#and i agonised about this piece for ages

[pennyellee]

𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐁𝐈𝐒

𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐁𝐈𝐒 | 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐉𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐅𝐈𝐀 𝐀𝐔 pairings: yandere mafia namjoon x barmaid f!reader genre: dark romance, smut, slight porn with plot, 90s word count: 19,7K beta read by @chaoticpuff17 (ily)

masterlist

summary: “You are something I can sin for” An anchor amidst the stormy seas of life — that’s what Namjoon is for you. But it wasn’t always like that. There was a time where you’ve resented Namjoon with every fibre of your being and every word that came out of his plump lips after what he had done to prove his power. Unfortunately, you will never know what life could be if Kim Namjoon was not in it.

warnings: minors dni 18+ | sexual tension, emotional distress, teasing, yandere behaviour, obsessive behaviour, manipulation, reader meets namjoon when she was young - nothing happenes until she's of age, forced engagement, kidnapping, graphic violence, death, murder, blood, explicit language, misogyny, mentions of feminism, alcohol usage, mentions of religion and God, church smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, oppa-kink and so on (i'll add some if i'll forget)

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain strong language, explicit content, obsessive behaviour, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, oppressiveness, which we do not condone.

a/n: So here we are! This is the story I've been thrilled to share as it unfolds almost simultaneously with Champagne Confetti. Y/N, alias Peaches, is my baby, and I cannot wait to write more for her and Namjoon after my current project wraps up, wink wink. I have drafts for other fics set in the same universe as my current work and the new one, Anubis. Step by step, my fairies ♥

I hope you will enjoy reading this piece I've kept to myself for a long time. The best thing about writing is that I get to build this world of imagination and live in it for months before it gets to you. Sooo, I'm very nervous and excited to push Anubis out as a second fic within this universe— which now I have decided is going to be called — 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟔. Without further ado, enjoy, fairies! ♥

1996

There's a soft whisper in your bones, each time you wake up in the morning. As your eyes flutter open, the room is dimly lit, shadows dancing on the ceiling. All your demons are staring at you from above. They have been there when you went to sleep, and they are still there when you wake up. You know them all too well—regrets, doubts, fears—they've become familiar companions in the lonely hours of the night. They whisper tales of your failures, amplifying every mistake, every misstep, until they echo like thunder in your mind.

But would it be any different if your steps turned the other direction? Would the cosmos allow you to be? Possibly. You, however, will never know what life would be without blood flowing down the stream, dirty money from all the sins you've watched being committed.

You will never know what life could be if Kim Namjoon was not in it. But the thought is fleeting, for you know deep down that he is as much a part of your story as the demons that haunt you. His presence has shaped you in ways both profound and subtle, leaving an indelible mark on your soul and your body. The agonising pain within still remains and all you can think of is how did you get to this point in your story.

"Bitches come and go, Peaches—" you recalled those words like it was yesterday they were uttered.

"—but you and him, love, you be for life."

An anchor amidst the stormy seas of life — that's what Namjoon is for you. But it wasn't always like that. There was a time when you resented Namjoon and every word that came out of his plump lips.

Kim Namjoon was trouble and the whole Bronx knew so. Heck, even the whole state knew what kin he came from. You were no exception. But whatever you did, you never managed to put distance between you two.

The world seemed both infinitely vast and impossibly small when the streets of the Bronx were your stage. You were young when you met Namjoon, a whirlwind of youthful energy and reckless abandon, there he is, so vivid in your memories.

Every time you'd help around Anubis, you could see his straying eyes. He had an aura of mischief that drew you in like a moth to a flame. You remember the way his gaze lingered on your skin, straying from the task at hand to fixate on you with a mixture of fascination.

Namjoon's reputation preceded him like a shadow cast by the noonday sun. Entirely impossible to overlook, yet you did. His name was whispered in hushed tones in the back alleys and dark corners where his influence held sway, and that was only the beginning. The magnitude he reached decades later is for another story.

You had heard the rumors—the tales of his involvement with the local gangs, the whispers of his connections to the underworld that lurked beneath the surface of the city. Certainly, you would have to be lying if you said that Anubis was completely legal. You were not that stupid. While it bore the façade of a legitimate establishment, its roots ran deep into the murky waters of the criminal underworld.

Mrs. Jung could smile as widely as she wanted and reassure you that all was fine and all was taken care of, but you couldn't ignore the whispers that circulated about Anubis. Yet she paid triple what you could get in any regular bar. Not like you could work at a regular bar at the time at your age. Survival often depended on turning a blind eye to the unsavory realities of life that you would never be able to face alone. Money was tight and you could not afford to lose such a good-paying job. Even if it took what it took.

"His eyes are hungry for you, Peaches—" said Mrs. Jung while toying with the little umbrella that was swimming in her Kamasutra drink you'd prepared just a few minutes ago. You envisioned your life in the city just like she had, Saint Laurent heels clicking loudly as you would walk down the streets of Manhattan. You admired your lady boss from her head to toes. Mrs. Jung was a symbol of pussy and power. Until she was not. The power was given to her and once she rejected to meet the expectations, it was taken from her.

"—But that's all he can do, at least for now."

She winked your way and then her attention turned to the approaching male figure. What she meant by that is loud and clear. You are underaged and Namjoon cannot make any move on you even if he wanted to. And you knew he respects you that much. Although something tells you that this would be the least illegal thing he would’ve committed.

You’ve met Mark Tuan on occasion when he stopped by the bar. She was not Mrs Jung at the time, yet the notorious life of your lady boss, confused you even then. The way she and Mr Jung behaved around each other gave you the impression that he is her lover and not the tattooed boy that fucked the brains out of her in the office upstairs.

You felt the pain that was reflected on Jung Hoseok’s face when he asked where is she and you had to answer truthfully. The only thing you knew about Namjoon was that he and the Jungs ran way back. Their primary, and to the upper world’s eye, legal assets were the distilleries that distribute whiskey and brandy which you were serving each night till early hours of the morning.

The moment he particularly chose to visit the bar only those evenings you’ve been around was a louder hint shouted your way. As if you haven’t already figured. There was something intoxicating about the way he moved through the world and the way he moved you once your eyes locked.

The way he spoke to you, listened to you so attentively, gave advice on occasion and provided a shoulder to lean on, was all pulling you to him even more. It made you forget about all the skeletons that were in his closet.

The air crackled with anticipation as he walked through the room each night, straight to you, his gaze fixing on you with a mixture of fascination and desire. But amidst the heat of the moment, there was a shadow of doubt that lingered in the back of your mind.

Mrs. Jung's sudden disappearance, Namjoon taking over the day-to-day operations of Anubis—it all seemed too convenient, too perfect to be mere coincidence. It gave him the opportunity to watch you, keep you safe. You were scared that he'd cut you off whenever you fucked up something. But he never did; rather the opposite, offering you a lifeline when you needed it most. There was a chemistry between you that defied explanation, a silent understanding that transcended words.

The way his muscular torso almost pressed against yours in the storage room took your breath away instantly. The faint scent of his cologne enveloped you as he leaned in closer, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. Surrounded by crates and boxes of expensive alcoholic beverages, the world seemed to fade away. His hand brushed against yours while he was lifting it, sending a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins as you met his gaze. Reaching above your head to envelop his slender fingers around the throat of the bottle that you could not reach before, he slowly moved closer to hover above your lips. You trembled under his gaze on your lips that were slightly parted; you were panting at this point, reminding you of the dangers that lurked beneath the surface of your forbidden romance.

"Just a moment longer."

His voice was a low murmur, a seductive whisper that sent a thrill racing through your veins. Despite the warning bells that rang in the recesses of your mind, you couldn't deny the pull he had over you, the magnetic attraction that drew you closer with each passing moment, his presence overwhelming in the confined space of the storage room. You knew that this was wrong, and yet, as his breath ghosted over your skin, you couldn't bring yourself to pull away.

You would never deny it, but you could not accept it and return his affections the way he wished you would. This was temporary. You never planned to stay in Anubis for longer than needed. It was not where you belonged, and the criminal underbelly of the Bronx was not the life you had envisioned for yourself.

You could not understand what made him stay away from you for such a long time. But it certainly created an opening for you to re-think your next steps.

Somehow, being twenty-one did make you feel the anticipation of living a life. Almost twenty-two when you graduated from college that could be paid as your earnings in Anubis allowed so. Slowly, your little life in the farthest corner of Bronx would come to an end and you could move into the city. Get a job, maybe even a man and kids later. You wanted that white-picket-fence life and you knew that if you wanted to live it peacefully, staying here was not an option.

Your father was strongly against you leaving even though he never approved of the life you led in the dark of nights. He was not a saint either, his hands stained with the same sins that plagued the streets of the Bronx. There was no man in the whole New York City that would not know the name Kim Namjoon and your father was not an exception. Although, you never had the courage to mention his name and acknowledge that the man your father praises when he drinks his beer and plays poker with his drunkard old pals, is spending his evenings talking to you.

"I tell ya all, that Namjoon boy has got a head on his shoulders like no other," your father's voice boomed across the small kitchen.

"A real businessman, that one," a flicker of unease stirring in the pit of your stomach as you caught sight of the familiar glint of admiration in your step-father's eyes. Namjoon's name hung in the air between you, a silent reminder of the bond that had formed between you in the shadows of Anubis.

"I wouldn't be surprised if he ended up running this whole city someday, right, Peaches?" You forced a smile, a wave of uncertainty washing over you as you considered the implications of your father's words. Namjoon's ambitions were as vast as the city itself, his influence reaching far beyond the confines of Anubis and the criminal underworld it symbolized.

"That's Mr. Jung's place, dad," you shook your head disapprovingly but with a smile on your face. His comrades laughed and shared similar ideas as he did though.

"That would be a boy for your Peaches," one of his comrades chuckled, the sound echoing off the walls of the cramped kitchen as they continued to sing Namjoon's praises after you only silently smiled again and opted not to respond. Your father however scoffed. He praised him, yes. But would he approve of his only child being with such a man like Namjoon is?

"When are you leaving for the city, young Missy?" Old man whose name you've never known asked with a cigarette in his mouth, looking over his cards rather than your way.

"Don't even support her in that big apple bullshit." You felt a pang of disappointment at his lack of support, but you were not surprised. You glanced around the kitchen, meeting the eyes of the men gathered there, each one offering their own opinion on your future. Some nodded in agreement with your step-father, while others remained silent, their expressions unreadable.

"Don't listen to those old men, child—"

"You got dreams, girl. Don't let nobody hold you back from chasing 'em.”

Truth to be told. The job, white fence, man and kids were not your dreams. You did not really know what to dream of, being restricted in such a dark part of the world that Bronx was for many, you did not even know why you hate your home like that. And you certainly weren’t even sure what is it to have a dream. But you hoped you’ll create some once you step your foot down, somewhere else than here. It doesn’t have to be Manhattan in particular. Anywhere but here is fine.

"Peaches, love, be sweet and bring us another beer from the fridge on your way to work, would ya?"

The request snapped you out of your thoughts, bringing you back to the present moment. With a nod, you forced a smile, hiding the turmoil within as you moved to comply with his request. You were sure you'd be late to your shift at Anubis yet again, but you knew that Namjoon would turn a blind eye. He always did when it came to you.

But Namjoon was not present the moment you stepped into Anubis that night. As you made your way through the dimly lit interior of Anubis, a sense of foreboding settled over you like a heavy blanket. The usual hustle and bustle of the bar seemed muted, the air thick with tension as you approached the bar.

Mrs. Jung was still nowhere to be found and therefore, for a few months, Namjoon had replaced her. But tonight he was not here. He usually came around ten p.m. and stayed until you cleaned the very last table and closed the bar.

Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and set about your duties, determined to carry on despite the growing sense of unease that lingered in the air. But as the night wore on, the feeling of dread only intensified, leaving you on edge as you awaited Namjoon's return.

You watched the sun rising through the large windows that let the light come into the bar that was still beaming with a significant number of people of various ages. Despite your efforts to focus on your tasks, your thoughts kept drifting back to him. Where could he be? Why hadn't he shown up as usual? The questions nagged at you, fueling the unease that had settled in your stomach like a lead weight.

"Peaches?!" You heard the voice of one of the local and returning customers from the other side of the dancing floor. He was a friend. Or so you thought. He raised two fingers into the air and in a second you were already pouring the brownish liquid of Jung's Whiskey into the crystal-clear glasses.

You walked over to the table he was sitting at alongside a face you'd never seen before. Thanking you for the drinks, he pointed his thumb to the man sitting next to him.

"Peaches, Jinyoung—"

"Jinyoung, Peaches."

You offered a polite smile, acknowledging the introduction as you set down the drinks on the table. The unfamiliar man, Jinyoung, returned the gesture with a nod, his expression unreadable.

"Nice to meet you, Jinyoung," you replied, your voice tinged with a hint of curiosity.

Jinyoung's gaze met yours, his eyes dark and probing as if searching for something within you. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of discomfort under his scrutiny, a feeling that only added to the unease already gnawing at your insides. Something about him set off alarm bells in your mind, a primal instinct warning you to tread carefully.

"What's a beauty like you doing tucked in Anubis?" Jinyoung asked, his voice smooth and velvety. You glanced around the dimly lit bar, suddenly aware of the eyes that seemed to linger on you from every corner, not understanding why.

"I... I work here," you said, a sudden shyness prevailing on the surface. You never really engaged with other men apart from Namjoon. For some reason, each time a man approached you, all of them quickly backed out, opting to not even look your way. For a long time, you did not know what you did wrong to chase them all away. But you got to know that night.

Jinyoung's lips quirked into a knowing smile, his gaze never leaving yours.

"I can offer you a better job, beauty," his words dripping with a seductive allure, and in that moment, you decided you needed to get back to work ASAP. He sounded like trouble you did not want on your last days here.

"I... I appreciate the offer, but I'm quite content here," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

"You sure? I could have good use of someone like you, Peaches." Your heart pounded in your chest as Jinyoung's words washed over you. He played with your name on his tongue, and you had a hint that the job he was offering you would be something much worse than working in Anubis.

"Easy, Jinyoung, that's Namjoon's girl you're talking to." Jackson finally spoke up as if he heard your little begging in your head, but this was not what you expected him to say. Were you Namjoon's girl? Years went by and he merely brushed upon your hand with his own. There was no attempt to woo you directly. So how come everyone saw it this way—you as Namjoon's girl?

"I'm not Namjoon's girl—" you said, standing your ground for once. You saw Jackson's eyes widen and Jinyoung smirk at your remark.

"I'm no one's girl—"

"Nonetheless, thanks for the offer but I have to decline." Jinyoung's smirk widened at your words, his gaze flickering with amusement as if he found your defiance entertaining. A second later you were on your way back to the bar. He was Jackson's friend, but he was crude and he did not understand he ought to fuck off. The grip you suddenly felt on your upper arm was painful enough to make you wince, yanking you back as you squinted your eyes from the pain of his touch.

"What makes you say no if you're no one's slu—" your ears picked up his words before they were silenced. Forever. His last words were cut off by a deafening gunshot, leaving you frozen in shock. The sound of it still ringing in your ears as you turned to see the source of the chaos. There, standing with a smoking gun in his hand, was Namjoon, his expression unreadable as he stared down at Jinyoung's lifeless form. One side of Jackson's face was covered in blood that was his friend's, his shock mirroring your own. And you were scared to even move an inch.

Namjoon had just killed a man in cold blood, he shot him right in front of you. Without mercy. Panic surged through you as you realized the gravity of what had just transpired. The grip he had on your upper arm weakened yet remained even after his head fell down. It was a clear shot to the side of his head.

By now, half of the bar emptied, only those underworld rats stayed unfazed. Namjoon was always so calm, so collected. But now, he looked like a completely different person. The bar had fallen into an eerie silence, broken only by the sound of your own ragged breathing. You wanted to run, but your legs failed you, unable to move as the reality of the situation sank in.

"What—" your heart hammered in your chest as you searched for something, anything, to say, but the words caught in your throat, choked by the weight of the moment. Your whole body trembled uncontrollably, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. You reached to pull your hand away from Jinyoung's lifeless grip and while you struggled to do so, the scenery before you was not helping you to calm down. The side of his head blown up, you could see parts of his brain, immediately making you empty your stomach on the floor. The fact that Namjoon hadn't said a word since he literally came out of nowhere was not contributing to the situation either.

You heard his smooth voice but it was too muffled at this point. He was giving orders to Jackson, but you did not understand a single word coming out of his mouth. Your head was spinning and the room felt like a carousel.

"Why would you—" you began to stutter, your voice barely a whisper. The question died on your lips, swallowed by the overwhelming sense of dread that hung heavy in the air. Namjoon had just committed an act of unspeakable violence, ending a man's life without a second thought. Nothing will be the same ever again. You stayed out of all the illegalness that surrounded Anubis on purpose. What eyes don't see, heart doesn't hurt. What you don't know, can't hurt you. But now you eye-witnessed such brutality and he won't let you walk away to the other end of the rainbow.

You did not expect him to hear you nor even answer your remark, but of course, Kim Namjoon was always here to listen to you.

"He touched you."

The words hit you like a physical blow, jolting you out of your stunned silence. He wasn't just stating a fact; he was issuing a warning, a chilling reminder of the consequences of crossing him. Looking him in the eye, he looked like a possessive maniac, like someone determined to protect what he perceived as his.

"He didn't—" you began, your voice faltering under the weight of Namjoon's scrutiny. Yet you stopped yourself to think whether Jinyoung's intentions were harmless or not. You remembered the way Jinyoung had leered at you, his touch lingering where it shouldn't have.

"No one can touch you, Peaches."

You felt a chill run down your spine as the weight of his words settled over you. It wasn't just a declaration; it was a promise, a vow to protect you at any cost. But beneath the surface, you sensed something darker, something primal and possessive that sent chills down your body.

You were paralyzed by the intensity of his gaze, unable to tear your eyes away from his. Your mind raced with a million thoughts and questions, but you knew better than to voice them.

That night you started to hate each and every gaze he threw your way when you were working, all the men running away after uttering a single word to you, and all the remarks about you being Namjoon's girl.

But were you ready to be Namjoon's girl? To be part of his world?

You sit up, the sheets clinging to your skin like a shroud, and confront the spectres that linger above. Even after some weeks, you still cannot shake off the tremor you've experienced that night.

"Peaches?!" You heard your father's voice. You were hidden in the confines of your small room for days now, coming out only to take a bottle of water, and even that you managed to minimize by taking the whole six-pack. You couldn't bring yourself to respond.

The look in Namjoon's eyes, the sound of the gunshot ringing in your ears, the sight of Jinyoung's lifeless body—all of it was seared into your mind, haunting you like a relentless spectre. You needed some time. But it was running out quickly.

Lost in the labyrinth of your thoughts, you remained silent, grappling with the weight of the choices that lay before you. You packed your bag last night, all the cash stuffed inside at various places, just to be turned right back on your heel by two muscular men you'd never met before. The color they wore was emerald green, and you quickly understood that those were Jung soldiers, if you could call them that.

Your father was similarly confused. His eyes were darting between you and the soldiers as he struggled to make sense of the situation. So here you are, awaiting when he will decide to collect you. What is he waiting for? You knew that your time was running out; you just didn't know exactly when it would run out.

In that moment that night, you missed the Namjoon you thought he was. All you could see was a stranger, a dangerous man whose actions had shattered your illusions and left you reeling in their wake. Yes, you knew his line of work, but you'd rather not see it with your own two eyes. You'd rather stay oblivious to who he really was just to keep the picture of the Namjoon you knew hanging a little bit longer.

"You can't hide there forever." And you certainly did not plan to, but coming out to see your father's worried face after he sees how disheveled you look could wait for another day or so. You did not know what Namjoon intended to achieve by making you a prisoner in your own home.

Every fiber of your being wanted to hate Namjoon, but you did not know whether that was even possible with how smart that man was with his mouth.

This cage of fear and uncertainty made you uneasy. The wind that forcefully closed your window awoke you from your thoughts. You lived on the second floor of an old block of apartments. You moved toward the old rusted window, cautiously pushing it open again. The cool night air rushed to meet your cheeks, and you closed your eyes to feel it.

Peering down, you assessed the drop. It wasn't too high, and the fire escape just below offered a feasible route. Why had it not occurred to you earlier?

"Peaches, please, talk to me. They've been saying that you can't go out and should wait for sajangnim Kim."

Your father's voice was strained, a mix of concern and frustration. You hesitated, torn between the urge to reassure him and the pressing need to just run for the hills before it was too late for you.

What you realized in the moment, listening to his muffled pleas, was that this might be the last time you'd see him. You couldn't come back to the Bronx ever again. Nor New York. You weren't sure exactly what the magnitude of Jung's power was that Namjoon shared, but you had the hunch that wherever you'd hide in this state, he would find you.

"Dad?" you said softly, your voice barely a whisper. You felt a lump in your throat, the weight of the impending goodbye pressing down on you. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

"I'm here, Peaches," your father responded, his voice breaking slightly. "Please, come out. We'll figure this out." Tears welled up in your eyes as you clung to the closed door.

"It's no go, Dad."

"Please, just open the door." His voice was closer now, just outside the door.

You glanced around your room, grabbing your packed bag and slipping it over your shoulder.

"I love you, Dad. I'm sorry. Bye—"

With a final, sorrowful glance toward the door, you slipped out of the window, your feet finding purchase on the metal grating of the fire escape. You descended quickly, not daring to look back. The metal stairs creaked under your weight, each step taking you further from the life you knew. You needed to disappear.

You had no shoes on, and the white tank top clung to your skin, outlining your curves and breasts. The night air was cool against your exposed skin, a harsh contrast to the warmth of your tears. The metal of the stairs felt rough under your bare feet, but you pushed forward until you were all the way down.

Catching your breath and glancing around the dimly lit alleyway, the city felt oppressively silent, the only sound your own ragged breathing. As you took a step forward, a soft scoff resonated in your ears, leaving you standing there frozen. The man was totally invisible in the dark shadows of the alley between the buildings until he pulled out his zippo lighter to light a cigarette, illuminating his face. He exhaled a cloud of smoke, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Where are you headed, Peaches?"

The man who was casually leaning against the cold bricks wasn't unfamiliar to you. You, as a barmaid at Anubis, had the extravagant privilege to meet four out of the big seven. Kim Taehyung being one of them, standing here in front of you.

"Mr. Kim," you breathed, dread pooling in your stomach. You were on a first-name basis only with Namjoon even though they all scolded you, especially your lady boss, for being way too formal and polite, making them feel older than they actually are. Truth be told, you were putting some distance between them, but you utterly failed to do so with Namjoon, and here you are, on the run.

"I'm your family now, Peaches," Taehyung said, his voice dripping with mockery. "You should start getting used to that, so drop the mister finally."

You gritted your teeth, trying to steady your nerves as you faced Taehyung. "Taehyung," you corrected yourself, though the informal address felt wrong on your tongue.

"That's better, what a good girl you can be," he said with a smirk, taking a step closer. His presence felt suffocating, a reminder of the dangerous world you had stumbled into.

"Why are you here, Taehyung?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

"Why are you here, Peaches?" Taehyung countered, his tone filled with amusement. You bit the inside of your mouth, feeling the nerves tighten their grip on you.

"Getting some fresh air," you replied, trying to sound casual despite the knot of anxiety tightening in your chest.

Taehyung raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "Ah, yes, because nothing says 'fresh air' like sneaking out of your window in the dead of night," he quipped, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his scrutiny bearing down on you. "I just needed to clear my head," you said, hoping he would buy your flimsy excuse.

"You are not planning to do anything stupid now, Peaches, right?" You paused, considering your response carefully. Taehyung's tone, though casual, carried a hint of warning that sent a shiver down your spine. You slightly shook your head to show dismissal.

"Namjoon-hyung said you looked pretty shaken up that night." You couldn't help but tense at Taehyung's mention of Namjoon, a surge of apprehension coursing through you. You had tried to bury the memories of that night deep within you, but they continued to resurface, haunting your every thought.

"I'm fine," you replied, forcing a tight smile. "Just had a rough night, that's all."

"It looks like you're about to have another one to me." Your heart skipped a beat at Taehyung's ominous remark, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. Despite his casual demeanor, there was an underlying tension in the air that sent a shiver down your spine.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite the rising sense of unease.

"Unzipped duffle bag, dollar bills fell from it while you were going down, that looks like you were very eager to get that fresh air."

"I... I was just going for a walk," you stammered, scrambling for an excuse. Taehyung raised an eyebrow, his gaze unwavering.

"Without putting your shoes on?"

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of Taehyung's scrutiny bearing down on you. "I couldn't sleep," you admitted, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I needed some fresh air to clear my head.” You repeat yourself, but you know that you can’t fool him no matter what.

Taehyung's gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he shrugged, as if dismissing the matter altogether. "Well, you certainly know how to make an exit," he remarked, his smirk never faltering.

You forced a weak smile, trying to mask the unease bubbling inside you. "Guess I've always had a flair for the dramatic," you quipped, though the words rang hollow in your ears.

Taehyung chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "That you do, Peaches. That you do," he said cryptically, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and something else you couldn't quite decipher.

"You know, Namjoon doesn't like it when his... family goes missing," he said, the emphasis on 'family' making you flinch. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke in a lazy stream.

You clenched your fists, feeling trapped. "I'm not missing," you said, your voice firmer than before. "I'm right here."

"I'd probably get a head start if I were you." Taehyung nodded slowly, as if considering your words.

Your heart pounded in your chest. "A head start?"

He took another drag, the smirk never leaving his lips. "I'm not a monster, Peaches. I'll give you a five-minute head start before I come after you."

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks. He was actually giving you a chance to run, but this time you would know someone was after you. You glanced around, calculating your options. The streets were empty, but you knew they wouldn't stay that way for long.

"Five minutes, Peaches. Starting now."

You turned and ran, your bare feet slapping against the pavement. The adrenaline coursed through your veins as you sprinted down the alley, knowing that Taehyung's smirk was etched in your mind.

You didn't know where you were going, but you knew you had to get as far away as possible. Everything blurred as you pushed yourself to run faster, the sound of your heartbeat drowning out everything else.

If you hide well, he can't find you, can he? You just have to find yourself a place to hide until morning and then you can wait till sunrise, get to the airport and fly to the first destination that will pop up.

You could feel the cold concrete scraping your feet, but the pain was a distant echo compared to the urgency of escape. You glanced over your shoulder, half-expecting to see Taehyung's figure emerging from the shadows, but for now, you were alone.

You could feel the cold concrete scraping your feet, but the pain was a distant echo compared to the urgency of escape. You glanced over your shoulder, half-expecting to see Taehyung's figure emerging from the shadows, but for now, you were alone.

The five minutes neared their end, and you knew you couldn't stay hidden forever. You had to keep moving, keep putting distance between you and Taehyung. Peering through the leaves, you scanned the area, your mind racing through possible routes and hiding spots.

"If I don’t bring you back, he'll come instead, Peaches!" Taehyung's voice echoed through, taunting you.

"You don't want to anger him, do you now?"

You needed a plan, and fast. Glancing around, you noticed a narrow passageway between two buildings, just wide enough for you to squeeze through. It might lead you to a different part of the neighborhood, giving you a chance to lose Taehyung in the labyrinth of backstreets.

You bolted towards the passageway, your bare feet slapping against the cold pavement. The alley was narrow and dark, but you pushed forward, heart pounding in your chest. Every shadow seemed to move, every sound amplified in the stillness of the night.

"They all run at first, Peaches—" Taehyung's voice echoed, closer now. "You're cute thinking you have a chance to get away."

It was way too narrow even if you put your bag down from your shoulder and dragged it as you tried to squeeze through. Every shadow seemed to move, every sound amplified in the stillness of the night, and you were scared that he would get to you soon. You knew he was out there, somewhere, searching for you.

"Although, my mind is troubled. Why, out of all of them, do you run?" There was a pause, then a chuckle.

You pushed yourself harder, feeling the rough brick walls scrape against your skin. You needed to keep moving, but you also needed a moment to think. The airport was too far, especially when they were already looking for you. You thought you were clever to disappear through the window as if you were in some cheesy cliché movie.

"Namjoon-hyung was always good to you, wasn't he?" He was. Until the moment someone else's brain was blown up by him right in front of you, simply because of his possessiveness while he never made you two exclusive. Or at least you thought so, as it showed—you were claimed by him sooner than you actually realized. You felt the panic rising in your chest, threatening to overwhelm you.

"You have no reason to run, Peaches," Taehyung's voice was taunting, echoing off the walls. "Namjoon-hyung will be so disappointed when he finds out how far you've gone." You ignored the majority of his words, focusing on finding a way out.

You closed your eyes and tried to think harder this time. The old train yard—bingo—it was on the outskirts of the city. It was abandoned, a place where few people ventured. If you could make it there, you might be able to find a boxcar to hide in until morning.

"Family doesn't abandon family, Peaches!" You heard his voice again, this time more distant.

Emerging from the passageway, you found yourself in a small courtyard. It was littered with old furniture and discarded trash; the smell was awful, but you didn't have time to dwell on that.

You listened intently, straining to hear any sign of Taehyung. The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional bark of a dog.

You stuck to the shadows, moving as quietly as possible. The train yard was a long way off, but it was your best shot at staying out of immediate reach. Or so you thought.

You couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Every rustle of leaves, every distant footstep made you jump. You forced yourself to stay calm, to focus on the path ahead. Panicking would only slow you down.

The city's edge came into view, the silhouette of the train yard looming in the distance. You quickened your pace, the sight of your potential sanctuary giving you a burst of energy. You crossed the threshold into the yard, the rusted tracks and abandoned cars offering a twisted sense of comfort.

An old boxcar with the door slightly ajar beckoned to you. You slipped inside, the smell of rust and decay filling your nostrils. You closed the door behind you, plunging the space into darkness. It was cramped and musty, but it was hidden.

Sinking to the floor, you allowed yourself a moment to breathe. Your body ached, your feet throbbed, but you had made it. For now, you were safe. You could only hope that Taehyung would give up the chase, or at least lose your trail long enough for you to figure out your next move.

The sound of gravel crunching outside the boxcar woke you up and consequently made your heart jump into your throat. You held your breath, straining to listen. The footsteps were deliberate and slow, echoing through the stillness of the night.

You held your breath, trying to remain as quiet as possible. The footsteps drew closer, each crunch of gravel sending a shockwave through your body. Your mind raced with possibilities. Was it Taehyung? Or perhaps someone else stumbling upon your hiding spot?

"I seriously don't understand why you didn't throw her over your shoulder and take her back to her room." The older male shot him a glare.

"Oh come the fuck on, you're one to talk." It was Taehyung's voice, laced with frustration and annoyance.

“I did not lose her, I gave her choice and she chose wrong, she’ll be back though, in no time.” The younger one scoffed and Taehyung quirked his brows, evidently amused by his brother. 

"Well, at least that was my woman I lost and not our Hyung's." The tattooed heartthrob spat his friend's way when he heard his scoff.

"This isn't really my job. I'm only doing this because Namjoon cares about her too much to leave someone incompetent to watch her until he'll come back."

“Or you’re the only one without a woman, Tae.” You heard a little thump as if he jokingly punched him and the other voice chuckled. But first and foremost –

Namjoon's away. He did not come for you as he's away, and if away means out of the state, you have a bigger chance to make an exit than you originally thought.

Seeing him would only make things worse. Listening to his sweet melodies of words would make you doubt what Taehyung initiated—you have no reason to run. Apart from that, you do. He was deeply entrenched in the world of organized crime, his life a constant dance between power and peril. While his charming demeanor and enigmatic presence had drawn you in, you knew that his lifestyle came with its own set of risks and consequences.

He operated in the shadows, his actions dictated by a code of loyalty to his comrades and ruthlessness towards his enemies. At least that's what you heard people talk about the Jungs and their family man.

You didn't think there was room for innocence. But were you innocent? You had blood on your hands. Jinyoung's. You had been complicit in his demise. While it wasn't you who pulled the trigger, you were the motive.

As the voices grew louder, you strained to make out what they were saying. The sound of footsteps approached the boxcar, each one sending a jolt of fear through you. Were they getting closer? Were they about to open the door and drag you out into the open?

"I did not expect her to play the game that well, I have to give her that," Taehyung remarked, his voice tinged with admiration. Your heart raced as you listened to their conversation.

"Smart, just like he is."

The footsteps came to a stop just outside the boxcar, and you braced yourself for the door to swing open at any moment. Every nerve in your body was on edge, ready to flee at the first sign of danger.

But instead of the door creaking open, the voices began to fade away, the gravel crunching underfoot growing softer as they moved further away. Relief washed over you in waves, but you remained cautious, waiting until the sound of their footsteps had disappeared entirely before allowing yourself to relax.

You stayed hidden in the darkness of the boxcar, unsure of how much time had passed. Eventually, the adrenaline began to ebb, leaving you exhausted and drained. You were scared that they were waiting outside and the moment you decided to move places would be fatal for you.

The growl in your stomach was loud, echoing in the empty boxcar. You hadn't eaten in what felt like an eternity, and the gnawing hunger was beginning to take its toll. Despite the fear that they might be lying in wait, you knew you couldn't stay here forever or you'd die of hunger very soon.

Despite the fear that they might be lying in wait, you knew you couldn't stay here forever. Peeking through the small gap, you scanned the area. The night was still, and there was no sign of Taehyung or anyone else.

Slipping out of the boxcar, you kept to the shadows, moving quietly and quickly. You needed to find food, but more importantly, you needed to find a safer place to hide. If you couldn't reach the airport, you'd have to wait somewhere until you were considered off the radar. Would Namjoon lose his interest if he knew you were gone for good? You hoped so, but you also strongly doubted that. The man had had his eyes set on you for three years or so, without ever losing interest in you.

The city was vast, with many nooks and crannies where you could potentially evade capture, but you moved in the dead of the night cautiously. Slowly closing the distance between the convenience store at least ten blocks from your home, its lights were still on and you thanked the almighty, or more so the 24 hour market in front of you.

The store seemed deserted, only a shabby-looking man in his mid-thirties sitting behind the counter, half asleep. You slipped inside, quickly grabbing some food and water before leaving to pay at the counter. When the doorbell rang indicating that a customer entered the small store, you froze in place.

You ducked behind a shelf, hoping the dim lighting and cluttered aisles would conceal you. Peering through a gap between products, you saw a figure enter. You may be paranoid but you wouldn't take the risk when you had managed to not be caught for what seemed like hours. You knew better.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the sound of your heartbeat almost louder than the growling stomach from earlier. You clutched the food tightly, muscles tense, waiting for the perfect moment to quickly throw the few bucks on the counter and make your leave. You straightened a little.

It wasn't him. It was just a person that resembled him. With a rush of relief, you moved to the counter. The shabby-looking clerk barely glanced up as you placed your items down and reached into your pocket for the money. Just as you were about to pay, a hand slammed the money down on the counter in front of you. Your heart skipped a beat and your eyes widened.

You looked up slowly, dread pooling in your stomach. Taehyung stood beside you, his eyes locking onto yours with a cold, triumphant smile.

"My treat," he said smoothly, his voice dripping with mock politeness. You froze, your breath catching in your throat. The clerk, oblivious to the tension, lazily rang up the items and handed the change to Taehyung. He pocketed it without breaking eye contact with you.

You acted rather quickly after you regained your senses, but the exit was blocked by the man you saw earlier. How could you not recognize the famous heartthrob of this decade, Jeon Jungkook? Only a few people knew of his connection to the Jungs, Kims, and Parks.

"Going somewhere?" Jungkook's voice was smooth and exactly identical to the one you heard outside of the boxcar, but there was an edge to it that sent chills down your spine. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his dark eyes fixed on you with a predatory gleam.

Panic surged through you as you realized your escape route was cut off. You glanced around the store, searching for another way out, but Taehyung's hand clamped down on your arm, his grip firm and unyielding.

The clerk did not care to intervene; he knew their faces and what they represented. One girl was not worth the trouble for him.

"Let's go," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. You had no choice but to follow, your mind racing with thoughts of escape. As you stepped out of the store, the chilly night air hit you, a stark contrast to the suffocating presence of Taehyung beside you. You scanned the street for any potential way out, but Taehyung's grip on your arm tightened, steering you toward a nearby alley.

You stumbled slightly, trying to keep pace with him. The alley was dark and narrow, the perfect place for someone to disappear. Desperation surged through you, fueling your determination. You had to find a way out of this.

"You lasted more than I expected, Peaches. I have to give you that." You fought to suppress the shiver that threatened to run down your spine. Taehyung's voice, usually smooth and melodic, now held an edge of something darker, something sinister.

"But it's time to go home."

The weight of his intentions pressed down on you like a heavy stone. You did not know what home he was speaking of. Your home? Namjoon's home? You'd never been there; you couldn't know what home he meant. But something told you that wherever he'd take you, "home" would be a gilded cage, a place of confinement disguised as comfort.

You remained silent, your jaw clenched in defiance as you continued to walk, your eyes darting around the alley for any sign of escape. But every corner seemed to lead to another dead end, and the walls closed in around you like a vice.

Tears welled up in your eyes as the desperation hit your nerves. Taehyung's grip tightened slightly, as if warning you against any further attempts at escape.

"There was no need to run, Peaches." Wasn't there? You stopped to think for a minute. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart.

With a sudden burst of strength, you twisted out of Taehyung's grip and bolted. The sound of his shout echoed behind you, but you didn't look back. You darted through the maze of backstreets, your only goal to put as much distance between you and Taehyung as possible.

Reaching a dead end, you spotted a fire escape ladder. Without a second thought, you began climbing, your fingers slipping on the cold metal. You reached the rooftop, not daring to look back as you sprinted across the gravel. The cityscape stretched before you, a chaotic playground of rooftops and danger.

You leaped from one building to the next, each landing jarring your bones, but you couldn't stop. You heard Taehyung's voice calling your name, a mix of frustration and anger, but you didn't dare slow down. You reached the edge of a particularly wide gap between buildings and hesitated, just a split second too long.

A strong arm wrapped around your waist, yanking you back. You thrashed, but the grip was unyielding. Jungkook's face came into view, his expression grim. He was faster than Taehyung, and you knew your chances to outrun him were slight, but you still hoped.

"You can't run forever, Peaches," he said quietly, almost regretfully. You could hear Taehyung's leather boots stomping against the roof's concrete and his ragged breath in unison.

You struggled, kicking and clawing, but he held firm. Your heart sank as the reality of the situation set in. Just then, you heard the uncomfortable digital sound of the Motorola flip phone that was in Taehyung's hand once he stopped in front of you.

"Hmm?" Taehyung answered the phone and ended the gut-wrenching sound. You knew who was on the other side of the line. Jungkook still held you securely, his eyes never leaving yours.

There was a pause, and then he handed you the phone.

"Your Mr. Man wants to speak to you."

You hesitated for a moment, the weight of the phone heavy in your hand. With a deep breath, you brought it to your ear, steeling yourself for the inevitable confrontation with Namjoon.

"Hello?" Your voice trembled slightly, betraying the fear and uncertainty swirling within you.

"You're losing sleep, love," he said, his tone smooth but laced with a menacing undertone. You took a shaky breath.

"S-so are you." He chuckled. You bit the inside of your lip out of nerves.

"I'd sleep better if you came back to me like the good girl I know you are."

The mixture of his charm and underlying threat was intoxicating and terrifying.

"I can't, Namjoon," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I can't live like this anymore. I never wanted to live like this, and you knew that."

"Life is just about to begin for you, love—" he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Our life," he added, and your grip tightened around the phone.

"What does that even mean?" you demanded, a mix of anger and desperation coloring your words.

"It means," he began, his voice smooth yet chilling, "that whatever you fear, we'll figure this out together."

"Please, Namjoon," you begged, your voice barely a whisper. "Let me go. I can't. I just can't," you cried out.

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and you held your breath, hoping against hope that he might relent. Your heart pounded with a mix of fear and helplessness.

"Freedom is an illusion, love," he said, almost gently. "The only freedom you'll ever have is with me. Now, come back. We'll talk this through, and I promise you, everything will be fine. Just trust me."

"Namjoon—"

"Peaches—" he quickly interrupted your attempt to plead again.

"Don't make me take harsher measures to ensure you'll come back to me." His tone grew colder, the underlying threat unmistakable.

"Wh-what are you talking about?" you asked, a tremor in your voice.

"You know what I can do. It would be a shame if the same thing happened to someone else you care about." His words hung in the air, heavy with menace.

You looked at Jungkook and Taehyung, their faces impassive yet resolute. They were ready to enforce Namjoon's will, no matter the cost.

"Why are you doing this to me?" you asked, voice quivering.

"We can talk about that once you come home," Namjoon replied, his voice smooth but unyielding.

"Namjoon, please..." you started, desperation lacing your words.

"Enough, Peaches," he cut you off sharply. "You know what's at stake. I expect you back within an hour. Hand the phone to Taehyung."

With a heavy heart, you handed the phone back to Taehyung. He took it, his eyes filled with a mix of pity, but you didn't think it was genuine. You felt Jungkook's grip loosen slightly, but not enough to let you go.

Taehyung listened to Namjoon for a moment, then nodded. "Understood," he said before hanging up. He looked at you, his expression resigned.

"Let's go," he said softly.

You don't even know how you managed to fall asleep in the car. They took your bag, draped a warm blanket over you, and sat you down on the back seat. You did not protest anymore, even though the thought of jumping out of the car went through your head briefly.

You thought of your father, your friends, and everyone you ever met and cared for when he took the ultimate move that would make you leave everything in a heartbeat. You don't want more blood on your hands.

At the same time, you could not understand why Namjoon would take such harsh measures. This wasn't the Namjoon you knew—heck, you don't even know if you ever knew that man.

The lavish room surrounding you was magnificent and screaming one name: Namjoon. Even his scent was clinging to every single piece of the room. The silk sheets clung to your skin, and you couldn't help but close your eyes again. The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, casting a golden hue across the room.

You could hear the audible difference in your surroundings. The Bronx had a distinctive hum, a chaotic symphony of life and struggle. But this—this was different. The sounds outside the open window were unmistakably Manhattan. The distant buzz of traffic, the occasional honk of a horn, and the muffled chatter of people far below created a stark contrast to the quiet tension inside.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. Every moment spent here felt like a betrayal to the life you once knew, the people you once loved. But escape wasn't just about physical freedom—it was about breaking free from the psychological chains Namjoon had wrapped around you.

You did not know whether you weren't running for the hills now because this oddly feels like you are meant to be here or because you don't know if you should. You spent a lot of time rolling around and thinking about this. You had not come to a conclusion yet. You'd only decided that you would give him the courtesy to talk after all the years that he and his family supported you by giving you a job.

With that resolve, you climbed out of bed, feeling the weight of silk sheets slipping away. The cold floor sent a shiver up your spine, bringing you fully awake. You made your way to the bathroom, the reflection in the mirror staring back at you. You need a haircut, maybe even a new hair color.

The shower's hot water provided a temporary refuge, washing away the grime and tension of the past few days. After drying off, you dressed in clothes Namjoon had probably laid out for you—an unspoken reminder of his control.

You entered the kitchen, where the aroma of breakfast hung in the air. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the rich aroma of bacon and eggs, momentarily distracting you. You were starving.

As you moved further into the room, a sudden noise made you jump. Startled, you turned to see a figure in a white chef's uniform bustling about the kitchen. He looked up, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw you.

"Good morning, Misses Kim," he said with a polite nod. "I didn't expect you to be up so early.” The title he used sent a shiver down your spine. Misses Kim. It was as if the walls were closing in, suffocating you with the weight of an identity that wasn’t yours to claim. You overlooked yourself and your attire.

You could see your bra-less breasts and perky nipples through that white tanktop, but the chef was trained well enough to not look that way. He would most likely be beheaded by Namjoon if he would dare to look that way.

"Good morning," you replied, your voice tinged with a mix of nerves and hunger. You forced a small smile.

The chef, a middle-aged man with kind eyes, set down the spatula he was holding and wiped his hands on a towel. "My name is Seo Kang-joon, Misses Kim. I'm Sajangnim's private chef—" you figured that much. Of course that man has a private chef when he cannot boil a potato for the love of God.

"He tasked me to make you some breakfast and tell you he'll be with you shortly," he explained, gesturing to the array of food laid out on the counter.

You nodded, taking a seat at the kitchen island. Your stomach growled audibly, and despite the chaos in your mind, the food before you was an undeniable lure. You picked up a piece of toast, buttering it slowly as Kang-joon resumed his work.

"How long have you been working for Namjoon?" you asked, trying to fill the silence with something other than your own anxious thoughts.

Kang-joon glanced up from the stove, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "About three years now," he replied. "I've switched with my Appa; he was working for the Kims for two generations and now it's my turn—"

"That's a long time," you said, taking a bite of the toast, the warmth of the food providing a small comfort.

"Yes, it is," he agreed, his voice gentle. "Namjoon is a good employer, he's always treated us fairly. And he cares about you a great deal—"

"I've seen you before, didn't I?" you interrupted, suddenly recalling a moment that had slipped through your mind like sand.

"At the private party last month. You were serving food, right?"

Kang-joon nodded, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yes, that was me. I remember seeing you there, although you were quite busy too—"

You were supposed to be waitressing the tables, plural, yet you only waitressed one table that night. As per usual.

"Yep, that was my reality, I guess," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Before all of this."

Kang-joon's expression turned somber, and he stopped cooking momentarily.

"Namjoon doesn't let anyone near you, but I've seen how happy you make him. He's different around you." Of course he thinks so. You don't blame him for his inability to see through this. It's not his place.

You fell silent, pondering his words. The chaos of Namjoon's life and the dark undercurrents that surrounded him felt suffocating. "But at what cost?" you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

"He means well—" he paused his thought and got silent, and you knew that means only one thing.

"I appreciate your loyalty to him," you said, forcing a smile that felt brittle on your lips.

"Good morning, love," he said, his voice deep and commanding. His eyes darted between you and Kang-joon, who stood with a spatula in hand, caught in the moment. "I hope you're both having a pleasant chat."

Kang-joon bowed slightly, and you could see the way he was careful to keep his composure, even as the atmosphere shifted with Namjoon's presence. "I was just finishing up breakfast, Sajangnim," he said politely. "Miss Kim and I were discussing your—"

"Thank you, Kang-joon," Namjoon interrupted, his tone suggesting a mixture of gratitude and an underlying tension. "I can take it from here."

The air felt thick, heavy with unspoken words. You looked at him, wanting to scream, wanting to run, wanting to demand answers.

"Did you sleep well?" Namjoon asked, his voice softer now, as if he was trying to breach the walls that had begun to rise between you.

You nursed your coffee in the black ceramic mug while you shrugged, keeping the answer with spice in it for yourself just yet. His brow furrowed, and for a moment, you could see the cracks in his façade when you didn't answer.

"I see... silent treatment," he gulped down, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. Pouring himself a cup of coffee too, he leaned on the counter right in front of you. You took his appearance in. He got a buzz cut, creamy satin shirt tucked in leather pants. A few of the buttons were undone, giving you a perfect view of his toned chest.

"Is that really how you want to start the day?" he provoked. You set the mug down, the clink of ceramic against marble echoing in the tension-filled kitchen.

"Did you ask yourself the same question when you threatened me?" you shot back, your voice rising slightly as the memories flooded back. The anger surged within you, igniting a fire that had been smoldering since the moment you woke up in his penthouse.

Namjoon's expression shifted, the warmth in his eyes replaced by a flicker of defensiveness.

"Well, you for some reason seemed too adamant that you needed to patrol the streets of Bronx by running away from me. I know you too damn well, Peaches; I know where you were headed."

The words stung, each syllable laced with accusation and an unsettling truth. Your heart raced, the anger bubbling just below the surface.

"You know fucking shit, Namjoon—"

"Oppa," he jumped in, his voice firm, yet tinged with a note of caution.

You inhaled sharply, the familiar term slicing through the tension like a knife. It reminded you of the intimate moments you once shared. "You've lost that honorific the moment you decided to threaten me and kill that man right in front of my eyes!"

Namjoon's jaw clenched, and you could see the conflict brewing beneath his composed exterior.

"You don't understand the kind of world I'm in. We protect ours."

"Protect?" you spat, feeling the heat of betrayal wash over you.

"I'm a person who deserves to make her own choices—" He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing.

"What choices are you making? Running off into the night like it's some kind of adventure? You think that's brave? I refuse to let you get hurt because you're unhappy with my decisions."

"Oh yeah, like something would happen to me—"

"You are my woman, and people know that you are, Peaches!" he declared, his voice rising with intensity, as if the weight of his words was meant to command respect from the universe itself.

Your heart raced at his proclamation, a mix of anger and something softer twisting in your gut.

"The fuck you're talking about, Namjoon?" You snapped, your voice echoing off the sleek kitchen walls. Anger surged within you, fueled by the sheer audacity of his claim.

"Not fucking once did you say that we ought to be official one day—" you shot back, your voice dripping with disbelief.

"You act like I'm some sort of possession, something you can just claim without any conversation or commitment!" Namjoon's expression hardened, a flicker of frustration flashing in his eyes.

"You need to stop pretending like we don't have a future because you're scared of the past," he said, smashing the mug down on the counter. Namjoon's jaw tightened, and the conflict in his eyes was palpable.

"Since we met, not fucking once have you made your intentions strictly clear, Namjoon! The fuck am I doing here then?!" The words burst from your lips, raw and unfiltered, echoing in the tense space between you.

He ran a hand over his face, visibly struggling to keep his composure.

"I thought you knew. I thought you felt it too," he replied, his voice softer now, almost pleading. "I thought it was understood that it was a matter of time."

"Understood?" you scoffed, incredulity seeping into your tone. "You think that just because you've made me a part of your life, I should automatically know my place? That's not how it works!"

"I was waiting till you'll—"

"Age of consent is eighteen in this state, Namjoon, keep that bullshit to yourself." Namjoon's expression darkened at your words, and you could see the frustration simmering beneath the surface.

"So you would rather be wifed and knocked up as soon as we met, am I right?"

The air crackled with tension as Namjoon's words hung in the space between you, a provocation that sent shockwaves through your body. You felt your breath hitch, a mixture of shock and anger coursing through you.

"So that's the plan now?" you lowered your voice.

His expression softened for a moment, and you could see the conflict etched across his features. "I thought you'd want that kind of future with me, Peaches. I thought we were on the same page from day one."

Despite Namjoon's willingness to talk, the remnants of fear and frustration churned within you, threatening to spill over. You took a deep breath, trying to ground yourself. Your heart raced, the urge to flee growing stronger. He reached out, grabbing your wrist gently but firmly.

"I love you, baby."

Your heart pounded in your chest at his words, a tumultuous blend of emotions crashing over you. You stood up from the stool you were sitting at, calmly aiming for the door. You didn't know what you were doing with this lame attempt to flee.

"Hey—" he shouted, but you did not stop. You could feel Namjoon's gaze burning into your back as you moved toward the door, his loud steps right behind you making you speed up the process.

You couldn't stop. The need to escape overwhelmed you, propelling you forward. You flung the door open, the sharp sound echoing in the silence that followed.

"Peaches!" he shouted again, his voice rising with urgency and desperation. The door rattled on its hinges as he leaned against it, trying to process what had just happened.

"Damn it!" he cursed under his breath, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He knew he had pushed too hard, but he couldn't help it.

You trembled under him, still facing the door while his arm was outstretched, palms on the door, blocking you from opening it again. Your breath quickened as you stood there, the cool metal of the doorknob biting into your palm. You could feel Namjoon's presence behind you.

"Let me go, Namjoon," you demanded, your voice steady but wavering just slightly. The pounding of your heart felt like a war drum, urging you to flee, to escape this suffocating moment.

"You would come back to me nonetheless." You turned around to face him, your expression a blend of defiance and vulnerability.

"What makes you think I would?" you shot back, turning slightly to glance over your shoulder at him. The intensity in his eyes made your pulse quicken, a mixture of anger and confusion swirling within you.

"Because you love me back—" He leaned down, not giving you time to argue, and seized the chance to crash his lips down on yours for the first time.

His hands grabbed onto your hips, pulling you closer, the heat from his body seeping into yours. Your heart raced, the adrenaline coursing through your veins as his tongue danced with yours in a heated embrace.

Namjoon's fingers dug into your skin, his grip firm yet tender, as if he was trying to brand you as his own. The kiss was raw, primal, and all-consuming, leaving you both breathless and wanting more.

Namjoon's eyes locked onto yours, the fire within them burning brighter than ever before. With a low growl, he pulled you close again, his lips crashing down on yours once more as the world around you continued to spin.

As the kiss broke, Namjoon pulled away, his eyes burning with intensity.

"I'm not done being angry," you said, your voice low but unwavering. You could feel the heat radiating off him, and it both thrilled and terrified you.

Namjoon's brow furrowed slightly, surprise mingling with the intensity in his gaze. "I know that," he replied, his tone shifting, becoming more serious.

"Good," you spoke right to his lips, your heart still racing from the kiss. The mix of confusion and desire swirled within you, and you struggled to keep your composure.

The cognac brown couch was very comfortable, its soft cushions inviting you to sink in and relax. A glass coffee table with sleek chrome legs stood in front of it, its surface adorned with a stack of art books, a few scattered magazines, and a vintage crystal ashtray. So Namjoon.

A large, floor-to-ceiling window occupied one side of the room, offering a breathtaking view of the city skyline. A Persian rug, with intricate patterns in deep reds and blues, covered the polished hardwood floor, adding a touch of warmth and history to the contemporary space. Again, so Namjoon.

He was crouched down by the fireplace that dominated the place, his back to you. The fire cast a warm, flickering glow across the room, its light dancing over Namjoon's broad shoulders. He started the fire because he saw you shivering. But that had nothing to do with you being cold, and deep down he knew that too. He seemed lost in thought, his fingers idly tracing patterns on the floor as he stared into the flames.

You walked over to him, your footsteps silent on the plush rug. As you approached, Namjoon turned slightly, his eyes meeting yours. You sat down next to him.

"So, how do you imagine all this working?" you asked, your voice gentle yet tinged with the underlying frustration you felt.

Namjoon sighed, rubbing his temples with his fingers. "Just like it did till now."

You frowned slightly, shaking your head.

"So I'm gonna go back to working in Anubis and you are going to keep shooting everyone who gets closer to me?!" you said, a bit harsher than you intended. Namjoon's eyes flashed with a mix of frustration.

"You are not coming back to work in Anubis, let's start with that," he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument.

"My oh my, now you want to take the source of my income too." Namjoon shifted slightly, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. There was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes.

"You're my woman, Peaches. You don't need to work for money anymore," he started, his voice steady and filled with conviction.

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "You can't be serious."

"Women in our clan don't work for decades, my woman is not gonna work either. At least not like that—" You narrowed your eyes, feeling a mixture of disbelief and intrigue at his declaration.

"That's not who I am, Namjoon." He leaned in closer, the firelight casting a warm glow over his chiseled features.

"Baby, I'm not asking you. I'm offering you the life you always deserved." He sighed, running a hand through his hair, frustration evident on his face.

"I've always been able to take care of myself."

“So now let me take care of you, sweetling.”

Your mind raced as you considered his words. The allure of a life without the constant threat of violence, without the stress of making ends meet, was tempting. But was it worth giving up your autonomy?

“You can still pursue your passions. I’m not taking that away from you,—” Namjoon paused, his expression softening.

“But no Anubis,” he took your hands into his.

“What do you want?” You asked quietly. He held your gaze, the firelight flickering across his face, illuminating the resolve etched in his features.

“I think I made my intentions strictly clear today.” He chuckled and exhaled slowly, his breath warm against your skin.

“I’m not just talking about safety and comfort, Peaches. I’m talking about us. About building a life together.”

You searched his eyes for any sign of insincerity, but all you found was determination.

“You want me to be your… what, exactly?” You knew, you just still didn’t want to believe it.

Namjoon leaned back slightly, still holding your hands, his thumb brushing against your skin in a soothing rhythm. “I want you to be mine—”

“Mind and body, heart and soul.” Namjoon's voice was low and earnest, each word weighted with sincerity.

You swallowed hard, trying to process the depth of what he was asking. “You mean… you want me to commit completely? To be yours in every sense?”

“And I’ll be yours.” He nodded, his eyes unwavering, filled with a mixture of affection and intensity. You felt a rush of emotions—a blend of excitement and fear.

“I can give you a life where you don’t have to look over your shoulder, where you can focus on what truly matters to you—your dreams, your passions, us.”

The promise of safety and love hung heavy in the air between you, and while the thought was tempting, a part of you still clung to your independence. It would be nice not to work long night hours in a bar full of drunk people to make ends meet. Not walking home with keys in your hand in case someone would jump you over or worse. Not living in a small old rusty apartment with your father who barely brought any income home.

The fire crackled softly, and you could feel the warmth radiating from it, mirroring the warmth blooming in your chest.

“I need time.” Namjoon’s expression shifted, his jaw tightening slightly as he processed your words. But he didn’t let go of your hands. Instead, he brought them to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, his gaze unwavering.

“Time,” he echoed, the word almost foreign as it left his mouth. “You already had plenty of time.” The firelight cast shadows across his face, emphasizing the intensity etched into every line.

“You think time will change how you feel? Or how much I want you?” You felt a tremor run through you at the weight of his words. It was suffocating and yet strangely comforting, like a trap laced with silk, binding you softly but securely.

“No, Namjoon, I’m just—” Namjoon’s fingers brushed along your jawline, tipping your face up so that you met his gaze directly.

“I get that this must be overwhelming for you, but the time you are asking for is already up and done—”

“I didn’t know it was ticking,” you began, voice barely more than a whisper. Namjoon tilted his head, studying you, his lips quirking into a small, almost understanding smile.

“No more hidden exits, no more plans to escape. I want you here, with me, committed… without looking for a way out. And in return, I’ll take care of you and your father. That’s my promise to you.”

The warmth in his eyes almost made you believe that he meant well, that beneath the possessive intensity was a genuine desire to protect and love. Yet a lingering voice inside you warned that this love would be an all-consuming fire—one that would consume every part of you until there was nothing left to call your own.

Your mind was racing for the answer. If you say yes, you may as well forget who you were, but perhaps you will find yourself where you always wanted to be. Someone. But what if you say no?

“What if I won’t agree, Namjoon?” You asked, scared for the answer. Namjoon’s gaze darkened, the softness slipping away as his grip tightened just enough for you to feel the control he had over the situation. He leaned in, his lips grazing your ear, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Peaches, let's not pretend that you really have a choice here." His tone was calm, as if explaining something simple, obvious, like the inevitability of night following day.

"Your father," he began slowly, each word dripping with calculated weight, "he's in no position to take care of himself, is he? Without you, what would he do? You've been carrying his burden for years, haven't you? Always working to support him, protecting him, making sure he's safe…"

His voice lowered, softening almost to a whisper, but it was filled with a quiet menace. "But if you refuse me… well, who do you think is going to keep him safe then?"

You felt your heart hammer in your chest, dread creeping into every corner of your mind as you took in his words. This was the second time he was threatening your father.

"What is wrong with you?" You said coldly, staring daggers at his pretty face.

"What's wrong with me?" he echoed, voice laced with a faint, mocking laugh. "I'm doing what needs to be done, Peaches. I'm making sure you understand the lengths I'm willing to go to keep you by my side. You think I'd just stand by and watch you slip away? Again?"

He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch featherlight but loaded with a silent threat. "I know you love your father," he murmured, voice a dangerous purr. "And that's why I'm reminding you of what's at stake."

You felt anger and fear twist inside you. He let his hand fall, watching your reaction with unsettling calmness, as if daring you to resist. Namjoon had you cornered, and he knew it. Every ounce of control you'd thought you held slipped further from your grasp, his quiet threats carving invisible chains around you.

"Why would you put me in this position?" He sighed, his lips curving into a faint, almost pitying smile as he tilted his head, studying you.

"Because I've been loving you for years, and when I can finally have you, you are trying toplay feminist."

The words hit you like a slap, raw and stinging. You swallowed, unable to look away from the intensity in his eyes. That faint smile on his lips held no warmth; it was twisted with something darker, something possessive.

"Play feminist?" you echoed, your voice wavering with anger and disbelief. "Namjoon, wanting to make my own choices doesn't mean I'm defying you or 'playing' anything. It means I'm a person, with my own will—"

He cut you off, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he shook his head slowly, almost as if you'd amused him.

“Peaches, you still don’t understand, do you? I’m offering you a world where you’re safe, where you don’t have to fight every day to survive. You’d rather keep struggling, keep pretending you’re content living in that cramped one bedroom apartment while your father brings home beer money when you are fighting off every hardship, and here I am, ready to give you the life you deserve.”

His fingers gripped your chin firmly, forcing you to meet his gaze as he leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper but laced with conviction.

“You think you want freedom, independence. But freedom isn’t safe, Peaches. Freedom won’t love you like I do. It won’t sacrifice or protect. It won’t give you everything at the cost of its own soul.”

He released you, letting his hand fall away, his gaze darkening. “This isn’t some game, and it isn’t about principles. It’s about us. And if that means you have to surrender some of that so-called independence, then so be it. I know what’s best for you, Peaches. You just need to stop fighting and see that.”

Namjoon’s gaze shifted to something darker, more resolute, as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. The firelight glinted off the soft pink morganite stone, antique piece that must have been in his kin for decades, its delicate beauty a stark contrast to the intensity in his eyes. He held it up, his jaw set, the unspoken command clear in the way he presented it to you.

“Peaches,” he murmured, his voice dangerously calm, “will you marry me?”

Before you could even think to pull away, he took your hand firmly, holding it in place as he slid the ring onto your finger. It was cold against your skin, the weight of it foreign and heavy.

“Say yes.” His voice was low, steady, a dangerous edge lurking beneath the calm exterior. His eyes bore into yours, unwavering, challenging you to defy him. “Say it, Peaches. Agree to be mine, completely, or I’ll make sure you lose everything you’ve been holding onto.”

You felt trapped, his hand tightening around yours as if to remind you of his control over the situation. Your heart raced, your throat dry, as the words hovered on the edge of your lips, unable to escape. But he didn’t let go, his fingers pressing into your skin with an unyielding determination.

“Say it,” he repeated, his voice firmer this time, the softness slipping into something harder, more commanding.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, a feeling of resignation sinking deep into your chest as you stared at the ring, its delicate beauty now a symbol of your surrender.

“Yes,” you whispered, the word barely escaping your lips.

A smile spread across Namjoon’s face, slow and triumphant, as he released your hand, the weight of the ring now settling fully onto your finger. He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that had slipped free, his touch gentle yet possessive.

“There,” he murmured, his voice soft but laced with satisfaction.

“That’s my good girl.”

"Where's my bag?" you start sharply the moment Namjoon walks in, shrugging off the coat from his so-called 'business meeting.' You were obviously not allowed to sit in because women here do not work once they have a ring on their finger. Not like you are dying to be a part of a criminal syndicate that has its roots deeply set in this society. The air between you two is thick, a palpable tension that crackles like static before a storm.

"I looked everywhere, but I cannot seem to find it—"

Successful distilleries may be carrying the Jung name, yet other family members have their own shares of the money capital of the clan, Namjoon not being an exception. His name is presented on each brandy bottle you have had the chance to pour from. But what actually lies under the façade of crystal-clear bottles of whiskey and brandy remains unknown to the upper world.

When you met Namjoon, you didn't see a crime lord. You saw a man with ambition, with a drive that matched yours. But somewhere along the line, his ambition became chains around your wrists, tying you to a life you never chose. That's when you decided that working in Anubis would be only a "college" solution before you would leave the city.

He raises an eyebrow, his expression a mix of surprise and annoyance. "What bag?"

"You know exactly which bag," you snap, stepping closer. Namjoon's eyes darken, his jaw tightening.

"How about we start on lunch?" he suggests, trying to ignore your pleas.

"No," you insist, voice trembling with anger. "I want my bag. I want my money."

"I thought we had settled this last night, didn't we?" he says, his voice low and dangerous.

Your blood boils at his dismissive tone. "Settled? You think you can just placate me and everything will be fine? That money is mine, Namjoon. I earned it."

He steps closer, his presence intimidating but you hold your ground. "Peaches, you ought to be my wife, what's mine is yours. You don't need that money."

You stand firm, not backing down. "Need it or not, it's mine. I worked for it, Namjoon."

Namjoon's eyes narrow, a dangerous glint in them. "You think you can just walk out with that money? You think you can use it to just leave?"

"No, I—" Namjoon steps forward, his eyes cold and calculating. You feel a surge of anger, your hands clenching into fists. "I earned that money, and I deserve to use it as I see fit."

"If you want to spend money, we can go shopping—" His presence overwhelming and oppressive. His words angering you even more.

"SHOPPING?! Are you fucking serious? This isn't about buying things, Namjoon. This is about my life, my choices."

Before you can continue your rambling, he grabs your wrist and pulls you close, his grip like iron. His lips crash onto yours in a bruising, dominating kiss, meant to remind you of his power over you. You struggle, but his hold is unyielding, leaving you breathless and dizzy.

"If you're gonna drop that honorific one more time—" Namjoon's eyes blaze with fury as he keeps you close, his grip almost painful.

"I won't—" you spit out, defiance still burning in your eyes despite the fear gnawing at your insides. "If you give me my money back. I have a right to it." Namjoon laughs coldly, shaking his head.

"Let's just have lunch, Peaches, before I lose my patience completely—" he says, his voice dripping with condescension. You glare at him, refusing to back down.

"Not until you give me my money back." His expression hardens, the cold amusement vanishing.

"You really want to push this, don't you?"

"Yes," you say, your voice unwavering. "Favor for favor, isn't it the mantra y'all go by?" A smirk playing on his lips when you finish the sentence.

"Everything you need, I provide." You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart.

"I worked for that money, Namjoon. I deserve to have control over it."

He steps closer again, his eyes dancing with amusement as he looks down at you. "Control? You want control? Fine," he says, his voice dripping with condescension.

"I've deposited them into an account I opened in your name, joint with mine, naturally," he says, his words carrying that same cool, possessive edge.

"What?" you gasp, your disbelief palpable. "You what?"

"I will give you your black card," he repeats, his lips curling into a taunting smile "—once you prove not to be a flight risk, baby." Namjoon tilts his head, the smirk never fading. This, in essence, means that every single transaction will be noticed. You will withdraw the money from the card—he will know. You will attempt to transfer them to a different account? He will fucking know. The implications hitting you like a gut punch. Your blood runs cold as his words sink in.

"I'm not stupid, Peaches. I know that we gotta work on our relationship." He steps even closer, his gaze intense, pinning you in place. "Let's work on that trust first, and then you can have money at your disposal."

Your heart beats in your throat, the frustration boiling beneath the surface. Trust? The word feels like a cruel joke coming from him.Trust?

"I'm not one of your assets, Namjoon," you spit out, your voice thick with defiance. "And I won't be treated like one." His towering form casting a shadow over you, and for a moment, his eyes soften, as if he's pitying you.

"You don't have a choice, baby." His tone shifts again, dripping with that same chilling calm.

"When you prove you can stay and play nice, then maybe, just maybe, I'll let you have some freedom with your own damn money." And just like that, he's already begun dictating the terms of your life again, his grip on you tighter than ever before.

The missing duffle bag with your money was among the least of your worries when you realized what else the duffle bag possessed.

"You have my passport, Namjoon, how can I run away?" Namjoon's eyes flicker, the amusement fading slightly, but his smirk doesn't falter. He's been expecting this—he always expects everything.

Namjoon's smile is slow, deliberate, almost cruel. "I've taken what I need to keep you close." Namjoon leans in, his breath warm against your ear, his voice low and dangerous.

"But I am not underestimating your spirit."

You're nauseous, the implication of his words settling over you like a weight you can't shake off. He is holding the strings to everything, but that only made you realize that you had a hell of a lot of thinking and plotting to do to get out of here. And the most intrusive thought back in your head, where you consider staying here and embracing this finally official relationship, has to go—quickly.

"So, what now?" you ask, voice trembling despite your best effort to keep it steady. "You plan on keeping me locked up forever, Namjoon-oppa?" Namjoon only smiles, cold and confident.

"No baby. But I will keep you very close, until I can trust you." Your skin prickles where his fingers brush, but you don't pull away. You can't. The need to stay composed, to not give him the satisfaction of seeing you break, fights against the rising tide of rage and fear in your chest.

"And what do you want me to do to earn it, Namjoon?" you ask, your voice steady despite the turmoil roiling inside you. "Beg? Crawl? Pretend everything is fine when it's not?" He tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he's piecing together in real time. The silence that follows is thick with tension. He stands so close now that you can feel the heat of his body against yours.

"So, lunch it is then?"

His tone is mockingly light, but there's a sharp edge beneath it when he tries to abandon the conversation, the kind that makes you feel trapped.

The black Mercedes hums smoothly along the Bronx streets, its sleek exterior reflecting the gray clouds above. It's going to snow any day now. Inside, the air is thick with tension, an unspoken understanding between the two passengers.

You sit in the backseat, your fingers nervously gripping the edge of your dress, the smooth fabric barely registering under your touch. Your sunglasses hide the unease in your eyes, but the tightness in your chest is something you can't disguise.

Today feels different.

Namjoon sits beside you in the backseat, his gaze fixed ahead, while his hand is warm on your thigh. You are staring at your shoes. Isn't this what you wanted? To ride in an expensive car, wearing Saint Laurent pointy-toed heels? A form-fitting dress with a high neck reveals your figure subtly, and the hungry look Namjoon gave you when you stepped out of the wardrobe did not go unnoticed. Something feels different, as if you're playing dress-up. The allure of the life Namjoon offers, it all feels strangely distant.

You eye him carefully—his black turtleneck is tailored to fit perfectly, sleek and minimalistic. Over it, a black suit jacket, structured but not overly stiff, gives him a commanding presence. His black slacks match the simplicity and power of his look, polished and clean.

The cold air bites against your skin, and you instinctively pull your coat tighter around your shoulders, trying to shield yourself from the chill that seems to creep through the thin fabric of your dress.

"Thank you for letting me see my father," you whisper, your voice barely audible, yet heavy with meaning.

"You don't have to thank me—" he says quietly, his voice low, almost intimate. His gaze doesn't soften, but there's something in the way he stands, commanding yet calm, that makes your heart race. The chill of the early morning seems to deepen, pressing in on you, yet you're acutely aware of the warmth of his presence, the heat of his body just a little too close.

"I couldn't have kept you from seeing him," Namjoon continues, his tone flat, as if he's simply stating a fact.

"But keep in mind that this is a privilege—you misbehave, you won't see him." His eyes lock with yours, not with malice, but with a cold certainty that makes your heart flutter uncomfortably in your chest. The last thing you want now is to provoke him further, to find out just how far his power reaches.

"Engaged?!" disbelief and shock etched into the features of your father when you sat down at the kitchen table after you collected some of the things you wished to take with you. You nod, your heart racing.

"Yes, Dad. It just happened. I wanted you to know first." Your father's gaze shifts to Namjoon, his face a storm of emotions—anger, disbelief, worry.

"Peaches, do you know what you're doing? This man is nearly a decade older than you," he whispers your way, his voice trembling with concern.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "It's not that big, Dad. I know it's a lot to take in, but Namjoon and I—we're serious about this." You never knew how good you were at lying until today. Your father's eyes narrow, his gaze flicking between you and Namjoon.

"When did this relationship even happen? Is he holding you against your will?!" he demands, his tone a mix of frustration and disbelief. Your smile freezes for a moment, and you try your best not to give yourself away.

"No, Dad, that happens only in movies," you reply, attempting a light-hearted tone to deflect his suspicion. Maybe this is what Namjoon meant by earning trust.

Your father's gaze remains hard, but he doesn't push further. Instead, he turns to Namjoon, his voice cold and edged with protectiveness. "You better take care of her, Namjoon. If anything happens to her, I won't forgive you."

Namjoon smiles proudly at you, almost missing your father's harsh words. His confidence in you seems unshaken.

"You have my word," he replies simply, and you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, staring at the shiny peachy morganite.

You were never religious enough to step foot in a church after you were christened as a baby. Your parents were indifferent to faith, more focused on the struggles of daily life than spiritual obligations. But your now husband-to-be came from very religious kin, and he himself was a God's worshipper. Ironic enough when he managed to break the Ten Commandments before sipping his morning coffee.

His family, deeply rooted in tradition and devout faith, expected nothing less than a grand celebration steeped in religious customs. The thought of walking down an aisle, flanked by stained glass and the scent of incense, felt foreign and overwhelming.

The morning sun poured into the grand church, illuminating the ornate stained glass that depicted scenes of devotion and reverence. As you and Namjoon stepped through the heavy wooden doors, a wave of warmth enveloped you, mingling with the scent of polished wood and candle wax. It felt like stepping into another world, one where faith and family intertwined seamlessly.

You could see familiar faces sitting on the wooden benches. Kim Taehyung smirking your way when he glanced at your hand interlocked with Namjoon's. He was sitting next to Mr. Jung, whom you recognized by his mullet, and the next seat was occupied by the one and only Mrs. Jung, whom you hadn't seen for a good amount of time. There were also some faces that you did not recognize, yet they still felt familiar to you. You couldn't help but notice the way the Kims and Jungs interacted, the warmth of their bonds evident in the way they smiled, laughed, and shared stories during the prayers. Their camaraderie was infectious, and for a fleeting moment, you found yourself longing for that sense of belonging.

As the service began, the congregation settled into a peaceful quiet, the sounds of rustling papers and shifting bodies fading into the background. The priest took his place at the altar, his voice echoing through the high ceilings as he began to speak about love, commitment, and the sacred bonds of marriage. Each word resonated deeply within you, pulling at your heartstrings as you thought of your impending union. As it was explained to you, this Mass was held as the announcement of your engagement—one of many traditions they had.

Namjoon sat beside you, his presence a constant reminder of the promise you had made. You could feel his gaze on you, intense and unwavering, as if he were silently urging you to embrace this new chapter of your life. But the weight of that ring on your finger felt heavier than ever in this moment.

"Love is not merely a feeling; it's a choice," the priest's voice boomed, and you glanced at Namjoon, catching the flicker of expectation in his eyes. "It's a daily commitment to one another, a promise to uphold each other through trials and triumphs alike."

You shifted in your seat, feeling the heat of his gaze on you like a physical presence. You wondered if love really was a choice—or if, in your case, it was a bargain made under duress. Namjoon's grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly, a subtle reminder of the hold he had over your life.

This was the first time he took you out of the penthouse since the day you woke up in his bed for the first time. He simply did not trust you enough to go out in public with you just yet. Hence, his hand remained on yours in a very obsessive manner, as if you were to fly away at any moment.

The priest continued, "Marriage is a sacred bond, one that should be approached with reverence and care. It's not merely about sharing a life together but about supporting and uplifting one another, about being the anchor when the storms come." He paused, letting his words sink in.

Your mind wandered back to your father, the struggles he faced, and how Namjoon had used that vulnerability to secure your loyalty. The contrast between the priest's idealistic views on love and your reality felt stark. How could you ever find true happiness in a union that felt more like a transaction than a partnership? You were feeling heavy.

"And today," the priest announced, raising his voice slightly to draw everyone's attention, "we gather not only to worship but to celebrate the union of two souls destined to walk together."

Your breath caught in your throat, and a mix of emotions surged through you. Murmurs of congratulations rippled through the congregation, and you felt the weight of countless eyes on you, some filled with excitement, others with curiosity. Namjoon's grip on your hand tightened, his eyes gleaming with pride.

You could feel your cheeks flush as the reality of your situation sank in deeper. The ring on your finger felt like a shackle, the promises made a binding contract that left little room for your own desires.

"I—" you started, but the words felt stuck in your throat. "I need to go to the restroom, Namjoon."

His expression shifted, a flicker of concern crossing his face. "Now?" he asked, voice low enough that only you could hear, but firm enough to convey his displeasure. "We're in the middle of the service."

Namjoon hesitated, weighing your request against the backdrop of the ceremony. Finally, he released your hand but leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Make it quick, baby."

You nodded, grateful for the small bit of freedom. Your Louboutin heels clicked against the marble floor, each step echoing like a drumbeat in the otherwise quiet sanctuary. The sound felt amplified in your ears, a reminder of the attention you were drawing as you navigated through the rows of wooden pews. You could feel the weight of curious gazes following you, some filled with anticipation, others with judgment. It was as if the congregation sensed the tension between you and Namjoon, the unspoken power dynamics playing out in real time.

You pushed open the restroom door and stepped inside. The fluorescent lights cast a stark glare, highlighting the contrast between the serenity of the service and the storm swirling within you.

Leaning against the sink, you took a moment to catch your breath. The reflection staring back at you was a mixture of uncertainty and defiance, a girl caught between two worlds.

"Why am I still here?" you whispered to your reflection, the question echoing back at you. You thought of the life you had envisioned for yourself, one filled with love, laughter, and independence, not one governed by fear and obligation.

"I fucked up." After a few deep breaths, you steadied yourself. You needed to return before he would throw a tantrum, as he loved to do whenever you were away from him for longer than ten minutes. Paranoid bastard. You glanced at your watch and noted that only a few minutes had passed. With a resigned sigh, you turned to leave, determination flooding your veins.

As you exited the restroom, you found Namjoon leaning against the wall outside, arms crossed and an expression that mixed concern and annoyance. His posture was protective, yet the underlying tension in his demeanor sent a shiver down your spine. He pushed himself from the wall only to walk towards you, making you take a few steps back into the restroom. His eyes never left yours even when he closed the door and locked it from inside, the sound echoing ominously in the small space.

The reality of your situation pressed down on you, an oppressive weight that made it hard to breathe. He moved closer, his eyes dark and intent.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay," he replied when you asked him why he wasn't upstairs, his tone both soothing and authoritative.

"You know how important this day is, right? I can't have you slipping away from me."

You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure. "I'm fine. I just needed a moment," you insisted, but the way he watched you made it clear he wasn't convinced.

"You can be honest, Peaches," he said, his voice dropping to a lower, more serious tone. "You're in a room full of people celebrating our engagement, and yet you're out here trying to escape."

His words struck a nerve, and you crossed your arms defensively. "I'm not trying to escape," you shot back, though the lie tasted bitter on your tongue.

"Okay," he said calmly, staring intensely into your eyes, as if he was trying to read you. A small smirk played at the corners of his lips, but the tension in the air remained thick. You did not expect him to drop the topic that quickly.

"I just needed to collect my thoughts," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Okay," he murmured again. He stepped closer, closing the distance between you even more, his body radiating warmth that both comforted and unsettled you. He was standing there, inches away from you, yet he was not taking any action.

"W-why are you so calm, what are you doing, Namjoon?" you asked, trying to grasp his demeanor which you yet again did not understand.

"Waiting—"

"Can we just go back to the ceremony?" you whispered, your voice barely audible. Namjoon's smirk widened, and he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear.

"Not yet, my love," he whispered back, his voice low and husky. Namjoon's fingers traced the curve of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. "I longed to show you just who you belong to for years."

"You're fucking stunning, Peaches," he murmured, his lips brushing against your earlobe. Namjoon's fingers trailed down your chest, stopping just above your breasts. You felt a jolt of electricity run through your body, and you knew that you were in trouble.

"Namjoon," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "We can't do this here, we're in a church." You tried to push him away.

"You are something I can sin for," he whispered back, his voice low and seductive. You tried to pull away, but Namjoon held you firm, his grip unyielding.

"Namjoon, please," you whispered, your voice trembling with desire and apprehension.

But Namjoon was relentless, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin that left you quivering with pleasure. "You're mine, Peaches," he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck.

"And I'll do whatever it takes to keep it that way."

Namjoon's lips found yours, and he kissed you with a passion that left you breathless. His tongue danced with yours, and you felt your body respond to his every touch. As you kissed, Namjoon's hand slid between your legs, and he began to caress you through your dress. You gasped softly, your body arching into his touch, trembling with the sudden pleasure.

"Namjoon," you whispered urgently, "we have to stop." Your breath hitched as he pressed you against the mirror after he lifted you onto the counter, plunging himself between your legs.

"No, we don't," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "Not until I've claimed you as mine."

The church's silence seemed to amplify the intensity of the moment, and you felt like you were teetering on the edge of a cliff. His fingers traced the contours of your body, exploring every curve and crevice.

"What if someone hears?" you breathed again, desperation lacing your voice.

His lips paused just above your collarbone, and you could feel the heat radiating from him. As if the universe was playing by his rules, the choir started to sing. He chuckled.

"You're mine, Peaches. I won't let anyone take you away from me—not today, not ever." He captured your lips again, his kiss deepening with a fervor that ignited every nerve ending in your body.

His hands were exploring the curves of your thighs, lifting the hem of your dress higher as he pressed you firmly against the cold surface of the counter.

"Namjoon," you breathed, a mix of excitement and fear knotting in your stomach. "We can't…" you continued your protests.

"But we will." His fingers danced dangerously close to your most sensitive spots, teasing you with the promise of pleasure. You felt your resolve begin to crumble under his touch.

"I've waited too long for this," he murmured, voice a velvet whisper that wrapped around you like a lover's embrace.

"Namjoon," you gasped against his lips, torn between the heady rush of desire and the urgent need to pull back. But with each kiss, each exploration of his hands, your inhibitions began to melt away, surrendering to the intoxicating pull he had over you.

"Just let go," he urged, a soft growl escaping his lips as he pressed his body into yours, making you acutely aware of the hard length that pressed against your core.

"Trust me."

A wild, reckless part of you craved this intimacy, this connection that felt both exhilarating and terrifying. Your mind took you back to all those moments you shared that made your heart flutter and belly tight when you did not know why he made you feel that way.

You hesitated for a heartbeat, the weight of your reality pressing heavily on your conscience. His fingers found their way beneath your dress, inching higher until they brushed against your most sensitive skin. You gasped, arching your back involuntarily as pleasure surged through you, igniting a fire in your belly.

"Namjoon!" you cried out, a mixture of pleasure and panic lacing your voice.

"Shh, baby," he whispered, his lips trailing down your neck as he continued his teasing exploration. With a deft motion, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, sliding them down your legs and tossing them aside as if they were nothing more than an afterthought. The cool air kissed your exposed skin, heightening your senses and making your breath hitch in your throat.

The air in the restroom felt thick with anticipation, each breath you took mingling with the scent of sandalwood and the faint musk of his skin.

“You’re breath-taking,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with desire.

His fingertips traced closer to where you needed him most, teasing you with the lightest of touches. You bit your lip, trying to suppress a moan that threatened to escape, the heat pooling deep within you almost overwhelming.

“Namjoon…” you whispered, half warning, half plea, torn between your desire for him and the reality of your surroundings.

“—and so wet for me.” He breathed against your skin, his breath sending sparks dancing along your nerves. His tongue danced with yours, a heated exploration that deepened your need for him. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you and the intoxicating chemistry that crackled between your bodies.

His fingers pressed against you, expertly coaxing soft moans from your lips as he slid one finger inside, filling you completely. You bit down on your lip to stifle your cries, but the pleasure was overwhelming, radiating out from the point of contact and pooling low in your stomach.

His eyes sparkled with a predatory intensity, relishing in your reaction. He watched you as if he were savouring a fine wine, taking his time to appreciate every detail of your response.

“Namjoon,” you gasped, your voice a fragile whisper, barely able to maintain any semblance of restraint.

“Oppa.” He growled. The way he said it—deep, possessive—made your heart race faster, each beat echoing in the stillness of the restroom. Namjoon’s fingers moved with a deliberate rhythm, curling inside you in a way that sent your mind spiralling.

“Tell me how good it feels,” he commanded, his tone a mix of sultry and demanding, eyes never leaving yours as he watched you unravel under his touch.

You hesitated for a moment, your breath coming in quick gasps as pleasure washed over you. “It feels… amazing,” you managed to whisper, the confession slipping past your lips like a sweet secret. You can regret this later.

“Good,” he murmured, the smirk on his face growing wider. “I want to hear every sound you make.”

His fingers moved faster, building the tension to a near unbearable level, each thrust sending you closer to the brink. The world around you faded completely, leaving just the two of you entwined in this stolen moment of passion, lost in the depths of one another.

“Namjoon. I can’t—” his hand smacked your ass and he deliberately slowed down.

“It’s oppa for you. Don’t make me repeat it again.”

The playful sting of his hand against your skin sent a rush of warmth coursing through you, mingling with the heat pooling low in your belly. His voice was firm, but beneath that authority was a hint of something deeper—a promise that ignited a wild excitement within you.

“Oppa,” you whispered breathlessly, the word slipping from your lips like a spell meant just for him.

He smiled, satisfied, and resumed his movements, fingers working expertly inside you again. The pressure built anew, the delightful tension sending electric shocks through your body.

“Good girl,” he praised, his breath hot against your ear. “I want to hear you, Peaches. Let me know how much you need me.”

With that, he quickened his pace, thrusting his fingers deeper, curling them just right. The overwhelming pleasure began to blur the edges of your consciousness, leaving only the sensations that centred on where he was buried within you. The heat intensified, building towards a sweet, dizzying peak, and you couldn’t help but surrender to it.

With a final flick of his fingers, he found that sweet spot inside you, driving you wild. Your body responded in kind, the sensations intertwining with your every thought. You could feel the tightening in your core, the unmistakable signal that you were teetering on the edge of bliss.

“Namjoon-oppa, I—” you gasped, words failing you as the pleasure escalated.

“Shh, just let it happen,” he murmured, his voice deep and soothing, anchoring you in the moment. His lips met yours in a heated kiss, swallowing your cries as the waves of ecstasy crashed over you.

"Oppa!" you cried against his mouth, unable to contain the raw need bursting forth from within. Your body trembled, the climax washing over you in a torrent of sensations, enveloping you completely as you surrendered to the bliss. The choir's distant hymns created an almost surreal backdrop to this heated encounter, mixing innocence with your burgeoning desire.

As the pleasure receded, leaving you breathless and dazed, Namjoon held you close, his arms encircling you like a protective cocoon. You leaned into him, heart racing and body tingling, reveling in the aftershocks of your release.

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" he teased, his voice low and playful, a wicked grin spreading across his lips. "To be mine."

Your blurry eyes lifted to look at him, taking him in while you were still panting from the rollercoaster of emotions he made you feel. Flickering down to his bulge covered by the fabric of his black suit pants from Ralph Lauren, your breath hitched again. Enough for him to move his hands to his belt, being absolutely ready to take you. Finally free of his belt, he pulled down his zipper. The fabric of his pants fell open, revealing the outline of his desire, bold and unmistakable.

The urgency of the moment wrapped around you like a tight embrace, making it hard to think straight. You glanced around, the restroom feeling impossibly small, every sound amplified.

"Oppa, please…" you breathed, your heart racing as you tried to pull away, but the undeniable hunger in his gaze anchored you in place. You could see the determination etched on his face, the way his jaw tightened with lust. He had a plan, and it made your pulse quicken. You were not sure what you were begging for—to stop or to continue?

If not for the soft knock on the door, he would have taken you right there, on the church's restroom counter. It jolted you both, pulling you back to the reality of your surroundings. A rush of panic surged through you, and you instinctively glanced around the cramped restroom, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Oppa," you whispered again, this time a plea laced with desire and uncertainty.

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Just a little longer," he promised, his fingers finding their way back to your thighs, gripping you tightly as if to keep you anchored to the moment.

"Just one more time," he urged, his voice thick with need. "I need to feel you—"

"Hyung, I know you will kill me for this, but you need to come back upstairs." The voice—familiar and insistent—cut through the haze of desire that had enveloped you both.

Namjoon's expression flickered from lust to annoyance, his grip on you tightening slightly as if to remind you that this moment was still theirs, even if the world outside was intruding.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his frustration palpable. The intensity in his gaze shifted, but it didn't fade. Instead, it turned into something more predatory, a simmering heat that promised this wasn't over.

"We'll be right there!" He shouted back to the voice behind the door. His eyes slowly returned to watch you and your disheveled form after he fingered the fuck out of you.

He leaned in, his lips capturing yours once more, and it felt like time stood still. The world around you blurred, and for that moment, it was just the two of you—lost in a whirlwind of passion that defied the reality waiting outside the door.

His forehead remained pressed on yours when he whispered to your lips. “Next time, we won’t be so rushed, I promise.” Pecking your lips, he quickly pulled his pants back up, securing his belt with a swift motion, yet the heat of the moment lingered between you both.

The calm shattered in an instant.

The heavy church door burst open with a deafening crash. Armed men in tactical gear stormed in with raised weapons, their shouts filling the air. Namjoon immediately pushed you behind him, his eyes scanning the chaotic scene with deadly focus.

The thunderous crack of gunfire echoed off the stone walls as the air filled with the acrid smell of gunpowder. Namjoon drew a gun from beneath his jacket—like several other family men in attendance—his movements swift and practiced. He returned fire, the muzzle flash illuminating his determined face in bursts of light.

Your heart pounded in your chest like a drum of terror and adrenaline. Huddled behind an overturned pew, you clutched your ears against the deafening noise, eyes wide with shock and fear. Namjoon, breathing heavily, scanned the room one final time before turning to you, his eyes softening for a moment.

"Stay down!" he shouted, his voice barely audible above the chaos.

"Jungkook, get them out!" Namjoon barked, his eyes fixed on the fight.

He reached your side, pulling you up by the arm. Jungkook's grip was firm yet reassuring.

"Come on," he urged, his voice a steady anchor amid the storm of violence. He led you through the chaos, his body shielding you from the worst of the gunfire.

Just as you neared the side door, a sharp pain exploded in your side. You stumbled, a cry of agony escaping your lips. The world seemed to slow, the sounds of battle muffled by the roaring in your ears. Looking down, you saw blood spreading across your dress, the pain intensifying with each heartbeat.

"Peaches!"

.

.

.

.

.

𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝

©pennyellee. please do not repost

tag list: @hecateslittlewitchling - @ratprincessnr1 - @originalbiscuitfiredreamer - @mggv97 - @urlovelily - @ilys00ga - @beautifulcloudfestival - @herareila @mar-lo-pap

Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! ♥

see you next time, love, p.

[daisyblog]

Little Lad

Young Love Masterlist Summary: Louis and YN welcome their son into the world and Mia becomes a big sister.

warning: childbirth, labour, delivery, hospital

15th of January 2016

YN had woken early morning with some uncomfortable pain in her tummy and back. After how quick and uncertain her labour and birth was with Mia, YN was nervous about her delivery this time around.

She paced up and down the spare bedroom at Jay’s house, where she and Louis were currently staying for when baby decided to make an appearance. Being surrounded by family was a huge support for them both, especially with little Mia.

Although the uncomfortable feeling was barrage, YN knew it wasn’t always going to be the case. So she decided go and enjoy this time of her labour by herself downstairs where she could monitor the contractions.

---

By 9am, the Tomlinson/Deakin household was in full swing. Every room was filled with noise as Mia, Ernie and Doris ran around the place.

YN tried to breathe through the contractions and block out any noise to keep focused. Louis was by her side now, allowing her to hold onto him for extra support as he whispered words of encouragement.

“How are babies made?”. Phoebe blurted out as she sat and watched YN with fascination that she was about to give birth. “Did you kiss her?”.

Louis couldn’t believe his little sister was asking him this. He wasn’t sure what the right answer was. “Uhh…ask Mum!”.

“Mum!”. Phoebe shouted. Footsteps could be heard walking towards the room before Jay appeared. “How are babies made? Did Louis kiss YN and then a baby appeared?”.

Jay glanced over to Louis, both making eye contact wondering how they would answer this one. YN was breathing through another contraction as it ripped through her, her hand squeezing Louis.

“Um…babies are made…with love”. Jay thought quickly of an age appropriate response to her Phoebe’s curiosity.

---

As the hours passed, so YN’s contractions got more intense, closer together and more painful. But thank you to gas and air, the pain was more manageable as YN sat on the hospital bed.

“You’re incredible for doing this”. Louis spoke as he moved a loose piece of hair from her face. YN sucked on the gas and air as she felt another contraction begin. “Bringing our babies into the world”.

“I forgot how painful this was”. She cried as she tried to allow her body to relax.

Louis smiled with sympathy, as he could only imagine how painful it was. “Just think, we could meet our baby today”.

As another agonising contraction began, hitting YN with force, she brought gas and air nozzle back up to her mouth to ease the pain.

---

Sitting in the water, YN’s muscles instantly relaxed as she listened to her body, something that Jay advised her.

“I’m in awe of you”. Louis spoke the meaningful words as he sat near the birthing pool. “You’re sailing through this labour”.

“I want to try and enjoy this birth…Mia came so quick that it’s hard to remember”. YN reminded him of how distressing their first birth was.

Louis leaned over the side and held onto her hand, giving it a small peck. “We’re lucky to have you”.

---

“I’m so tired”. YN cried out as the midwife encouraged her to push. “I don’t think I can do this anymore”.

“You can do this…c’mon love…just remember to listen to your body”. Louis tried to be encouraging as he stayed by her side, the midwife at the bottom of the bed, waiting for YN to push again.

“If it’s so easy you do it!”. YN snapped at Louis as she took another breath of the gas and air. Louis knew it wasn’t personal, she was in a lot of pain and he’d never know how that felt.

The midwife took another look between YN’s legs, monitoring any progress. “Alright YN…when you feel the next contraction…I want you to give me a really big push…okay my darling”.

“Aaaaahhhhh!”. YN let out a groan as she pushed as much as she could. With Louis’ hand still in hers, she squeezed tightly.

“You’re doing amazing babe…so so proud of you…Mia would be too”. Louis spoke the words to YN hoping it would help her in any way. His lips leaving a sweet peck on her head.

Almost like mentioning Mia was something that made YN want to try even harder because after three more pushes, the midwife said the words they were longing to hear.

“Congratulations Mum and Dad…you have a baby boy…born at 7:09pm”. Lifting the newborn who was crying into the world for the first time onto YN’s chest, YN and Louis both had tears of happiness running down their cheeks as they saw their son for the first time.

YN placed a gentle and sweet kiss to the top of the little one’s head. “I love you so much my baby boy”.

“Welcome to the family little lad”. Louis placed his lips to the same spot YN’s had been a few seconds before.

YN looked up at Louis for a moment, both wearing tear stained cheeks along with matching smiles. “I love you”.

“I love you!”.

---

The next morning, there was a little knock at the hospital room door where YN and Louis were. The door opened quietly and in peaked two heads. Jay and Mia.

Louis was cuddling his son in his arms as YN was still recovering and resting in the bed. Jay couldn’t stop her tears from falling as she looked at her family. Her son holding his own son.

Jay gave YN and Louis a big hug and couldn’t emphasise enough how proud and lucky she was.

Mia had made her way over to the hospital bed for a much needed Mummy cuddle. “I’ve missed you so much”. YN held her first born close.

“Do you wanna meet your new baby brother?”. Louis asked as he could see Mia glancing over at the tiny baby in his arms. The eager nod made the room laugh as they watched Louis gently place the newborn in his big sisters arms.

Mia held her baby brother closely but with such gentleness considering she was only five. The small kiss she placed on his head, was enough to cause more tears to spill from YN and Jay’s eyes.

“Mia…meet your new little brother…Noah Louis Tomlinson”.

---

louist91

liked by mrsjohannahdeakin, lottietomlinson and 7,863,522 others

louist91 Mia and Noah❤️ View all 7,322 comments

yninstagram my babies😘❤️

mrsjohannahdeakin my beautiful grandbabies💖💙

lottietomlinson ❤️❤️❤️

liampayne Congratulations guys!!xx

niallhoran Welcome to the world Noah❤️

annetwist A big congratulations to you and YN❤️and big sister Mia💞

gemmastyles Too cute☺️👶🏼

5sos congratulations!!

louisfan7 it’s a boy!!

louisfan3 THIS IS TOO CUTE❤️❤️❤️

louisfan5 LOVE LOVE LOVE

Taglist:

@ell0ra-br3kk3r @slaymybreathaway @wh0s-nadii @peterholland04 @lillisummers

[dq-avenquire]

I've been playing DQIX since 8th July 2011. I've always imagined my DQ9 player character aging with me, so starting her adventure a sweet 10 year old apprentice, saving the world at 12-ish (2013), and then being an on-and off adventurer for the next nearly 10 years (300 hours of gameplay, and I don't have the DLC even). She misses her halo and wings, even though she's now spent most of her life without it, and whilst the fake halo helps, it doesn't quite fill that void.

its been over a year and a half since i got this ask and i got close to about 95% finished with this piece, got hit by my "finishing is the hardest and most agonising part" fatigue beam, and used this current fixation as fuel to finally finish it. im still really pleased with it, and for what its worth i was gently touched by your celestrian concept, and wanted to do smth more. illustrative ? for it. something like that!

[girlbloggersfolly]

DELTA DAWN - part 2// Bee in your bonnet

Pairing: camp counselour!joel miller x camp lifeguard!afab!reader

Rating: E!!!!! 18+ MDNI

Word count: 4.8k

Summary: (1979 summer camp AU) Things go south one morning after a particularly catty argument between Joel and our lifeguard in Joel's boat shed/self proclaimed 'man cave'. - Pictures in the moodboard are simply to get the imagination racing and for me to spill my pinterest all over your screens, the reader is at no point described!

Chapter warnings: age gap (20 + 49), enemies to loves - i mean it, mean!joel, lowkey mean!reader but we love them both, slight vouyerism, cigarette smoking, talk of pornographic magazines, complicated relationship (billy and reader dw), oral (fem receiving), semi-public sex (door open but thats it, degrading, pet names (kiddo, sweetie, doll - the good stuff ykyk), fingering idk, slow burn, fem!masturbation dirty talk, no descriptors of reader except she has hair, NO USE OF Y/N.

a/n: eekkkk ok you can probably tell from his horrific piece of writing that ive never done proper smut and i went a little overboard but i'm sure you'll like it anyway. i've probably got one or two more parts of their story left in me, depending on how happy i want the ending to be. Id love to get requests if anyone has any bright ideas! I love the 3 people who are reading this, it really makes me blush and you don't even know it.... also lmk if you want to be on the taglist for any future writings xxxx

-----

You were up in the chair early. Waking especially to sit and watch as the sun rose higher over the lake and above the pines, hoping to get there before Joel, just so you had time to ground yourself. You toyed with the cigarette between your fingers, a habit of yours that had really been getting you through the last agonising couple of days of avoiding Joel Miller, but there was no putting it off this morning. 

Kayaking. Something you’d never really specialised in and were not convinced you'd know how to deal with if things were to go south.However, as always, you kept your doubts to yourself. Joel was taking the kids today, he was good with them and obviously knew what he was doing on the water. You hoped that meant no accidents.

“No smoking in the chair, cupcake.” Here we go again.

“Good morning to you too, cupcake.” You rolled your eyes, not bothering to turn around to see the one thing on your frazzled mind, not bothering to put out the cigarette either, 

“Kids’ll be here soon, Lou’s bringin’em” He said coldly in reply, standing beside your chair, his face level with your hips as he looked out to the water.

 Even being raised above him like this you still felt vulnerable, what was it about him? He turned to look up at you with his big arms crossed against his torso, “so, be a doll and put that thing out f’me will’ya?” The chair rocked slightly as he patted it, condescending as ever. 

You rolled your eyes yet again and dropped the cigarette down beside his feet, raising your eyebrows. It was bratty and yeah probably a little crueller than required, but it felt damn good. “Happy?” you were pushing it, really pushing it, you could see it in Joel's hard expression. his impressive profile was only defined by the hot mid-morning sun as he glared up at you through narrowed eyes. He put on his ray-bans and turned away. =

The kids hung onto every word he said as he stood in front of you explaining to them how to kayak, in a way they never did with Billy or Abel, or even Sharon. You tried to listen, tried to look out at the lake, tried to do something that wasn't blatantly staring at his tight ass, the muscles in his back under his t-shirt. It was torture, adjusting in your chair, shifting around like a bitch in heat. 

“Eyes on the water, lifeguard,” He taunted you from the deck, you’d really needed to remember your sunglasses next time. 

If you thought the other day was bad, this was worse, sitting there melting into your lifeguard chair watching Joel being the hottest man alive and not caring how it might make you feel. The kids were playing capture the flag in the woods by the light of the setting sun, giving you a minute to cool off against a tree, the cigarettes lighting themselves at this point. 

Your skin was lit up by the orange light that dotted through the trees as it sunk below the horizon. It was the first moment of mercy you’d gotten from this god-awful day of Joel Miller and his stupid tanned skin, the little sweat droplets on the back of his neck, his salt and pepper scruff, the thought of how it would feel against your inner-

“Found you,” You smelt Billy before you saw him, his freckled arms embracing you from behind, knocking you out of your dreamy state. 

“You know this thing? It's called a shower, real cool I hear?” You chuckled, trying to laugh a little to disguise it as a joke, the last thing it was.

“Haha, very funny,” Billy smirked, planting wet kisses across your neck from behind, the moustache he’d been trying to grow tickling your jaw. 

“Quit it,” You raised your hands, your shoulders tensing like an alarmed cat as he grinds messily against you, “There's kids around you little shit.”

Billy murmured a chuckle against your skin, his tongue tracing against it, a sensation that had the hairs on your arms standing up. “I’ll make it quick,” Now there was something you could count on. 

“I said quit,” you turned abruptly to look at him, brushing yourself off, realising the harsh tone of voice you’d used. He looked pained, his eyebrows furrowed, eyes darting around your face quizzically. 

“You know what,” Billy folded his arms, looking you up and down bitterly, “Im tired of you being a fuckin’ prude the whole time,” His voice was raised, whiny, trying to sound like his father. 

You scoffed, putting your head in your hands and shaking your head in disbelief, this kid was insane. “Its not my duty to fuck you whenever you so wish, christ, you really are an entitled son of a gun,” 

Billy stamped out his cigarette onto the ground, “Nasty bitch,” he shook his head, spitting on the floor, charming. “Don’t know why I even bother.” He marched off, back to his cabin probably, off to write another song about how much he hates women you’d have the pleasure of hearing at his next gig.

The day was dragging, it seemed unceasing, like this spiralling, horny, angry mess that was your body. The forest was quiet again without Billy’s cursing, often you’d hear a distant shout from a kid who’d been caught or a group of them running around, but it was hard to differentiate from a bird call, or the wind in the trees.

“Trouble in paradise.” Great. 

“Look, I am not in the mood, so be a sweetie and kindly fuck the fuck off.” 

That earnt an impressed chuckle from behind you, another pair of broad shoulders leaning beside you on the tree. “S’ my darn woods, ‘do whatever the hell i like, thank you missy,”

“Joel I'm serious, whatever witty little jabs you're cooking up, save them for another day,” You looked to him, it was hard to look away whenever you did. 

“Wasn’t,” He shrugged, there was that gruff, southern nonchalance yet again, christ how it got to you, the complete opposite of Billy’s incessant bitching. You almost wished he cared enough to go off on you the way Billy tried to. 

“Well…” you paused, eyes darting over his face, the strong profile, low set brows, those pouty lips you’d gotten pretty damn used to this week. “Dont,” you concluded.

“You really do have a bee in your bonnet don't you, kiddo,” there it was, just as you’d predicted, calm and collected and making you want to blow his brains out.

You shrugged. “Its Billy,” You shook your head, well that was only one of the bees in your very buzzy bonnet, Joels fucking face was the other. “You heard?” 

He nodded, “I heard enough,” you both stood in the ambience of the evening, kids whooping, birds sounding from the trees. “Billy’s a dick you know that, ‘don’t know a single fucker from here to Timbuktu that dont know that,”  

You couldn't help but chuckle, relaxing further against the tree, your shoulders untensing for the first time in weeks, forgetting who the enemy was. “You know fuckers in Timbuktu?” 

“I bet I do,” he nodded, crossing his arms against his broad chest, the camp staff t-shirt barely accommodating his largeness. 

Joel sighed, looking over at you, “got one of them cancer sticks you're always suckin’ on?” you had a whole pack of them in your back pocket. 

He thanked you and lit one with the janky lighter you'd stolen from Abel, smoke muddying your view of him. There was a lull. “I don't know why you lead that bastard on,” he said through the smoke. 

“Im hardly leading him on,” You scoffed, lighting a cigarette for yourself. “He was the one who wanted to keep this to strictly fuck-buddies,” Lucky for you, imagine being Billies girlfriend, jeepers.

“Sounds like you can’t even do that?” he smirked, and there he was again. 

“You know, as I find myself repeating these days, s’really none of your business,” you laughed, turning to him, sighing through the familiar heat in your abdomen, the butterflies that felt more like horse flies in your stomach back and buzzing harder than ever. 

“You're makin’ it my business, havin’ your lover's spat in my earshot.” he retaliated calmly.

you opened your mouth to bite back with something that attempted to match his condescension, but that was an impossible task. “You know what,” you settled on, again grasping for something to finish that sentence. “Fuck,” again you were gotten the better of.

“I’m stuck with him for the next three weeks, so, gotta keep sweet for that long I guess, maybe put out a couple times.” 

He nodded, stamping out his cigarette next to billies, “S’a damn shame,” The eye contact felt like glass in your eyes, felt a big hand twisting your throat till it turned blue, it was those eyes of his in that permanent, laboured squint which you assumed came with age, they killed you. A damn shame. The words played on repeat like a song on Sharon's broken radio, the static soiling his voice in your mind. A damn shame. He was right, it was a damn shame. 

“Would you make sure to deal with those kayaks tomorrow morning’, lifeguard? Just gotta pile em’ up in the shed,” He said over his shoulder as he turned to saunter away. 

Before you could get your bearings, you were alone again, admittedly less grateful for it too. 

Morning, kayaks, shed. Sounded like a relatively agreeable task that wasn't asking too much right? Wrong. You were lucky your body had gotten into the rhythm of waking up at sunrise cause this was a goliath task. Hauling 15 kayaks from one side of the lake to the other wasn't something you’d factored into your morning of rest and relaxation. You’d planned to take a secret dip, maybe grab a coffee, take a shower if you had time. But no, you were out sweating under the morning sun, huffing like a workhorse.

When the last kayak was hauled into the dirty little shed you reclined on the desk, all dusty and grotty but it didn’t even matter. Heck, you weren't even perturbed by the smug house spider that was perched close to your palm, not even giving a second thought to the porn magazine discarded beside your head. All you could think about was how this wasn't what you’d bargained for when you agreed to go on this little jaunt up to the northwest, oh yeah, and how much you hated Joel Miller. 

After a couple of minutes of huffing and puffing, grumbling to yourself about how you were meant to be in LA by now, living a rich and famous life as some kind of starlet, a model, an actress maybe. The shed was a mess, every surface littered with junk. There was fishing equipment, books, more beer cans than you could count, the whole thing screamed Joel. 

Soon, without even meaning to, your nimble fingers were straightening objects, tossing the cans into the bin, dusting, flicking through boxes, you even took the spider outside. 

“Hey,” You heard a jumpy voice from behind you, clearly receiving the same fright you’d got from the sound of his voice. “What are you-” It was Joel, an accusatory expression all over his knitted brow. He saw the small desk bin behind your back, the cans in it, he saw the neat shelves and dusted desk with all his papers stacked orderly. 

“Hey hey hey, I have a system..” Joel bolted over to where you stood, snatching the bin out of your hands, his knuckles grazing yours, you were in deep if such a small gesture made your heart drop so far down. “There's a system,” he repeated, running a hand through his hair and leaning back on his uncluttered desk, looking… pained, addled by the whole thing. 

You scoffed, enjoying seeing Joel off guard, it was always you getting snuck up on, getting caught in a vulnerable situation. “Is the system complete chaos, cause wow Joel, im impressed,” you put your hands on your hips, your little red shorts riding dangerously high. 

“No one asked you to go messing in my affairs,” he tutted, rubbing his brow, god he was a drama queen. 

“Your affairs?” you laughed maniacally, “By your affairs do you mean a few dozen beer bottles, some dusty kayaks and your crusty spank bank mag?” 

He scoffed, looking down at the magazine down on the desk. He'd been got, he’d give you that. “Just clear off, don’t need your bitchin,” He turned his back on you, tampering with your neat new order on his desk, “too damn early,”

You were furious, not even a thank you? If not for drastically improving his workspace, at least for stacking the kayaks, a lot of work if you did say so yourself. “Are you kidding,” you whined, walking up to stand behind him, trying to get his attention. 

“I’ve been doing hard fucking labour, sleepy head, what were you doing? Jerking it into a porn mag I'm guessing?” he chuckled at this, turning over his shoulder to look at your exasperated expression. “Hard labour?” he murmured, audibly amused by your claim.

“Oh you poor thing,” he mocked, turning round fully to look at you, “Doll, you ain’t done a day of hard labour in your pretty little life.” He smirked wildly.

“You don’t know a thing about my life Miller,” you said, sounding like some cheesy cowboy movie, his accent rubbing off on her a little. This caused a full belly laugh to erupt from him, it caught you off guard.

“Your life ain't nothin’ but sunshine and rainbows, sugar, maybe a day’a ‘hard labour’ would do you some good.” He chuckled, walking across the room and correcting the ‘mess’ you made of his ‘system’. “Fuck you,” you bellowed, crossing your arms, your eyes wide and full of fury as you watched him in all his casual, condescending glory. 

“You are maybe the most infuriating motherfuck on this damn earth,” you said through your teeth, so mad, so hot, so done with it all. He just chuckled again, raising his eyebrows, you were starting to just want his attention, wanting him to reciprocate your anger, not caring how you got there. 

“And by the way, I don't care how you see it, I've been up all morning slaving away at something I am certainly not paid for and I don't even get a thank you?” You blurted out, the words falling out of you, you convinced yourself you felt sweat actually drip from your chin. 

He turned to you, annoyingly amused, but there was something else, an underlying rage that really disrupted the usual sedate presence he provided. “Thank you?” He smirked, quirking an eyebrow. 

You paused, never had you ever felt so damn angry at a man. “Listen up-” you began with a huff before being interrupted by Joel stalking over to you with a hostile smirk on his face. Towering over you even though you were a similar height, you backed up against his desk very slightly, trying to keep your chin raised cockily. 

“Are you always this fuckin’ cranky?” he shook his head in amused disbelief and let out an exasperated scoff at the stuttering look on your face. 

You could feel your heart beating like that of a hamster, hammering against your chest. He was so close you could smell him, old spice deodorant, campfires, the slightest tang of sweat and lake water, also the musty dust smell of the shack, you thought you might faint like some Victorian chick. 

He was close, too close for comfort, his muscular frame, the threat of a non-sedate Joel wasn't something that settled you. You gazed into those eyes of his, narrow and all-seeing under a thick, heavy brow. “How’re we gonna cheer you up, huh kiddo?” He raised his eyebrows in mock concern, your mouth was left agape, eyes so wide they might pop. Joel was closer now, looking down at her very slightly, his breath fanned over her face. Holy fuck.

“Can’t have you all bitchy after doin’ me one little task, now can we?” He said after a beat, placing his hand on your jaw, wiping away a caked bit of dirt, probably from all that ‘hard labour,’ his big thumb moved from your jaw to swipe across your lips softly, gently feeling the plush, pillowy skin, freshly chapstick-ed from the Carmex in your pocket. “Can we, sugar?” he repeated the rhetorical question down at you. She shook her head lightly, the obedience hitting her like a 10 foot wave. 

“That's better, that's it, that's better,” He said softly, like he was talking to a jumpy animal. “Not so hard being a nice girl is it now? Not so bad?” he cocked his head and raised her brow, she shook her head absentmindedly once more, completely entranced by whatever was happening to her right here against Joel's desk. 

He nodded, his hand darting between your teeth, his other fingers holding your jaw still underneath. The other hand rested precariously on your thigh, leaning closer so you were sat up on the desk, right beside the dirty mag. 

He let his hand trace drowsy circled under the hem of your shorts, his eyes following, “Think you're cute?” he smirked, his eyes told a different story, taunting, stormy. “walkin' round in those little damn shorts, all prissy, like you own the place?” He said darkly, almost to yourself, holding your eyes with his, his thumb swiping between your teeth, pressing the pad against your tongue. “Suck,” You did it straight away, hollowing your cheeks out and letting whatever this was happen.

You convinced yourself it was some kind of gross fever dream, being out in the heat for the last few days had given you hallucinations, but it felt real, the taste was real on your tongue, his taste. you lapped it up like medicine. 

He clenched his jaw and gazed at your lips wrapping around his thick thumb, fuck. His fingers grazed the seam of your bikini bottoms under your shorts, he could already feel how warm you were down there, how much this was getting to you. He held eye contact with you as he pulled your shorts off, motioning for you to lift your ass, you were feeling compliant, a rare feeling. 

Your bikini bottoms followed, leaving you bare on the desk, the lifeguard top riding up your midriff revealing your glistening (very 70s (interpret that however you like)) cunt to the daylight that streamed in through the open door - a risk Joel seemed to be taking, or something he probably hadn't even considered. 

He rolled his neck, his hands on his hips, he seemed to be considering his options, weighing up the consequences. You pushed your knees together, hoping for a little modesty, the answer was no as Joel's big hands reached down and parted your legs once again. 

“Ah, ah, baby,” he smirked wildly, truly a man starved. He reached down and dragged his finger between your folds, holding the wet digit to the light. It was all achingly slow, he sucked his finger clean, his eyes on yours as he tasted you, letting out a gruff, guttural groan. 

“This gonna keep you sweet?” he said with an icy smirk, her skin was like a furnace; a sweaty, wet, flustered, confused puddle on this desk, dripping everywhere. “Keep you outta my way for a couple days maybe, kiddo?” He chuckled, looking at her domineeringly. “How’s that sound?” 

You nodded eagerly, your expression desperate, whiny, you needed this bad. “When you touch yourself, whadd’ya think 'bout?” he taunted, leaning a hand either side of your hips on the desk, “You,” you gave in, it was just too easy when he talked to you like that. 

“Show me,” He smirked, his words almost a growl, you raised your eyebrows. “Your a pretty little idiot aren'cha?” Now he was just being mean. “Touch yourself the way you do when you're in your cabin, up in your bunk, squirmin’ around,” 

It was so easy, to let him order you around, to succumb to it. The heat, all the bantering, it had melted you into putty in his hands, it’d get to anyone. So there you were, on Joel Miller's desk, bare on the bottom half, your hand drawing tight circles around your aching clit. 

“Fuck,” you bit down on your lip, it was all overwhelming, the feeling of an orgasm coiling around your spine, the blistering, green-house-type heat that had you all rosy and sweaty, the fact that Joel was stood right there, crossing his arms, watching you like a hawk. You knew he’d be a voyeur. 

You watched as his wire snapped and he’d had enough of just watching, adjusting the tent in his shorts. He knelt down in front of you, his eyes looking bigger than usual from this angle, wilder almost feral. he pulled at your hips violently, hoisting you around so your back was flat against the desk, your head leant up against the wall so you could watch exactly what he was going to do to you. 

His mouth was hot against you, licking a stripe up your seam. You could’ve sworn you heard him moan at the taste, felt the vibrations against your core. “This cunt is wasted on Keenan,” He chuckled, not even pulling away from you to lay his jab at Billy, he never could resist the chance. 

You moaned loudly, your hair flying into his hair, feeling the chocolatey, salt and pepper ends in your fingers and you pulled hard, close now. “Don’t fucking stop,” you whimpered, grinding your hips against his face, nose deep in your pussy. 

“Fuck, does he kiss it this good, doll?” He murmured, the vibrations of his baritone drawl against your aching clit were enough to make you toss your head back in sheer ecstasy, that coil winding uncomfortably tight, threatening to snap. 

“He doesn't.” you chuckled through moans, Billy had never ever eaten you out, no matter how many killer blowies you’d served to him on a silver platter. This seemed to appal Joel, who only licked deeper, slower against you, it was agonisingly good, toe curling. He scoffed down there, his thick index finger working at your hole now, dipping in easily despite how tight you were.

 “Poor thing, thas’ why you're so wound up,” He mewled from below, his voice patronising, taunting, but it touched you, “haven’t had someone take care of this pretty cunt in too long hmm? shit, I’d be mean too.” He said with a wet smirk, pulling away to slot another finger in, but you wouldn't give. “Won’t be able to take my cock if you can take two fingers down here,” He chuckled, taunting you further.

“Please don't stop Joel,” you squealed, pulling his hair painfully tight between your fingers, his condescending words only making you hotter, you weren’t usually into that, but shit, Joel could be wearing a fucking tutu and you’d be into it, come to think of it… 

He was grinning smugly as he pushed his fingers into you at a gruelling pace, the desk shook underneath you, your head thrown back against the wall. “Billy hasn't done me any damn favours down here, you're tight as a virgin, baby,” you could see the smirk on his stupid face even with your eyes clenched shut. 

Your release hit harder than it ever had before, your leg shook hard, a string of ‘fuck’s and ‘holy shit’s, laced with a fair pinch of ‘Joel’s and ‘baby’s, blurted out of your lips, you felt your abdomen clench and moaned incoherently, but Joel wasn't quitting, still kitten licking at your inflamed core, fingers curling up and into you, finding a new depth with every push. 

“Joel stop, it-its,” you panted, not even recognising your own voice now, your vision blurred. Overstimulated didn't even sum it up, that shit hurt. 

He didn't care, lost in your taste, lost in the feeling of you clenching around his digits. “Cocky little lifeguard, you're the bane of my life, you know that sweetie?” He said against your wetness, not giving a flying fuck how uncomfortable this was getting, knowing soon you’d ride it into another earth-eating orgasm. 

“Really shouldn't be doin’ this with’ya, Can’t be,” He said over your moans as the discomfort bled into insatiable pleasure, the desk hard against your clammy ass, your release leaking down your thigh and pooling below you. “Holy fuck-” you squealed, your hand on his shoulder to stop yourself from collapsing, the other interwined in his thick hair, that must’ve hurt. 

“How old even are you?” he asked with a mischievous chuckle, pulling his face away and slowing his hand movements, no no no no no. Your brain was fuzzy, all you could process was that Joel had stopped and that felt like death. “20,” She said quickly, needing him to continue. He knew what he was doing, taking a moment to process, watching the way you were squirming, so desperate for him yet again. 

“You're too young for me, kiddo,” He said as he dove back into your crotch, a very contradictory statement when reflected against his actions so far this morning, i know. “I am not,” you bit back through a whimper, pouting, your eyes fluttering shut once again.

 “How old’re you anyways,” you panted, your words all broken and high pitched, too fucked-out to feel humiliated. “76?” You chuckled, feeling your second orgasm of the morning chasing after you. 

He bit down ever so slightly on your clit, causing you to wince and buck your hips, it didn't cause any damage or hurt, just hard enough to shut your bratty ass up. “49, missy,” he replied coldly from below you. “Watch it,” 

“You wanna take my 76 year old cock next? think you can take it?” He smirked, pulling away to focus on his hand movements, in and out, hitting that spongy part of you, deeper than you could ever get. You nodded, words almost escaping you for the first time in your smart-ass life. He chuckled deeply at this, a hearty sound you were starting to crave like a meth-head. “She’s a trooper, ain’t she?” He breathed in your ear, planting a small, firm kiss on your neck, his fingers gaining a bruising pace, loud wails escaping your quivering lips.

“Fuck j-joel,” you stammered, your hot breath fanning against his neck, “want, need your cock,” you were getting needy, washed up by the incoming wave of your orgasm, ready to hit just as hard as before, if that was physically possible. “Don't get greedy now,” He smirked down at you, eyes wild. Hot tears were rolling down your cheeks, salty and stinging, your body shaking, giving way to another tortuous release. 

He pulled his hand away and sucked eagerly at his drenched fingers, watching as you came apart on the desk, moaning and whining for him. 

He sat you up, grabbing a coke from his outdoor refrigerator and leaning against it as he opened it, muscles flexing he clicked it open, tossing the bottle opener to the side and handing it to you. You grasped it with clammy palms, your vision slowly coming back, your body still fucked-out and trembling, cock-dumb for a cock you hadn't even had. 

“Welp,” He put his hands on his hips, like some suburban dad done with a barbecue, “that was real nice, weren't it?” He patted you on the shoulder, ignoring the bewildered expression on your face. 

“Duty calls, kids’ll be down here in an hour or so,” he slapped his thighs and raised his eyebrows, it was as if he’d just given you a friendly handshake, not eaten you out and made you cum twice. 

“Aren’t you going to..” you stopped yourself, you’d been awaiting the next round, (even if you weren't sure you could take another round) the one he’d talked about with that same smug look on his face as he finger-fucked you. 

He grinned down at her, ruffling your hair, “another time hey kiddo?” he said kindly, but it was perhaps the furthest thing from kind you’d ever seen. You glared up at him in disbelief, mouth agape, cheeks rosy, skin glassy from tears of pleasure, you didn't even know that was a thing. He patted you on the shoulder, smiling earnestly, that glint of mischief turned to one of absolute cruelty in his eyes. 

“Atta’ girl.” 

And he was gone. Joel was out the door as quickly as he’d entered, leaving you panting, bottomless and flushed and sweaty, your shorts half way across the room, the coke bottle dampening your fingers.

 He’d really done a number on you, gotten you all needy and riled up, then done something to you that no one had ever bothered with. Then he’d just left, like it wasn't the best you’d ever felt, like you hadn't been imagining how many babies you were going to give him, what colour flowers’d be in your bouquet at the wedding.

 It was embarrassing; being humiliated yet a-fucking-gain by a man well over twice your age, legs trembling on the soaked desk, the model on the front of his porno magazine beside you grinning up at you smugly, fucking bitch. 

[carabalism]

lucky penny

pairing(s) michonne x teen!reader, prison group x teen!reader (platonic)

synopsis michonne finds a prisoner in the governor's apartment instead of penny.

warning(s) abuse, canon typical violence/gore, reader is aged 15-16

a/n do not force yourself to read this if you are uncomfortable with the topic of abuse. i may make a part two but im not too sure tbh

masterlist

with what little strength she had, y/n began to push her body against the metal gate in front of her. it was always locked. the governor wouldn't be so careless with something that could tarnish how woodbury saw him. a door on the other side of the gate was kicked down and y/n instinctively flinched back, falling down onto her back. her breathing was raspy from being denied food and water for a while.

the sound of the gate being unlocked caught her attention. she was almost free.

"oh my god..” after only hearing the governor’s voice for so long, it was a relief to hear a woman’s voice, "it's okay, come here."

y/n hesitantly stepped forward, stumbling ever so slightly. she was malnourished, dehydrated and hadn't properly walked longer than she could remember.

"it's okay, you're fine, i'll get you out of here." the woman reassured y/n again, lifting the bag over her head. y/n stared at the woman with wide eyes, but michonne wasted no time releasing y/n from her chains and bounds.

“hey!" y/n turned back to the governor in horror, her mouth opening and closing, trying to speak, but nothing was coming out. she was petrified by the man and michonne knew it.

“hey now... don't hurt her..." the governor held his hands up, “i know this looks bad, but i promise ya' there's an explanation for this little misunderstandin’.”

y/n moved michonne's arm, making it seem like she was threatening y/n. y/n may have been weak and completely vulnerable, but she was smart. she knew what strings to pull with the governor, she knew how sick men's minds worked.

"michonne, we can be reasonable people about this!" the governor flashed a smile. the one thing y/n always noticed is how his smile never reached his eyes. his eyes remained cold and lifeless. he'd mastered the skills to manipulate an entire town, but the mask he wore was poor - anyone could tell how he felt if they just payed attention to him for longer than a second. he couldn't help but let his mask slip every time he didn't get his way his annoyance was evident with every obstacle he faced.

"you run when i say, you hide and i'll find you," michonne whispered through gritted teeth, keeping her voice quiet enough to not be caught by the governor, but just loud enough that y/n could hear.

"michonne... you don't want to do this," he laughed, wiping a hand over his mouth, "a kid killer? is that really who you are?"

"at least i'm not a sick bastard." michonne hissed back, venom dripping from her tongue. she noticed the governor reach for something behind him. a gun.

"now." michonne whispered, shoving y/n towards the door, knocking the governor off his balance. his gun misfired and y/n immediately ran for cover, hiding behind a piece of furniture. instead of going for y/n, the governor lunged at michonne. y/n listened to the sounds of the two struggling, her eyes filling up with tears as her body filled to the brim with fear and adrenaline. this could go only two ways. michonne lives and she was free, or the governor kills michonne and something much worse happens to y/n. it had been a long time since y/n had prayed for anything, but in that moment she clasped her two hands together and prayed for the governor's death. not a quick death. a slow, agonising death that would reveal only but a sliver of the pain the governor had put her through, forced her to endure. the governor's screams only brought a smile to her face. the governor was far from being worthy of her sympathy. it wasn't the world that turned to shit, it was the people. the governor had been cruel to others far longer than he would ever admit.

the apartment door burst open and y/n stared at the blonde woman with wide terrified eyes. the woman only ran past her, not even sparing a glance at her. y/n peaked her head out, watching the blonde woman hold a gun to the woman that had saved her. she then glanced at the crying governor, who had a shard of glass lodged into his eye.

"what have you done?" andrea questioned, her heart breaking at the sight she had ran into. the image of the fish tanks would forever be in her mind. a few quiet words were exchanged between the two women, but they were barely audible to y/n. she tucked herself back into her hiding spot waiting for michonne.

"come on." michonne muttered, making her way to the door. y/n didn't hesitate and followed after michonne, but she wasn’t fully there with her. her mind was busy taking in the things she hadn't felt for a very long time: the feeling of the ground on her feet as she walked, walking in general was foreign to her at this point.

"can you run?" michonne questioned y/n, leading her outside, "there's a group i'm with. they're not dangerous, but you stay with me unless i say so, got it?”

y/n nodded, "i trust you.”

"you shouldn't." michonne began running down to a spot in the fence that she had broken while she was in woodbury, she never stayed in a place without a backup plan.

"go." michonne nodded towards the gap, holding the metal back to widen the gap. y/n quickly slipped through the fence and michonne followed.

"stay close and stay quiet." michonne led y/n around the walls of woodbury and then through a bush, but when y/n reached the other side of the bush she was met with the sight of a bunch of weapons pointed at her face.

"where were you!" rick hissed, careful to keep his voice down to avoid being heard, "you get what you came here for?"

the man approached michonne, his body posture telling y/n that this man was likely not a friend to michonne. she remained behind michonne, gripping onto the back of her shirt for any sort of comfort.

"rick..." y/n stared at the woman who spoke up, "she's got a kid."

rick's head snapped back to maggie and then back to michonne. he stepped back and finally noticed the young girl cowering behind michonne.

"who is she?" rick questioned, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes squinted.

"she's with me." michonne instinctively put an arm out in front of y/n, who had not said a word in a while. rick saw the terrified look on the girl's face and lowered his gun, but still just as frustrated with michonne.

"you may be pissed with me, but you know you need me." michonne glared at rick. she was right. he knew that.

"what's your name kid?" glenn asked, leaning on the car, next to where y/n had sat down. y/n looked up at him and took in his injuries and stayed silent for a moment, unsure if she wanted to deal with her throat hurting from speaking, but she assumed she owed them something at the very least, "what'd he do to you?"

glenn scoffed, amused, "so you speak."

y/n rolled her eyes and looked back at the ground, "the governor do that to you?" she repeated.

"yeah, but it was mostly this other guy," glenn frowned, the images of what he had just experienced flashed through his mind, "asshole.”

"watch your mouth." y/n muttered, pulling her socks further up her legs.

"sorry," glenn lowered his voice, trying to keep his aggression at bay. judging by what the girl looked like, glenn knew she must've been put through some serious shit. her clothes were torn and she was filthy, but her eyes is what glenn noticed the most. she was exhausted, maybe even something beyond that.

“y/n..." she looked back up at glenn.

"y/n," he nodded, "it fits."

y/n frowned and looked back at the ground, "haven't been called that name for a while..”

"can i ask what he did to you?" glenn squinted his eyes, a nervous habit he had developed as a child. it was how his sisters knew when he lied.

"i don't think you want to know," y/n looked up at the sky and tried her best to will her tears away, "it's been a long time since i've seen the sun."

"I'm sorry you went through that."

"don't be," y/n looked back at him, "she got me out, i owe her everything."

glenn glanced towards michonne, who had already been watching him with a cautious stare, he nodded at her - a silent acknowledgment to the good deed she had done.

"you rest in the car, you look like you need it." glenn reached over and pulled the car door open for her, "you're safe, get some rest."

"you look like you need to rest yourself." y/n replied, but crawled into the car anyways. the road wasn't the smoothest of surfaces for her to be standing on with just socks to protect her feet.

"nah, i'm fine."

y/n nodded, understanding why he had suddenly closed himself off. from what she gathered, glenn had been tortured by the governor and someone else, but his girlfriend had also been held captive with him. y/n could only guess what the governor had done, but she knew from experience it must have been cruel.

michonne leaned against the car door y/n had just shut, hoping that her presence would allow the girl to relax enough to get some rest.

"who is she?" glenn asked, looking up at michonne from the ground. he was far too tired to stand up and wait around for the rest of the group, but also far too exhausted to complain about the discomfort the road brought him.

"don’t know," michonne revealed honestly, "when i was in woodbury, i saw them through a window. hadn't seen her around woodbury and he never mentioned her, i knew he was up to no good."

"did he..." glenn frowned, not wanting to finish his question. everything inside him wanted michonne to say that nothing had happened to the young girl, but he knew after what had happened with maggie, that the governor was not to be trusted. he was a twisted, sick man.

“i think so.” michonne glared at the sky, the fact someone could harm a child in such a way burned her insides. she wanted to kill the governor for what he had done, what he will continue to do.

“glenn!” rick yelled from the woods, glenn stood up and ignored the aches in his body.

“rick.” he groaned, his body struggling to support his weight while he limped uphill, “oh thank god.”

“now we got a problem here, i need you to back u-“ rick was interrupted by glenn as soon as he spotted merle.

“what the hell is he doing here?!” glenn yelled, his gun raised and pointed at merle. michonne had similar ideas, as her sword was out and ready the moment the cocky redneck was in her field of vision.

“hey, hey, hey!” rick yelled at the two, putting himself in front of them to stop them from attacking merle. if it had been up to him, merle wouldn’t have been there in the first place.

“hey put it down!” daryl yelled, whilst maggie rushed towards glenn asking him to put his weapon down, “put it down!”

“he tried to kill me!” michonne cried, her sword pointed at rick’s chest, whilst his gun was pointed at her head. the sound of michonne yelling had woken y/n up and she had exited the car, her feet ached and the ground was anything but gentle to her skin. the only barrier between her feet and the ground was a pair of fluffy socks she had from before the turn had happened. her walk was wobbly, unsteady and she struggled to stay upright, but she wanted to see what was happening. she hid behind a tree and peaked at the group of people with weapons raised.

“if it wasn’t for him-!”

“he helped us get out of there!” daryl defended his brother.

“yeah right after he beat the shit out of you.” rick growled.

“hey, we both took our licks, man.” merle scoffed. y/n squinted her eyes at the man, his voice was familiar - she was sure she had heard him in the governor’s apartment before.

“jackass.” daryl shook his head at his brother.

“hey, shut up!”

“enough!” rick had finally had enough, but the second he turned his back michonne took a step forward with her sword. the group erupted into several small arguments and y/n blinked at them from her hiding place. what an odd group of people.

“get that thing outta ma face!” daryl yelled at glenn, who backed off slightly.

“man, looks like you’ve gone native, brother.” merle chuckled, making daryl turn around with as much fury as he had done when glenn held a gun to his head.

“no more than you hangin’ out with that psycho back there.”

“oh yeah man, he is a charmer i got to tell ya that.” merle’s words made y/n cringe, she turned around and sat on the ground, waiting for the adults to finish their argument. now that the governor had been brought up, y/n had no interest in eavesdropping. she already knew far more than she wanted about the man.

“been putting the wood to your girlfriend andrea,” merle smirked at michonne, “big time, baby.”

“what?” glenn hissed, “andrea’s in woodbury?”

“right next to the governor.” daryl confirmed.

michonne stepped forward again with her sword and rick instantly stood in front of her, “i told you to drop that!”

“you know andrea?” rick narrowed his eyes at michonne, “hey. do you know andrea?

y/n narrowed her eyes at rick as he got closer to michonne’s face, there was nothing she could do to stop the man, but if anything happened to michonne there wasn’t a soul in the group that y/n would trust.

“yep, she does.” merle answered for michonne, “her and blondie spent all winter cuddling up in the forest, mh-mmm-mmm, yeah. my nubian queen here had two pet walkers, no arms, cut off the jaws and kept them in chains. kind of ironic now that i think about i-“

“shut up!” daryl yelled.

“hey man, we snagged them out of the woods, andrea was close to dying.” merle shrugged.

“is that why she’s with him?” maggie asked.

“yeah.” merle nodded, “snug as two little bugs… so what y’gonna do now, sheriff, huh? surrounded by a bunch of liars, thugs and cowards.”

“shut up!” rick’s eye twitched in annoyance, his patience was running thin. merle came up in rick’s mind every once in a while, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the pain in the ass merle dixon was.

“oh man, look at this. pathetic.” merle laughed, “all these guns and no bullets in them.”

“merle shut up!” daryl got close to merle, threatening his brother. he knew if he didn’t shut merle up soon, someone else was going to do it.

“shut up yourself! bunch of pussies you roll-“ y/n gasped as rick hit the back of merle. glenn turned around at the sound and saw y/n crouched behind a tree.

“asshole..” rick grumbled.

glenn walked away from the group, staring at y/n for a moment as he past him. michonne was the next to notice y/n was out of the car and ran over to her.

“you should be resting. you can’t even walk.” michonne hissed, her eyes scanning over y/n’s body to check for injuries.

“sorry.” y/n apologised, letting michonne help her walk back to the car. michonne opened door to the backseats and sat y/n down.

“you okay?” she asked, putting a comforting hand on y/n’s knee.

“thank you..” y/n whispered, her throat still scratchy from a lack of water, “thank you for getting me out.”

“don’t mention it,” michonne nodded, “i’ll keep you safe, don’t worry.”

michonne shut the door and leaned against it, watching the group talking - most likely about her. she could tell there was a disagreement between the three of them with the archer.

and then the archer was gone.

“we patch you up and then you are gone.” rick growled at michonne. she nodded and looked at the ground and then at the girl sitting in the backseat, staring back at her with wide, fearful eyes. michonne got into the backseat next to y/n once rick had moved out of her way. the car started and y/n gripped onto the seat tightly, it had been so long since she was last in a car. michonne noticed her fear and wrapped an arm over her shoulder, keeping her glued to her side. michonne noticed that y/n trusted her more than the other people, she knew when she had to leave the prison y/n would want to go with her, but the prison would be a safer option. they couldn’t send away a child. they weren’t those kinds of people.

“she’s out like a light.” y/n watched the older man examine michonne. she was thankful that there had yet to be any questions thrown her way, but with michonne asleep she knew it was only a matter of time before the old man’s attention was on her, “must be days since she slept, you look pretty shot yourself.”

“how long before she can travel?” rick interrupted hershel, his tone snappy and frustrated. y/n stared at him in disgust, michonne had saved her life and he was here treating her like a pest.

“have to keep an eye on her, pretty sure she has a concussion,” hershel made his way out the cell, the clicks of his crutches moving sounded eerily similar to the sound of the governor’s boots on the wooden floors of his apartment, “couple of days if she’s up. need to examine the girl as well.”

rick shut and locked the cell door, making eye contact with y/n briefly before he walked away with hershel. y/n looked back down at michonne and frowned, the poor woman was exhausted and injured. y/n couldn’t believe that rick wanted to send her away, not only was she injured, but she surpassed them in combat abilities. michonne could be an asset to him, but he was clearly not in the right mind to be thinking straight. y/n listened to the group talk about the governor, the sound of his name made her feel sick, but she knew she would have to fill michonne in after she woke up about what she had missed.

it was only when she heard yelling that she looked away from michonne and stood up. her legs were shaky under her, she could buckle at any moment and she wouldn’t be surprised. leaning against the cell door, she peered between the bars trying to catch a glimpse of what was causing commotion. there was nothing to see, but she could hear rick.

“i can’t help you. get out!”

y/n flinched away from the bars and stumbled over her feet, falling onto the ground. she pushed herself backwards until she felt the steel from the bed frame press against her back. she tucked her knees against her chest and wrapped her arms around them, burying her face in the gap between her chest and her knees.

“get… get out!” rick yelled again, “you don’t belong here! get out! please!”

y/n heard the click of a gun and she whimpered in fear. she was trapped in another cage by another man who had lost his way. her breathing became labored and if she wasn’t so dehydrated, she was sure she would’ve been crying.

“get out! get out!” rick cried, his voice cracking, “why are you here!“

“just go! go! go!” glenn yelled at the strangers, a part of him felt guilty for sending them out the prison, but rick was in no state to accept new people. he was far too unpredictable and glenn didn’t want someone to accidentally get shot.

y/n didn’t hear much of anything else, sounds around her blended together and she could almost hear the sound of her pulse racing. it wasn’t until she felt a hand on her shoulder that she realised someone had walked into the cell. she flinched from the touch and her head shot up to look at the person stood in the cell.

“are you okay?” hershel asked, a sad smile on his face, “let’s get you sat on a chair and checked, that okay?”

y/n didn’t trust him yet, she couldn’t trust him, but she nodded and stood up anyways. the last thing she would want is to upset the group, so she complied with their demands. it was what she was used to doing. complying. obeying.

“can you tell me your name?” hershel dragged a chair to sit across from y/n, leaning his crutches on the side of michonne’s bed.

“y/n..” y/n answered, her gaze fixated on his leg.

“i’m hershel,” he smiled again, trying to create a comfortable environment for the clearly scared girl, “do you have any injuries for me to look at?”

y/n shook her head, “not a scratch.”

he hummed in acknowledgement, nodding as he noticed her staring at his leg, “i was bit, rick saved my life.”

y/n looked away from hershel’s leg and into his eyes, he seemed like a genuine man, there were no manipulative undertones to his words and no glint in his eyes that hinted he was not what he portrayed.

“these people here are good people,” hershel looked out of the cell, “you may not trust us, i understand, but we’re good people.”

“your man wants to send an injured woman back out there,” y/n looked back at michonne, “how can you justify that.”

“i don’t,” hershel chuckled, shaking his head, “rick recently lost his wife, he’s not quite there at the moment, but he’ll bounce back in his own time i’m sure. he always does.”

“you have a lot of faith in him.”

“he’s the reason i still get to see my daughters everyday,” hershel gestured to his leg, “he’s an honest man, give him some time and he’ll prove himself.”

“how did he lose his wife?” y/n questioned.

“childbirth,” hershel sighed, “is it okay if i ask some questions of my own now?”

y/n looked down at her hands, she knew this was coming, but she hoped that she could stall the man, “go ahead.”

“how do you know this woman?” hershal looked at michonne.

“her name is michonne,” y/n whispered, “i don’t know her, but she saved my life. she could be an asset to your group… i know you see that.”

“i do,” he nodded in agreement, “rick needs to come around to the idea first.”

“you should never put a man like that in charge.” y/n hissed, “you never know what they’re capable of.”

“may i ask what happened to you?” hershel sighed, he had figured out that she was deflecting the conversation and he wouldn’t get anywhere with her if he wasn’t direct.

y/n looked him in the eyes and he could see the pain in her e/c eyes, “the governor.. he saved me from a group of men and took me to woodbury. the same day some scouts had brought back a massive haul of food and water… his lucky penny. that’s what he called me.”

“what happened next?” hershel questioned, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“he took me to his apartment and fed me. that was the last time i saw the sun.” y/n felt a shiver run down her spine and she wrapped her arms around her.

“i’m sorry you went through that,” hershel paused, “i’ll get you some new clothes and some shoes to wear, but i want to make sure you haven’t got any injuries that you’re hiding from me.”

y/n shook her head at the man and he nodded, “alright then. i’ll go get you those clothes.”

y/n looked at the ground and hershel slowly made his way to the cell door, “thank you.”

“no need to thank me, you make sure to get some rest too,” hershel nodded at the girl, a soft smile on his face, “i’ll make sure to bring you and your friend some water ‘n food.”

“thank you.” y/n expressed her gratitude again, but hershel could tell she wasn’t thanking him for the clothes, or the food, but she was just grateful to be away from the governor.

[mrs-snape5984]

“How can you miss someone, you've never met? 'Cause I need you now, but I don't know you yet…”

“But can you find me soon because I'm in my head? Yeah, I need you now, but I don't know you yet…” (“IDK You Yet” by Alexander 23)

Being devoted to a fictional character for about 21 years can be challenging from time to time. Sure, it’s called “having a comfort character” for reasons, and I can’t deny, that my long lasting love for Severus Snape has given me the much needed comfort and consolation all over those years. He was by my side, whenever I felt the urge to escape from my traumatic reality…and fuck…there was way too much in my life, which made me flee to Severus. Don’t worry, I won’t mention all these experiences in this text (I’ve already done this in one of my other pathetically whiny posts).

But there’s another issue, that comes with the adoration for a fictional character…something torturous, heart-wrenching and devastatingly painful: It’s the piteous longing for someone, who will never be mine in real life….a goddamn feeling, which is eating me alive! Of course, I’m still coping with my current situation of being doomed to a life in darkness (fuck you, ME/CFS!!!!!) by writing my own ridiculously self-inserting fan fictions about Sevy and Jules…only for myself…solely to soothe my troubled heart. Furthermore, the many artists of Snapedom might know me as someone, who’s requesting immensely personal artworks for my blog…always using them to emphasise my journal entries here.

But there are times, when this isn’t enough anymore! I’m surrounded by Severus in my dark room… one could say, that I’m living in my private Snape-and-Wizarding-World-in-general-Museum. 😅 Everything here feels like my very own comfort blanket, which I’m pulling tighter around my trembling body to create a sensation of warmth and safety. And yet… yeah… and yet, I’m fucking lonely! Lying in darkness and solitude all day makes this cruel longing for Severus become agonising and almost unbearable. I’m bawling my eyes out for someone, who will never be able to hear my heart crying out for him. And to be honest: In my age, this is a sentiment, which I’m absolutely ashamed of!

For the past 21 years, I’ve known this miserable emotion only in this exact context. But now, something happened, which made the confines of my heart and the walls, I’ve built around myself, shatter into pieces…leaving me vulnerable and emotionally churned up like never before. Becoming close and trusting friends with someone, who’s living so far away from me - separated by the ocean - turns out to be blessing and curse at once.

Suddenly, I feel confronted by the same emotions, which my pining for Severus provokes in my heart…a yearning for a deeper connection - regardless of the relationship’s nature between us friends. And just like in the song, which I’ve mentioned above this text, I’m asking myself: “How can you miss someone, you’ve never met?”

Fortunately, I’m able to reach out to my friend in these occasions. I don’t have to weep over my fan fictions or my art collection…no, I can just grab my phone and annoy the fuck out of my beloved confidant. And I think, this is beautiful! 🥹

For this heartwarming piece of art, I’ve commissioned my friend @alinearthp once again. I asked her to draw Severus and my undeniably self-inserted OC Jules as young adults…going out to grab some butter beer in “The Three Broomsticks”. Whenever my longing for Severus becomes too strong, I’m trying to imagine him doing something casual like that with me…and now I’m doing the same with my long-distance-friend. For this reason, I’d like to dedicate this loving post to him. @preciousthelmadonna, you’re in my heart and in my thoughts every single day, since I got to meet you on tumblr. Despite those 6095 kilometres, which separate us from each other, it seems as if you’re right beside me, whenever we’re talking about everything and nothing at once. I’m beyond grateful for our connection, my love. Thank you for being you.

Oh, and @alinearthp, you made me smile with this cute drawing of Sevy and Jules! Thank you for your understanding of my ideas and for each of your lovely and kind messages! Feel hugged, my dear!

🖤Severus & Julia🖤

🖤Sevy & Jules🖤

[creepling]

hi! happy 1k <3 may i request a piece with johnny x single mom reader + the prompt “will you stay?” “of course, i’m not planning on leaving anytime soon.”? i thought it’d be interesting if reader was formerly captured by the sawyer family, while she was on vacation with friends, but johnny relented and decided to let her go because of how badly she begged for her life & at the time her baby was only 2 months old, which she told him. so johnny being johnny as well, he was able to track her down a month later — at first just to check up on her, but he decided he wanted to help her raise her kid & kind of switch up his life since the baby’s father is (willingly) out of the picture. also reader is a young mom (early 20s), around the same age that johnny is, he’s just a lil older. they’re still warming up to each other/developing their relationship but to the reader’s surprise, johnny’s really good with kids & has done a lot to help reader out to give her a break? AAAA THIS IS A LOT OF INFO IM SORRY but i hope it makes sense & that you have fun with making something out of this <333

AAAA ok no but i love this, idk it makes sense for the sawyers to spare a victim if they have a kid?? the whole "family" motto would get to them lol. i love all your info but i apologise if i've missed out on anything. i've made this drabble more like a time passing sort of thing so i could include everything.

tags: angst. single-mum!reader. reformed!johnny. kid is gn (use of they/it). descriptions of trauma. johnny feels a lot of guilt. mild blood ment.

“Drop the god-damn knife, Johnny. She’s got a kid for crying out loud!” Drayton barked.

Johnny’s adrenaline shot through his body, tensing his muscles and trembling his hands. “Is that true?” He growled, eyes shot out at your petrified stare.

You pulled a Polaroid picture out of your pocket, your bloody hands staining the corners. You beheld it to Johnny, trying to steady your shakes. Johnny gazed at the picture, the newborn clouded in white, its eyes closed in a peaceful sleep.

“My baby . . . My baby. I need to go home to my baby,” You sob, begging on your knees, hysterics maddening all parts of your manner.

Johnny’s knife dropped to the floor, and he thought about every bad thing he had done. There was no coming back from this.

It had been a month of silence. A month of sleepless nights and looking over your shoulder. Breastfeeding became agonising. Your baby’s cries sent you into uncontrollable alertness. Your hair was brittle and your skin shallow, the stress shivering through your body like a ghost entering your soul.

The letters came around that time. Off-white envelopes with a few dollars in cash. All that was left was a note,

For the Baby, I’m sorry.

Meeting him again after the kidnapping was an anxiety-driven step, bouncing your baby on your lap as you waited in the diner booth. You convinced yourself you lost your mind, wanting to rekindle with your kidnapper. But you hadn’t heard from anyone since the birth; the baby daddy became non-existent. Your family refuse to return your calls. The only person willing to help you was Johnny.

He was silent across from you for a while. The only words he uttered were to order from the menu. He shovelled down an apple pie while you bottle-fed your child, lulling them to their afternoon nap.

“Why are you helping me?” You remember asking. Visioning Johnny’s deep gaze, his subtle glances at your first-born, a tinge of sadness glazing his eyes.

He said he owed you too much. Your baby deserved to grow up with a male figure in its life, and you deserved someone to protect you. The sight of your youthful features withering away from stress, the permanent damage he inflicted on you, ached your eyes and down-turned your smile. It kept him up at night thinking about you, struggling with the fussing cries and flashes of his brute force. He wanted to step up. He was ready for redemption.

He drove you back home, watching over his new companions with careful eyes. His arm outstretched as he turned the wheel, hoping not to disturb the baby’s slumber. The rascal woke up eventually, full of energy the minute you invited him inside. “Would you like to hold them?” You asked, unable to ignore his loving stares.

He felt like crying, holding something so precious. Knowing he nearly orphaned this child, ridding it of a beautiful mother. He swore to protect the kid, holding its gentle head and leaning it into his chest. His gentleness surprised you, the warmth filling your smile for the first time in months.

Johnny never left the house. He hadn’t seen his family in months and had no plans on returning. Your little one was proliferating, and Johnny got used to using his strength to pry the ankle biter from dangerous objects. He ditched the knives and retired into swinging the kid until they were out of breath from laughter. He stepped up, got a job, and brought money in to keep you secure.

He was a different man, and he changed you as a mother. He repented for his sins. He begged for forgiveness with every stare your way, with every gentle touch. You finally forgave him, praying that his presence is destined to be everlasting.

“Will you stay?” He held you in his arms as you choked up, clinging to his body. 

“I’m not plannin’ on leavin’ anytime soon.” Johnny kissed the top of your head, his arms around you. Your loving touch soothing the aching heart he’s adorned for decades.

[ogdoadfates]

#10 Person C helping Person A & B with the grieving process of a loved one. Vaxleth. Sometimes fire means love au. The long since awaited second short story for @ravendruid that took me way too long omg I am so sorry.

The thing about grief is that it never truly leaves you, like the phasmatic pain that keeps reminding you of the limb you lost ages ago. Even when used to the loss it still hurts.

There is different ways it hurts, a physical pang when you find yourself in a situation where you need it most and emotionally like when you find a thing you once loved to do but due to the loss you no longer can.

And sometimes it’s an anniversary, a date in time that causes all the anguish to rear it’s ugly head and hurt those around them.

It was today all those years ago when Vex and Vax’s mom died in a fire that consumed their old family home after a faulty wire finally sparked something it shouldn’t have. 

The twins have been checking every nook and crany of their small apartment, making sure everything is working correctly and that their are zero chances of anything catching fire. They even refuse to cook for the most part but Keyleth guesses thats where she comes in. 

When the twins overwork and worry themselves she’s the one to call Percy in to do an

impromptu inspection of everything and she’s the one to make sure the two get proper meals in. Speaking of which the pizza arrived and Percy has finished checking every possible fire hazard possible in the apartment, giving Vex a hug and a nod  to both Keyleth and Vax as he heads out back to work, taking a slice of the pizza due to Keyleth’s insistence. 

The twins sat on their old couch, shoulder to shoulder, leaning on each other as Trinket lays at their feet. Kayleth sat next to Vax, staring ahead at the pizza slowly getting cold on the twins small coffee table. This part is always draining, silence or gut wretching cries always fill the air when the buzz of movement finally ends and as Vax grabs her hand, giving it a tight squeeze, she could tell today was going to be a day of silence. And in truth words don’t have to be spoken, they’ve by this point told her in the comfort of silence and certainty all thats happened to them, their mother and her passing and in turn Keyleth told them pieces of her past horrors. Not a lot granted, but they didn’t need to have more troublesome thoughts. Not to mention Keyleth would rather suffer in silence, she shouldn’t burden them.

Time passes both in a blink and in agonising length, whenever one of them moved it sped up and whenever movement ceased it lengthened. But it only took a few hours before Trinket decided he needed out and like always Keyleth takes full advantage of it, dragging both twins out of their home and having them join her on a walk throughout the city. All of them including Trinket are silent for the begining half of the walk but as they make more and more distance the more and more life returns to their steps. She can hear Vex snicker as Vax slightly trips due to being distracted by something, she can hear the movement of shoes skidding across the pavement from the soft shove Vax throws Vex’s way. 

Bit by bit, piece by piece, the space around them begins to light up with conversation and laughter is soon to follow along with a few delighted barks from Trinket. Keyleth doesn’t dare hide her smile as the twins tension finally leaves them, the two playfully teasing each other and sometimes Keyleth herself as they finally head back, all of them silhouette in the setting suns golden glow.

[dustdeepsea]

3, 15, 28 for the end of year asks 😚

Thank you @luvwich <3 <3 I hope you had a great writing year too!

3. favorite line/scene you wrote this year

I wrote my first ever fight scene this year in Gods and Monsters (chapter 2) and I think I did a good job capturing what makes a high level adventurer terrifying and the everyday violence of the Forgotten Realms setting.

There's recency bias, but I don't think I've written a line as mental as this in a long while: 

“Want to taste you, more of you, all of you. Want to sleep between your ribs. Like a knife, mageling.” (castling)

15. something you learned this year

Perfect is the enemy of good (and done!). I write extremely slowly; it takes me about a month to complete a 4-5k word piece in between Life. Part of it is because of the style I favour--I basically write long-form poetry, revising as I go to make the words sound just right. At some point in Q3, I just gave up entirely because I was paralysed.

I decided to let go of that perfectionism with my newer pieces (chapter 3 of Gods and Monsters, and my ongoing fic castling) and it's helped somewhat. I'm still slow, I'm still making next day edits on AO3, but at least I'm not agonising and torturing myself every step of the way. 

28. longest fic you read this year

Fun fact: I rarely read long fic! 

Aside from Hypercritical, one of my favourites was Greatly Approved by damalur, a Dragon Age fanfic set during Inquisition. It's f!Hawke/Varric, friends to lovers, but the other relationships and friendships are what makes it shine. They aren't just background players propping up the main couple, but real and human storylines. <3

I'm answering asks from this list <3

[undertheopensky]

No One Will Find You (i can find myself) 2

Whumptober Day 18: Alt #10 Shaking

Characters: Four, Minish

Trigger warnings: Minor injuries

Read on Ao3!

Missed the first instalment? Read here!

-----

He jolts awake to ringing silence.

It shouldn’t be silent he’s never silent there’s always someone breathing nearby or knocking shit over in the kitchen or hammering away in the forge way too early in the morning and his head is so empty it’s like everything was scooped out –

It’s dark. It shouldn’t be this dark did he hit his head –

Pain, from his head; mild. Pain, from his leg, not mild, holy fuck what happened there – his ankle’s a tight lump in his boot and something in his brain finally connects and he remembers canyons shattering running falling hands on skin and head screaming apart and his hands are shaking and his breath is gasping and it’s making his head hurt so much worse, fuck, he’s gotta calm down but it’s so hard when he keeps reaching for an outstretched hand in the dark and missing.

After far too long of being curled up in a shaking, agonised ball, Four’s breathing steadies. His head hurts. His foot hurts, broken glass-hot. For a long moment he’s tempted to just - lie down, and hope he falls asleep again. Let someone else deal with the problem that is existence.

(But there’s no one else, and no one will find you, and he’s never been one to expect others to do things he can do for himself.)

From close by his hip, a chittering sound rises up from the dark.

Four’s too exhausted to startle. Instead he just blinks, slow and confused, as the Minish chatters on about how excited they were to find out their hero was visiting, and how cross they all were when they realised the people who lived here had hurt him! That was terribly rude of them and no one was going to do nice things for them for ages! Imagine! The Hero of the Minish, and they throw him in a cell!

Bemused, Four listens to the diatribe winding down, as more little feet scurry across stone and more Minish join in the scolding and promise to help however they can.

There’s nowhere for him to change down to their size, they tell him, and the bad people took the key with them when they left. But they can still bring him other things! What does he want?

He wants his head to stop hurting. He wants his leg to stop hurting. He wants his brothers. He wants to see.

He wants, he wants, he wants.

…if he had something to strap up his ankle with, he’d be more mobile. “Is there any - rope, or old fabric nearby?”

Yes! they say, and many tiny footsteps go scurrying off. How many of them are there? Four wonders, briefly distracted.

One of them stays with him. They hop up on his leg and perch there, chittering about how Irie and Maty had been going around retrieving all the useful things they’d hidden in the bedrooms. They were very upset about the bad people hurting their hero! It’s nice, not thinking about the pain or the dark or the lurking emptiness for a few minutes, until the gathering party starts returning in twos and threes, dragging their finds behind them.

Four blindly measures the strips of fabric and the one piece of rope they’d found, considering the problem. If he pulls his foot out of his boot now he’ll never get it back in. Instead, he loops the fabric around the outside of it in a series of figure-eights, locking it into place with the rope over the top.

It still hurts like hell, but the extra support keeps it from shifting while he crawls, unselfconscious, to the door. Then he has to get up again, because he can’t reach the handle from here.

He stands there confused for a few seconds, before slowly realising - locked. Of course it’s locked, stupid.

For a second despair and confusion make things hazy, before he remembers his tiny allies. “They - they took my sword and pack. Do you know where they put them?”

Yes, yes! They put the hero’s gear in the storeroom not far from here. But - Minish are too small to carry a sword.

Their regret is so intense Four can imagine the apologetic look on tiny mouse faces. “It’s okay, I don’t need my sword right now. But in my bag, there’s a rolled strip of leather with small metal pins inside. Do you think you could bring me some of those pins?”

As it turns out, they can. Piece by piece, Four’s lockpicking kit reassembles itself on the other side of the locked door.

This time, Four thinks to ask, “How are you getting these things in here?”

There’s a window in the door, they tell him, barred to prevent escape, but with gaps more than large enough for Minish to scurry through.

Four takes another moment to regret there’s no portal in the cell. Maybe next time he’s home he should ask the elder Minish if there was any way to make the shrinking spell more portable.

Still, he has his picks now. And he has to work by feel anyway, so the still-heavy darkness doesn’t matter. It just makes figuring out which piece of his kit he’s holding a little trickier.

The lock is stiff, because of course it is, but Four perseveres. If he could just get a little more leverage -

The pick slips, biting into his fingers. Four swears.

It’s okay, the Minish on his shoulder reassures him, they believe in him! Try again!

Four hunts through his picks for the thicker one with the L-crook. The fresh blood on his fingers makes them slippery; he ignores it, grips his tools that little bit tighter. It’s just this one stubborn pin. He’s so close to getting out. Working the heavier pick into position, he tries again to push it aside. Again, it resists, but he can feel it’s close. He just needs that little bit more force! Careful not to lose his tension with blood-slick hands, Four wedges the pick on top of another that’s already in place, gives it a wiggle and presses -

The pin gives way with a loud and resentful ‘click’ Four resists the urge to cheer and instead rotates his handful of picks, each holding down their own part of the lock and needing to stay that way even as he changes their orientation - and the lock clunks loose and the door swings inward, nearly knocking Four back down the stairs.

The Minish do all the cheering for him.

Sadly, it’s no brighter outside in the hall. Four vaguely remembers there being lit sconces or maybe those old fashioned torches hung from metal hooks in the walls, but the cultists must have taken them with them when they left. Fortunately Minish have better night vision than he does and are delighted to steer him.

Like. Seriously delighted. There’s at least three siblings roughhousing in his hair over who gets to tell him where to go next, two balanced on each shoulder, and several scrambling in and around his clothing, while the one clinging for dear life to his ear gives him actual directions.

Four loves Minish so much. Even when they’re murder on his headache.

The cultists don’t use this place often, he learns, so the Minish are usually left undisturbed. It used to be a military outpost, where soldiers who went out to fight monsters could come back to rest and be healed. It had fallen to dark forces so many years ago that the monsters had moved on, but no Hylians had come to reclaim it. Now, it belongs to the Minish, and to cultists who apparently use it as a hiding place for things they don’t want found.

Including people, which is concerning. The Minish say it doesn’t happen often, though.

Take this left turn, they tell him, and there’ll be a door under your left hand. It isn’t locked!

Indeed it isn’t. It follows the trend of being poorly lit, but his earring-Minish directs him to his gear. They’d just dumped it in a corner, apparently, not even going through it. A few things had shifted or been knocked aside by the Minish hunting for his picks, and they’re eager to help him collect them all again. He still wouldn’t have complained about losing the pouch of trail mix or a handful of seeds, if they hadn’t made it back in. Four’s just glad to get the Four Sword back, and his most valuable pieces of equipment. There’s no replacement in the world for the Cane of Pacci, and losing it would have been a massive blow. Maybe he should start looking into how to replicate some of the more useful enchantments?

He slowly limps along, using the wall more and more for balance, as the Minish direct him to the exit they assure him he’ll be able to use. The main one has a bar lock no Minish could open, and injured Four won’t be able to, either. But there’s a hidden door set off to the side, and that’s where they lead him. Four can almost feel the iron grip on his heart start to ease as he lays a hand on the sun-warm wood.

Some of the younger Minish belatedly realise this means Four is leaving. Noooo! one wails. Couldn’t he stay a little longer?? They didn’t get to show him around yet!

“I’m sorry. My friends will be worried about me,” Four says.

The hero also needs medical attention, one of the elder Minish explains. The Hylians who use this place hurt him, and he needs more help than Minish are equipped to give.

The youngster huffs. When they come back here we’re were gonna hide all their rupees!

“Just keep yourselves safe,” Four warns, though he knows it’s incredibly unlikely anyone will be able to see them in the first place. He still doesn’t want any of them to come to harm. They did their best to help him, and there’s so little he can do in return.

They were simply glad of the opportunity to meet the Hero of Minish, the elder tells him when Four expresses this. There were stories of heroes who walked through time, but who could say for sure if their own Hero was one of them? To see him in the flesh, and aid him in some small way - that was a dream come true for them all.

It’s sweet, if a little strange, to have Minish from such a faraway time regard him so highly. Four wonders if the Minish in other eras have similar stories of him. He’s never asked - never had much opportunity. The black-blooded monsters keep them all busy, and he has few chances to sneak off undetected. Some eras, he doesn’t even know if Minish still exist.

He’ll try harder, from now on.

Four bids them farewell, and opens the door.

After so long in the dark, the light is blinding.

Something deep within his mind aches. It’s like a bruise, bone-deep; barely visible, but painful, with no way to ease the pressure.

Through squinted, streaming eyes, Four makes his way out of the ruined fort.

[number-onekidqueen]

𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓭𝓻𝓮𝔀 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓼 𝓪𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭 𝓶𝔂 𝓼𝓬𝓪𝓻𝓼

Draco Malfoy x Astoria Greengrass

angst

Warnings: mentions death, aches, depression

They say in every person that ever lived, lives and will live, there are pieces of people that live, have lived and will live.

Even if they're only tiny.

A ruler's fierce pride of a country that is carried to an international Quidditch player; a loyal soldier who passes their ocean eyes to a greengrocer.

And these things are tiny, but there.

Just as Astoria was gone, but was still there.

In the way Scorpius silently read novels, in the way he crinkled his eyes and nose at a funny yet cringey joke, even in the way he made his tea in the morning.

It sent a lovely, yet agonising pain through him.

He was reminded each day that she was still there, yet gone.

He didn't think many men of his age knew that feeling, and would ever understand the bittersweet tang of emotion it caused him to see his son; his beautiful, intelligent son, that had her eyes, that had her sense of humour, that was made of the very essence of his wife.

And yet she was gone for good.

And there was nothing he could do.

*******

He'd loved Astoria so much, ever grateful for whatever thread of fate had pulled them together that frigid night on the Astronomy Tower, stargazing. 

He still did, and he didn't think he'd ever get over her.

In everything he did, in every doubt or hate he had in himself, she had made him feel better.

She'd loved him fully. With all his imperfections, all his doubts, regrets, fears, memories and all of the horrors that came with him. All of that darkness that others recoiled from, disgusted.

She had embraced it, him, and she was the first person to have ever done so.

"Draco," she'd whispered to him, on many, many nights, "you don't deserve any of the things that happened. You deserve so much better, and you must stop punishing yourself."

If only she knew how much he still punished himself, hated himself, was still partly broken without her, even with his beloved son.

"You can't."

He still remembered how his words were choked, emotional, and he could barely shove them from his throat.

Astoria had told him that she was pregnant. And that she meant to keep it, to begin their family. He'd frozen with shock, fear, and then hurriedly began trying to convince her otherwise.

Draco had cleared his throat, attempting to school his features and not panic at the threat, the risk that this would cause.

"But what of a family?" Astoria had asked, her eyes wide, "we both agreed that when the time came, we wanted to start one."

"I-I can't let you do this," he'd whispered, "you could deteriorate, you could die. I can't let that happen."

Astoria's features softened, her lips pulling into a calm smile. She'd taken a step towards him, taking his hands and gazing into his eyes.

"I know the risks," she'd said quietly, "believe me, I know them. But this is something that I want, terribly. I know that I will die, Draco, and I know that it will be relatively soon and that it'll break your heart.

"That's why you need someone there. With you. To care for you and make sure you don't isolate yourself."

She'd brushed a hand against his cheek and given him a soft kiss.

And despite everything, despite all of the risks, threats: Draco hadn't been able to refuse, deny her. She deserved to have what she wanted, to be happy.

Her pregnancy had began. They were busy, bustling months though, full of laughter, chaos and tears. They'd planned, gone on walks together, baked, and lounged about the sofa watching romantic muggle films that made Astoria sob.

When those nine months, ended, a baby was delivered.

A beautiful, healthy baby boy.

They decided to name him Scorpius, after Astoria's favourite constellation, and also following along with the now-loose tradition of naming purebloods after stars. 

Those years with Astoria, as Scorpius grew, had been the greatest time of his life.

It was perfect. All of it.

Every second of learning, joy, pride, pain, anger, confusion, all of it. Every memory they'd shared, joke or tradition they'd created, lesson they'd taught or learned.

Why did it have to end? Why?

But it did.

The curse of the Greengrasses acted thirteen years later.

Astoria had been deteriorating rapidly ever since Scorpius had celebrated his tenth birthday, even if Draco refused to acknowledge the fact, living in fear of the truth, of the day she inevitably cracked.

It came quietly, slowly.

In the morning, she'd been tired, asking if she could be served breakfast in bed, which he happily did. But as the hours progressed, she still felt weak, faint, could barely move her legs without her face draining of colour.

And in his heart, Draco knew the day had come.

He'd come to her bedside quietly after luncheon, grasping her hands between his and simply gazing down at her. At her flawless beauty even through all her pain and fatigue.

"I'm sorry," he'd whispered simply, his heart aching.

"Oh, Draco," she breathed, beaming as a stray tear slid down her ghostly cheeks, "it was worth it. It always has been. You may be sad, but think of the beauty, the joy we've had together."

And then she beamed at him, as if he were the brightest star in the sky, as if he weren't a coward, a fool, so, so selfish for-

She squeezed his hand gently.

"I'd like to talk to Scorpius. Privately."

He nodded, numb, his thoughts swirling, every word and motion incoherent. Rising, he walked out the door, closing it softly, before turning to face the guilty eyes of his son, who'd been clearly eavesdropping.

He merely smiled, gesturing for him to go in and returning to the lounge room, sitting himself in the warm armchair his son had vacated, lost in thought.

Astoria died later that night.

He'd kissed her one last time, and they'd professed their love to each other, as they always did before they slept. He'd wrapped his arms about her, and she'd fallen asleep, her chest rising and falling softly.

He was still awake when it stopped.

When even though he'd always known it, always prepared for it, she'd slipped from the world.

Though parts of her hadn't.

And even if they were little, miniature, and gave him agony each time he witnessed them, those small pieces of hers that shone so brightly were forever treasured in his heart.

Until he could meet his Astoria again.

[yeyinde]

Hi I sent in the original moss ask and I just wanna say it turned out so much better than I could’ve even imagined, like I don’t have words to put towards how fucking important that piece is to me. You captured the feeling and vibe of forests and seas so well, I mean I literally live in Alaska but you painted such a perfect picture of it. And the fae aspects, the macabre undertones, the longing, the nostalgia,, like I really can’t even describe it all cause I get choked up. It almost feels like you wrote it for me personally, like I know I requested it but you detailed how the forest and the rivers call for you in an ancient romantic rumbling and I didn’t even mention that, I’ve felt that all my life with no words to put to it. I especially loved the part describing all the little trinkets he leaves, and how the house starts to overgrow with vines and moss. It was so so perfect. It felt like a song that manages to touch all the parts of your soul and describe how you feel perfectly even when you can’t quite decipher it yourself. I’m sorry to ramble. It just means so so much to me, thank you for writing it. Easily my favorite piece of literature I’ve ever read and I can’t believe my stupid little moss bed thought inspired such pure poetry. I can’t go visit the forests or the ocean as much as I used to because I’m chronically ill, and I miss them more than anything, so this feels like it helped heal something in my longing heart. Thank you.

Thank you so much for this. I needed to have a giant cry before I could really sit down and respond, and so. Here I am. Stuffy nosed and red-eyed and still weeping.

The imagery you used in your ask, about the soft bed of moss below your fingers and the forest arching above you, was really what made everything click into place. I could see this massive shadow over everything, enclosed by a huge canopy. The cold forest floor. The soft echos through the treeline. And when I got to Alaska, I immediately knew which forest I was going to use. It did end up becoming a mishmash of all my favourite things - especially Giant Sequoia, which does not natively grow in Alaska - but it was largely meant to capture the same hauntingly beautiful atmosphere of Tongass National Forest, particularly the inlet near Ketchikan. I'm a bit obsessed with the PNW - especially the coast with these massive trees so close to the waters.

The fae aspects were very loose, admittedly 😅 I wanted to go full out with that aspect of mythology but I couldn't really see Price giving them something to eat, so I switched it to something modern. A pub that might not even exist, and a drink you can't refuse. Little things showing up at your doorstep that are too pretty to throw away so you put them inside but now they have a life of their own, and grow up the walls and across the floorboards. The haunting sense of something urgently calling you. A whisper of your name in a quiet room. The wind howling at you between the trees.

It got a bit dark, in many places, but I loved the idea of Price pining away while you have his chiseled heart locked in your childhood jewelry box. The most precious trinket of all.

I saved the ask to my phone so I could keep coming back to it while I wrote everything down, trying to capture the atmosphere you inspired. The lush descriptions of the forest, the moss, the sense of ease and languor - it immediately ensnared my attention and made me almost desperate to write this down as quickly as a I could.

This would not have existed if you didn't send in such a beautiful ask, so it is, without a doubt, yours. I just put the words together.

I agonised a lot over whether or not you'd enjoy this, so seeing this in my inbox honestly made me so incredibly weepy. I felt like it was taking ages to put together, but ahh, the way you laid out the scene made me fall in love with the idea of this little world trapped between the unforgiving ocean and a sprawling forest full of secrets. It wasn't a want, but a need. I needed to make this come to life. I needed to try and capture an iota of beauty you painted, and to try and transcribe the feelings I felt reading it into this. I'm honestly so incredibly happy I managed to do that for you. Thank you so much! I'm gonna go cry another river now 🖤

[dragonsarecool]

Febwhump Day 21 - Unresponsive

A/N: Unfortunately for Marty, it wasn't an uncommon sight to see in their house. Set a few weeks prior to Part I.

Marty knew his family wasn't the most dysfunctional one out there, but sometimes it sure felt like it was. Once again it was just him and his mom at home; his dad was probably being bullied at the office by Biff, Dave was working the late shift at Burger King, and Linda had run off to meet whatever boyfriend she had this week as soon Marty had come home from school. It meant that the TV was off, the radio was silent, and the house felt soulless.

He'd been hard at work finishing his latest English essay when he'd heard three familiar sounds: the opening of the liquor cabinet, the wine cork doing its work, and the agonising sigh of relief his mom gave upon sipping her treasured alcohol. Great. Guess it's gonna be a shitty night then.

As Marty had grown up, it hadn't taken long for him to learn to recognise when his mom had had too much to drink. Partially because he was usually the only one home when she was at her worst, and partially because she tended to do it so often that he became very adept at managing her hangovers until his father or one of his siblings came home to take over.

They never thanked him for it, but Marty he liked to pretend he was being appreciated.

The eerie silence flooding the home also meant he knew the exact second his mom's head slammed into the kitchen table, with the heavy thunk and subsequent shattering glass making him jump. He leaned back in his desk chair, rubbing his eyes tiredly. God, Mom, I was almost finished with this!

He jumped out of his seat and walked quickly towards the kitchen, wrinkling his nose at the strong scent of spilt wine. He'd learned at around age ten to keep a spare pair of slippers near the dining room so that he didn't tread on any broken glass, and the accessories came in handy once again as he treaded across the pieces scattered over the tiles.

Lorraine was slumped in her seat, her chin and cheek resting on the wooden table being the only pieces of flesh stopping her from tumbling to the floor. Her skin was deathly pale, with her hands covered in dark red stains from the spilt wine. Constantly drinking hadn't helped her with the ageing process, and Marty realised he could see more wrinkles today than the last time she'd driven herself into this state.

The first time Marty had seen her like this as a child, he'd thought she was dead. Once he'd learnt what a hangover was (with the assistance of some kind ambulance officers), he'd continued to follow the same process of caring for his mom that he'd watch them do all those years ago.

He shook Lorraine's shoulder aggressively, watching as her head simply lolled to the side. Grabbing a piece of paper towel, he wiped the drool that had dripped down her chin with disgust, tossing it angrily into the sink. "Dammit, Mom…not again…" She hasn't been this shit for a while…

Marty pressed his fingers against his mom's neck, feeling around for the artery whose name he could never remember. He tensely waited before he felt the agonisingly-slow beat of his mother's heart thump weakly beneath the skin. At least you didn't kill yourself this time.

Satisfied that Lorraine wasn't about to die on him, Marty quickly set about cleaning the evidence. In the time that it took him to wipe down the table and sweep away the broken glass, his mother hadn't moved an inch. The only sounds she made were slow, rattling breaths as she continued dozing in her drunken state, blissfully unaware of the pillow her son had slipped under her head.

Marty grabbed his essay from his desk and returned to the kitchen table, staring despondently at the pathetic form of his unconscious mother. Only a year until I can move out. Eighteen can't come fast enough…

[delusion-of-negation]

The boy wasn't worth it, I'll find you a new one who'll let you peg him

as per my post ten fucking minutes ago, not everything is about somebody my dude. jesus christ. I just went through hell, I lost a family member to cancer, someone hate crimed me and tried to murder me, I'm having trauma flashbacks again, from the severe child abuse, sexual abuse, torture, etc, which started at the age, statistically speaking, you were still a fetus because of how early somebody shat me out, and don't even get me started on all the slowly dying of agonising health issues. oh but I'm upset that an incredibly close friend put me in a place I was horribly abused in years ago, for months, and forced me to relive it... for weeks and weeks... sleeping in the same beds. oh well, surely this means all these feelings are just you wanting to shove your dick in him. we should probably all just go get tinder since ig it fixes everything.

[struggling-to-find-home]

You know, between the fog that is most of my childhood, there is one question that I always agonised about, and that is: throughout it all, how did I survive?

Because there was,,,, a lot to survive through, from my first death threat & proceeding phycological torment from my brother at age 5 to metal objects flying dangerously close to my head during abuser tantrums to family tragedies to chronic gaslighting to suicide attempts and episodes of physical violence in the later years.

I look back on it and there it lies, as clear as it can with my only memories being from trauma processing when triggers and flashbacks happen and those rare times when a memory decided to resurface all on it's own to go off of: the overbearing truth that I was abused since the time I was at least a toddler.

But there had to be something to keep the illusion going, the facade slowly cracking but not breaking, and it had to be there for a long, long time. And all I can do right now is wait out and try to piece together a puzzle with a thousand lost pieces. Which is all to say,

I unlocked a rare positive memory today - fragmented, but still.

It's something about movies - how my mother & brother wanted to drag me to some catastrophe film about an alien invasion and instead I convinced them to buy me a ticket to some animated mostly marketed towards girls movie.

It started 40 minutes after their's did, so for the first time in... A while, I was left alone (which was a rare occurrence), sitting on some couches, with nobody paying any attention to me.

I had a journal with me.

At that time I always had a journal with me, because my phone was ancient and your girl had to entertain herself with something. It had a lot of shitty ideas, and my (very unsuccessful and rare) attempts to learn how to draw, because for some reason being able to draw prettily was a beauty standard for the girls around me and my inability to do so led to,,,, a fair amount of comments and disgusted glances thrown my way (Ironically enough, now I draw much more than I used to, but for med school reasons. The drawings still suck, but for some reason, now it's much more socially acceptable. Probably because I embrace it. Though ppl who can draw well do get a bit of privileges™ in the anatomy class), and a lot of half-baked writing plots that usually went nowhere. One of them had a whole ass spread for my depressive thoughts which I put there when the trauma was a bit... Too much. I know that because I stumbled upon it before during one of the many cleanouts I did after being in extreme dissociation, every day, for 6 months. Honestly shit was terrifying to read but hey, it helped 12 year old me cope so ig it's fine.

I think I wrestled with myself about buying popcorn when they left, because my mother never allowed me to since it was too "unhealthy". I'm pretty sure I did, because I seem to remember the feeling of uncomfortable sugar-induced thirstiness at the back of my throat as we drived back from the theater, but I'm not sure. If I did, I probably spent the entire pre-film time on high alert, careful to hide it from passer-bys in case either of them decided to leave the theater.

I was bored, at first, with no way to tell time, but then I started thinking and doodling and at some point, inspiration struck - something about ocs and evil scientists and their horrible horrible experiments - and I spent the rest of the time creating, high on the euphoria of privacy, of not having to check my back every seven seconds to see if someone's watching.

I didn't even get to finish the scene, but I was still so proud for writing it.

It was so simple, but I was so happy.

I was so happy.

Because there were no abusers. Because, even for just half an hour, I was able to put my guard down and purely enjoy myself.

And it's like this for every positive memory I have - all of them happen when they are not in sight. Reading fanfiction at 2 am, feeling proud after composing my first guitar arrangement, jumping around the flat I was alone at in happiness because my favourite comic updated, learning to drive a hoverboard with my friend, feeling joyful because all of them left and now I could watch a show in peace, celebrating my birthday without them...

I guess that's the answer for me - the only reason I survived for so long are the times I could take a break from them.

Huh.

Well that's fucking depressing.

[erablaise-blog]

Listen. I'm lucky enough that I actually got a mixtape. And yeah, I understand we still do that - we make playlists on Spotify and what not but

I have a CD. It was burned for me by my first girlfriend. Its been years but I still have it - because at one point in my life, someone cared so much about me that they spent hours picking the perfect songs, off YouTube because an acoustic version wasn't released, because in a live recording the singer's voice broke just so on a specific word - and they agonised over the order of the songs, they spent hours waiting for it to burn (cause that shit took ages) and then they took the time to write down the songs on paper, with tiny hearts and comments and put permanent marker to the still warm CD and wrote my name on it.

There is no identical mixtape like that. It's just mine.

And yeah, we broke up years ago, they and the feelings are long gone, I don't even own a photo of us anymore.

But that CD will stay forever with me. Because someone took the time to put a tiny piece of their love into physical form for me, and it's just mine.

So yeah, that's why we will always go back to physical media, be that music, movies or books, especially if you got it as a gift.

Those physical pieces of memories are worth more than any photo for me.

HOLD THE LINE!! KEEP PUSHING!!!!!