to that vow till the day i die."

your eyes gloss over, lips trembling.

you don't say anything, taking a couple steps forward as you smash against his chest, face crumpling against the stone wall of his torso as you hug him tightly, hoping that he can't feel the tears that seep through his nightshirt.

never in your life has somebody made a promise to you. and never in your life has somebody kept to that promise.

"thank you," you murmur, your voice muffled as his arms wrap around your body, steady and strong.

"and anyways, i'd prefer to be married to you than those miserable women any day," he mumbles into your hair and you laugh wetly, squeezing your arms tighter.

"really?" you say, tears blurring your vision.

"really," he hums, not able to say anything because he fears what you'd say if he told you that he'd rather be your husband and your friend. but he'd keep that inside, respecting your wishes.

if only he knew you wished the same.

[fushitoru]

i don't wanna lose this with you a spiderman gojo fic

pairing ⸺ spiderman!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ an amalgation of misunderstandings and stress lead to a very big fight between you and satoru, but you certainly don't expect the way he wins you back.

warnings ⸺ college au, spiderman!au, angst, hurt/comfort, i warn you reader might infurate you, but she's just a woman in stem :(, tooth rotting fluff bc he's a loser for his gf, not edited sue me

playlist ⸺ quantum rizzics

a/n you'll probably need to read the first installation (nsfw, so mdni) to understand this one :3

general masterlist | spiderman!gojo m. list

you've blocked gojo on all platforms.

you don't really remember what caused the "break up" (you didn't really break up). maybe it's the fact that you've been stressed about grad school admissions, your dorm's floor was covered in his boxers, and he's never been able to visit you pre-3am these days. somehow, the city's criminals are determined to keep your boyfriend away from you, and maybe it was your pms, or maybe it was truly just because satoru is annoying. regardless, it's when you guys have plans that's not an impromptu healing-gojo's-wounds-in-your-dorm-at-3am sesh and you're waiting at the coffee shop that you explode.

because he was supposed to arrive ten minutes ago, and when you move to go to the bathroom, you see him. through the window, his white hair is never not noticeable, and who you see next to him makes you falter.

he's standing next to a girl with blue tinted silver hair that you recognize as mei mei, and she's gripping his upper arm as she smiles while looking at his face, his lips with such fuck me eyes that you could tell they were having some sort of intimate conversation.

and if it were an ideal day, you would know that it's all a misunderstanding, you would know your boyfriend is someone you trust. but, again, the cards were stacked against you, and the only things that go through your mind all make your eyes all glossy. he's late to the one date that you planned because you and him were finally free at the same time and you've been busy because you've been desperately applying for internships because unlike your boyfriend you don't have a plethora of papers and coding experience and you've been getting four hours of sleep on average this week and ugh you've heard a rumor that satoru used to hook up with her and fuck now your tampon is poking at you in the wrong way—

great. now tears are fully streaming down your cheeks. in public.

as you rush to the table where your stuff is your vision is so blurry that you also almost fall flat on your face as you stumble over the legs of chairs and tables. blurting out a ensemble of choked up sorry's and excuse me's you hurriedly gather your laptop and notebooks in your backpack and book it for the exit.

the biting cold stings at your face, but you nevertheless determinedly move in the opposite direction of where satoru and mei mei are situated, praying your boyfriend doesn't recognize you. however, it seems that the heavens are working against you because you hear a yelled "baby?"

you don't look back because you know a new set of tears will leave your eyes, and with it being finals season, you're not very hydrated to being with. but you hear footsteps running towards you and fuck your boyfriend's long ass legs because he quickly catches up to you. then, he grabs your hands, attempting to stop you from running away and face him.

"baby," he breathes, baby blue eyes looking into yours as he moves to kiss your forehead. you stay silent, pinning your gaze to the ground while shivering. "where are you going? aren't we supposed to hang out right now?"

look, you and gojo have a good relationship. but recently, things have gotten...strenuous lately. you guys haven't been communicating, and it might not help that half of your calorie intake was from energy drinks. or perhaps what lead you to say what you said next was driven entirely by the brain eating mold on your unwashed dishes, but dumb excuses aside, you sneer. "shouldn't you be busy doing that with mei mei, instead?"

a small part of you--the part that knows you shouldn't be like this--feels relief that hurt doesn't immediately flash across his eyes, only confusion. but lack of sleep has not only stripped away at your sanity but also your people pleasing and overthinking tendencies, leaving you only as a girl frustrated, even irrationally angry, with her boyfriend. so you only avert your gaze when he dumbfoundedly asks, "what?"

"what do you mean, "what?"" you scoff, wrenching your hand from his grasp. "you were ten minutes late to our meet-up, gojo." it is at your use of his last name, instead of your sweet my love, that the hurt you've been looking for flashes across his eyes. he moves to speak but you cut him off, no longer wishing to be here with him. "if you're so busy talking to bitches you hooked up with before, why did you even bother saying yes to hanging out with me?"

he looks at you in confusion, eyes quickly flitting back and forth across you. then, slowly, as if he's still processing the weight of your accusations, he says, "i don't exactly know what you're referring to, but let's calm down---"

and you see red.

"calm down?" you snap, voice sharp and icy, just like the wind stinging your cheeks. "did you seriously just tell me to calm down? you were late again, gojo, and i find you chatting it up with her?" you practically spit the word, arms crossing as a flimsy defense against both the cold and the ache building in your chest.

satoru blinks, his confusion genuine, but you’re too far gone to care. "wait—mei mei? is this about mei mei? she's not—"

"don’t you dare finish that sentence," you cut him off, your voice rising as your blood boils hotter. "i don't want to hear how she's just a friend, or how it's not what it looks like. i’m so tired of hearing the same bullshit excuses."

"baby, you're jumping to conclusions—"

"and you’re jumping at the chance to look like an idiot in public," you snap, your hands trembling now, either from the cold or your rising fury. "god, what do you even say to her? let me guess, you go around telling girls you're spider-man to get into their pants, huh? bet that works like a charm."

the accusation hits like a slap, and for the first time, satoru looks genuinely stunned, his mouth falling open slightly. "what the hell are you even saying right now?"

"am i wrong?" you let out a bitter laugh, one that echoes in the frosty air. "you’re late to the one date i actually planned, and i see you with her, all cozy, like i’m not even waiting for you. like i don’t even matter."

his eyebrows knit together, frustration mixing with something softer. "you seriously think i’d—"

"i don’t know what to think anymore, satoru!" the words burst out of you, your voice cracking as hot tears well in your eyes. "all i know is that i can’t keep feeling like this. like i’m some afterthought while you’re out doing—whatever it is you do. swinging through the city or flirting with your exes or—" you choke on the words, wiping at your cheeks furiously as the tears spill over. "just forget it. i’m done."

"wait." his voice is quieter now, more desperate as he steps toward you, his hand reaching out. "baby, come on, we can talk about this—"

"no," you say firmly, jerking your hand away before he can grab it. "i’m blocking you. on everything." then, mockingly, "you can figure out how to save the world without me."

his eyes widen, his mouth opening like he’s about to plead or argue, but you don’t wait for him to speak. you turn on your heel and storm away, the cold wind biting at your skin as the lump in your throat grows heavier.

you don’t look back. not when he calls your name, not when you hear his footsteps falter. you just keep walking.

it’s 3 a.m., and you don’t know if you exist.

well, you do, but after how light you feel after you’ve cried a disgusting amount, you just lie down on your floor staring at the ceiling and contemplating the meaning of life. or more specifically, the meaning of your life, which right now feels like it’s revolving around nothing but stress and a breakup you don’t even fully understand.

you wouldn’t be having these problems if you were a childless cat lady.

but alas, you’re just a college student. in the few days where you haven’t seen satoru, you’ve finished all your finals—miraculously, considering the fragile state of your emotional wellbeing—and now you’re finally on break in your dorm. you’re supposed to go back home in two days, but the thought of packing feels like trying to climb a mountain barefoot. you can’t summon the energy to do anything except wallow in your self-pity and selfishness, letting it wrap around you like a weighted blanket that’s somehow comforting and suffocating all at once.

you’d like to say this is rock bottom, but truthfully, it’s worse than that. because rock bottom implies a kind of finality—a place to push off from. this? this feels more like you’re sinking in quicksand, the weight of everything dragging you further down.

in your stress and impulsiveness, you’ve managed to kill your entire grind for internships. deadlines have slipped past while you spent hours doom-scrolling job boards and second-guessing every application. the ambitious, career-focused version of yourself feels like a stranger now, buried under the weight of your own doubts and insecurities. and on top of that, you may have potentially lost the love of your life.

it’s laughable, really, how thoroughly you’ve managed to self-destruct in such a short time. the worst part? you can’t even bring yourself to check your socials. if you unblock him and see there aren’t any messages, you think your heart might shatter completely. which, if you’re being honest, isn’t exactly fair to him. you’re the one who had the meltdown. you’re the one who blocked him on everything. he probably doesn’t even know what he did wrong because you didn’t even communicate anything.

your stomach twists at the thought, guilt mingling with the ever-present ache of missing him. he was supposed to be the one person who made everything feel a little less impossible, and now you’ve pushed him away.

there has got to be a taylor swift song for this.

so you make your way to your spotify account to listen to afterglow, putting in your airpods while somberly looking at the ceiling once again as the lyrics fill your ears. tears well up as soon as the lyrics start

i blew things out of proportion, now you're blue⸻

tears well up before you can stop them, hot and heavy as they trail down your cheeks. god, you’re a mess. and yet, as much as you hate it, you can’t seem to stop the flood of thoughts that follow.

you miss him. you miss the way he made you laugh even when you were on the verge of tears, the way his ridiculous confidence somehow made you feel like everything would work out. you miss how he’d stay up late just to facetime you when you were overwhelmed with schoolwork, how he always seemed to know exactly when you needed him most.

and now? now you’ve gone and ruined it. maybe he’s angry, maybe he’s hurt, or worse—maybe he’s just done with you entirely.

the thought makes your chest ache, your breaths coming in shallow and uneven as the lyrics hit their crescendo.

i need to say, hey, it’s all me, in my head—

then, suddenly the song changes. you frown as you hear early 2010's pop blast through your ears.

i threw a wish in the well, don't ask me i'll never tell⸻

why the fuck is call me maybe playing?

annoyed and rubbing at your eyes, you move the change it back to, now, the sad girl hours playlist spotify curated for your and assume your dead fish position on the floor once again.

however, it seems as if your spotify is genuinely tweaking, like it's realized it’s gotten your attention. when call me maybe starts playing again, you groan out loud and move your phone. but before you have a chance to switch the song again, it seems to switch.

baby by justin bieber.

call me, blondie.

i love you, i'm sorry, gracie abrams.

letstalkaboutit, aminé.

i don't understand but i luv you, seventeen.

please please please, sabrina carpenter.

and then, once more, as if to really drive the point home: call me maybe, carly rae jepsen.

again, it's 3am, and you're stuck in a surreal mix of grief and confusion, staring at your phone as your spotify queue seems to have gained sentience. each song feels like a pleading nudge, an unmistakable pattern forming, and your blood runs cold when you remember one very important fact.

you share a spotify account with satoru.

"carly rae jepsen," you mutter under your breath, a mix of exasperation and fondness bubbling up despite yourself. he's hijacking your queue. right in the middle of your emo songs.

you sit up abruptly, tossing your airpods onto the bed, and hover over the call button on your phone. there’s a split second of hesitation—your pride battling with your longing—before you give in and press it.

the line rings twice before his voice comes through, breathless, like he’s been pacing. "baby?"

the sound of his voice sends a fresh wave of emotion crashing over you, sharp and raw like an open wound. the sound of his voice makes your stomach twist uncomfortably, equal parts relief and guilt. "satoru," you say, barely above a whisper. "why are you messing with our spotify?"

"why am i messing with our spotify?" he echoes, his tone incredulous. "why did you block me on literally everything? what was i supposed to do—send you a letter by carrier pigeon?"

you wince at the edge in his voice, your earlier anger wilting under the weight of his hurt. "i… i don’t know," you admit, the words tumbling out before you can catch them. "i was upset, and i wasn’t thinking straight. i shouldn’t have done that."

"yeah, you shouldn’t have," he says, still sounding a little indignant, though there’s something softer beneath it now. "do you know how many songs i had to go through to make my point? do you know how hard it was to resist the urge to rickroll you instead?" then, there’s a pause on his end, the line suddenly feeling too quiet. then he sighs, his voice softening into something that feels too much like an apology. "i didn’t know what else to do. i hate not talking to you. i hate knowing i made you upset, even if i don’t entirely understand why."

you close your eyes, the lump in your throat returning with a vengeance. the silence stretches between you, thick and unbearable, until you finally break it. "i’m sorry," you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "i shouldn’t have blown up at you like that.” and now that the dam has been broken, it all comes rushing out as you start choking up. “i’ve just been so stressed, and i’ve been missing you and then i saw you with her and then got irrationally angry when i really should’ve trusted you and oh my god i’m like a possessive tradwife husband that doesn’t let you leave the farm i’m sorry and i didn’t even communicate before i blew up at you like that—”

"hey. hey, hey, it’s okay," he says immediately, his tone filled with an earnestness that makes your chest tighten. "i know things have been hard for you. i should’ve been better, too. more present. i hate that you’ve been feeling like this while i’ve been...doing spider-man things." then, he lets out a dramatic sigh, the kind that’s equal parts exasperation and playfulness. "but wasn’t fair,” and you can hear a whine in his voice, “you blocked me and then ghosted me like i’m some kind of random tinder match. do you have any idea how insane i felt when i couldn’t even check to see if you were okay? i thought you hated me."

your breath catches at his words, guilt twisting like a knife in your chest. "i don’t hate you," you say quickly, the words spilling out in a rush. "i could never hate you. i was just… stupid, and emotional, and i didn’t know how to handle everything piling up. i’m so, so sorry, satoru."

there’s a pause, and when he speaks again, his voice is quieter, a little more vulnerable. "then why did you say those things? about mei mei, and… and me using the spider-man thing to get into girls’ pants."

you bite your lip, the memory of your harsh words making your throat tighten. "i didn’t mean any of it," you whisper. "i was just lashing out, and i know it wasn’t fair to you. i know you’d never do something like that, and i trust you, satoru. i just… i let my insecurities get the better of me."

"wait," he interrupts, his voice laced with amusement that shouldn’t make your heart ache the way it does. "you actually think i’d use the spider-man thing as a pickup line? that’s...wow. that’s genius. i should write that down."

"satoru!" you exclaim, half-laughing, half-crying, your emotions unraveling all over again. "i’m being serious!"

"i know, i know," he says, but you can hear the smile in his voice, warm and teasing. "and i’m being serious, too. i’d never do that to you. mei mei’s just...she tripped in front of me, i was just helping her up. i didn’t even realize how it must’ve looked, but i’ve never done anything with her. you’re it for me, okay? always."

you sniffle, wiping at your cheeks as your heart swells and aches all at once. "you mean that?"

"of course i do," he says, his voice soft and sincere in a way that makes your breath hitch. "i love you, even when you block me on everything and make me resort to spotify warfare." he sighs again, but this time it’s softer, the warmth in his voice breaking through his remaining irritation. "i’m not mad. i mean, i was mad, but mostly i was just upset. you really hurt my feelings, you know?"

the lump in your throat grows, your guilt threatening to choke you. "i know," you say, your voice cracking. "i’m so sorry, satoru. i’ll make it up to you, i promise."

"oh, you will make it up to me," he says, the teasing edge returning to his tone. "i want a week of boyfriend privileges—no complaining when i steal your fries, no making fun of my movie picks, and you’re buying me snacks for at least three of those days."

a small smile tugs at your lips despite the tears still clinging to your lashes. "deal," you say softly.

there’s a pause on his end, and then his voice comes through the line, quieter but no less sincere. "you really mean it? you’re not still mad at me?"

"i’m not mad," you say, your voice thick with emotion. "i was never really mad at you, satoru. i was mad at everything else, and i took it out on you. but i’m not mad anymore. i just… i miss you."

"i miss you too," he says, and the raw honesty in his voice---the subtle way it chokes up, as if he had been crying and missing you too---makes your chest ache. "so, can i come over? or are you going to make me keep hijacking your playlists to get your attention?"

you laugh softly, the sound tinged with relief. "just come over already, you dummy. and bring snacks. good ones."

"done," he says, his grin audible through the phone. "i’ll be there in twenty. and for the record, you owe me at least a whole playlist dedicated to how amazing i am and you sucking the absolute soul out of my dick---."

"don’t push your luck," you reply, but there’s no heat in your words, only warmth (and you’re absolutely going to suck his soul out of his cock). regardless, for the first time in days, the tightness in your chest starts to ease, replaced by something lighter, something whole.

general masterlist | spiderman!gojo m. list

a/n he's so cute :( i'll keep on writing stuff for them whether it be small fics like this or long ass fics. i think my next one is gonna be freaky if you guys are nice to this one

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