#and is not owed generosity of response in return

[supercantaloupe]

okay don't harass this person on my behalf please and thanks or you will lose the mandate of heaven. i have already blocked them for the crime of being rude on my poast. but on that note i do want to share this truly ridiculous set of replies they left me

Hi just wanted to let you know your chanukiah isn’t kosher. If you don’t care, then no worries, I’m not trying to be judgy, but I wanted to let you know just in case! 💙

yeah i don't really care, it's a family thing

[freedomfireflies]

Five to Go Live*

Summary: The fifth and final part to One for the Money*

Mr. Styles, your boss (and the CEO of the company you work for), offers to help you expand your OnlyFans business.

But maybe you want more.

And maybe he does, too.

Word Count: 11.5k (I have no idea what happened tbh)

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞You are so much more important!*

“Good morning, Mr. Styles.”

The tense frame of the man pacing in front of the window stills when he hears your greeting. 

You’re five minutes early, coffee in hand, ready to begin your workday.

However, he doesn’t turn around as you enter his office. But the slight glimpse of his profile lets you know he’s acutely aware of your presence.

He stays by his desk, offering nothing more than his silence as you set down his drink and move for the couch.

“Good morning,” is his brisk greeting. It’s not any warmer or colder than usual. It’s just him. “Do you have the reports I asked for?”

“Right here.” You drop them onto the coffee table. “Ready for your meeting this afternoon.”

“Good.” He stares out at the city, unwilling to look you in the eye. “And you’ve confirmed with Nadia?”

“Yes. She’s calling for a driver as we speak.”

He nods once, fingers flexing beside his thighs before he finally ventures a glance over his shoulder. “And I suppose you’d like to talk to me about the other day.”

You flip open the laptop and pull up your email, eyebrow raised. “The other day?”

He turns to you, and you feel his heated stare. “I believe I owe you an explanation.”

“Not really,” you respond, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “You agreed to help me with the video, and you did. I didn’t expect you to stay, Sir.”

Your peripheral catches his slight frown. “You didn’t?”

“No.” You open his schedule and begin jotting down a few notes from Nadia’s email. “You’re not exactly the cuddling type. Probably would have been weirder if you had stayed.”

His hands disappear into his pockets as he regards you. “I never meant to upset you.”

“You didn’t.” Another shrug. “I knew what I agreed to, and now we’re done. No harm, no foul.”

The frown deepens. “Still, I shouldn’t have walked out on you like that—”

“Mr. Styles,” you interrupt, turning to face him, “I wasn’t under the illusion that things would change just because we fucked. I didn’t need aftercare, I didn’t need your words of affirmation, and I didn’t need you to stay.”

Something unrecognizable passes over his features.

You lean forward. “We’re good, Sir.”

The office goes quiet. You know him well enough by now to know what it looks like when he’s biting back a response.

And you imagine there are quite a few things he’d like to berate you for, but instead, he merely clamps his jaw shut and nods.

“All right.” He returns to his desk and takes a seat. “Let’s begin.”

The rest of the workweek carries on like usual. Things return to normal. Or at least to the way they were before he admitted to knowing about your outside activities.

And you find that you’re grateful for that. It’s much easier to only imagine him as your boss instead of your…business partner. 

What happened that afternoon in the hotel room was great. Fantastic, even. But it was only ever an act of generosity. A favor, more like. He helped you exactly the way he said he would and now it’s over.

You won’t ever have to think about him like that again.

So…you don’t. 

At least, you try not to. But it proves quite difficult.

After deciding against posting the whole video for your channel, and instead only uploading the part where he comes on your tits, it becomes harder to ignore what you two have done. 

 After all, the response is overwhelming. Positive, excited, and extremely lucrative. Most of the requests are for more of the mysterious man they’ve come to know, and you try not to feel disappointed when you realize there won’t be any more guest appearances. 

You wonder if he’s watched it. Wonder if he remembers that day the way you do.

Sometimes you slip up, and you watch the beginning just to hear him talk to you. You watch the way you undress him. Watch the way he kisses you. Watch the way he drives himself inside of you and begs you to come for him.

But then it hits you. Like a fucking freight train. It won’t ever happen again, and lingering on the one time it did isn’t healthy.

So, you turn it off, and attempt to resume life as normal.

You reach out to Max to apologize yet again for what happened, and he’s incredibly understanding. He asks if you’d like to meet for drinks and go over another scene for the future.

And you agree because you will do anything to put Mr. Styles in your rearview mirror.

You don’t mention the meeting to your boss. You figure it won’t do any good, and even if he disapproved, it’s not like he would tell you.

This is your game now. Not his.

So, with a new lease on life, you head for the bar to meet with Max, eager to find out what he has in store.

He’s happy to see you. Pulling out your chair and refusing any attempts at apologies that you offer.

Which you’re more than appreciative of, although you can’t help feeling a bit guilty that he didn’t get the content he’d been wanting.

“Seriously, don’t even worry about it,” he repeats for the third time since you sat down. “Honestly. I get it, once other people get involved, it gets complicated.”

“Yeah,” you agree quietly, sheepishly glancing down at your lap. “But still. He shouldn’t have…I shouldn’t have let him run you out like that.”

He smiles. “It’s fine. Listen, your boyfriend has nothing to worry about. Really. And we can proceed however you feel is best—”

“Oh, no, he’s…he’s not my boyfriend,” you interject, head shaking quickly. “No, he was just…nobody. He’s nobody. Anymore.”

Max studies you for a moment, seemingly curious at your insistence. “Oh? Does…he know that?”

You swallow thickly and take hold of your glass. “Yeah. He does.”

A beat before he nods.

“All right.” Max takes a swig himself. “As long as you’re sure this is something you want.”

You nod but can’t help finding yourself hesitating. “Yeah, it’s…yeah. Of course.”

His expression softens. “Boyfriend or not, he still has a hold over you, doesn’t he?”

And you grimace because you hate the way it sounds. Hate how obvious it must be to everyone else. Hate that it’s even a thing at all.

“No, he just…he’s infuriating,” you argue. “I mean, you were there. You saw what he’s like.”

“I was and I did,” he agrees with a smirk. “Infuriating is the nicer way to put it.”

“He’s a dick,” you correct, making you both smile. “But I trusted him. And I trusted his judgment. And him being so…blunt is sometimes a good thing. Because there’s no room for overthinking or questioning what he really wants. He tells you. Exactly how he feels, exactly how he feels it.”

Max nods thoughtfully, urging you to continue.

“And yet there are so many things I feel like he’s keeping from me,” you murmur. “And maybe he doesn’t owe me answers. Maybe it doesn’t even matter, but I just…there was this moment when we were on the same page. When it felt so seamless, and easy, and good. And now…”

Max sighs. “Now he’s nobody.”

You both grow quiet as you let this settle.

“Yeah,” you whisper, taking a sip of your drink. “He’s nobody. And it’s nothing. And it’s over anyway, so…I’m free to do whatever I’d like.”

He laughs. “That’s a great attitude.”

“Why thank you very much.”

“Of course.” He rubs his hands together. “Well, I guess in that case…maybe we should go over—”

“Peach Valentine.”

And almost as if you spoke him into existence, that familiar voice finds you. Cutting right through your conversation as chills fly up the back of your neck.

You almost don’t want to look. Want to pretend that this is merely a subconscious projection of the very last man you want to see.

But you can feel his presence behind you. Can smell his cologne and can see the surprised look on Max’s face.

Of course he’s here.

Slowly, you turn around, letting your eyes find the tall figure looming only a foot or two away.

He’s wearing an expression you know all too well. The one that tells you exactly what he’s thinking without him having to say a single word.

And your stomach sinks.

“Sir,” you whisper, voice oddly timid before you clear your throat and straighten up. “Hello.”

For a moment, he’s quiet. Offering nothing more than a blank stare. Then, he looks at Max. He looks at you. And nobody speaks.

Finally, his jaw sets, and his hands bury themselves deep within his expensive pockets. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m…I’m meeting with Max,” you reply, shooting a smile toward your new friend.

Mr. Styles frowns. “You didn’t tell me you were meeting him.”

“I didn’t think I had to,” you retort, lowering your voice as you send him a pointed look. “Seeing as we’re not partners anymore.”

His eyes narrow. “You’re still my assistant. And your well-being is my concern.”

“Oh? I thought what I did with my personal life didn’t concern you.”

“It does when it has to do with him.”

Your glare begins to mirror his. “Well, since I am in need of a new business partner, I figured Max would be the perfect one to ask.”

Mr. Styles rolls his shoulders back, regarding you carefully. “And since when are you in need of a new business partner?”

“Since my old one walked out on me.”

This does it. His features twist into an unforgiving and rather harsh look of disdain as he steps closer and drops his tone. “I told you, I needed to explain—”

“No, you don’t need to explain,” you correct. “I’m not upset. I’m not bitter. I’m not angry. But that doesn’t change the fact that our agreement is over.”

His teeth grit. “Just because I left doesn’t mean I was ending our deal—”

“It does in my book. I don’t have time to wait for you, Sir.” You sit up, leveling the playing field. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”

His fingers suddenly wrap around your upper arm, tugging on you until your feet hit the floor, forcing you to stand. “I need to talk to you.”

A bit surprised, you blink rapidly and attempt to pull yourself free. “Mr. Styles—”

“Now, Peach.”

You want to argue. Want to fight him on this. Want to stay strong, stay with Max. Send the mean man away.

But you know him, no matter how belligerent he’s being. And there’s something in those eyes that you’ve found yourself lost in that persuades you to nod and follow him to the hallway.

The moment you’re alone and the loud music has been dulled to a quiet hum, you step away from him. Put the necessary distance between your bodies as he watches you go.

“You shouldn’t be talking to him,” he says simply, almost as if it were obvious. “In fact, you shouldn’t be here at all.”

You scoff, rearing back to stare at him incredulously. “I’m sorry…you’re joking, right?”

“It’s a work night,” he replies, still infuriatingly cool. “And we agreed you wouldn’t do business with him—”

“We agreed?” Your eyebrow raises. “No, we didn’t agree on anything. You ran him out of the room without so much as checking with me first. And since when are we a we at all?”

He’s far too calm for your liking. “I told you, I’m still your boss. And partner. I want what’s best for you—”

“Really? Is that why you left?”

Once again, he scowls. “I told you, I had things to do—”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you snort. “Look, I don’t care why you left. I don’t even care that you left. But you did leave. So if I want to film with Max, I have every right to do so—”

“You do,” he agrees. “But you’re much smarter than that, Peach. And you know it.”

“Yeah? And what makes me so smart, hm? Sleeping with you?”

His expression twists into something you don’t recognize. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Sleep with you? Or point out that we did?”

“Peach—”

“No, you know what?” You take a brave step forward. “You have no right to come in here and demand that I leave him. Max is a good guy. In fact, of all the people that I’ve messaged on OnlyFans, he’s the only one that hasn’t said something skeevy or inappropriate.”

His expression falls. “Are you being harassed?”

“Not if I don’t respond. The block button exists for a reason. And that’s not even the point. The point is that you told me to do this. You told me it would be good for my channel to collaborate—”

“But not with him.”

“Then who? You?”

The hallway stills as Mr. Styles leans back. “This was never about me.”

“No. It wasn’t. It was about me,” you agree. “That’s what you promised. That this would be about what I wanted to do. And I want to meet with Max.”

The glare returns. “If you’re trying to punish me—”

“Punish you?” You laugh but it’s void of all humor. “Punish you for what? For being exactly who I thought you were?”

“You shouldn’t be here with him,” he says again, and your eyes roll.

“Then where should I be, huh, Sir? Should I be at home? Like a good little girl?” You take another step forward. “Should I be on my knees, waiting for you? Should I be fucking myself with that toy you bought? Pretending it’s you?”

You notice the muscles in his jaw constrict as he steels himself and throws you a look of warning. “Peach—”

“Because if I can’t fuck Max, and I can’t fuck you, then what do you want from me?” Another step. “You’re never happy. I can never make you happy—”

“Peach—”

 “I get that this meant nothing to you. I get that.” You’re only inches away now. “But…you’re so confusing. You’re so goddamn confusing, and I never know what you really want. Sometimes I think I do, and other times…”

His lips purse shut but his eyes are soft.

“I feel like we used to want the same thing,” you admit quietly, heart in your throat as you stare up at the beautiful man before you. Your rage dwindles down to a contemplative annoyance. “And now we don’t. So…excuse me for trying to find somebody who does want me.”

Suddenly, he surges forward. Stepping up to you so quickly, and with so much power that it forces you to stumble back into the wall.

He cages you there, his broad chest brushing against yours as he peers down, features hard and unmoving.

“And you think that somebody is Max?” he sneers, almost as if mocking you. “You think that he wants anything more from you than the money you’ll make him?”

“Who cares?” you argue, but it’s weaker than you’d like. “It’s an investment, you said so yourself—”

“I am your investor. Not him,” Mr. Styles nearly barks, practically chastising you. “How could it ever be him—”

“Because he’s everything you aren’t.”

He doesn’t even flinch, instead cocking his head to the side as he smirks. “So that’s what this is? You’re trying to replace me? Trying to find somebody better?”

“Well it’s not hard.”

The Cheshire-like grin grows. “Fine, Peach. Let me ask you this…do you like who you are with him? Do you like the role he puts you in?”

Your lashes flutter. “I don’t…I don’t know what you mean—”

“Yes, you do.” His head dips until he’s fully in your space, making it impossible to know anything else but him. “Do you like how he treats you as though you’re nothing more than a means to his end?”

A breath catches in your throat. 

“Do you like how it’s never about you? Only him?”

You squirm back into the wall, once again attempting to create a bit of distance, but failing miserably as he places a hand next to your head.

“Do you like how insignificant he is?” His voice has dropped to a dangerous purr, like silk that slips across your cheek. “Or did you like it better with me?”

A question meant to trap you and you can do nothing more than stare at the buttons on his shirt as you will yourself not to gasp.

“Because I think you like yourself better in my reflection,” he murmurs, his other palm now smoothing across your hip, subtly tugging you into his body. “The way I make you beg for me. The way I touch you. Kiss you. Fuck you.”

The words weigh heavy on your chest, making it hard to breathe as his nose softly ghosts against yours. 

“Everything is better with me. And you know it. So why are you wasting your time with him? Hm, Peach? Who are you really trying to punish? Me…or you?”

And you could just slap him. You really could. Could fucking slap the dimples right off his face for being so smug.

“I’m not punishing anybody,” you whisper, nails curling into your palms to brace yourself. “I’m just doing what you told me to.”

“Well now I’m telling you to leave him.”

“Why?”

His eyes flick between yours. “Why do you think?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. I want to hear you say it.”

The frown returns. “Peach—”

“Say it, Mr. Styles,” you repeat. “And maybe I will leave him. Maybe I’ll walk out of this bar, and never look back. I’ll delete his number, I’ll block him, I’ll never think of reaching out to him again. I’ll leave. With you.”

You can see the way he internalizes this. Can feel his grip tighten, can see the muscles in the arm beside your head flex.

“Just say it,” you mumble again, reaching out to brush your fingers down his chest. “Tell me what you really want. Because maybe I want it, too.”

Everything moves around you. The world, time, this moment.

But neither of you move.

And as the seconds pass, you can’t help but silently will him to finally be honest with you. To finally succumb to what he really needs. To make everything that’s happened mean something.

Then, his eyebrows weave together, and his lips turn down. “I want you to go home,” he finally says, and your heart drops so fast, it makes your head spin. “You’re drunk, and you shouldn’t be alone with him.”

“I’m not drunk,” you retort, now shoving on his sternum to create that space you so desperately need. “I’ve had one drink. And I’m not alone. You’re here.”

And maybe it’s too dark in this hallway to be sure, but you’re almost positive you see something painful flash behind his eyes.

“I won’t be for long,” he replies as he pushes off the wall and steps back. “I have other things to do besides babysit you.”

And that is your slap to the face.

Your hands ball into fists by your side. “You are such a fucking asshole. I never asked you to babysit me. I didn’t even want you here—”

“Clearly you need it,” he argues. “Since you aren’t capable of making decisions on your own. Even when you’re sober.”

You scoff so loud, it makes your throat sore. “I was doing just fine without you—”

“You were scraping by,” he corrects. “And you could do so much better if you realized that he’s nothing but a waste of time and sperm.”

Your nose crinkles as you make your way to the end of the hall, ready to rid yourself of him. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t…I can’t argue with you over the same goddamn thing. Okay, Max is nice to me. He tells me what he actually feels, and that’s something you could never understand.”

You think you see the briefest hint of disappointment, but it’s replaced just as quickly by a look of unamused indignation. “Fine. If you’d like your sex life and your career to be as mediocre as his cock…by all means. The choice is yours.”

“It is,” you agree coldly, ready to turn on your heel and run. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Styles.”

With that, you exit the hallway, leaving him behind.

And he lets you.

The following day, things aren’t as awkward as you expected. Mr. Styles doesn’t mention your run-in at the bar, nor does he attempt to restart the conversation about Max.

He treats you the way he did when he first hired you. With nothing but professionalism and distance. 

At first, you’re thankful. There are no more sly comments or lingering stares at your chest. He follows your terms to let you make your own decisions. He lets your business be yours.

And he’s nothing more than your boss.

But as the days progress, you can’t shake the nagging thought that something bigger is afoot. Almost as though something is wrong. Off.

Maybe it’s just in your head. Maybe you want to believe he’s more affected by this little falling out than he pretends to be.

But you’ve known him for over a year. You know what it looks like when he’s upset, and this…this is not it.

However, you decide to push away the inclination altogether, and carry on with your work as usual. Because even if something is wrong, it’s none of your concern anymore.

That is until Nadia mentions it over lunch.

“Listen, he’s a very complicated man,” she says when you comment on his odd behavior, waving her salad fork through the air. “He tries so hard to appear uninterested, but I know it’s just an act. Nobody is that heartless.”

You swirl your French fry around in your ketchup, mulling this over. “I don’t know. He doesn’t…I don’t think he’s heartless. I think that’s just…who he is. He has a one-track mind.”

Nadia snorts. “Please. You should have seen him before…”

Your little lunch corner goes oddly silent as she suddenly presses her lips together and winces.

“Before…?” you repeat curiously, head tilting.

“Nothing,” she’s quick to reply, dismissing the comment with a flutter of her hand. “No, nothing. He just…he was more open when he first started the company, that’s all.”

You know there’s more to that story than she’s letting on, but you don’t push. Instead nodding your head as you return to your burger, letting the inquiry rest.

However, the subject is changed for all of three minutes before she sighs, and finally says, “Okay, look, it’s none of my business. And I don’t even know all of details, but maybe this will help make your job…easier?”

Once again struck with curiosity, you motion for her to continue.

“He had an assistant before you,” she begins. “His first assistant actually. I don’t know too much because I was working the mail room. But I do know that they were really close. Maybe friends, maybe more. I don’t know. But they were close.”

You lean back in your seat, endlessly intrigued as you wait for the rest.

“And everybody loved them together. She made him so happy. He was always smiling, always laughing, always walking around the office talking to everybody. Engaging in chit chat and catching up on everyone’s lives.”

It’s odd to picture your boss so open. So…infatuated. In fact, this fantasy she’s painting doesn’t sound like the man you know at all.

You have to wonder how different things would have been if he were still the same.

“Anyway, I don’t know what happened exactly, but something bad,” Nadia sighs. “The rumor was that she was seeing somebody he didn’t like. He got crazy possessive over her, and it drove them apart. She quit, and he became this sullen, hollow version of himself. And now that’s just who he is, I guess.”

“That’s…so sad,” is about all you can offer, frowning some as she nods.

“Yeah. It was,” she agrees. “After her, he didn’t hire another personal assistant for quite some time. Until you, actually. Which was kind of surprising, and I think we were all a little worried for you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, you seem to be handling him just fine, which is great. But…I don’t know. He just became very…cold. Distant, I guess. Doesn’t really create personal relationships anymore.”

You have to admit that this makes sense, although it doesn’t exactly help make things any clearer for you. “That must have been hard for him.”

“Yeah. And maybe he taught himself not to care, but…I think he hides who he really is because of her,” she admits with a shrug. “Which sucks. ’Cause he’s such a good guy, deep down. He just…he’s afraid, I guess.”

You hate the way your heart breaks for him. Hate the way this humanizes him. Hate the way it makes you second guess every interaction the two of you have ever had.

“Does he ever talk about her?” you ask next.

“No, never. I don’t even remember her name, to be honest. It was forever ago. Five or six years, at least.”

“Wow.”

“Mhm. As far as I know, he doesn’t date, either. I think he fucks around a bit. I mean, he’s a guy, after all,” she teases. “But he doesn’t really do anything…meaningful. Maybe he doesn’t know how anymore.”

Your stomach twists around an invisible knife. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Yeah,” she hums, digging back into her salad. “I don’t know. If he’s being rude, just tell him to fuck off. That always works for me.”

You laugh as the subject is dropped and the two of you carry on with your lunch.

But you think about it for the rest of the day, the information following you back to his office where you’re quick to find that he’s left for the afternoon. 

So, you sit with this discovery as you go through your tasks. Unable to stray from the thought for very long before your throat constricts, and you feel a wave of disappointment.

You text him as you’re leaving for the evening. A simple, “Finished prepping the presentation. Hope you’re okay,” before you tuck your phone away and head home.

Hours go by without a response. Not that you really expected one, but you can’t help feeling slightly guilty for the role you played in pushing him to open up.

And no matter how out of line he was, or how justified you were in asking for his honesty, you know how hard it must be for him to be honest with you.

Especially if what Nadia said is true.

After messaging Max for a bit about your upcoming video, you decide to run yourself a bath, letting the bubbles fill the tub as you watch the water rise.

You’ve barely slipped out of your socks when your phone vibrates on the porcelain sink, making you jump some at the sudden noise.

The familiar name flashes across the screen, making your heart skip as you hesitantly hit the green button and bring the phone to your ear. “…hello?”

“You did it, didn’t you?” Mr. Styles says, but even through the static, you can hear that there’s something off. 

“Did…what?” you ask hesitantly.

“You fucked him,” comes the reply. Blunt and void of any civility. “Max. You fucked him, didn’t you?”

With narrowed eyes, you turn the water off and step out of the bathroom. “I don’t believe that’s any of your concern—”

“So, yes,” he answers for you. Then, you hear him chuckle to himself. However, there’s something chilling about the way he laughs. Bitter, almost. “You’re very easy to read, Peach.”

You can feel your expression fall into one of annoyance as you lean against the wall in the hallway. “Mr. Styles—”

“Was he good?”

You glower. “Mr. Styles—”

“I already know the answer is no,” he continues. “Even your own fingers would be better, but…maybe I just wanted to hear you say he wasn’t.”

You contemplate this for only a moment before you cautiously ask, “Are you drunk?”

You can hear the subtle slur slip through the speaker, and your eyebrows raise as he snorts.

“No, I’m curious,” he retorts, but it makes your heart pound. “And I’m still a subscriber. So I want to know what to expect.”

Your stomach wrenches. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Why are you avoiding my question?”

“Mr. Styles—”

“You like to torture me, don’t you?” he interrupts, and there’s a hitch in your breath. “You always have. From the first day I met you. You were wearing that really nice dress. And your hair was up in that pretty ponytail. And you walked in like you were trying to walk into my life and ruin me.”

Your head falls back into the wall, eyes fluttering shut. “Sir—”

“And I let you,” he carries on. “I let you ruin me. I let you do the one thing I promised I’d never do, and now what? Now you’ve gone and strutted your way into somebody else’s life.”

And maybe he doesn’t know what he’s saying, but you feel this overwhelming rush of emotion, anyhow. “Mr. Styles, where are you?”

“Where would you like me to be?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Says you.”

You huff. “Mr. Styles—”

“Tell Max I said hello,” he says instead. “And then tell him I don’t mean it.”

“Mr. Styles—”

There’s some sort of loud noise on his end before the line suddenly beeps three times and the call goes dead.

And you can only stand there, flabbergasted, as you stare at your phone. Wondering what the hell just happened.

You’re frozen for a good minute or two, running through your options. He normally doesn’t reach out when he’s drinking, at least not to you, and definitely not this late.

Maybe it’s a silent cry for help or maybe he just wanted to bother you one last time.

Either way, it breeds something unnerving in your gut as you groan to yourself and head back to your room to retrieve your shoes.

You don’t imagine he’s out. He has to be at his apartment, so at least you know he’s probably safe. But you don’t know what he might do. You don’t know what that sound was, and if he’s managed to hurt himself, but you don’t think anyone will be there to help for quite a while.

You grab the key he’d given you a few months ago. It was meant only for emergencies, although you’ve never needed to use it.

Tonight, however, you decide that this is as good an excuse as any.

You call an Uber to take you to his place, the lavish apartment building smack in the middle of downtown, quite a bit away from you.  

Thankfully, the traffic isn’t too bad this late at night, and you’re grateful for the quick trip as you’re brought to a stop just outside the sidewalk in under thirty minutes.

You jump out, greet the doorman, and book it for the elevator before hitting the button for his apartment at the top of the building.

It’s a good three-minute ride before you finally reach his floor, and once those doors open, your heart leaps into your throat.

Even the hallway is exquisite, and your dirty Vans squeak along the newly waxed floors as you approach his apartment, and fumble with the key.

You unlock it as slowly and quietly as you can, hoping not to startle him if he is in fact inside, and the moment the door is cracked, you call, “Mr. Styles? Are you here?”

Everything is dark as you enter. Not a single lamp to be seen, only the soft glow of the city lights outside of his many large windows, and the pale shadow of the moon cascading across the floors.

You see silhouettes of furniture, walls, and a few appliances. Enough that you manage not to trip over anything as you make your way into his living room. 

And then, you see him.

The shape of his body is outlined by the window to your left. He’s sitting on the floor, back against the wall as he stares out at the tall skyscrapers before him. 

Your heart sinks as you pocket the keys and approach slowly. “Mr. Styles?”

He’s still. Deathly still, in fact. As if he hasn’t even heard you. He doesn’t even bother to look over or investigate your presence.

And then, he murmurs, “You shouldn’t be here.”

Your breath hitches.  “Maybe not,” you reply quietly, taking another cautious step. “But I was worried about you.”

He snorts, arms slung over his knees, a crystal glass in one hand that’s only got a few drops left. “How nice.”

“Mr. Styles,” you try again, “are you all right?”

Now close enough to catch a glimpse of his profile, you see the sweaty hair matted to his forehead. The strain in his jaw and the red rim around his eyes. 

“M’fine. You can go,” he calls.

You take another step. “You didn’t sound fine—”

“Well I am, all right?” he suddenly sneers, turning to face you as you lean back. “I don’t need your fucking pity.”

“It’s not pity. It’s concern,” you correct briskly. “You’re drunk, and upset—”

“Yeah? What was your first fucking clue?”

You shoot him a look of warning as you bridge the gap and hesitantly crouch down to his level. “Why are you drinking?”

“Because I fucking can,” is his reply, his normally soft green eyes now as sharp as the edge of a sword. “Is that a problem?”

“Maybe. Do you remember calling me?”

“Of course I fucking do. But I don’t remember asking you to come here.”

“You didn’t,” you agree. “But I wanted to. Because I was worried.”

“Why? Don’t you have better things to worry about now?”

You’ve never heard him sound so insecure, and you’re reminded again of Nadia’s story as you glance over his expression. “I haven’t slept with Max.”

This is the only thing that seems to reach him, his lashes fluttering as he leans back, although his scowl remains put. “Why not?”

“We just haven’t yet. We’re still planning the video.”

“So you’re going to?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“You think so.”

“I plan to.”

He scoffs beneath a quiet breath and looks back out the window. “And you needed to come here to tell me that?”

“I came here because I wanted to make sure you were okay,” you tell him again. “And to set the record straight.”

“Why? You were right, it’s none of my fucking business.”

“It’s not, but you still seem to care.”

He snorts. “I don’t fucking care who you sleep with, Peach.”

“Sure, okay. Is that why you tried to keep me from doing it?”

“I was trying to help.”

“You’d help me a lot more if you were honest.”

“I am honest. I’m always fucking honest.”

“Not about this.”

His eyes return to yours. “I told you, you can do better. That’s my honest opinion.”

“Fine.” You take a moment to study him. “Then why did you offer to help me?”

His head drops back against the wall as he mulls this over, but his gaze never leaves you. “Because you needed the help. I knew you could make more money if you just did things a little differently, and I was right.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“What else would it be?”

Your head tilts. “Why did you agree to be in the video with me?”

“You said you didn’t have anyone else.”

“Why did you get me custom jewelry with your initials?”

His teeth begin to grit, the grasp on his glass tightening some. “What?”

“The peaches would have been fine. My initials would have been fine. But you wanted me to wear your name,” you remind him. “Why?”

“I already told you, I wanted him to know who your real partner was—”

“Yeah? Then why did you leave?”

His lips press together. “I thought you didn’t care—”

“I do now. Why?”

“I had somewhere to be—”

“Where?”

“Where?”

“Yes, where? Where did you have to be?”

He seems to fight himself on the answer before finally admitting, “The gym.”

You lean back, blinking quickly. “I’m sorry, you rushed out of there to go to the gym?”

“Yes.”

Now it’s your turn to scoff as you shake your head. “Wow. No, I should have assumed as much. Makes perfect sense. Clearly that was so much more important than just telling me I made you uncomfortable—”

“You didn’t,” he suddenly interjects, shooting you this look like he’s disappointed in your response. “I left because I knew I couldn’t stay.”

“You couldn’t stay? And why the fuck not?”

“Because—” He stops himself, once again clamping his jaw shut as if wrestling with the truth. Then, he drops his head, eyes finding the floor as he glares at the marble beneath. “Because I couldn’t.”

And you want to scream because you don’t know if he’ll ever be honest with you. Don’t know what to do to reach him.

“You know what I think?” you finally huff, and he looks up. “I think this is about her.”

Confused, he glances over your expression. “Her who?”

“The girl who used to work for you. Your first assistant. The one who left.”

Instantly, the atmosphere changes, his entire demeanor shifting on a dime as he presses his back into the wall and shoots you a venomous look of intimidation. “Oh you do, do you?”

“Yeah.” You hold your ground, keep your shoulders stiff. “I think you loved her. I think you were honest with her. I think you let yourself trust her, and I think…she broke that trust.”

You can tell he’s not quite sure what to do with this, furrowed brows still knitted together. “And where the fuck did you get that?”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s true, isn’t it?”

His finger taps the edge of the crystal in thought, but his contemplative expression remains. “Even if it were, what does this have to do with us?”

“Everything,” you say simply. “She broke your trust, and you chose not to get close to anyone again. But then you started helping me. And we got closer. And created a bond—created trust. And the second you realized, you ran for the hills.”

He snorts again, but he doesn’t rush to deny it.

So, you carry on. “Max coming along only made things worse for your fragile little ego. And maybe you were trying to keep it from happening again, but you did a really shitty job of it. And now here we are, sitting on your floor, saying everything but what we really mean.”

He’s angry. He’s so very angry, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly, fighting himself on what he really wants to say.

You scoot closer, gently reaching out to take the crystal glass from his hand so you can place it on the floor. Then, you rest your palm atop his arm, and meet his eye.

“Harry,” you whisper, and he sucks in a sharp breath, tensing beneath your touch. “I’m not her. And maybe that’s a good thing, maybe it’s not. But I have only ever wanted it to be you.”

He’s quiet but you have his full attention. And the intrigue in his features urges you to continue.

“Even before you told me that you watched, I imagined you,” you admit quietly. “I’ve always imagined you. Your voice, and your hands, and your face. And yeah, I didn’t mind keeping things…professional. Strictly about the content and nothing more. But…you have to know I wanted more.”

Once again, the back of his head meets the wall, as if bracing himself from your honesty.

“I wanted more,” you repeat. “And I thought you did, too. Maybe that’s why it’s been so hard, and maybe that’s why I tried to use Max to move on. But I never wanted Max. I only wanted you. I just…I wasn’t sure I could have you.”

He looks down at your hand, gaze softening when he sees the way it looks on his arm. Like he’s mesmerized by your touch.

“And I need you to tell me right now what you want,” you say softly. “I need the truth. I have to know if we’re running around in circles for no reason, or if…maybe we can get off this ride together.”

He’s silent for quite a long stretch, letting himself ponder a response as the apartment fills with a solemn quiet.

You study his face in the soft glow of the moonlight, wonderstruck by the sharp curve of his jaw in contrast to the soft curls near his cheeks.

Even now, he’s breathtaking.

Finally, he clears his throat. “Ellie.”

“What?”

“Her name,” he says, “was Ellie. And you’re right, I did trust her. But I ruined it. Not her.”

Now it’s your turn to listen as he recalls this memory to you, nodding gently for him to continue.

“She didn’t…she loved somebody that wasn’t me. That was her only fault,” he murmurs, once again staring at your hand as your thumb strokes his tan skin. “And it wasn’t even a fault. But I hated it. Because I wanted it to be me. And it was never going to be me. We both knew that.”

Slowly, his arm turns over, allowing your gentle touches to dance along the more sensitive skin.

You smile.

“I crossed so many fucking lines,” he admits quietly. “As her boss, as her friend. I pushed her away only to drag her back and try to keep her close. I suffocated her. I let myself need her in ways I shouldn’t have. She had every right to leave. In fact, she should have left sooner.”

You feel the tips of his fingers brush against you as he subtly grabs on.

“And then you,” he whispers, eyes still locked on where you’re connected. “I’d been doing so good. Didn’t let myself slip again, and then you came along, and everything was fucked. Because I knew I couldn’t do to you what I’d done to her. But I let myself think about you anyway. Even when I shouldn’t have.”

You can feel tears crawling up the back of your throat, and the wounded look on his face is like a fist to the heart.

“And for some fucking reason, I thought offering my advice would allow me to know you without ruining anything,” he sighs, tugging you a bit closer until your knees collide with his. “Which obviously didn’t work. And then I was looking for excuses to be with you. To have you. To touch you. Even though I knew better. Even though I had to know better.”

He takes a deep breath. Holds it. 

“I didn’t want to lose you,” he eventually exhales. “And I got scared that the only reason you felt like you wanted more was because I somehow tricked you into it. I confused you, I manipulated the situation. It wasn’t real. And I wanted it to be real. But then Max, and I got so fucking angry, and I knew I was doing it again. And I couldn’t. I couldn’t do that to you.”

He won’t look up. He won’t meet your eye, and the hard set of his jaw makes you take hold of his other arm and squeeze it tight.

“Harry,” you whisper, but his head shakes quickly.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” he barrels on, fingers wrapping around your elbow, keeping you close. “Because I can’t have it. I can’t have you. And you were right, I can’t be your partner anymore. I can only be your boss.”

You frown but it’s sad. “Harry—”

“Mr. Styles,” he corrects, finally shooting you a look of warning that breaks your heart.

But you aren’t deterred. Instead, you release him so you can wedge yourself between his legs and take hold of his face. “Harry,” you repeat, urgent but gentle. “This? It’s not the same.”

He struggles a bit in your grasp, tensing up as he tries to pull away. But it only lasts a second before he’s settling into your embrace, allowing you to guide his attention to you.

“It’s real,” you whisper. “It’s so fucking real. It was real even before you called me poor and badly dressed.”

This earns you your first smirk of the evening, and the butterflies that explode in your gut nearly make you dizzy.

“You’ve tried to push me away over and over. But I’m still sitting here, on your floor, begging you to talk to me.” Your thumbs delicately brush across the bags under his eyes, and he seems to nuzzle into your palms. “It’s not the same. You’re not just my boss or my investor. You’re my partner, Harry. And I can’t do this without you.”

His arms slowly slip around your middle, encouraging you onto his lap as his legs drop.

And you eagerly oblige, straddling his hips with ease as you look down at him.

“I don’t want to do this without you,” you murmur. “So don’t make me. Please.”

For a moment, you aren’t sure what he’ll do. What he’ll say or feel. He’s still somewhat tense, and far too quiet.

Then, he tugs, crashing your lips into his.

And it’s the most honest thing he’s ever done.

“Turn around.”

The strong command leaves no room for argument as you quickly spin on your heel, eager to obey.

Your ass is revealed to the camera. Bright red from the many spanks Mr. Styles has landed to it. It complements the dark black lingerie set he recently purchased for you, something you’re both rather proud of, and perhaps the main feature of this video.

You hear him hum his approval as he approaches, large hands slipping over the curves of your hips. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs before shoving you onto the bed. “Think it’s time we show them what a wet little whore you are, hm?”

You feel his finger hook into the crotch of the panties before he’s ripping them aside, allowing your swollen cunt to glisten for the lens.

You gasp as the cool air hits you, but it quickly melts into a desolate whine when you feel his touch ghost up the back of your thigh.

“Look at you,” he muses, palms pulling on your cheeks to spread you open, giving your audience a firsthand glimpse of your mess. “So fucking pathetic, aren’t you, Peach? And all I’ve done is spank you.”

“Can’t…can’t help it, Sir,” you pant, steadying yourself on your hands and knees as your eyes flutter shut. “Just want you.”

“Oh you do, do you?” He kneads your bruised flesh with admiration. “Do you think you deserve it?”

You squirm a bit as you whimper, desperate to lean back into his touch before he lands another smack to your thigh, reminding you to stay still.

“Yes,” you finally answer, chin meeting your chest. “Wanna deserve it for you.”

You hear him chuckle under his breath as he allows his touch to travel toward your dripping pussy, large digit pushing through your folds just to make you mewl.

“I bet you do,” he replies, running up and down your cunt to collect you. Tease you. “But we have a deal, don’t we, honey?”

You want to kill him and kiss him all at the same time.

“Yes, Sir.”

“We do.” He pats you again, this time gently. “Go on and grab it, all right?”

With a nod, you outstretch your shaky hand for the object sitting on the bed only a few inches in front of you.

Already tender and slightly swollen from the way he played with you earlier (casually and much too cruel), you feel a rush of excitement as you hand him the chain.

After taking hold of it, he moves to sit in front of you, allowing him better access to the front of your body as he motions for you to sit back on your ankles.

“You ready?” he asks quietly, eyes flicking between yours as he looks for your consent.

You nod. “Always.”

With that, he reaches for your exposed tits and begins preparing your nipples for the clamps.

You swallow a dozen whines and whimpers as he works them shut, the subtle ache quickly dissolving into an immeasurable type of pleasure.

And he’s smiling so big, like he’s so proud of you. Proud of the way you look, proud of the way you feel, proud of the way you obey.

It makes the yearning in-between your thighs that much worse as he travels the other end of the chain down to your clit.

Once again, he plays with you. Drags his fingers up, down, and through to make you writhe, and make sure you’re ready.

Then, with great care but devious intent, he slips the clamp along the base of the sensitive nerves and secures it.

You choke on a gasp, body stilling as the sensation becomes a bit more familiar. It’s quite thrilling. Not painful, but prominent. Taunting you with its power as you glance down at the way it holds you.

Harry leans back to study you, carefully observing every pull of your brows or hitch in your breath. “You okay, Peach?”

You nod, lip sliding between your teeth.

He frowns. “Color.”

“Green,” you say quickly, nails digging into your thighs as you release a heavy exhale. “It’s just…new.”

His expression softens as he reaches out to grasp onto your chin and squeeze once. “I know, my love. But you’ll take it for me, won’t you?”

And you say, “Yes,” with so much adoration and excitement that it returns those dimples to you.

His eyes drift toward the computer, checking the status of the livestream you assume before he leans forward and presses his lips to yours. 

You know your faces aren’t in the frame, but it makes your heart pound nonetheless as he offers you a moment of his affection. 

“How’s your ass?” he mumbles between kisses to your bottom lip.

You nod gently and sigh into his mouth. “Good. Sore.”

And he chuckles as he sends you a devious wink. “Good.”

With that, he stands, and begins to undo his belt as he returns to his spot behind you. He doesn’t plan to be gentle today. Not for your first live appearance, and you’re grateful for his punishing hand as it ghosts down your spine, guiding you.

It travels between your thighs, tapping them briskly as a reminder to keep them spread as you bend back over.

And once you’ve braced yourself against the mattress, you feel those long, skilled fingers nudging at you again.

“Sir,” you whisper, desperate for the friction as he keeps his touch light, merely tracing patterns along your folds while humming to himself.

“Yes, Peach?”

You swallow thickly. “Please?”

“Please?” His thumb moves up to brush over your tighter hole, and you gasp again as you await any sort of contact. “Please what?”

“Please…please touch me?”

“Touch you,” he repeats thoughtfully, as if considering it. “I don’t know. Have you disobeyed any of my rules?”

With a quick shake of your head, you glance down at the duvet beneath you, the expensive fabric soft beneath your clenched fists.

“Have you used any naughty language?” he asks, the tip of his middle finger lowering to circle through your arousal. 

“No,” you breathe.

He begins to push in, leaving your other opening alone. At least for today. “Have you called me by the wrong name?”

Not aloud, you think, biting back a smirk as you murmur, “No, Sir.”

The digit travels a bit further, the feeling of him pushing past your tight walls like heroin as you reel.

“Have you taken your punishment like a good girl?” he inquires next, and you chew on the inside of your lip as you nod.

“Yes.”

And you can’t exactly see him, but you can practically hear his smirk as he suddenly adds a second finger in beside the first, just to surprise you.

“Yes,” he agrees. “You have. Been my perfect peach, haven’t you? Guess you’re showing off for them, hm? Letting them think you’re actually an obedient little cock-whore?”

And maybe you are showing off, at least a little, but it’s hard not to obey this man. He just makes it so…worth it.

“Yes,” you call again, desperate to please him. “Only for you, Sir.”

Suddenly, you feel his fist against your scalp, scraping through your roots as he furiously yanks, forcing your head up.

“Only for me,” he nearly seethes, dipping down to press his lips against your ear. “Want you to fucking say it. Every time I touch you. Every time I make you come. Want you to say it. Remind them who you really belong to.”

Apparently, having his initials glimmer from your nipples isn’t enough, but that’s more than all right with you.

You’ll happily vow your life to him as many times as he needs. Because there’s something empowering about having a man beg you to be his.

And for the first time since you’ve met him, you realize…you’re on the same ground. Equal partners. Equal power. 

You and him.

One.

With that instruction, he curls, now stroking and thrusting into you with a fervent need to force you up the mountain. 

“Only you,” you whisper between salacious moans for relief. “Only, Sir.”

“That’s right,” he hisses, smacking his other palm against your ass before groping at the tender skin. Soothing it and stimulating it at the same time.

The pace increases, faster and faster until you feel as though you can’t breathe. Until you’re trying to meet his rhythm by rocking back into his touch, but the hand on your hip holds you steady. Makes you patient. 

“Only you.” It’s almost inaudible, released through quivering lips as you begin to slip into your first. “Only you. Only…”

He plunges in to the knuckle, beckoning you toward your release as it hits you hard. Fireworks go off behind your eyes as you keen, sweat beading around your hairline, and chest heaving.

“God, only you,” you barely manage as you fight for air. “Just you, Sir. Always.”

He takes his fingers out, allowing the world to see your come drip along the insides of your thighs. And the loss of contact makes your chest ache as you whimper and peek over your shoulder for a glimpse of his face.

He’s smug. Because of course he is, endlessly pleased with the way you’ve come undone so quickly.

Wet digits quickly outstretch for your cheeks, pushing on your lips to accentuate your already obvious pout.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he warns darkly. “You know better.”

You glance up at him with remorse and desperation, hoping your tiny hum will be enough to sway him. “M’sorry, Daddy.”

It’s the first time today you’ve used the nickname, and you watch the effect it has on him as he tightens his grip and scrapes his teeth together.

“Peach,” he grumbles, “don’t fucking test me. Not today.”

“I’m not. Promise. Just wanna feel you.”

And that’s the truth. It’s all you ever want. Want his cock, his time, his attention. Anything he’ll give you, and he knows this.

Because he wants you just as bad.

And maybe, if he had the strength, he’d punish you for this little game. He’d waste hours just making you wait for him. Tying you up, leaving you to beg, taunting you with something you can’t have.

But today, that would punish him, too. And you can see that he doesn’t have the capacity to go without you, not even for show.

So, he releases his hold on you only to land a very firm and sharp smack to your cheek. And it stings but it feels so good, forcing another groan as you lean back. 

“And you will,” he finally decides, settling behind you again as he begins to tug his pants down. “Gonna feel me for days, honey. Make sure you can’t fucking sit without thinking of me.”

Just the image of you in one of those boardroom meetings, legs still bruised and clenched tightly together as you sit for hours on end makes you gasp.

He’s gotten braver recently. Normally, he’s tame. Making you rest on his lap in the privacy of his office while he absentmindedly runs circles over your clit. Answering emails as he plays with you. Like it’s just an average workday.

But now he tries to tease you in public. In meetings, at lunch, when you’re apart. Making you sit with a remote-controlled toy deep inside your cunt during a meeting with the board of directors. Changing the tempo over and over again while forcing your silence. Leaving you to squirm in your seat as you silently beg him for mercy.

Sometimes he gives it to you. Most times…he does not.

You imagine this week will be no different. Especially after today. He always gets a bit more insatiable after the two of you have posted a video together. 

He’ll make you watch it in his office. His now favorite tradition. And the comments and response will encourage something in him that makes you giddy. Possessive yet proud. Like he wants to outdo himself next time. Make you come harder, longer, faster. Make everyone watching eat their fucking hearts out.

You feel the tip of his swollen cock brush down your folds, lazily rubbing against you as he alerts you of his presence.

Just the feel of him makes you breathless, back arching as you silently plead with him for more.

He won’t give it to you, at least not yet. Not until he’s had a chance to watch you soak him.

He presses his hand against it, trapping it to your cunt while gliding it through your arousal. Gentle thrusts that have you clenching around nothing until you hear him curse to himself.

“Beg me,” he calls, grasping onto your ass cheek to pull it apart, allowing him a better view. “Beg me to fuck you, Peach. Beg Daddy to make it better.”

“Please,” you comply instantly, a subtle quiver in your voice. “Please, Daddy. Need you. Need to feel you. Hurts.”

“Oh, honey,” he coos, finally circling the rim of your aching hole and pushing in only an inch just to pull back. “Bet it does. Know I’ve been teasing you all day, haven’t I?”

You whine again. “I deserved it. Always love it when you tease me.”

He chuckles under his breath, and you know you’ve made him proud. “That’s right. Know you do, my love. Because you know I just wanna make it better for you, hm?”

“I know.” You attempt to wiggle back into him, but his unrelenting grip keeps you frozen to your spot. “Always do, Sir. Always make it better.”

He slides in again, further this time, allowing your body to stretch for him. Then, he slides out, leaving you to wilt as you swallow a groan.

“And I always will,” he answers, knee knocking into your inner thigh as an instruction to spread your legs a bit further. “Just have to behave for me. Think you can do that, Peach? Think you can be good for me?”

And you’ve never wanted anything more, head nodding quickly before he finally thrusts into you with such power and dominance that it knocks the wind from your lungs.

Truth be told, you never know what you’re going to get with him. What rhythm will drive him. But you’ll take anything he offers. Because hard and slow or fast and eager…it’s perfect. Sets your nerves on fire and leaves you desperate and depraved.

The sounds of him pushing through and pulling out are sure to be captured by the microphone. You can’t see the computer, but you imagine the audience is loving it. They always seem to enjoy sounds as much as you do. And Harry’s sounds are the best.

Your quick breaths intertwine seamlessly with his unforgiving grunts. Like a melody for the soul, and you slowly slide down until your chest meets the mattress, although your ass stays up.

He seems to like this angle, nails scraping down your spine before he lands another smack to your cheek. “There she is.”

Both sets of clamps are stimulated as you’re pushed against the bed, making your eyes roll back every time he drives himself to the hilt.

The pain is delicious. Exactly what you’d needed, and just when you think it can’t get any better…he slips an arm around your stomach and forces you back up.

Instantly, his hand is on your throat, tugging your back into his chest as he settles you down on his cock. 

Dominant fingertips press into the sides of your neck, playing with your airways as you gasp. And for a moment, you are nothing more than his toy. Just a body for him to use, and the idea makes you clamp down on him until he groans and nuzzles his nose into your shoulder.

But you know it’s more to him than that. Know that you’re not just this thing for him to abuse and ruin. He wants to worship you. Treat your body like the divine gift it is, and even though this display of aggression is uncouth…it’s meant for you. To make you feel good. Everything he does is always for you.

“So good, baby,” he whispers, just quiet enough that only you can hear. “Fucking love the way you feel, Peach. Always so warm for me. So wet. My perfect hole.”

You shudder, nails reaching for his arm to scratch down his skin. Desperate to be even closer to him. 

His hand then drops to your chest, finding your breast and groping at it mercilessly as you cry out. The clamps are tugged, stimulating the rings, and forcing your back to arch. So many sensations are being exploited that it’s nearly impossible to think straight. Your mind is mush, focused only on one thing to keep from drowning:

Him.

“Wanna come, don’t you?” he taunts, now louder so the audience can hear. “Wanna come on my cock, so they see what I do to you?”

You nod quickly, unable to vocalize your agreement. But he doesn’t need it. He knows. Can read your body like a book, and it makes him smile into your heated skin.

“Good,” he whispers, pressing a lingering kiss to your neck before reaching down to undo the clamp around your clit. “Go.”

The moment the pressure is released, it hits you. Your toes curl, your eyes roll back, and you make so many noises, you wouldn’t be surprised if the people below Harry’s apartment can hear you.

He works you through each ripple and aftershock, perhaps hoping to send you into a third, but your body needs a moment to recharge. 

And this is more than fine with him because it gives him a bit more time to watch himself disappear into you. His favorite part.

You collapse in his hold, held up only by his strong arm that’s thankfully bare, allowing you to glance down at his tattoos.

He takes his shirt off for almost every video now. He knows that nobody will be able to recognize his tattoos, but he especially knows how much you love them. Love to lick them, trace them, stare at them.

Your perfect pastime, and you think this now as you grip onto his wrist and squeeze. 

He exhales into your shoulder before he’s suddenly cursing and pulling out, the sound of his slick cock slipping from your cunt making you whimper.

With a single pat to your hip, he growls, “On your back.”

You nearly throw yourself down onto the bed, finally able to face him fully as you’re met with the sight of his flushed cheeks.

He’s so beautiful when he’s turned on, and you feel nothing but grateful to be able to witness this sight firsthand. Even your audience is denied such a pleasure, and it makes it feel that much more special to you.

He pushes your legs apart and settles between your thighs, grasping onto his cock before guiding it toward your chest.

He never comes inside you on film. He claimed it was because they don’t deserve to see it, and you didn’t argue. You like the idea. Occasionally he’ll capture a short clip of the way he leaks out of your pussy, but it’s never posted. Instead saved just for the two of you to watch whenever you need.

So while you’ll miss feeling him inside of you today, you know that it’s worth it. You like that you get to keep something for just the two of you. You like this possessive side of him.

Love it, in fact.

Nodding at your breasts, he silently instructs you to grab them, to which you do, pushing them together as he brings his swollen and soaked cock closer.

Slowly, he slides between your tits, disappearing beneath the supple flesh as you both groan your approval.

He’s already seconds away from his own release, but he edges himself by fucking your tits for as long as he can. Staring wordlessly at the way he looks beside his initials on your nipples.

“Fuck, Peach,” he breathes, brows knitted together as his jaw clenches. “Like it like this, don’t you? Like it when I come like this?”

And you do, a soft sough of agreement all you can offer as you look down at the way his tip pokes through the valley you’ve created. The contrast of his pink flesh against your skin is beautiful. Artful, even. And it makes you smile, wider than you have all day.

His pace is slow, allowing you to feel the slickness paint your chest before he’s suddenly tensing, the muscles in his stomach contracting quickly.

You await his offering eagerly, practically panting as you watch him run his palm along his cock before he’s releasing all over your torso and chest. 

He falls forward, bracing himself with a hand beside your head while you throw your arms around his neck to keep him close.

“Thank you, Daddy,” you whisper as he milks the last few drops. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

You feel a shiver roll across his body at your comment before he’s smashing his lips into yours, dancing his relieved sighs across your tongue. 

It takes a good minute or two for you both to find your bearings, but once you have, he reaches toward the nightstand where the remote lies.

Aiming it at the camera, he clicks a couple of buttons, and the red light turns off, signaling that the livestream has ended.

Now alone in his massive bedroom, he grins down at you. “My sweet fucking girl. Did so well for me, honey.”

You bask in his praise, nuzzling your nose against his before pressing a kiss to his cheek. “That was fun. Like it when you fuck my tits.”

“Yeah?” He’s smirking again, palm now smacking against your breast just to watch it jiggle. “Good. ’Cause I don’t plan to stop.”

Your arms snake tighter around his neck until he’s forced to lay his chest against yours. “Think they liked it?”

“I know they did,” he murmurs, face disappearing into your neck as he breathes you in, sweaty or not. “They love you, Peach. You’re so good to them.”

You press your lips into his hair.

“You’re good to me, too,” he adds quietly, sliding his hand across your body until he can hold onto you. “Always so fucking good. Best thing that ever happened to me.”

A sort of flutter happens in your stomach as you squeeze him tighter. “Ditto.”

You stay there for a few minutes at least, teetering on the verge of sleep before Harry declares you need to get clean. 

He scoops you up and carries you to his large bathtub, dipping you into the warm water once it’s ready and settling himself on the other side to face you.

You talk for what feels like hours, until you’re pruned, and the bubbles have disappeared. You go over the scene, go over what you think the comments will be, and even go over his schedule for the upcoming work week.

It’s weird the way you’ve managed to balance the relationship of boss and lover. You’re able to distinguish the two and create the appropriate boundaries. Making it easier to work together without driving each other nuts.

 Something else you’re grateful for.

You stare at his wet abs as he talks, smiling to yourself as you admire every curve of his stomach, and every nipple he has to offer.

He splashes some water at you when he realizes before grabbing hold of your ankles and sliding your closer.

You kiss until you can’t breathe, and life feels really good.

Really fucking good.

Once you’re out and dried, you make your way back to his bedroom to make sure everything from the livestream is in order.

You scroll through a few of the responses together, making mental notes of what to do next time. And once you’re both in agreement that everything looks good, he adds it to your shared profile.

Appropriately titled,

Peaches and Cream.

I have no excuse for this or explanation, I'm just gonna blame it on the sick meds I took 🙃

I already miss them but I'm absolutely going to be doing some extras and maybe that'll make it not hurt so much 😭💞

Thank you to everyone who's read and been so kind and supportive!!! You have my entire heart forever and ever, I cannot tell you how appreciative I am 🥹♥️ This has been so fun!!

Peaches and Cream forever!!

Previous Part:

~ Four to Go*

~ Full One for the Money Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Credit for the incredible and perfectly peachy dividers to @firefly-graphics!!

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @kathb59 @iamjustaholeforyousir @buckyssbestgirl @harrystylesfan2686 @cherryluvhobi @narry-heart @daphnesutton @uniquesexything @amateurduck @ilovec0lbybr0ck @winterrays @milfrrynation @definegirlfriendsx @allthelovehes @amiets2 @likeapplejuicenpeach @nega-omega @sucker-4-angst @hsgucci94 @gills-lounge @kennedy-brooke @avasversion @stylesfever @saturnheartz @finelinesss

[twistedpink]

Jack Howl x extremely rich reader that he keeps forgetting is rich

Like imagine him getting jumpscared by the reader bringing him to high end sports wear stores or restaurants and when he tells the reader than he can’t afford anything the reader has to remind him that they’ll pay for everything.

I hope I didn’t break any rules or boundaries with this ask hehe

Last of the Jack flood! Loved the concept!

The only gripe that Jack has with your generosity is that is feels deeply in debt now. No matter how hard you hit home that he doesn’t have to pay you back, it only reassures him that he has to get on equal footing now. You’re so good, and if he wants to keep a little of that “goodness” for himself then he’s just gotta help you out! Nobody likes a leech! No matter what Jack does, he’s officially a victim of spoiling <3

Spoiled!Jack is the worst at accepting gifts. He’ll get used to it eventually, but when you surprise him with one of his favourites for lunch he’s adamant on sharing it. It wouldn’t do his ego well to loved on so well, but if you feed him, he’s “forced” to return the favour ;)

Spoiled!Jack can only flounder when you take him out- He’s a creature of habit after all, and you dragging him to a gala is not helping. He always appreciates a heads up, but if there’s an inkling of anxiety towards something last minute, then it’s all in your ballpark. Of course he has his reservations, but you’re the professional!

Spoiled!Jack is rolling in thaumarks at the moment, and he’s doing everything short of just wiring it all to Ruggie god knows if that guy even has a phone. There’s this switch in his head that’s unflippable, and telling him that he owes you. He’d hate to be a.. “sugar baby” but he does loan his lifting services to you more than anyone else,,

Jack Howl is the only one of your friends that spends your money responsibly (after being badgered to take it), no matter how much you have, it’s important to spend it on important things. Jack sends most of the money home, but you have nothing to spend it on. Just your pampered Jackie <3

[lilbabypanda-blog2]

Two sides of a Gem (Part 4)

Aventurine x (stoneheart)reader

Part3

_______________________________________

A.N

So we finally made it to penacony, but I didn't write everything exactly like in the quest i changed some things, and I kept the arrival brief 😅 hope u still enjoy♡

______________________________________

The Astral Express crew stepped into the grand Penacony Dreamscape Terminal, greeted by an overwhelming display of luxury. The golden hues of the marble floors reflected the sparkling light from towering crystal chandeliers. The air carried the faint scent of exotic flowers and fine perfume, mingling with the murmur of countless conversations and distant, melodic music.

At the reception desk, the crew gathered, Himeko, Mr. Yang, March 7th, Trailblazer, and Y/N standing together as a hotel attendant in an immaculate uniform scrolled through a holographic terminal.

“I’m terribly sorry, ma’am,” the receptionist said, her polite smile unwavering despite the tension in her voice. “But there’s no record of this ‘Trailblazer’ in our system. The invitations were sent in advance, and it seems this… addition to your party wasn’t accounted for.”

March 7th crossed her arms with a huff. “Seriously? The invitation list was made ages ago. You can’t just add one extra name?”

The Trailblazer scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “I don’t mind sleeping on a bench if it comes to that…”

Himeko stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. “Surely there’s a way to resolve this? We came here under invitation, and I’d rather not have to start our visit on this note.”

Before the receptionist could stammer out a response, a smooth, sharp voice sliced through the conversation.

“Well, well… trouble already, Astral Express crew?”

The group turned as Aventurine approached, his sandy-blond hair catching the ambient golden light, his vibrant magenta and cyan eyes sharp with amusement. He wore his usual confident smirk, hands tucked into his pockets as he sauntered over.

“You’ve barely set foot on Penacony, and yet here you are, causing a scene at the front desk.” Aventurine gave a mock sigh, shaking his head dramatically.

Himeko’s smile didn’t waver as she turned to face him. “you must be the IPC’s ambassador. How fortunate that you’re here.”

“Fortunate indeed,” Aventurine replied, flashing a grin before leaning slightly on the counter, his gaze flicking briefly to Y/N before returning to Himeko. “But what seems to be the problem? Did someone forget their golden ticket?”

“The Trailblazer wasn’t on the original invitation list,” Mr. Yang explained calmly.

Aventurine let out a low whistle. “Ah, a clerical error, then. And here I thought the Astral Express was always perfectly prepared. Guess even legends trip up sometimes.”

March 7th bristled, but Himeko cut in smoothly. “Mr.Aventurine, let’s not waste time with banter. You’re someone with influence here. Surely you can help us resolve this little hiccup?”

Aventurine chuckled, running a hand through his sandy hair. “Well, I could… but what’s in it for me?”

Himeko’s smile sharpened slightly. “How about this—we’ll owe you a favor. And if there’s one thing I know about you, Mr.Aventurine, it’s that you love having favors to call in.”

Aventurine paused, his grin widening. “Oh, Miss Himeko, you do know me so well.”

After a brief moment of exaggerated deliberation, Aventurine sighed dramatically. “Fine, fine. You’ve twisted my arm. I’ll give up my room for our dear Trailblazer.”

“Wait, your room?” March 7th asked, surprised.

“Don’t look so shocked, dear,” Aventurine said with a smirk. “Generosity is one of my many virtues.”

With a flick of his wrist, Aventurine accessed the terminal and made a few quick adjustments, the receptionist nodding politely as the details were updated.

“There,” Aventurine said, stepping back with a flourishing bow. “One luxury room, generously donated. I expect your gratitude to be eternal.”

Himeko offered a polite nod. “Thank you, Mr.Aventurine. You’ve been… most helpful.”

“Always a pleasure,” he replied, his grin lingering as he turned on his heel and disappeared back into the crowd, leaving a faint trail of mischief in his wake.

As the crew began moving toward their accommodations, a figure stepped into their path—Sunday, head of the Oak Family, flanked by his darling sister, Robin.

Sunday wore a tailored suit, his silver hair swept back, and his eyes sharp but kind. Beside him, Robin practically glowed in a dress of shimmering blues, her voice carrying softly as she greeted those who passed.

“Ah, guests from the Astral Express!” Sunday said warmly, spreading his arms in greeting. “It’s an honor to meet such esteemed travelers.”

Robin stepped forward slightly, her serene smile lighting up her face. “Welcome to Penacony. I hope our home brings you peace and joy during the festival.”

Himeko stepped forward with a polite nod. “Thank you, Mr. Sunday. And Miss Robin—it’s an honor to meet you both.”

Sunday chuckled lightly. “Please, no formalities. We’re all guests in this dream together, aren’t we?”

Robin’s gaze flickered briefly to Y/N, a curious glint in her eyes, but she said nothing.

Sunday gestured grandly toward the inner halls. “Please, settle in and enjoy yourselves. The festival is about to begin, and the real magic happens when the sun sets.”

With that, the Halovian siblings moved on, leaving behind an air of effortless charm and authority.

As the crew continued onward, Y/N stayed slightly behind, her sharp crimson eyes narrowing as she watched Sunday and Robin disappeared into the crowd.

“Something’s not right,” she murmured to herself.

Himeko, hearing her, glanced back. “Stay sharp, Y/N. This dream might become a nightmare if we aren’t careful.”

Y/N nodded, her expression unreadable as the crew moved further into Penacony’s glittering embrace.

_______

The golden halls of Hotel Reverie stretched endlessly in either direction, their soft lighting casting rippling patterns over the plush velvet carpet. Faint strains of distant piano music drifted through the air, mingling with the faint hum of the dream machinery buried deep within Penacony's gilded skin.

Y/N walked with deliberate steps, her sharp eyes scanning every detail the hum of energy lines pulsing beneath her feet.

It had been a long day, and Penacony's beauty—no matter how pristine—felt hollow. Artificial.

As she rounded a corner, her shoulder collided lightly with another figure stepping out from a room.

"Ah, my apologies, friend.”

The voice was smooth, honeyed with a sharp edge hidden just beneath its surface.

Y/N took a step back, her eyes immediately locking onto Aventurine. He stood with casual elegance, one hand in his pocket, the other raised slightly in mock surrender. His sharp, mismatched eyes—magenta and cyan—gleamed under the corridor lights, and his lips curled into an all-too-familiar smirk.

"Aventurine," Y/N said calmly, her tone sharp but not unkind. "You're far from your room, aren't you?"

Aventurine tilted his head slightly, his grin never faltering. "Sharp eyes, friend. But aren't we all a little far from home here in Penacony?"

Y/N crossed her arms, her gaze drifting briefly to the door he had just stepped out of. The Trailblazer's door.

"And yet, this isn’t your home, either. Care to explain what business you had with them?"

Aventurine let out a soft chuckle, his shoulders rising in an exaggerated shrug. "Oh, come now. You make it sound so sinister. I was just paying a visit—welcoming our newest little star player to the big stage. Friendly conversation, nothing more."

Y/N’s brow arched slightly. "Friendly conversation? You mean the kind that leaves shadows on the walls and locked doors behind you?"

For a fleeting moment, something sharp flickered in Aventurine’s eyes before disappearing behind that practiced, playful mask. He pushed off the wall and stepped just close enough for Y/N to catch the faint scent of expensive cologne.

“You’re an observant one, friend. That much is clear.” He grinned wider, showing a flash of sharp teeth. “But let’s not stand here throwing accusations like cards at a table. Why don’t you tell me why you seem so interested in my little meeting, hm?”

Y/N didn’t flinch under his intense gaze. Instead, she stepped slightly to the side, her body language relaxed but her stance firm.

“Because, Aventurine, people like you don’t make casual house calls. You don’t breathe without calculating the odds first.”

Aventurine laughed again, loud enough to echo faintly down the hallway. It was a genuine sound, but the humor didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Oh, you’re good. I can tell. You’re very good. But why so serious, friend? We’re here at the grandest party in the galaxy, in the most luxurious hotel money can build. Can’t we at least pretend to enjoy ourselves?”

Y/N studied him closely for a moment before exhaling softly and lowering her arms. Her voice lost some of its sharp edge, though her eyes remained watchful.

“Alright, Aventurine. We’ll play your game. But don’t mistake my patience for trust.”

Aventurine’s grin softened slightly, and he gave a theatrical bow, one hand over his chest. “Ah, trust. Such a fragile little thing, isn’t it? But I’m glad to hear you’re willing to play along, friend.”

He straightened up and let his grin shift into something smoother, almost charming in its casualness. “Since we’re being friendly now, what do you say we share a drink? You strike me as someone who appreciates fine company and finer conversation.”

Y/N’s lips quirked into a faint smirk. “That depends. Are you buying, or am I walking into a carefully laid trap?”

Aventurine placed a hand on his chest in mock offense. “Me? Set a trap for you? Oh, friend, you wound me!”

Y/N rolled her eyes but turned on her heel, starting down the hallway towards the hotel lounge. Aventurine fell into step beside her, his long coat brushing against his legs as he walked with a smooth, confident stride.

The silence between them was comfortable for a moment, filled only with the faint hum of distant dream machinery and muffled laughter from somewhere deeper in the hotel.

As they walked, Aventurine glanced sideways at her, his voice lower this time, almost thoughtful.

“You know, friend, people here are all wearing masks—metaphorically and sometimes literally. But you… you wear yours very well. I can’t quite see the cracks yet.”

Y/N glanced at him from the corner of her eye, her expression neutral but her gaze sharp. “And you, Aventurine? How many masks are you wearing right now?”

Aventurine’s grin widened, and he let out a low chuckle. “Oh, friend, let’s not ruin the surprise just yet.”

They arrived at the lounge—a grand, open space filled with faint golden light and the soft sound of piano keys being played in the corner. Crystal glasses clinked, voices murmured, and the faint scent of expensive cigars lingered in the air.

Aventurine gestured toward a quiet corner booth. “Shall we?”

Y/N hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward and sliding into the booth. Aventurine followed, smoothly taking the seat opposite her.

As a waiter approached, Aventurine gestured grandly. “A glass of your finest for the lady, and for me… surprise me.”

The waiter gave a short nod before retreating, leaving the two of them alone in the golden glow of the lounge.

For a moment, neither spoke. Aventurine’s grin softened into something more relaxed, but his mismatched eyes remained sharp, ever-calculating. Y/N, in turn, studied him with a quiet intensity, her expression unreadable.

Finally, Aventurine broke the silence, his voice low and smooth.

“So, friend, shall we see where this little gamble takes us?”

Y/N leaned back slightly, her arms crossing lightly over her chest as a faint smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

“Let’s.”

The camera pans out, the golden light glinting off the glassware as their conversation begins—two players at a table, masks on, cards in hand, and the stakes rising with every word exchanged.

[stromuprisahat]

Why don't I buy Malyen's sudden change of heart in R&R, pt. 2

Malyen doesn't like for Alina to be around other attractive men. He forbids her to steal the Darkling's colour. Sure, her position at the Court makes it impossible to control her comings and goings, but he lets her know he hates the place she chose to reside in, or the fact she dares to focus on other things than him.

An abusive man often considers it his right to control where his partner goes, with whom she associates, what she wears, and when she needs to be back home. He therefore feels that she should be grateful for any freedoms that he does choose to grant her, and will say something in a counseling session like, “She’s all bent out of shape because there’s one sleazy girl I don’t let her hang out with, when all the rest of the time I allow her to be friends with anyone she wants.” He expects his partner to give him a medal for his generosity, not to criticize him for his oppressiveness.

Chapter 3: The Abusive Mentality

Isn't this metaphor an irony?! As if the show writers read the book and thought: "Yeah, but what if we make this ~romantic~?""

When I have new clients, I go to the board and draw a compass with the needle pointing straight up to a big N. “You want your partner to be this compass,” I say to them, “and you want to be North. No matter where the compass goes, it always points in the same direction. And no matter where she goes, or what she’s doing, or what’s on her mind, you expect her to always be focused on you.” My clients sometimes protest to me, “But that’s what being in a relationship is about. We’re supposed to focus on each other.” But I notice that when he focuses on her, most of what he thinks about is what she can do for him, not the other way around. And when he doesn’t feel like focusing on her at all, he doesn’t bother.

Chapter 3: The Abusive Mentality

"Come to target practice with me tomorrow... I wanted you to ask me to stay."

The abusive man’s high entitlement leads him to have unfair and unreasonable expectations, so that the relationship revolves around his demands. His attitude is: “You owe me.” For each ounce he gives, he wants a pound in return. He wants his partner to devote herself fully to catering to him, even if it means that her own needs—or her children’s—get neglected. You can pour all your energy into keeping your partner content, but if he has this mind-set, he’ll never be satisfied for long. And he will keep feeling that you are controlling him, because he doesn’t believe that you should set any limits on his conduct or insist that he meet his responsibilities.

Chapter 3: The Abusive Mentality

Aren't those Malyen's two main traits in Seige and Storm? Or even earlier. Remember when he slut-shamed Alina during Winter Fete? How he got angry she's not crying her eyes in a tower, waiting for his heroic appearance?

HE ISN’T ABUSIVE BECAUSE HE IS ANGRY; HE’S ANGRY BECAUSE HE’S ABUSIVE.

Chapter 3: The Abusive Mentality

The only time I remember Alina becoming angry WITH Mal, he walks out. Unfortunately for her, Baghra's there to pick up the work and once on the run, Alina falls right into Malyen's arms.

... on some level he senses—though not necessarily consciously—that there is power in your anger. If you have space to feel and express your rage, you will be better able to hold on to your identity and to resist his suffocation of you. He tries to take your anger away in order to snuff out your capacity to resist his will.

Chapter 3: The Abusive Mentality

The books are written in rather puritan "asexual" way- as many pointed out, sexual desire is strongly connected to the Darkling and his "corruption"-, but should we count kissing, Malyen reacted negatively to being denied ~that~, which would make it lovely three out of four.

So is he lying when he says he loves you? No, usually not. Most of my clients do feel a powerful sensation inside that they call love. For many of them it is the only kind of feeling toward a female partner that they have ever had, so they have no way of knowing that it isn’t love. When an abusive man feels the powerful stirring inside that other people call love, he is probably largely feeling: · The desire to have you devote your life to keeping him happy with no outside interference · The desire to have sexual access · The desire to impress others by having you be his partner · The desire to possess and control you These desires are important aspects of what romantic love means to him. He may well be capable of feeling genuine love for you, but first he will have to dramatically reorient his outlook in order to separate abusive and possessive desires from true caring, and become able to really see you.

Chapter 3: The Abusive Mentality

It's beyond hysterical, that Aleksander was closer to genuine love, than Malyen. He is the one, who wanted strong, capable Alina. He wanted her to enjoy and love herself, embrace who she is instead of making herself less.

Sure, it doesn't kill the General in him, he won't cancel his people-saving efforts for her. It doesn't erase his weariness of losing people or any of his issues lifetimes of futility created, but he wants a partner, not a servant.

Genuine love means respecting the humanity of the other person, wanting what is best for him or her, and supporting the other person’s self-esteem and independence. This kind of love is incompatible with abuse and coercion.

Chapter 3: The Abusive Mentality

[phoebe-the-autism-fairy]

In Ruth's defence (2022 Pearl)

So if you've watched Mia Goth's Pearl from 2022, you'll know the kind of relationship that the character Pearl has with her mother, Ruth. And you'll probably notice that Ruth is portrayed as stern, strict and somewhat emotionally abusive towards Pearl. But I feel like a lot of people who watch the film don't fully understand Ruth's character, and just pass her off as an abusive mother, when her character is a lot more complex than just that;

Ruth had a LOT going on in her life, and dealt with a truckload of responsibilities; she and her husband were German immigrants living in America, and during that time, Germans were heavily mistreated in America because of the first world war ravaging through Europe. For example, Germans were often harassed and prosecuted, and this lead Ruth to be afraid, and isolated.

And aside from being German in America, Ruth also has to worry about her husband, who is paralysed because of the Spanish flu (most likely), and this causes her to be afraid of contracting that illness and suffering the same fate as her husband. Therefore, she was forced to do most of the farm work by herself AND take care of her husband at the same time. She relies heavily on Pearl too, to both help her with the farm work, take care of her father AND go into town whenever the family needs something. But because of how unreliable and impulsive Pearl is in regards to her dreams, and her money spending what with money being incredibly tight for them at this point, this causes Ruth to become more and more stressed. This is shown by the scene of Ruth in her bed, crying after Pearl returns from the pictures.

There's also the theme of German culture and values, such as pride and hard work, and how they often clashed with the traditional American values had by Howard's family, such as generosity. This is shown in the scene where Howard's family members donate some food to Ruth. However, Ruth is too proud to accept the roast pig, even though her family is clearly struggling. Ruth feels like if she were to accept the charity from Howard's family, she will be seen as weak and inferior, which would damage her pride and further diminish the German reputation in America.

And to top things all off, Ruth also has to deal with Pearl and her murderous tendencies. She has seen the way Pearl is able to kill animals without a second thought, and the way she almost killed her father by feeding him to Theda the crocodile. Because of this, she also fears her own daughter, and is afraid that if she ever WERE to go and live her own life, her murderous tendencies will become clear to the world and they will be afraid. So in a way, I feel like Ruth is trying to protect her from that.

Ruth also sees Pearl's dreams as a betrayal to her, and is resentful towards her youth and ability to have those aspirations so freely. She sees Pearl's dreams as ungrateful, and feels as though because she gave birth to Pearl, she owes her life to the farm.

So, while I understand Pearl's point of view, what with feeling lonely, unloved and suppressed, and wanting to live a new life away from the farm, I also empathise with Ruth's situation. And similar to Pearl, she also wants to feel safe and secure, but unfortunately never had that. Aside from the insults and harsh demeanour, Ruth does care about her daughter, but is exasperated with her and frightened of her at the same time. At the end of the day, Pearl and Ruth were both doomed, and both heavily suppressed in their own ways.

[jor-elsemissary]

Senator Kent

Jonathan seeing Lionel being used by Jor-el.

Jonathan: Wait a minute....if you were using him and returned Clark his powers....why the hell didn't you take over his body when he got kidnapped Lincoln Cole?

Jor-el:

Jonathan: You put my family through hell. YOU OWE US AN ANSWER!

Martha: Jonathan....

Jonathan: If Lionel was in control. He'd ask the same thing.

“Kal-El was not in danger,” the entity using Lionel’s voice simply and coldly said.

Jonathan Kent was a simple man and he liked to believe he was a good man. That belief was being tested right now and the only thing that was holding him back from strangling the man was because he would be killing Lionel Luthor, an innocent man in regards to this.

“Physically he may not have,” Jonathan argued through gritted teeth, “But emotionally it would have traumatized him from losing his mother.”

“My son would have endured.”

“Can you feel pain while in Lionel’s body?” he coldly asked. Martha looked up at her husband worriedly. She could hear the infamous Kent temper in his tone.

“Yes? But nothing you can do now can harm me,” the alien warned.

“Good,” Jonathan turned away and headed out of the house. Jor-El furrowed his brow at the sudden departure, confusion apparent on Lionel’s face. It didn’t take the Senator long to return to the house, this time carrying a lead box. “Tell me again why you didn’t save Martha.”

“You know the answer, Jonathan Kent.”

“I thought as much,” he opened the box and held it out toward Lionel’s body. Immediately he reacted, doubling over in pain as he tried to scramble away from the meteor rock resting within.

“Jonathan!” Martha cried and latched onto his arm, trying to reach for the box to close it. But he held it away from her. “Stop this! This isn’t you!”

“No,” the senator growled. “I’m tired of being pawns that can be thrown away. I didn’t raise Clark to be so careless with lives and I am not going to let some long dead ghost try and change that.”

“Martha…” gasped the man at Jonathan’s feet, his hand reaching out for her pleadingly. The cataracts have faded away to reveal the grey-green eyes she’s more familiar with. She was about to shout to her husband that Jor-El was gone for the time being but she hesitated in confusion.

Lionel was human so why was the meteor rock effecting him like it did Clark? It disgusted her that Jor-El would try and use Lionel to get Jonathan to stop and she felt more sympathetic toward the billionaire as she understood the man was a prisoner to this alien construct.

“Please…” she heard Lionel’s voice beg in between gasps of agonizing pain. What if she was wrong and Jor-El had let him go? What if Lionel wasn’t entirely human any more?

“Jonathan,” she gently placed her hand on his arm again, looking up to him. “You’ve made your point.”

Jonathan pursed his lips tightly and glared at what he believed was Jor-El, but he had also seen the signs that the entity had left. Like Martha he wasn’t sure what was happening, but in all good conscience he couldn’t torture a man not responsible for his family’s alien troubles.

He snapped the box closed and Lionel Luthor collapsed from exhaustion and pain. He was breathing heavily, eyes tightly closed as he tried to regain control of his faculties and find the strength to get up.

After a minute, he raised his head up toward the Kents and felt genuine fear. He now understood what Clark went through every time he was exposed to meteor rock either at the hands of meta humans or by his own. He understood now that he would be at the mercy of their generosity and compassion if this…, this side effect of being a vessel was permanent.

Slowly he found the strength to climb to his feet, afraid that he might have more than just Clark’s weakness. He was the last person that should be given god-like powers. “What…, what happened?”

“Lionel?” Martha was the first to address him and he nodded in reply. “Jor-El.”

She didn’t need to explain. He understood enough to know that the alien had done something to threaten Clark and pissed off Jonathan enough he was willing to torture the alien. “I… don’t want to know.”

“I wanted him gone,” Jonathan said, suspiciously eyeing Lionel. “Is he gone and you’re you?”

Lionel warily eyed the box and its deadly contents, “I am, uh, me. For now. I’m sorry if I did anything…”

“You didn’t and don’t apologize for that bastard,” Jonathan tells him. “You, at least, care about Martha.”

Lionel furrowed his brow, “This had been about her?” He looked to her curiously.

“The only reason Jor-El didn’t help you two was because Clark wasnt in danger by Lincoln Cole.”

“He wasn’t,” Lionel frowned. “Jor-El doesn’t interfere in human affairs.”

“Bullshit,” the senator cursed and gave Lionel a glare. “He’s interfered in my family’s lives since…, since before I was born if Clark says what is true.”

“The Kryptonians have been involved for centuries,” Lionel agreed. “But on a smaller scale, so as not to be too impactful on our development.”

“You know this how?” Martha asked and Lionel inwardly cursed.

“It’s… a long story.”

Jonathan tapped the lead box in his hands and gave Lionel a stern look, “We’ve got time.”

Lionel Luthor swallowed nervously.

[jurisjonah]

(Report 5) Article 1287, Civil Code of the Philippines, Book IV Obligations and Contracts

Article 1287. Compensation shall not be proper when one of the debts arises from a depositum or from the obligations of a depositary or of a bailee in commodatum.

Neither can compensation be set up against a creditor who has a claim for support due by gratuitous title, without prejudice to the provisions of paragraph 2 of article 301. (1200a)

Definition of Key Words: Depositum: A depositum is a type of contract where one person (the depositor) delivers a movable item to another person (the depositary) for safekeeping without transferring ownership.

Depositary: A depositary is the person who receives an item in a depositum for safekeeping. The depositary is responsible for taking care of the item and returning it to the depositor when required.

Bailee in commodatum: A bailee in commodatum is a person who receives a movable item in a loan for use (commodatum). In this type of contract, the item is loaned for the bailee's use without any payment, and the bailee must return the same item after the use or at the end of the agreed period.

Gratuitous title: A gratuitous title refers to an act or agreement made without any payment or compensation. For example, a claim for support due by gratuitous title means the support is provided without expecting anything in return, typically out of generosity or legal obligation.

Explanation: Article 1287 states that debts cannot be offset against each other if one debt arises from a deposit or the obligations of a depositary or bailee in a loan for use. Additionally, compensation cannot be used against a creditor who has a claim for support provided for free, unless specified otherwise in Article 301, paragraph 2. This means that certain types of debts and claims, particularly those involving deposits, loans for use, and support provided gratuitously, are protected from being nullified through compensation.

Illustrative Example: I owe Mr. Sabado 1,000,000 pesos. However, Mr. Sabado also owes me 500,000 pesos because he deposited his valuable painting with me for safekeeping, and I had to spend money on its maintenance and protection. I thought I could offset this 500,000 pesos against my 1,000,000 peso debt to him. However, because the 500,000 pesos arises from a depositum, the law states that I cannot use this to offset my debt. Additionally, Mr. Sabado provides monthly financial support to my elderly mother as a gesture of goodwill and without any charge. Even though I owe Mr. Sabado a significant amount of money, I cannot offset my debt against the support he provides to my mother since it is given gratuitously. The law protects these types of obligations from being nullified through compensation.

Assigned Case: MONDRAGON PERSONAL SALES, Petitioner, vs. VICTORIANO S. SOLA, JR, Respondent. with G.R. No. 174882 Penned by Justice Peralta on January 21, 2013

Facts of the Case Mondragon Personal Sales Inc. and Victoriano S. Sola, Jr. entered into a three-year Contract of Services from October 2, 1994, to October 1, 1997, requiring Sola to provide service facilities in General Santos City. Sola was entitled to service fees based on monthly sales with a tiered structure. Sola's wife, Lina, had a debt of ₱1,973,154.73 to Mondragon, which Sola acknowledged on January 26, 1995, agreeing to pay it in installments. Mondragon withheld Sola's service fees from February to April 1995 to cover this debt, leading Sola to suspend operations on April 29, 1995, and file a complaint on May 24, 1995. The RTC ruled in favor of Mondragon on July 6, 2000, ordering Sola to pay ₱1,543,643.96 plus interest and fees, finding that Sola had assumed his wife's debt. The CA reversed this decision, ruling that Mondragon breached the contract by withholding fees and that Sola did not assume his wife's debt. Mondragon's appeal to the Supreme Court contested the CA’s findings, highlighting Sola's January 26, 1995, letter acknowledging the debt.

Issue of the Case Whether or not Sola assumed his wife's debt and is obligated to pay it.

Ruling to the Case: The Supreme Court ruled in favor of Mondragon and ordered Sola to pay the remaining balance of his wife's debt. The court held that Sola became a co-debtor of his wife's accountabilities with Mondragon based on his letter confirming the debt. There was legal compensation between Mondragon and Sola, as both parties were principal obligors and creditors of each other. Mondragon's act of withholding Sola's service fees and applying them to the debt was lawful.

[fr-martin-gospel-reflections]

17th September - ‘Lord, how often must I forgive?’ Reflection on today’s gospel reading (Mt 18:21-35)

Twenty Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Each one of us has an influence on others, hopefully an influence for good. We can all reflect back on people who have had an influence for good in our lives. It is often only when people have died that we realize the influence for good they have had on us. A priest I worked alongside for eighteen years died recently. At his funeral I became aware of his influence for good on my life. I hadn’t had much contact with him for many years, and I regretted not keeping more in touch.

In today’s second reading, Saint Paul says, ‘the life and death of each of us has its influence on others’. Not only our life, but our death, can have a huge influence on others. As Christians we acknowledge that the life and death of Jesus has had the most significant influence on us. God has spoken powerfully to us through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, in a way that has had a powerful influence for good on all of us. God’s word to us through Jesus is a word of loving mercy. Jesus revealed God to be a God of love, who is rich in mercy. Jesus revealed God’s merciful love to be boundless. In all that Jesus said and did, he showed that God was all forgiving, waiting to welcome home all who turned to him with a contrite heart. That is why Jesus shared table with those considered sinners by the religious authorities. In the stories he told, Jesus gave us images of this merciful God. Perhaps the most powerful image is in the parable of the prodigal son. The younger son did everything wrong, and, yet, when he returned home in a mess, his father was there to embrace him and to hold a feast in his honour. This is how Jesus wants us to imagine God.

In today’s gospel reading, Jesus tells another story, which proclaims God to be rich in mercy. The first servant in the parable was someone who had been entrusted by the king with enormous responsibility. He had been given access by the king to enormous economic resources. He ran up a debt to the king of ten thousand talents. The talent was the largest monetary unity of the day, so this was a staggering amount of money, the equivalent of millions of euros today. When he threw himself at the master’s feet and said, ‘Give me time and I will pay the whole sum’, it was an empty promise. There was no way he could pay back that amount of money, not even in several lifetimes. In an extraordinary expression of generosity, the king simply cancelled the servant’s debt there and then. Mercy triumphed over justice. The king didn’t ask his servant to do anything to earn forgiveness. He simply forgave him freely, without any conditions attached. This is not how the kings of the day operated. Yet, Jesus was trying to convey an insight into how God relates to us, showing us that, in the words of the prophet Isaiah, God’s ways are not our ways. God does not relate to us on the basis of strict justice, but always on the basis of loving mercy. We only have to come before God in our need, like the tax collector in another of Jesus’ stories, saying, ‘Lord, be merciful to me a sinner’. That is all God needs to overwhelm us with his gracious and boundless merciful love. God graces us in this way so that we would be transformed from within, so that we would become more like God in the way we relate to others.

The remainder of the story that Jesus told in today’s gospel reading shows that the servant who was so unexpectedly and generously graced by the king was not transformed by this experience. When he was approach by a much lower ranking servant who owed him a relatively small amount of money he refused his pleas to be given time to pay it off and instead had him thrown into prison. Having been related to on the basis of mercy, he related to this servant on the basis of strict justice. In doing so, he lost the forgiveness he had received from the king. Jesus is reminding us that we need to pass on what we have received from God. We are called to be as merciful to others as God is merciful to us. That is why that, when Peter suggested to Jesus that to forgive someone seven times was surely enough, Jesus replied, ‘Not seven, I tell you, but seventy seven times’. God’s capacity to forgive cannot really be measured, and the same applies for all of us who have received God’s forgiveness. We are to give as we have received. It won’t always be easy to forgive someone who has hurt us. In the words of today’s first reading, we are all tempted to nurse our anger towards someone and to cherish our resentment. The freedom to forgive is ultimately a grace to be prayed for. When we ask the Lord for the ability to forgive, we open ourselves up to his transforming presence. Even though it will take time, perhaps a long time, the Lord will work with us to help us to forgive as we have been forgiven.

[incomingalbatross]

What do you think about Bilbo's actions regarding the Arkenstone? I think he was mostly right to do what he did as he was trying to prevent a war from breaking out, and probably protect his friends. Also, in my opinion, they absolutely did owe the people of Laketown payment for Smaug's actions. While they were not directly responsible for the dragon's actions, they provoked him into doing what he did. Especially as they had no clue as to how to kill him. I can understand Thorin not wanting to negotiate with an army on his doorstep, especially the elves, but Bard had no reason to trust the dwarves after the dragon attacked them, and Thorin did not sound promising in regards to their claims.

I think Bilbo's action with the Arkenstone was... legally messy but ethically probably fine. :P

I haven't reread this part recently (more than I needed to to find quotes, anyway :P), but... I personally don't really think they owed reparations for the burning of Lake-Town. I mean, it's not like they went up there secretly, or against the will of the Lake-Town people--they were all 100% on board with the Dwarves' plan! Also, in all fairness, the one that set Smaug off in Lake-Town's direction was actually Bilbo, with his "barrel-rider" comment. So he has to take a share of any blame we're handing out there. Thorin's probably right when he says (I think) that this is their weakest claim.

BUT, that also means that they do have other, stronger claims! For one thing, Bard was absolutely right in claiming Dale's treasure for himself and his people. For another, I think the Dwarves did owe a debt of some sort to Lake-Town for its hospitality and generosity (even if it was given with ulterior expectations of return, it was still given when they were very much in need). For another, I would think a suddenly-reseated ruler would be urged both by charity and policy to give aid to his suddenly-suffering nearest neighbors. These are people the Lonely Mountain really should want a good relationship with!

But Thorin wouldn't be the first to bend (or to give up his treasure), and Bard wouldn't make any concessions either (and he did kinda want the treasure himself, as I recall), and the Elvenking was doing his best but he wasn't going to smooth anything over with the Dwarves either. So they just kept pushing each other toward war.

So BILBO (to circle back around) eventually throws up his hands because he is apparently the only person here who REALLY WANTS NOBODY TO DIE, and sneaks out to the “enemy” camp and hands them the Arkenstone like “Thorin’s not going to bend without leverage, but maybe you guys will do something. Here is leverage, please don’t start a war.” And then he goes back to the Dwarves.

After all he’s been through on his Life-Changing Field Trip, he decided he doesn’t care about any of these factions’ politics or pride, and he doesn’t care about his honor or respectability as perceived by others (I think “I may be a burglar, but I am an honest one, I hope” about sums up his approach by now), and he doesn’t care about the Arkenstone that he was half-enthralled by. He cares about people not being stupid and dying, and he cares about his friends, and he cares about keeping his own integrity above his own safety (as seen by going back to the Dwarves). Aside from that? He’s ready to be sneaky, and a little chaotic, and to ignore both opposing armies’ rulebooks whenever he considers them unhelpful.

It’s not entirely a hobbitish move, I think--the respectable Mr. Baggins probably would not have taken this initiative or called himself a burglar so freely. But it’s not a move that belongs in this epic world he’s become a part of, either--it’s selfless but also sneaky, as said above, and is only possible for someone who owes no fealty and has no definite baggage attached to any side.

It’s a very Bilbo move, I think, on due consideration.

[btsmosphere]

Lost in a Book | JHS

~summary: you and Jung Hoseok don’t exactly see eye to eye. but when you (literally) fall headfirst into a whole other world, that becomes the least of your worries ~pairing: hoseok x reader ~word count: 8.5k ~enemies to lovers, college au, fantasy au ~rating: g ~warnings: naughty freudian slip, sexual tension, arguing, fire

~a/n: this is my gift for the wonderful @moccahobi‘s birthday! I am so lucky to be friends with someone as funny, hard working and gorgeous as you and I hope you have a great day!! and no, of course I didn’t choose the biggest bingo square only to forget and write this in a week.. (okay, I did, so pls go easy on any errors!) as always the lovely admins at @thebtswritersclub came up with a fun challenge to prompt this story, so I will be including my makeup palette bingo square at the end so you can see what prompts I used for this! enjoy x

The moment you had seen Jung Hoseok coming through the door, your eyes rolled.

Almost entirely made of large windows, the front of the coffee shop you worked in allowed you to see all the passers-by. So when you spotted your classmate coming down the street, laughing loudly with a couple of friends, you had prayed that he would just pass by.

Of course, you could never get what you wished for.

“Yoongi-“ you tried in vain to capture your friend’s attention, but too late. Yoongi hadn’t even looked around from where he was scrubbing coffee cups when a familiar voice reached your ears, making you groan internally.

“Y/N! Hard day at work? You look frazzled.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” you drawled, resigning yourself to serving him.

He simply leaned on the counter, sagging with laughter.

“Always service with a smile with you, isn’t it?”

“I’m sure you’d be just as tired if you even tried to focus in class,” you fired back.

His grin didn’t even falter. But at last, he dropped his teasing. With a scoff he ordered a tea and turned around, scrolling on his phone with his back to you as you got to work.

It seemed you had grabbed Yoongi’s attention after all, judging by the poorly-hidden snort from the washing up area.

Scowling, you chucked together a cup of tea distractedly, only too relieved when you pushed it over the counter to be rid of Hoseok. So when he sipped it only to wince in disgust, your heart sank.

“Jesus, where’s the caffeine? This is so weak.”

Your desire to argue back lost its short-lived wrestle with your customer service training, and you were reluctantly offering to make a new one. This time, you forced yourself to pay more attention. You knew that way, you could actually get rid of the nuisance on the other side of the counter.

“You see Y/N, the bag goes in the water,” Hoseok remarked, leaning over to see what you were doing.

Shooting the most passionate glare you could muster had the undesirable effect of sending him into peals of laughter.

Eventually, after making a point to leave the teabag in for much longer – at least until you noticed his fingers begin to tap on the countertop – you passed over his second cup with a sarcastic smile. His mood didn’t seem to have dampened that much, but he left without a fuss.

“You have great chemistry.”

The dry remark from behind you had you whirling around to glare at Yoongi instead. He stood in front of his stack of clean washing, observing you with a smirk.

“I don’t think Jung Hoseok knows what chemistry is,” you grumbled.

But as you set to work, a little aggressively, on scrubbing the counter, you never would have guessed how right you were. Or that it would soon become your responsibility.

“So when we sleep, what part of the brain transfers memory from white to grey matter?”

“…what’s grey matter again?”

“I think you could do with some more of it,” you muttered in lieu of an answer.

Hoseok lifted his head from his arms just enough to fix you with reproachful puppy eyes. Sighing, you tugged the textbook back across the table towards you, flipping a few pages back and jabbing your finger at the relevant passage.

Raising an eyebrow, he read it for the second time today with a growing frown.

“Long term…” he said at length.

“Long term memory!” you groaned, dropping your forehead against the heel of your hands.

Behind you, you knew Jungkook and Yoongi were watching this unfold with amusement. You weren’t sure you could take much more of this.

If you had envisaged this when you had signed up for your college’s mentor program, well, you may have changed your mind.

At last, the hour dragged by. Apparently Hoseok wanted to be there as little as you, collecting the books and leaving very quickly once you were done. Though your shift was over, you were sure you might explode if you didn’t get to rant about the guy right now.

Huffing, you marched over to the counter.

“He’s such a jerk!” you threw your hands out, “his ego’s so big, it’s like he thinks he’s too good to even try! And now it’s up to me to make sure he isn’t so behind, but there is so much to do!”

Your coworkers weren’t helping. Both had given up suppressing their laughter, openly enjoying your pain.

“You guys are no help,” you grumbled, folding your arms.

“Just be patient,” Jungkook offered, “it might get better in time.”

“Patience is not something Jung Hoseok inspires,” you retorted, “and I’m being good enough as it is! I even had the generosity to lend him my textbook!”

“You’re a saint,” Yoongi chuckled.

A withering glare later, you slung your bag over your shoulder and bid your friends a tired goodbye.

Much as you hated to admit it, there may have been some truth in what Jungkook told you. Patience did seem to be the key after all. A lot of patience.

A few more meetings had passed, and Hoseok remembered a lot more now. You weren’t sure whether it was due to the quality of your teaching or just a desire to avoid your constant scolding, but it didn’t matter too much. The result was what counted.

You were to meet again today. As always, he came as your shift finished so that you could work in the café.

“You like him really.”

Jungkook’s voice tore your eyes away from the clock you had been watching.

“I’m sorry?”

“You like him,” he repeated, “I’ve never seen you so impatient to get off work.”

“What? I’m not,” you scoffed, “it’s just-“

The little jingling bell above the door interrupted you. Never finishing your thought, you left Jungkook to meet Hoseok at the counter.

“Tea?” you asked him.

“Not if you’re making it,” he quipped, eyes already skimming the menu on the wall behind you.

You scoffed with a roll of your eyes, but said no more. Hoseok’s teasing eyes returned to you as he said,

“Think you can manage a hot chocolate?”

“Of course I can make hot cock-“ your eyes widened at your momentary slip “-chocolate. I can make hot chocolate-“

But for all your correcting and muttering, there was no hiding your embarrassing moment from Hoseok, whose eyes lit up with surprise before laughter spilled out of him in reams.

“I didn’t mean to make you so flustered, Y/N!” he cackled.

Biting your tongue, you hid your burning face from him as he half-collapsed against the counter with the force of his laughter. You angrily set to work on the drink, milk sloshing in the jug as you thrust it under the machine.

“With whipped scream on top too, huh?”

Hoseok’s incessant mocking didn’t stop until you had handed him the drink. If anything could prove to Jungkook just how wrong he was, this should do it. Still, you didn’t dare to turn around and see what your friend made of the situation.

Mixing the powder into the hot milk forcefully, you glared down at the cup.

Damn Jung Hoseok! He couldn’t be any more infuriating if he tried. It wasn’t your fault he was so annoying it made it hard for you to think straight. No one else managed to rile you up so much as him.

You gave him the drink with a side of deathly glare. It only served to amuse him more.

Safe to say you were dreading the next hour.

Clocking off soon after, you hung up your apron regretfully and headed across to your usual table. Thankfully Hoseok was a bit more subdued now.

Unfortunately, you were about to find out why.

“So, Y/N,” he started as you were sitting down.

This brought your attention to him straight away. Your eyes narrowed as he toyed with his mug on the table, avoiding your eyes.

“So, uh, that textbook you lent me-“

You had a bad feeling already. Looking around, you didn’t notice it on the usual pile of books.

“Where is it?” you cut him off.

At last he raised his head to meet your eyes, and you didn’t like what you saw.

“It’s not like we need it that badly anyway,” he began, though you weren’t sure you had ever heard him sound so hesitant, “we finished most of the stuff in there anyway…”

“You lost it, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah. And I think I also spilled some-“

Not waiting for him to finish, you exclaimed your frustration.

“I can’t believe you! Just because you don’t see a use for ever picking up a book, I need that! I don’t have that kind of money spare either…”

As you raked a hand through your hair, Hoseok decided now was the time to be helpful.

“Gosh, I was afraid you would do this. We have a library for a reason, you know?”

Stopping your train of thought abruptly, you lowered your hand to glower at him.

“And now you’re going to make me go in the library? Ugh, you really have it out for me.”

Incredulous laughter followed. Hoseok leaned back in his chair, observing you with raised eyebrows.

“You’re telling me you believe in those stupid rumours?”

Shifting uncomfortably, you shrugged.

“Well, you’ve got to admit the place is creepy, right? And my flatmate said she knew that girl Cindy-“

As you spoke, Hoseok’s laughing grew louder, steadily filling the café until you were forced to stop.

“What?” you hissed.

“We’ve all heard about “Cindy”,” he made quotation marks in the air, “but that’s just a story! The older students made it up to scare newbies – and it would seem it worked. But everyone knows the scariest thing in the library is just the course reading.”

Biting your tongue, you didn’t muster up a response. You would only face more ridicule if you argued about this.

“Don’t forget the librarian,” you joked half-heartedly.

Hoseok chuckled lightly, and you were glad he dropped the topic after that.

But still the issue of your sorely misused textbook remained.

There was nothing to be done. You had to go to the library.

It may seem a ridiculous thing to be scared of, especially for someone who loved books, but, as Hoseok had kindly refreshed your memory of, there were… stories. The campus library at your college warranted a degree of wariness.

Most commonly told was the story of Cindy, supposedly a student at the university many years before. No matter how dramatic the story was made, the essentials were the same; she had gone into the library and never come out.

Logically, you knew that this was just one of those quirky urban legends that came to surround certain places.

Nonetheless, your nerves only worsened as you entered the grand building.

On your way in, you only passed one other student. Most people were leaving uni at around this time, but you needed to hang around anyway because your shift was soon. You had sent a quick text to Yoongi to let him know you would be there once you found the book, and somehow it comforted you a little that someone else knew you were here.

Moving through the first few rows of tall bookshelves, you had to pass by the main desk on your way to the section you were looking for.

Doing your utmost to tread with care, sandals making as little noise as you could manage on the wooden floor, you walked on.

As you drew near, the librarian looked up. Greeting them with a bright smile, you didn’t let it show that your heart was really thumping in your chest.

Hurrying along, you only slowed once you had entered the right section. Near the back of the library, it was dimmer as no light from the window reached all the way into the corner. Utter silence dampened the air. Not even the rustling of the librarian sorting papers could be heard from here.

Alone with the hushed sound of your own breath, your eyes flicked along the rows, searching for the right name.

Spotting it at last, you wasted no time in reaching for it. But as you tried to slide it from its spot, you were met with resistance. Perhaps it was very tightly packed in its place.

You tried again with both hands. It was still wedged in, but you felt it give a little so kept pulling. You managed to tug it out a little way, but this time, the book tugged back. Holding onto it as tightly as you were, you stumbled forwards, nearly slipping out of one of your sandals.

Gulping, your brow creased. More determined this time, you tried once more, but it seemed the book only retreated further among its companions on the shelf.

Breathing heavily, you stepped back. Books were not meant to do this. You swore it had moved by itself.

Maybe Hoseok would call you crazy if this was your reason for not getting the textbook. But, you thought, staring back down the empty row of shelves, a science textbook was less important than not getting involved with the strange happenings of the library.

Already you were questioning your sanity. Books didn’t move.

Looking back at it once more, it appeared perfectly unassuming. There was nothing unusual about the book. Maybe your mind was playing tricks, driven from the fear you felt about this place.

Breathing deeply, you reached your hand out for one last try. Picking up a book couldn’t be that hard. As long as you didn’t fear it-

Your fingers came into contact with the spine, and not a moment later, the book shrunk right back. But though it shot out of sight between its neighbours, your hand was stuck to it. Your intent to snatch it straight back at any sign of movement failed, and you were yanked forwards.

Flying clean off your foot now, your sandal clattered to the floor among the silent shelves behind you.

Your stomach jerked at the sudden movement. Now, as you plunged towards the shelves, you screwed your eyes shut, anticipating the imminent collision.

None came.

Instead, your insides seemed to be suspended. You had not crashed, but still your feet didn’t meet the floor; though your eyes were closed you were certain you were falling.

Rapidly upping its pace, your heart tried to punch through your ribs the longer you were in this state, fearing your landing. Panicked, you took great gulps of air, limbs flailing fruitlessly.

You landed.

It felt like you had been falling for a long time – too long – yet the force you hit the ground with was not painful. For a second, it expelled air from your lungs, but by the time you had rolled and tumbled enough to land on your back, you were sucking in a shaky breath.

Blinking, you turned to look around you. Your arms struggled to push you from the ground, but you heaved to sit up anyway.

This was like nowhere you had ever been.

No parquet was beneath you here. The ground was earth, sparse tufts of grass growing from it. But in places, the foliage was abundant, great swathes of vibrant grass surrounding a nearby rock which protruded from the ground.

These rocks were also plentiful, though not of regular size. They poked from the ground, rough surfaces being seized by moss of all colours.

Other plants stretched higher still, all in shades of purple, green and blue. Climbing slowly to your feet, your eyes traced up the stem of a slender tree whose leaves drooped downwards with their size.

The only thing you could hope to recognise were roses that grew in places, curved petals familiar atop their stems that wound around larger plants.

In the scattered canopy above you, there appeared to be vines as well. Climbers, perhaps; it appeared as if they were winding around ceiling beams above you, except that they were in open air, pale sky stretching above them.

Very deliberately, you blinked.

Nothing changed.

Jaw hanging open, you turned slowly around. This place continued the same everywhere you looked. You certainly weren’t in the library anymore.

Taking some effort to breathe evenly, you forced your feet to still.

Remembering your phone, you quickly reached for it. But as you repeatedly pressed the power button, the screen remained black. Either you had let it run down, or it wouldn’t work in this alien place.

You replaced it in your pocket with bitter disappointment and continued to stand still, observing this place.

Purposefully, you walked towards the nearest rock. Given the way you were transported here, you were a little wary of touching random objects, but you tentatively reached for the mossy surface. Briefly grazing it, you jumped backwards, expecting something to happen.

Nothing. Just the springy surface of moss, solid and very real.

Staring at the rock, your mind ran in uncomprehending circles. How had you got here? Why? How could you get out?

Cutting through your thoughts, a thump came from behind you.

Startled, you jumped around, eyes darting in panic around the world you had found yourself in. Nothing seemed to have moved…

A cough, followed by a groan, drifted from somewhere.

Frown deepening, you stepped forwards. A few paces brought you around the next rock, bigger than the last. Not only was it taller than you, it was bordered on one side by more of the tall plants, blocking your view of what was behind it.

This was definitely where the sounds were emanating from. As you cautiously rounded the boulder, rustling sounds reached your ears.

Reaching the trees, you peered between two dark blue trunks. Every muscle in your body was tense, ready to spring away at the first sign of danger.

Instead, you were greeted with the shape of a person. They wore a dark jacket, their hair also dark, but they were facing away from you where they sat.

For a moment you stood frozen. You were divided: should you announce yourself? Maybe they could help you? But for all you knew, they might not feel kindly towards you. What would another person be doing in this strange place?

Before you had the chance to decide, let alone move, the person slumped backwards to lie down, huffing a great sigh as they went.

Your eyes widened. Now you could see their face — and you certainly hadn’t expected this.

“Hoseok?”

Squeezing between the trees, you pushed your way into the small clearing he lay in. On hearing your voice, he twisted towards you with wide eyes.

“Y/N?” he jumped up, eyeing you suspiciously, “what is this place?”

“I have no idea,” you answered honestly. Then, “what are you doing here?”

Echoing your earlier words, he said, “I have no idea.”

After a moment, he seemed to remember something and looked around sharply.

“I found this,” he told you, pointing at the ground some feet away. There lay your sandal from earlier.

“Oh. Thank you.”

You flashed an awkward smile and went to pick it on, sliding it back onto the foot it had lost not long ago. Then your silence resumed.

Briefly, you did nothing but stare at each other. Then you stared again at the bizarre scenery around you.

Hoseok was first to move. Apparently becoming tired of your company so soon, he turned away with hands on his hips and began to pick through the undergrowth, which was thicker here than where you had first landed.

Even if this was all the company you were granted, you were eager to keep it, and so followed him.

A few minutes passed. Eerie silence was all around, save for the tentative brush of your footsteps against plants. He hadn’t complained about your presence, though, so you eventually decided it safe to speak.

“Did you… fall here?” you ventured.

His eyes snapped back to you. With a nod, he confirmed it.

“From the library?”

Slowing down, he allowed you to catch up and walk at his side.

“Yeah, why? You too?”

“That’s what happened to me,” you nodded, “but… what were you doing in the library?”

But Hoseok never heard those last words. A deafening, crunching crash resounded through your quiet conversation, drowning you out.

Both of you reacted quickly, spinning to the source of the monstrous sound in fear. Your hammering heart only sped up as you located a dark shape above the treetops.

“There!” you cried, grabbing onto Hoseok’s sleeve.

He spotted it as you pointed, for it was rapidly growing, soaring towards you.

“What is that?” he yelled, stumbling backwards.

You had nothing to offer in reply, instead watching with wide eyes as the creature flew closer still. Still grasping at Hoseok’s sleeve, you tugged at it, looking around for the nearest cover. He made no move. Struck dumb with awe, he seemed to be rooted to the spot.

Turning back to the sky, you were panicked to see the beast drawing closer. You could make out a long snout protruding from its head, spiny wings beating slowly and yet carrying it swiftly over the land.

The monster was enormous, blocking out a chunk of the open sky.

Not wanting to hesitate any longer, you pulled Hoseok forcefully with you as you retreated under the cover of a thick patch of foliage. He complied, still unable to tear his gaze from the flying creature.

You almost daren’t look, even now you were secluded among shadow. But curiosity overcame you.

It was near enough on top of you now. You held your breath, terror washing over you at the sight of it, close enough now that you could make out scales on the thing’s large belly. They glimmered a blazing red as it moved.

But its pace was fast, and it continued quickly, long tail etching a path through the sky behind it.

“Was that…” you breathed, after you felt enough time had passed to be safe. But your thought was too absurd for you to speak out loud.

However, Hoseok finished it for you.

“A dragon?”

Both of you slowly turned to face each other, matching expressions of perplexed shock painting your faces. You opened and closed your mouth, but no words presented themselves.

Your gaze was only severed by the return of the same cacophony to the air that had first heralded the dragon. Only now, it was louder.

Ducking by reflex, you whipped around. Above the treetops, the dragon was returning.

Still filling the air, the sound was that of treetops rupturing as the scaled beast flew low over them, snapping them like matchsticks. Once again, it seemed like the thing was coming straight towards you.

“Let’s move,” you shouted over the noise.

Hoseok didn’t need telling twice.

Side by side, you raced between trees, feet and clothes catching on leaves and vines that spanned the floor. Plunging on nonetheless, you kept your eyes set determinedly ahead.

By the time your lungs demanded you stop for breath, you were sure you must have gone a considerable distance from where you had first been hiding. But the deafening crashes from above had become no quieter.

Slowing down, you sagged against a tree as you gasped for air. Just in front of you, Hoseok looked around, finding you holding yourself up shakily against the trunk.

With a look to the sky and back at you, his face sank further, eyes wide and afraid.

“Y/N!” he cried.

Lifting your head, you met his eyes. Still panting, you turned to follow a finger he raised as he took trembling steps backwards.

Overhead, the leaves seemed to shake. A shadow was sliding along the forest floor as above it, twigs and branches rained down, bouncing from their lower counterparts until they disappeared into the shrubbery.

The dragon was following you.

“Come on!” Hoseok’s voice reached you somewhere among the din.

Spinning, you found him holding a hand out to you, gesturing maniacally for you to continue. You had barely caught your breath, but forced yourself to push away from the tree and run towards him once more.

What did surprise you was that he waited for you. When you came within reach, his outstretched hand was grabbing you, pulling you along at his side.

But there was no time to think of that. Chest heaving with exertion, you willed your feet to move faster underneath you in an attempt to flee the dragon.

All at once, the tall tree trunks you had been running between, almost dense enough to form a forest, stopped. Realising too late, the two of you shot from the cover at full speed, only to find yourselves utterly exposed.

Skidding to a stop, you looked to Hoseok in panic.

Before you could take another step, shadow fell over you again, but it was not cast by harmless trees. The roar of splintering branches grew to an overwhelming crescendo as the dragon caught sight of you and dived, uncaring for the insignificant wood pushed aside by its bulk.

Beside you, Hoseok screamed hoarsely. Together you fled backwards, knowing there was no hope of outrunning your pursuer.

In a few seconds, the beast had descended, giant nostrils flaring at your eye level. Curved fangs gnashed.

With horror, you saw a glow brighten the deep tunnels atop its snout.

In the corner of your eye, you spotted another rock, rough surface towering from the ground. You barely had time to think before you were shoving Hoseok to the side so you fell together behind the barrier. Not a moment later, blazing orange flared, obscuring all other sights as fire erupted from the monster’s jaws and nostrils.

You gave no thought to the position you had fallen in, your push having left you tumbling directly on top of Hoseok. His scream rang in your ears, only rivalled by the crackling heat in the air as his arms wrapped around you. You too were curling up, hands shielding your head in some attempt to shelter.

Thankfully, the rock you had chosen was one of the larger ones and took the brunt of the blast.

Not that it encouraged you much, considering the persistence the beast had shown so far. The dying away of the heat and fire only brought on dread, gnawing low and incessant in your stomach, of the next blast.

Barely daring to breathe, you stayed still, huddling against Hoseok, who did the same.

Any moment, you expected another massive roar to rip through the air. A swipe of the malicious claws or the sizzling heat of dragon flame. The longer you waited, the harder your heart rioted in your chest.

“Students.”

You jolted violently as a loud voice resonated through the air. But it was not the dragon.

Looking around showed you no one who the voice might belong to.

“It is gone,” the voice said.

Hoseok’s hold around you was loosening. Swallowing, you became aware of your proximity and carefully extracted yourself, not looking him in the eye as you moved to sit next to him instead.

It was true that no indicator of the dragon’s presence had made itself known, but you were not inclined to trust a faceless voice. You crawled to peer around the edge of the rock. Finding the space empty, you emerged further.

The clearing was totally deserted. The only evidence of the recent fearful moments was the debris of burnt leaves and broken branches scattered across the ground.

“Who are you?” Hoseok raised his voice, though it shook a little.

You returned to his side, the voice replying as you sunk down beside him.

“Students,” the voice repeated. It was level and calm, but awfully cold. The word was spoken with disdain. “I doubt you would recognise such a voice as mine. You young humans know not the value of words, of books. I am the librarian.”

You blinked in surprise. Next to you, Hoseok sat forward from the rock you leaned against.

“You are? Can you get us out of here?” he yelled, aiming his voice at the sky for lack of target for his pleas.

“Certainly not. I am the keeper of this land. You see, due to the neglect of your kind, my creatures are only kept alive through written word, and I cannot let them be endangered. Students are all the same. Careless. I do not appreciate those who vandalise or waste the knowledge granted them through books. And so, I cannot let you take another one.”

“It’s just a science textbook,” you muttered.

Meanwhile, Hoseok was growing more desperate.

“We won’t!” he called, “just let us out!”

Ringing silence was all he received in reply.

Eventually, he flopped back against the rock with a huff. Worrying your lip, you turned to him, though you had nothing to propose for what you should do next.

His hair was a dishevelled now, strands falling into his eyes which he now turned to you. To your surprise, his mouth curved back into a smile, breathy laughs bursting from him as he rested his head back on the rock.

He shook his head.

“This is crazy.”

You had to agree.

Turning your despairing eyes away and to the surrounding forest again, you were surprised to see movement among the trees. But this creature was not enormous or fire-breathing. A sandy-coloured tail waved, blurring in the air.

Bounding through the trees and coming to a stop at the forest edge, came a labrador.

Staring in bemusement, you found the dog looking right back at you. It was panting, mouth open in a smiley-looking shape. Its tail continued wagging enthusiastically behind it.

Just as you opened your mouth to tell Hoseok, the dog went rigid, body jerking as it barked across the space.

Sitting up straight, Hoseok spotted the dog as well, and together you watched it.

The dog watched back, standing still as if waiting for something. It reminded you of the way your flatmate’s dog used to wait for you to throw the ball when you played with her.

After another minute of stillness, it barked again, then turned and ran. You jumped to your feet as the yellow tail went wagging away through the shadows.

“What are you-“ Hoseok exclaimed as you started towards the trees, following the dog’s path.

Already tired, your legs lagged behind the dog’s pace and you nearly lost sight of the sandy fur. But you kept your eyes trained on it. This animal did not seem unfriendly, or angry. Something told you that you could trust it.

“Where are you going?”

You hadn’t noticed the pursuing footsteps until Hoseok was grabbing your arm, forcing you to stop. Looking around at him in annoyance, you shrugged him off and turned back around. But you had lost sight of the dog now, finding the forest empty.

Your shoulders slumped.

“I was trying to do something to get us out of here-“

“By getting more lost?”

Hoseok’s eyes blazed with anger and he threw his arms out to punctuate his yell with frustration. Opening your mouth, you returned his outrage.

“We’ve been lost since we got here! We don’t know anything about this place, but we can’t just do nothing!”

“What can we do? You heard what the librarian said.”

His volume had lowered and he took a step back.

Breathing out, you did the same, noticing only now how you had crowded each other’s space in your anger. Swallowing down your own frustration, you levelled your gaze at him. His words spoke of despair.

Sighing, you pushed a hand through your hair.

“There’s no use in fighting,” you muttered, “and I’m scared too. But we have to try.”

Lifting his eyes to you, Hoseok felt then as if he was seeing you for the first time.

You shared his fear, and had spoken that out loud, but still the steely glint never left your eyes. Rather than run or hide, you stood tall, resolved to find a way out, no matter how hopeless this crazy turn of events seemed.

“Hoseok?” you called, rendered hesitant by his silence.

Giving his head a quick shake, he averted his gaze from you.

“Hobi,” he spoke.

You frowned.

“I’m sorry?”

“Call me Hobi,” he repeated, “if we’re stuck here forever, I won’t be able to stand it if you call me Hoseok all the time.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Taking that to be some odd form of agreement, you turned around and started to pick your way again through the forest, no matter how blindly. The only vague thing guiding you was the notion that the dog had left this way, but that certainty grew weaker with time.

The only thing bolstering you were the steady steps of Hobi right beside you. A reminder you weren’t alone here.

“Sorry for losing your textbook.”

Smile quirking your lips, you turned to Hobi. He was steadfastly ignoring your gaze, kicking his feet through the low undergrowth while his hands were buried in his pockets.

“If you hadn���t done that, I wouldn’t be here now,” you hummed.

That caught his attention.

“Hey! At least I’m apologising!”

“Doesn’t fix the fact we’re lost in… well, wherever this is,” you chuckled, “though I’m sure it’s worked out well for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“If I hadn’t come here to replace my textbook, you would be here all alone.”

Hoseok simply tilted his head in vague answer.

After a few short moments of quiet, you resumed the conversation.

“So, what were you in the library for?”

He let silence stretch out for longer than you expected, and you slowed your steps to look at him. His eyes were wide, and when he spoke, it was with a nervous smile, as if he wasn’t sure he should be smiling.

But he was too quiet, and all you heard was something that sounded like ‘yuzbook’.

“Sorry?” you frowned.

With a long-suffering sigh, he finally spoke up.

“I was looking for your science book as well.”

Your eyebrows shot upwards.

“You were?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you had decided it was my responsibility? Even though you lost it.”

“Exactly, I had lost it. I felt bad.”

“Ha!” you exclaimed, jumping around to dance in front of him, “Jung Hoseok admits remorse! What is the world coming to?!”

“I told you to call me Hobi,” he grumbled.

A smile was still bursting at your lips, but you calmed down and returned smugly to his side.

“My bad. Hobi wanted to do something nice! For me, of all people! Maybe this really is a dream…”

“You dream about me?” he grinned, teasing right back.

“Eugh, of course not,” you scoffed.

His laughter filled the forest, and you were glad of it. At length, it faded and you walked on.

“But, turns out you were right to be scared of the library,” he admitted quietly.

Simply nodding, you kept going. By now you had lost all hope to have remained on course with the dog you had seen earlier, but there was little use dwelling on that.

Most of the way, you had been trekking through forest, but now the trees were thinning. Once again, they began to be clustered in patches near protruding rocks.

Coming between two waist-height boulders, you found a pond lying cradled by short grasses and more rose plants.

Agreeing on a break, you and Hobi slumped down at its bank, though you also agreed not to drink it. Hobi seemed much more distrustful of everything you came across in this curious land than you, but there was no harm in caution, you supposed. It was true that, on getting closer to the water, it appeared to glimmer silver.

What that meant, you didn’t know, but didn’t care to investigate.

Reclining on the ground, you breathed deeply. The pond was in a large clearing, similar to the first place you had crash landed in. You couldn’t escape some dread that all this time had brought you in a mere circle to the beginning, but there was no way to be certain.

Forest lined one side of the oasis, while the other stretched away, obscured behind that rocky landscape dotted with an array of foliage.

As you scanned the area idly, a familiar blur of motion had you sitting up with a yelp.

“There! Did you see that!” you cried, but began running without waiting for a reply.

Twisting to attention, Hobi clumsily took to his feet after you.

“You sure?” he called after you.

You kept running. You had seen it – it had been right here. You were certain it was trying to lead you somewhere, and you felt compelled to follow it.

Plunging between rocks, Hobi’s slower steps faded behind you. Uncaring, you continued, eyes alert for any sign of your goal.

And there it was: another brief glimmer from just beyond the next clump of plants. You were so close. This time, you were going to reach it. It would get you out of here.

Still running, you didn’t care that the way wound deeper through the terrain, nor that the world around you darkened as you went. No, your mind was set. You kept moving.

When you finally reached what seemed to be the midst of the darkness, it never occurred to you that this was never what you had been looking for. All you were filled with was delight; in the middle of the dark clearing stood a grove of roses. They were taller than the roses you had seen so far, growing thickly and close together.

In the blackness, the petals emitted a soft glow that shone through their delicate veins.

A smile curved your lips. But as you took a slow step towards the luminescence, something emerged from behind them. It became clear that the roses themselves were not glowing, but the creature. A unicorn.

White coat shimmering with its every move, it seemed to glide over the landscape. The slender horn protruding from its head appeared crafted by the finest silversmith, with hints of colours dancing along it even in darkness.

All breath was stolen from you. Your startled exhale left a cloud lingering in the air beside your lips which glittered as the majestic animal walked in front of you.

Either it didn’t see you, or didn’t mind your presence, because it proceeded perfectly calmly. Keeping your eyes fixed on it, your feet stumbled after the serene creature without you willing them to.

You barely blinked as you followed the graceful unicorn, desperate to keep your eyes on it. You couldn’t have torn them away if you wanted to. Just watching the animal had all your tension melting away: legs feeling heavy, mind fogging. All your worries dissipated as easily as smoke in the wind.

The world was silent. It was as if your ears were plugged as you reached out, somehow confident enough to touch the noble beast.

Another step closer.

Your fingers stretched out, ready to meet the sleek, glowing coat-

“Y/N!”

A blow knocked you sideways, a weight falling with you as the shout of your name rung loudly in your ears. For a split second, you winced, expecting to be crushed on the ground, but already a hand shielded your head. Instead, you landed on a body, held securely in the person’s arms.

Gasping, you found yourself breathless. Your gaze had been severed on being tackled, and now that you blinked, dark clouds seemed to lift from your vision.

Looking around wildly, you were slow to come to your senses, but the person was already shifting.

“We need to move.”

That voice was familiar. Looking around, you found Hoseok’s eyes trained on you as he struggled to stand with your weight against him.

Clumsily getting your feet underneath you, your mouth opened, but a shriek filled the air before you could speak.

Clapping your hands over your ears, you winced at the piercing wail splitting the air.

Hoseok, however, wasted no time. He grasped your wrist, pulling you stumbling across the clearing behind him as he sprinted away.

Wide-eyed and breathless, you twisted to look behind you. The unicorn was still there, but it wasn’t glowing, just plain white. But your eyes only caught it for a second, before a darker shape was swooping from the sky.

Feet pounding, you fled the shrieking beast as it descended in a rush of feathers.

Glinting talons flashed, inches in front of your face as the bird-like shriek reached its peak.

And then you were plunged into shadow, squeezed between leaves and petals.

Hoseok slowed, dropping your hand, but you were practically frozen. You staggered backwards, eyes trained on the spot those razor sharp claws had been.

Above you, the shrill cry was quieting, echoing around the land as your attacker circled higher once more.

“What… what was that?” you panted.

“That was close,” Hoseok responded, no humour in his voice. “I was calling to you! Why didn’t you move?”

“You were?” you frowned, “I-I didn’t hear. I don’t know what happened.”

Light frown creasing his brow, Hobi looked seriously down at you. Swallowing, he looked you over. Your heart still trembled, trying to take in what had just happened, and you looked up at him fearfully. Was he angry?

Fixing his eyes on your own, Hobi stepped forward, bending to draw your faces closer together. Holding your breath, you stiffened, heart rate rocketing as his breath fell warm over your cheeks.

Then he reached his hand out. You forced yourself to hold his gaze, not sure why your face was growing hotter under his scrutiny.

His fingers met your hair. They pulled gently at a strand.

“You had this in your hair.”

Blinking, you found him holding a rose petal up, the hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

“Right. Thank you,” you spoke awkwardly, snatching it from his hand.

“Let’s stay here for a bit,” he said then, turning around as if nothing had happened. However, you didn’t complain. You didn’t want him to see your burning cheeks.

Hobi had pulled you into the grove of roses you had seen earlier, which grew some way above your heads. The bushes were close together, providing the perfect cover. You heard no more of the shrieking monster as you walked after him through the plants.

Beautiful flower heads were nestled everywhere, the graceful bundles of petals peering at these strangers walking through their home.

Eventually, Hobi came to a halt. When you stopped at his side, he pushed aside some leaves to show you what lay beyond.

You had reached the other side of the grove and a new clearing lay before you. Unlike the other places you had been, there were no tall trees or wide rocks rising from the ground. At last it was flat.

But, most noticeably, in the middle of the clearing there was a building. Deep blue walls rose from a gold base, thin pillars winding upwards to support the corners of the many-sided roof. Small arched windows were set high up in the walls, through which you could see a silvery glow from inside.

Hobi looked around the space before emerging. No longer impatient, you wholly agreed with his caution and also peered out carefully.

As you remained mostly hidden by the roses, something came running around the house.

The dog.

Same as before, it stood looking at you, smiling mouth and wagging tail welcoming.

First, you looked to Hobi.

“What do you think?”

“You were right,” he replied, “the dog seems alright. We should give it a shot.”

Smiling, you felt assured now you were in agreement. Not stopping to think too much about the action, you placed your hand resolutely in Hobi’s and stepped forwards.

This time the dog did not begin running away, waiting for you by the blue house wall instead. As the two of you drew closer, you bent a little, holding your hand out to the creature.

“Hi!” you cooed, ignoring Hobi’s light scoff from beside you.

The dog poised as if it would bark back, but instead it looked towards the house. Following its gaze, you looked through the window and instantly fell silent.

Inside, a figure was sitting, though you could only see their head and shoulders – and a pair of wings. They fluttered lazily, glinting in the silvery light.

“The librarian,” Hobi murmured.

Nodding, you looked back to the dog.

“Will you help us?” you whispered.

Its tail wagged harder.

Smiling, you reached out to give it a gentle pat, ruffling the soft fur between its ears.

Satisfied, the sandy blond animal turned around, tail blurring all the while. It trotted away, leading you around the house. On passing the windows, you both ducked, fearing what the faerie would do if they discovered you here.

A short dash, looking over your shoulders, and you finally reached a thick row of trees. Squeezing behind the large trunks, you were surprised to see large wooden doors waiting for you.

If not for the lingering worry of the librarian somewhere nearby, you would have laughed out loud.

Hobi rushed forwards, grasping the dogs ears and ruffling them enthusiastically.

“You got us out!” he whispered happily.

You were amused to see the dog’s smiling mouth grow wider, tongue hanging out with his praise.

Jumping up with a brilliant grin, Hobi walked to the door. Waiting by the handle, he let you also say goodbye to your four-legged saviour.

“Thank you,” you told it with a loving pat. For a moment, you looked into the dog’s eyes, wishing you could somehow convey your gratitude.

Then a thought came over you. Tilting your head, you frowned slightly.

“Cindy?”

The dog’s tail whirred back into motion, hopping up and down a little at the name.

Breaking into a smile, you patted it affectionately.

“Good girl, Cindy,” you grinned, “thank you.”

Then you stood to join Hobi’s side. He lifted the great handle, which made a concerning thunk in the quiet.

Hurriedly slipping through, you fell against the other side of the wood as he followed and shut it firmly behind him. You were back at the entrance of the library, the glass doors at the front of the foyer showing the road beyond it, no different than ever as cars and pedestrians hurried along.

“Who let someone like that work in a school?” you laughed, incredulous.

Hobi laughed loudly at last, the sound bringing a bigger grin to your face.

You had made it out.

All of a sudden, a pinging sound rang from your pocket, soon over taken by at least five more.

Pulling out your phone, you found it alive again, the screen lit up and full of messages.

“Yoongi’s wondering where I am,” you muttered, “my shift…”

Hobi pushed away from the wooden door, starting to walk with you across the entrance hall. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he nodded.

“Yeah, um, I should get going too, I guess.”

Opening the main doors, you stood outside on the steps, at a loss. A bus rumbled past.

“Okay,” you spoke at length, “yeah. Er, see you around.”

Smiling briefly, Hobi took a few hesitant steps back before he committed to walking away. One last wave and he was engulfed by the crowd on the street.

You sighed and set off in the opposite direction.

The bell clinked, swinging wildly above the door as you hurried over to the counter.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” you spoke as you set your stuff down.

Turning to lean against the counter, Yoongi shrugged.

“’s’alright. Where were you though?”

“Ah…”

What were you meant to say? Your head was still spinning from everything that had passed, but you knew no one would believe you if you told them the truth. Shifting a little, your teeth nipped at your lower lip while you tried to come up with a reasonable excuse.

Meanwhile, a knowing look was sliding onto Yoongi’s face.

“I see,” he grinned, and then, to your mortification, winked!

“No, you don’t- that’s not-“ you protested, but he was already snickering and turning back to the washing up.

Shaking your head, you concluded that whatever his belief was would make as good as excuse as any. At least he had made it up for you, saving the hassle.

You got to work.

Over the next couple of days, everything ran like normal. Except for you, nothing was normal.

You still had no idea how such a small amount of time had passed while you and Hobi were busy running for your lives in fear of the librarian and their crazed world. You had barely been late for your shift afterwards; when it was time for bed you had collapsed straight in, feeling as if you had been awake for two days straight.

Of course, you had never gone back for that textbook.

In college the next day, you had taken a detour to class, stubbornly avoiding the building that had all but kidnapped you, wondering at the fact no one else seemed to realise.

At the café later on, you waited impatiently for any sign of Hobi outside. He was the one person you desperately wanted to see. Surely he must be feeling the same? He would understand.

But you waited and waited, serving countless other customers without much thought. He never came, and so you were left to question your own sanity by yourself.

Nothing about your impromptu adventure made sense.

If it had been real, why didn’t Hobi act like anything had changed? You certainly couldn’t pretend that nothing had been altered between you while you had been trapped in that strange world inside the library.

Perhaps it had been a dream. All of it seemed so implausible that even recollecting it sent you spiralling with more questions.

But there was one hope. Even if Hobi remembered nothing of what transpired, you were still supposed to tutor him. You would see him next week, and try to assess what he might remember.

So when your phone buzzed that night, screen lighting up with a message from him at last, you had expected to arrange this week’s session. But all it said was: come outside.

Though you frowned, you weren’t going to pass up this chance.

Sliding off your bed, you quickly stuffed your feet into your slippers and tried your best not to break into a run on the way to the door. Collecting yourself first with a deep breath, you pulled it open.

The first thing you took in was empty space outside your door. Blinking at it, you couldn’t prevent the disappointment from creeping in. But then your eyes flickered downwards.

There at your feet lay a rose.

Your lips parted in wonder as you stooped to pick it up. Taking it between your fingers, you rolled it gently there. It was the exact same as those delicate flowers that had filled the grove where you sheltered together in the library.

A smile tugged at your mouth. It only grew as you remembered the identical petal Hobi had pulled from your hair.

He remembered.

The relief that washed over you was dizzying. Clutching the flower to your chest, you smiled out of your doorway once more, silently thanking Hobi.

But you wouldn’t have to be silent for long. Your eyes landed on a figure leaning against a lamppost a few metres away, smiling right back at you.

As your eyes met, Hobi stood straighter. His mouth shifted to a radiant grin. He had come back to you.

Thank you so much for reading!! And again, send lots of birthday love over to @moccahobi​!! As promised, here is the beautiful bingo card I used for this story:

taglist: @aianloveseven​ @preciouschimine​ @un2-verse​ @ddaechwita​ @taegularities​ 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hue and Cry IV

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; abuse of power, threats, chase, unwanted touching, mild violence.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You’re forgiven but only by the sins of another.

Note: Yesterday went pretty good! I have a longer day today but I will likely have my Second Anniversary Writing Challenge up on or before Thursday for all of you guys! I can’t wait and for now, I got number 4 done.

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Another servant brought Lord Barnes’ first meal. You watched from the corner, huddled under the wool blanket. He had her place a bowl of porridge before you but there was no generosity in the gesture. He only sustained you for his own means. You gulped from the rim and the oats piled in your stomach heavily.

He didn’t say a word to you as he ate. He strapped on his arm and grunted as he tightened each strap. You helped him dress after he shot you a dark look and he stopped you as you made to take a step back. You were still naked and prone to his will.

“I didn’t want it to be like this,” he said, “you understand? It doesn’t have to-- you frustrate me and it makes me cruel. You should do without me asking.”

“My lord,” you watched his hand grip your wrist tighter. He yanked you closer.

“You are not responsible for my meals anymore or tidying. Any woman with a speck of wit can do that. You…” he turned and thrust you towards the bed, “see to this, see to me, that I am happy and I will make you happy.”

You stared at the mattress. Your lips parted and you were sure you uttered “yes, my lord,” but it felt more like a cough.

He huffed and nudged you closer to the bed, “sleep, I am certain the floor allowed for little of that. Upon my return, you might seek my forgiveness… and perhaps to begin in your new duties.”

You turned and sat on the edge. He looked down at you and pulled his gloves on. He scrunched his lips and tilted his head as he thought, seemingly having a conversation with himself.

“And you will not look at me like that,” he said as he strode away and grabbed his cape from the atop the chest where he’d laid it out, “I am not a monster.”

He was gone and you were lost. You knew there was a guard outside that door, you knew the castle was crawling with them. You had nowhere to go and nothing to do but what he said. So you buried your head and tried to forget all that, if only for a moment.

🏰

You woke to pain. You lived the last day in pain but a spark in your thigh awoke you. You groaned and pushed the pillow away and looked down at the hand that crawled along the welts on your legs. As the palm brushed over the curve of your ass, your eyes found his face and you squeaked.

It hurt to move but you rolled away and sat up, hugging the pillow as you faced Lord Rogers. His blue eyes glimmered as he smiled at you.

“What-- my lord, where is Lord Barnes?” you gasped.

“He is withheld in the stables,” Rogers pulled his knees up on the bed and crawled over to grab your ankle, “I did seek to ask after you and your condition. His rage does make him cruel.”

“Don’t,” you pushed on his hand as it tugged on your leg, “he will not be happy if you proceed, my lord.”

“Don’t? You are bold for a servant,” he took your other ankle and yanked you hard so you fell onto your back. You dropped the pillow and swatted at him as he tried to wrench your legs apart, “he owes me, he cannot be mad at me claiming my debt--”

“No,” you wriggled and twisted around onto your stomach, your legs tangled strangely as you grasped the edge of the bed. You slipped one leg free and kicked out, your toes jabbed his chest harshly and he released your other ankle. You tumbled onto the floor and cried out as you jarred your wrist.

You heard him coming around the bed and you got to your feet unsteadily, holding the square end table for support. You were so stunned after the rude awakening you could hardly think. It felt like a nightmare, like you were still asleep and trapped in your fears.

You grabbed the heavy brass candlestick and swung out at Rogers as he came near. He dodged and chuckled darkly.

“Ay,” he bent his arm to deflect your second strike, “you don’t want to do that, sweetness.”

“Please, no,” you begged, “Lord Barnes, he said-- he would hurt me more--”

“He doesn’t need to know,” Rogers smirked and you lashed out at him again and caught his forearm. He backed up and held where you’d struck, “My word, you are a little bitch.”

“Stop, don’t come closer,” you stumbled against the wall and pressed your back to it as you sidled away, “please.”

“I just want a little taste,” he hummed, “Barnes won’t know--”

You hit him again and he swore as he gripped his shoulder. You clung to the candlestick and dashed for the door. You unlatched it and ripped it open, only to stagger back at the figure waiting for you on the other side. Lord Barnes stood with his hand still in position to grab the long handle and his brows drew together in displeasure.

“And where--” he began as he entered and his voice died as he sighted the other lord holding his shoulder, only a few inches behind you as he haled mid-chase, “Steve,” Barnes said evenly and eyed him then the candlestick in your hand. He reached down and freed it from your hold, “go,” he nudged your shoulder and pointed you to the corner.

You cowered as you passed Lord Rogers and did as Barnes bid. You stood in the corner and shivered as he gestured for the other lord to follow him into the corridor. The door closed violently behind them and you pressed yourself to the chilled stones.

“Now I know why my guard has strayed,” Barnes' voice carried through the wood, “did I not promise you a reward in due time?”

“I was only playing with her,” Rogers argued.

“She should have knocked you in the head with this,” Barnes hissed, “I should break my promise now, truly it would be your dissolution on the matter for your impatience.”

“She needs a good slap, she is far to brazen,” Steve sneered, “she struck me, twice.”

“Good,” Barnes said, “she knew better than you.”

There was silence and then a long sigh.

“Go, I haven’t the energy for this and our travels on the morrow,” Barnes huffed.

“Buck,” Rogers said softly.

“If it does not happen again, I will let it be,” Barnes muttered, “I am tired.”

The door opened and footsteps faded down the corridor. Barnes entered and tossed the candlestick so it clattered to the floor. You flinched and watched as he struggled to unclasp his cape with one hand. You saw the line between his brows as he grew frustrated. You went to him meekly and hesitantly reached for the buckle. He dropped his arm and let you free the cape.

He nodded and you slung it from the silver hook mounted upon the side of the great wooden wardrobe. You sensed him watching you and turned back to face him. You folded your hand, uncertain, and swayed slightly.

“He should not have done that,” Barnes, said, “you were right to fend him off.”

“My lord,” you replied diligently.

He let out another long breath and walked around the bed. He sat at the foot and watched you dwindle beneath the heat of his gaze. “Understand that you belong to me, first and foremost. You are mine. You do not raise your hand or your voice to me and you do only as I bid.”

“Yes, my lord,” you said.

He lowered his hand and undid his belt. He let it fall loose and unbuttoned the front of his dark vest. “Help me. I’ve already sent for hot water.”

You helped him as you did before. The layers stripped away around the weight of his metal arm. He was not shy of his nudity but he kept you from removing his arm, he did that himself and kept his scars in the shadows as best he could. He fell back, his legs bent over the bed and sniffed.

“Cover yourself in a nightshirt and let the servants in to draw the bath,” he ordered.

You pulled on one of his nightshirts and when the knock came you did as he bid. Servants carried in a large metal tub and a procession of steaming pots filled it with hot water. When it was full, you closed the door and resumed your place in the corner.

Barnes rose and went to the tub. He lowered himself into the water and his blue eyes lingered on you. His broad shoulders pressed against the beaten metal and his single arm stretched around the rim.

“Come here,” he said.

You went to him and stopped beside the tub. His eyes slipped to the nightshirt and his lips curved slightly.

“Take that off, get in,” he nodded to the tub.

You bit down and lifted the hem of the shirt. You put it aside and neared the tub again. You gripped the rim and stepped over the side. Barnes sat up slightly as you drew your second foot in and he directed you with one arm. You turned your back to him as he urged you down against him until your back was against his firm torso.

He purred and his hand fell to your stomach. He traced a trail up to your breasts and fondled them one at a time. You felt a twitch against you and he pushed his hand back down. His fingers crept up and down your body as he explored your flesh with little hums.

“Were you afraid?” he asked, “when Rogers appeared?”

You watched his hand and resisted the want to push him away. Despite the steaming water, you felt cold and distant, almost as if your body wasn’t bound to your mind.

“Yes,” you said, “yes, my lord. He woke me and I didn’t know what to do.”

“You did the right thing,” his lips brushed the top of your head, “you kept yourself for me.”

You held your breath. You hadn’t truly been thinking about him, about what he desired, you were only terrified and desperate, like that night he’d tried to have you. You trembled and let out the air as it began to burn your lungs. Your skin buzzed as it all sank in; you were naked, more so he was naked too, and you were laying there against him.

“My lord,” you eked out as his hand slipped lower and rested over your most intimate part.

He stayed like that for a time. You felt his heartbeat against you as he basked in the warmth of the water and your body. His hand would move back up and he’d hug you to him but then it would hover again along your vee and sometimes his fingers would caress your thigh.

“Are you truly sorry?”

“My lord?” you blinked as your daze was cracked.

“Are you sorry that you ran from me?”

You heard how brittle his voice was and felt the tension in his body. You touched his hand as it rested on your stomach.

“I am truly sorry, my lord,” you almost believed yourself, “I am only a foolish girl and my ignorance did scare me, not-- not you, my lord.”

He nuzzled your head and slid his hand away and twined his fingers between your. You felt his member prodding you from beneath and that scared you. You felt every bit of him against you; his raw strength and his pulsing desire. You closed your eyes and braced for what came next.

“We must begin for the capital tomorrow,” he said and your lashes fluttered in surprise, “that means we must rest. You may sleep in the bed beside me,” he squeezed your hand and moved it over chest, “would you like that?”

You thought of the cold stone and the ache in your bones, the way even now your bottom and legs seared from the welt across them. You pictured the long trek to the royal castle and the onslaught of autumn. It all fell over you like a suffocating shroud.

“Yes, my lord, I would like that,” you said.

He was quiet for a little longer as he held you against him. He groaned and shifted beneath you, “I only did what I had to,” he turned your hand over and traced the lines of your palm with his thumb, “I never wanted to hurt you.”

You swallowed through your spite as your fear urged you to caution, “I know, my lord,” another painful lie lodged in your throat, “I… wronged you and I am sorry for it.”

[down-in-devildom]

Hello! I saw that your request is open. Can I request for some hcs for the brothers with a very giving mc, but when they try to do something nice for them they get defensive/guilty like "who are you why are you nice to me I'M the nice one here, don't do nice things for me I feel bad?!?" And tries not to burden them in any way. Thank you! I love the way you write uwu

Thank you for the request! Also, I hope people will let others do nice things for them without thinking they don't deserve it or something. You are worth being treated well!!!😤 I also had a hard time naming this request...

Brothers react to MC not accepting returned favors 

cw: guilt tripping(?)

Lucifer

Lucifer was enjoying a date with MC after completing a sizable portion of his work early thanks to them lending a hand. They were dining at the Ristorante Six when he noticed MC scanning the menu very intensely

The grimace the MC did every so often raises some concerns for him. When the MC says that they want to order a small soup of the day, Lucifer looks at them with a raised brow

He could have sworn MC would be famished after having their lunch stolen from them by Beelzebub around noon. MC could not have possibly have had the time to eat a snack, what with all the paperwork and organizing they did for him after classes to try to lighten his workload

When Lucifer asked if that would be enough, MC's stomach let out a mighty roar in response. Lucifer was now suspicious that MC was holding back for some reason so he decides to order the food for the both of them. He signals for a waiter and makes sure to order MC's soup of the day as well as a dish or two he believes would be to their taste

When MC starts to protest about not wanting to be a burden and have him pay a fortune, Lucifer waves off the concerns and assures them they needn't worry about that. Besides, he wants nothing more than for MC to enjoy themselves after helping him earlier

"I don't want to burden you and make you pay for my meal. I am always happy to help but I don't want you to feel obligated to do something in return."

Lucifer is taken aback before he sighs and gives MC a serious and pointed look. "I am a demon that takes pride in my ability to deal out suitable punishments and rewards as I see fit. It will do you well not to question my generosity"

Mammon

Mammon felt like he was in debt to MC for helping him study and pass his latest exam. He could not afford to fail his fourth semester in a row without Lucifer finding out and skinning him alive! He doesn’t normally feel the need to do anything to actually pay people back, but he felt like he really owed MC for this one

When Mammon and MC were visiting the flea market to find some cool trinkets that can probably be resold for a profit on Akuzon, he noticed the MC’s gaze lingering on a small golden ring with intricate engravings. He makes a bit of a show of paying for the ring before losing some of his bravado and shoving his hand in the MC’s face and demanding they take it

MC looks a bit confused before thinking it was something that Mammon thought would resell well and tried to put it in the basket they carried to hold the rest of their haul

“No, ya got it all wrong. I got it for ya to- ya know- thank ya for helpin’ me the other day. I woulda been a goner without you...or something” he mumbles while trying not to look directly at them

“That’s funny and all but what’s the catch? I’m pretty sure you don’t normally give away things or do anything without expecting anything in return”

Although MC does not appear to mean any harm from the comment, it kind of stung a little for Mammon. They can’t seem to grasp that they were special and he WANTED to give them things.

Mammon becomes a bit more sullen about the ordeal and may not give anything directly to the MC from then on. He will opt instead to leave little trinkets in their room or claim he found some trash he needed to get rid of (even though it would clearly be something of value). He does not really know how to show his thanks in any other way so he is kind of stuck in a cycle of trying to backhandedly show his gratitude without his motives being questioned

Satan

Satan’s room was an absolute mess, more so than usual, when MC was kind enough to lend a hand in helping him organize his massive collection of books into something a little less chaotic

He found an ancient tome full of old runes and herbal medicines that he thought he saw MC flipping through while taking a quick break from organizing his things, and assumed it would be a nice token of his gratitude. It was inlaid with gold leaf and the engraved relief on the cover was done with a clearly skilled hand, making the old book really stand out

“Please, take this tome as payment for your time. I would have lost my mind, surely, if you did not help me in my time of need, like you did”

MC’s eyes widened with surprise before seeming to nod and say they would return the book to him later, after they take down some notes for their next hex exam. When he clarifies that he wishes for them to keep the book, MC looked taken aback

“I couldn’t possibly take one of your books! I don’t expect anything for helping you out and you shouldn’t feel the need to pay me back for something I was more than willing to do anyway. It is kind of weird for you to want to give away your books like this when you closely monitor anybody else that takes them”

Satan’s eyebrow twitches just the slightest and he has to keep his smile in place to try to not alarm MC when his irritation spikes slightly. They don’t seem to understand that him thanking them with a gift versus him guarding his collection from Mammon are two different things entirely

He leans a bit into the MC’s space with his smile still plastered on and looks them dead in the eyes. “Do you mean to tell me that the tome is not to your liking?” MC kind of feels forced to take the book and thanks Satan before making a hasty retreat to their own room. Satan takes the newfound space to clear his mind and start thinking of other ways that he can possibly approach the matter in the future without pressuring MC into accepting his generosity

Asmodeus

Asmo’s life and reputation was saved when MC responded to his emergency text asking for a very specific shirt to be brought to his photoshoot. One of the assistant demons did NOT get the memo when he said that he was more of a skull-scream peach kind of guy then a wailing-melon toned guy and the outfit assembly was not doing his beautiful complexion any favors

When Asmo got out from his shoot, he felt like he absolutely had to repay MC for going out of the way for him. He went straight to Majolish and picked out a new outfit for them that he was sure they would look absolutely fantastic in and then hurried home to wrap it up nicely 

Asmo presents the gift with flourish before asking for the MC to open it so he can watch their reaction. Asmo was not disappointed by the stunned look on their face and the silent ‘o’ their mouth made, but got a little put out when they said they could not possibly accept it. Didn’t they like it? Surely he did not pick something that wasn’t to their taste

“I can’t accept this, Asmo, it is way too sweet and generous of a gift! I had to go in the direction of your shoot today anyway so it wasn’t a burden to drop off your shirt. Please don’t reward me for something like that!”

Asmo has met a variety of demons and people over the millenia and can tell that there was something about the gift itself that was making them uncomfortable. He still is firm with them and insists that if he spent the grimm on them, they should take the gift, but starts thinking of other ways to maybe show his thanks in the future

Do words of praise and gratitude make them squirm? How about physical affection? Would a kiss count as a thanks they are willing to accept? He sure hopes so but he wants to show he appreciates them and will try to show it in any way possible until they accept it

Beelzebub

Beelzebub was starving! More so than usual and that is not a pretty sight. He was at RAD during one of the classes when he noticed that his snack bag had mysteriously gone missing when he tried to reach in to pull out a protein bar. His stomach loudly protested and he was starting to eye up some of his classmates as if they were on the menu. MC saved the day when they came rushing in with the aforementioned missing snack bag, that they found in the hallway

Beel was able to happily munch away for the rest of the lesson and it seemed like the whole class let out a collective sigh of relief. Beel was very grateful for the MC taking the time to deliver him his snack bag and decided to treat them to Hell’s Kitchen after school 

MC agreed to go willingly and ordered their food while Beel asked for well over half the menu. After they ate, Beel reached for the tab but found slight resistance when he finally looked at the bill and saw MC’s hand was also on it. When Beel stated that it was his treat for them saving him early, he was met with some pushback

“Please do not feel like you have to pay for me. Giving you the snack bag was for everybody’s benefit, so it actually came from a place of selfishness, really. I do not deserve you paying for me.”

Beel’s heart pinged a little at that. Did MC mean he was so close to losing control that they only helped him out of pity? Out of fear? He knew he was a big and his hunger knew no end, but it kind of hurt to be seen as a threat that needed to be controlled with readymade snack bags like that

Beel kind of shakes it off quickly enough and starts to think that maybe they just didn’t like the meal as much as him and was trying to spare him from paying for something they didn’t really want. He takes the time to watch MC over the next few days to see if there are other foods that they may like better. That was the problem, right? Maybe something from Madam Screams was more their style? How about that crepes stand in the park that was super delicious?

Belphegor

Belphegor was not having a great day. For one, he was awake and for two, he was tasked with doing laundry for HoL this week and he was super behind on his assigned chore. If Asmo pestered him one more time about properly separating out the colors and Lucifer lectured him about how to properly fold fitted sheets, he may just have to be imprisoned in the attic again. Luckily for him, MC took some time out of their schedule to help him finish quicker

Belphie was thankful enough that he figured he could allow them to nap with him as an award. Do not mind the fact that MC always takes naps with him but this time can be a little bit special. He nicked a projector from RAD the following day and set it up in the attic so that it would project constellations on the walls and ceilings. He also made a really comfortable pillow fort for them to share. This took a lot of work on Belphie’s part so it was a privilege for MC to join him

When the MC finally arrived at the attic after Bephie texted them to meet him up there, they were not expecting the space to be turned into such a nice and cozy room. Belphie explained that it was as a thank you for the help the other day after they kept just standing in the doorway. He then demanded they came and laid down with him

“You didn’t have to put all this work into making this space for me! It was just folding laundry. It wasn’t that big of a deal, I promise”

Belphie turns his back on them and kind of pouts into his pillow. If they don’t appreciate him sacrificing sleep to make them happy and feel appreciated, then who cares. He can nap just fine by himself and he is hard press to prove the point

After the MC stands there for a little bit and then finally decides to join him in the pillow fort, Belphie ignores them for a bit. Neither of them move from their spots until Belphie sighs and rolls over to use their chest as a pillow. If all this work really was for nothing, he might as well enjoy his well-earned nap better with a warm body pillow

-------

hmmmmmmmmmmmmm....I gave up on proof reading this part way so I hope it is okie dokie

-Leo

[xjoonchildx]

guilty | knj x reader | final chapter: is something burning?

summary: as the man at the top, kim namjoon has almost everything he wants. almost. could a familiar face from the past change his future?

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: mafia AU, pining, SMUT WARNINGS APPLY in this chapter sorry i’m yelling stressed!joon, sweaty!joon, sober!joon all make an appearance

rating: 18+

word count: 7.9K

notes: okay, so i stressed a bit about this chapter.  i got really in my head over it, but i hope it ends in a way that’s satisfying to all of you guys.  i’ve heard from some of the most amazing readers about this story -- i appreciate you all so much and i’d love to hear from you about how you feel about the ending.

special love to the best beta hands down periodt amen @hobi-gif​​, the lady who inspired it all with her adorable brand of namjoon thirst @sahmfanficbts​​, and three people who mean the world to me point blank period @ladyartemesia​​ @ppersonna​​ @taetaewonderland​​

this fic is a continuation of the Guarded Series but can be read as a standalone piece.

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | Epilogue

*************************

There’s this thing that happens when you’re getting over a cold.

Slowly -- as your breathing returns to normal -- you can taste again.  Your head clears and your senses come back to life and you savor everything you eat like it’s the best thing you’ve ever had.  Your appetite returns.  

And all at once, you are starving.

That’s what it’s like after Namjoon touches you.

All he had to do was cup your face in one large, warm hand and it feels like your entire body has been jump-started.  Like parts of you that have been dormant for years are now awake, nerve endings exposed and aching.  Like all the tiny pieces of you that have been scattered and lost for so long are now found and fitting back together.

For the first time in a long time you remember what it feels like to want.

It’s not like you didn’t know you cared for Namjoon.  You knew it deep down in the way you took pride in providing for his needs.  You knew it in the way it made you feel to see appreciation reflected back in his dark eyes.

But you didn’t understand how much you wanted him until that night in his office.  

In those few charged moments, Namjoon made you feel more desired with his gaze than other men have with their hands.  You let down your guard and allowed yourself to imagine what it would be like to touch him, to be touched by him. You let yourself embrace the fantasy of being his in every way.

And then it was over.

Whatever spell he was under was broken and whatever existed in the air between you evaporated.  The hunger in his eyes turned into remorse and you’d left his office on trembling legs, reeling from the whiplash of it all.

Today, you stare out at the window across from your desk, unable to suppress the hurt that grips your chest.  You can barely concentrate on the numbers on the sheet in front of you, mind replaying the events in that office.  

Namjoon should never have touched you.  

He should never have roused the parts of you that had been long forgotten between doctors visits and pharmacy runs.  He should never have made you feel things no other man ever has or probably ever will.

And he should have never let you believe, even for one second, that he could care for you the way you do for him.

He should have just left you alone.

*********************

No one ever tells you that when you devote your life to caring for someone else’s needs, yours end up falling by the wayside.  That who you are ends up diminished somehow, buried underneath the weight of responsibility and worry.

Jinjoo finds you sitting in the chair next to your mother’s bed, staring at one lock of hair threaded through your fingers.  You’re frowning at the split ends you’ve not had a chance to tend to, the ones you hide by keeping your hair pulled back.

She sweeps into the room, carrying a bowl of kimchi.

“It’s Saturday. The sun is shining and you should go out.  Maybe to the salon, hmm?”

You glance up just as she’s placing the food on a tray at the foot of your mother’s bed.  She smiles to soften the blow of her observation and you can’t bring yourself to be annoyed at her well-meaning meddling.  It’s nice to be fussed over for a change.

“I can’t even remember the last time I went to the salon,” you admit, eyes locking on an unsightly chip in your nail polish.  “I usually end up cutting it myself.”

“Well, that won’t do,” Jinjoo scolds, hands on hips.  “Today I want you to go out and do something just for you.  Go and get the works.  You’re far too young to be stuck in this house all the time.”

You consider her offer for a moment.  Here in the quiet of your mother’s room it’s far too easy to let your mind wander back to the encounter with Namjoon.  Far too easy to dwell on the ache that surfaces every time you remember.

“Go on, Ttal.”

You turn in the direction of your mother’s voice and find her stirring from her nap.  She places one soft hand over yours and squeezes.  “She’s right.  Go take some time away.  I’ll be fine here with Jinjoo.”

“See?” Jinjoo waves a hand to shoo you out of the chair. You stand and she immediately takes your place in the seat.  “Your mother agrees.  Now go.  And buy something pretty to wear while you’re at it.”

You look from her to your mother and see both women wearing matching expressions of encouragement.  

You decide they’re right.

So you spend the rest of your day pampering yourself and shopping and definitely not thinking about Kim Namjoon.  

You don’t think about him when you read the book he recommended to you once at the salon, you don’t think about him when you stop for a bite at his favorite Tteokbokki stand and you definitely don’t think about him when you buy a new sweater that makes you feel beautiful.

You definitely don’t think about him at all.

*****************************

NAMJOON

Kim Namjoon’s father was a pig.

A glutton of the worst kind, he hoarded money and guns and drugs and because no one ever tried to stop him.  He used and abused everything and everyone just because he could.

Namjoon hated to watch the sadistic games his father played with people.  He hated that the man seemed to direct the worst of his cruelty at the women in his life.  

Namjoon’s own sister left everything behind to escape his violence and abuse and somehow his father was even more vicious with the women he bedded and discarded at random.  He dangled things like money and security and love in front of them like bait, only to yank it all away on a whim.

That’s why Namjoon has worked so hard his entire life to prove to others -- to prove to himself -- that he’s better than the piece of shit who raised him.  

That’s why the look on your face in his office that night cut so deep.

That look pierced straight through the lust and the scotch clouding his judgement and forced him to step back and see the situation for what it was. It made him feel sick to think he might have made you feel like his help came with conditions.  That he’d done what he had expecting you to give yourself to him in return.  

He couldn’t allow you to think he’d use his money to try and buy you.  That’s something his father would have done.

And Kim Namjoon is not his fucking father.

So this morning he finds himself walking towards your desk, determined to make it right.  You don’t register his approach as you work quietly and Namjoon has a quick moment to take you in.

There’s something different about you.

Namjoon can’t put his finger on it, but when he gets close enough for you to notice his presence and you glance up at him from under those long lashes, you look changed somehow.

Rested. Radiant.

The second you register that it’s him though, the look on your face changes.  You stand up from your chair, expression shuttered, tone formal.

“Mister Kim,” you murmur.  “How can I help you this morning?”

“Please sit,” Namjoon starts quietly.  “I, uh --” He digs his nails into his palm, annoyed with the hesitation in his delivery.  Spit it out, you moron.

“-- I owe you an apology.”

Your lips part in surprise before you close your mouth, sinking slowly back into your chair.  

Namjoon rubs one hand across the back of his neck, stealing a sideways glance at Seokjin’s office door.  It remains closed and he’s glad for it.  The last thing he’d want is an audience for this embarrassing exchange.

“The other night I was --” he clears his throat awkwardly.  Loaded. Horny. Stupid.  

He eventually lands on a less damning adjective.  “-- not entirely appropriate with you.”

You blink back but keep quiet so Namjoon keeps talking.

“I shouldn’t have acted that way,” he acknowledges weakly.  “That’s not normally how I treat my employees.  And I’m sorry.”

Spots of color appear in your cheeks.

“Well as your employee, I admit it wasn’t appropriate for me to just turn up in your office without notice, either,” you reply quietly.  “I think I was just shocked by your generosity. It’s a lot of money, and I --”

“-- Don’t think anything of it,” Namjoon interjects quickly.  “You’ve saved me that amount and more with your audits.  It only made sense to repay you for your efforts.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, and Namjoon knows it immediately.  It’s not the truth -- not by a mile -- and judging by the look that passes over your face, it’s definitely not what you wanted to hear.

“Mister Kim.”

“Yes?” Namjoon replies, only to realize that you are now looking past him and that he’s not the only one answering.

He turns slowly to find Seokjin standing behind him, wearing an expression halfway between curiosity and scrutiny.  Namjoon’s nails dig back into his palms, leaving tiny indents in the skin.

“Good morning,” you continue, turning your attention fully to Seokjin.  Seokjin looks between you and Namjoon before answering.

“Good morning to you, too,” he says slowly.

“If you’re ready to go over the new audits, I have more information to cover with you,” you say, pointing at the papers riddled with notes on your desk.  Namjoon stands there like an idiot, watching the two of you interact like he’s not even there.

“Sure,” Seokjin agrees, eyes darting back to Namjoon.  “Let’s go ahead and get into the numbers.”

“Great,” you say with a smile, standing to organize your papers into a folder.  

You look back at Namjoon like he’s an afterthought and the realization stings.  “If that was all you needed, I’ve got some work to handle now.”

The nails in his palm are this close to drawing blood.  

He cuts his eyes at Seokjin who immediately looks away.

“Certainly,” he says under his breath.  “Let me not keep you.”

You turn your back on him to head into Seokjin’s office.

***********************

Namjoon stares out at the setting sun from his office window.

He’s spent the last few days hiding out in here, avoiding everything and everyone.  Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin -- his phone keeps lighting up with calls he won’t answer.  His already black mood darkens every time his mind replays the seemingly endless string of disastrous exchanges with you.

He still can’t figure out how he’s managed to fuck things up so royally.

He still can’t figure out why he didn’t just tell you the truth about the money and about Jinjoo. He should have just admitted outright that for once he wanted to be the one taking care of you, not the other way around.  He should have just admitted that you mean something to him.

That’s the real reason why things are so screwed up right now.

It would be so simple if this was just about sex.  It would be so simple if Namjoon could just get you into bed and get you out of his system.  But you’re not Mina or Yejin or any of the others.  

You’re not like any woman he’s ever known.

Namjoon leans back into his chair just as his cell phone lights again and he grabs it just long enough to reject the call before tossing it back onto his desk.  He rubs his fingers across his mouth and watches the sun fall behind the nearby skyscrapers.

You deserve so much more than he is capable of giving you.

You deserve happiness and security and certainty.  What you don’t deserve is to be toyed with by a man who doesn’t know what his future looks like.  A man who’s still so damaged by his own upbringing that he worries he’ll never be capable of being a decent husband and father.

Truthfully, Namjoon doesn’t know which scenario scares him more.  

The one where he tries -- and fails -- to give you the things you need, or the one where he drifts through the rest of his life anchored to no one and nothing.

The sound of an incoming text interrupts his maudlin thoughts.

Namjoon reaches for his phone and sighs as he reads the waiting message.

reservations at doore yoo, 8 PM [ 6:32 PM ]

join me [ 6:32 PM ]

it’s been too long [ 6:33 PM ]

***********************

“Mister Kim.”

The Maitre’d at Doore Yoo bows in Namjoon’s direction, flashing a wide smile. “A pleasure to have you back.”

“Thank you Sungho,” Namjoon murmurs, scanning the crowded dining room.  “Is she waiting for me?”

“She is,” Sungho confirms.

Namjoon follows him past the tables packed with patrons to the exclusive dining area hidden away in the back.  This is his regular table, inside his regular private room -- but when Sungho slides the door open, Namjoon stops short and nearly tells the man he’s made a mistake.

The young woman waiting for him inside is unrecognizable.

From the back, Namjoon can see that her dark hair has been swept into a careful updo, shoulders and skin bared in a delicate spaghetti-strap top.  But that can’t be right.

Because she would never --

“Jaegyueo.”

Namjoon’s sister lifts her chin and smiles as he steps around the table.  

He catches himself staring, momentarily thrown by the sight in front of him.  It’s the first time in his life he can recall seeing his sister wearing something that doesn’t cover the jagged scar that crosses her collarbone.  The scar that she’s spent a lifetime hiding, ashamed of the way it made her look and feel.  At once, the realization hits him -- the hundreds of different ways she’s changed, big and small since falling in love with Hoseok.  

Every last one of them for the better.

“Amsaja, you look -- ” Namjoon pauses to brush a kiss across her cheek, “ -- wonderful.”

She flushes.

“Thank you. Now sit,” she orders kindly, reaching for her wine glass.  “For a minute there I thought you might not show.”

Namjoon exhales, sinking into his seat.  

“For a minute there, I almost didn’t,” he admits.  “It’s been a shitty week.”

His sister says nothing, smiling like a sphinx as a server appears to offer Namjoon his own drink.  

“Club soda on ice,” Namjoon orders quietly.  “Thanks.”

Her poker face slips then, one eyebrow lifting in surprise at seeing him forgo his usual scotch.  She sips her wine thoughtfully before speaking.

“Talk to me, Namjoon.”

“There’s little to talk about,” he deflects irritably, staring past her to the art on the walls.  

“Hoseok says you’ve barely left your office.  Won’t take his calls.”

Namjoon grits his teeth, hackles raising immediately.

“Tell Hoseok he should work on his pillow talk,” he says sharply, and the second the words leave his mouth he regrets them.  Namjoon sees the change in his sister’s demeanor, watches her eyes sharpen from across the table.  

“Forgive me,” he apologizes quickly.  “That was uncalled for.  I’m fucking things up left and right these days, it seems.”

His sister stares back at him.  Namjoon knows that face, knows she’s now opted to abandon her charm offensive for a more direct approach.  He knows it’s exactly what he deserves for being an asshole.

“That’s my understanding, yes,” she says tightly.  “As smart as you are, you seem to be doing some very stupid shit lately.”

Namjoon scratches the back of his neck, cheeks warming at her rebuke.

“You’re right,” he admits.  “But I’m going to need you to be more specific about which stupid shit you want to talk about tonight.”

“Don’t be dense,” his sister scolds.  “Clearly, you’re tied up in knots over your assistant.  Oh, I’m sorry -- I mean former assistant.”

Namjoon’s defeated sigh hangs in the air for a moment.

“Is that what Hoseok says?”

“That’s what everyone says,” his sister fires back.  “You think you’re such a mystery but I assure you, you’re actually quite transparent.  Sending her away to work for Seokjin? Hiring a private nurse?  Good grief, Namjoon.  Real subtle.”

Shit, he wishes he had a scotch right now.

“What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to explain to me why you’re playing this stupid game of push and pull with this woman.  If you care about her, do something about it instead of lashing out at everyone around you because you’re angry with yourself.”

“She’s not --” Namjoon falters as he searches for a proper explanation, “-- she has a complicated life right now.  I’m just trying to help her the only way I know how.”

His sister leans back in her chair, wine glass tipped in his direction.

“You know what I think?  I think you like her too much and I think that’s freaking you out.  And I think you’re going to miss out on a good thing because you won’t get your head out of your ass.”

Namjoon stares back at his sister.

“I think you might be right,” he concedes, after a heavy silence.  

“Namjoon, I’ve seen the way she looks at you,” his sister says quietly.  “Whatever you’re feeling, she’s feeling it too.”

He knows that’s true. It’s been damned near impossible not to feel the charged air between you, impossible not to share passing looks and fleeting touches while working in such close quarters.  When he looks at you he knows instinctively that you feel the same pull.  It’s only made his precarious position that much harder.

“I just --” he shakes his head as he tries to justify his inaction, “-- I have no idea what I’m offering her.  I don’t know what I’m capable of giving her.  Beyond money, of course.”

His sister laughs.  

Namjoon waits for her to collect herself, ears warm with embarrassment.  He resists the childish impulse to kick her under the table.

“Is that funny to you?”

“Hilarious, actually,” she teases.  “You have no idea what you have to offer her?  You’re one of the most powerful men in this city, Namjoon.  There’s nothing you couldn’t offer her.”

The server arrives with dumplings and sets them in the middle of the table, and his sister reaches for one.

“If she’s this important to you, I know there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for her,” she continues.  “Stop overthinking this. You’re a good man.  Everything else is icing on the cake.”

“I haven’t acted like a good man lately,” he confesses, shaking his head.  “She came to my office a few nights ago and I acted like a drunk, groping asshole.  Like father, like son.”

His sister sets her wine glass down, hard.

“You’re nothing like our father, Namjoon,” she says, eyes flashing with anger.  “Quit telling yourself you don’t deserve happiness out of some misguided, misplaced guilt.  And whatever happened in that office can be fixed.  If you want to fix it.”

Namjoon watches the bubbles in his club soda surface and break.  He does want to fix it.  He wants to figure out a way to stop fucking everything up where you’re concerned.

“I do,” he admits.

“Have you apologized?”

“Awkwardly. Not sure that it helped my case.”

“Then I think you need to offer her the one thing that’s more valuable than your money, Jaegyueo.”

Namjoon lifts an eyebrow at his sister.

“What’s that?”

She plucks a dumpling off the plate with her chopsticks and points it at him.

“Give her your time.”

****************************

YOU

It’s freezing tonight.

You wrap your arms around yourself and brace against the biting wind as you approach your family home.  You’re dead on your feet, worn after a long day at the office -- and for the thousandth time since her arrival you silently give thanks for Jinjoo.  

Knowing your mother is taken care of while you’re gone and coming back to a clean home and warm meals has eased your burdens immeasurably.  

Of course, it’s all really thanks to Kim Namjoon -- but that’s something you’re not allowing your mind to dwell on right now.  You’ve worked hard over the past few days to push any thought of that man back to the furthest recesses of your mind.  

You’re peeling out of your scarf and coat in the foyer when a laugh echoes down the long hallway.  It’s the sound of your mother’s laugh -- clear in a way you haven’t heard in a very long time -- and it’s definitely not coming from her room.

“Eomma?” you call out as you walk towards the sound.  A peal of Jinjoo’s laughter rings out next and you smile, following it.

You round the corner to the living room and your mouth drops open when you spot your mother, fully dressed for the first time in ages, sitting on the formal couch.  Jinjoo is seated next to her, both women smiling and laughing at --

Oh God.

Namjoon stands from his seat on the opposite couch when your eyes meet his.  His cheeks are pinked from the cold, hair tousled from the wind, and he looks so handsome that for a moment you forget how to think.  

“Welcome home,” he says, dimples emerging from his slow, careful smile.

You stare back at him, rooted to the spot.  Your face warms when you realize that every single eye in the room is trained on you, awaiting your next move.

“Do you -- ” Namjoon clears his throat, “ -- do you think I could have a minute of your time?”

“What are you doing here?” you say, blowing right past his question.

Jinjoo makes a disapproving sound under her breath.

“Ttal,” your mother interjects with a tone that borders very close to warning, “Mister Kim came by to talk to you.  He kept the two of us company until you came home.”

You turn to look at her and -- is she wearing lipstick?

“Yes,” Namjoon adds quickly, turning the warmth of his smile back to your mother and Jinjoo. “And they’ve been wonderful company. Thank you, ladies.”

The two of them titter like schoolgirls enjoying the attention of the most popular boy in school while you just stare.

And stare.

“Ttal?”

Your mother’s voice breaks through your mental fog.  You look back at her and Jinjoo and both women appear to be holding their breath, awaiting your response.  Jinjoo’s eyes are pleading when they meet yours, silently begging you to play nice.

You turn back to Namjoon slowly.

“One minute.”

“Great,” he breathes, shoving a hand through his hair.

“Not here.”

The words come out more sharply than you’d intended and your mother’s eyes go wide. Jinjoo sighs.

“What I mean to say,” you start again, delivery clumsy, “Is that we should probably step outside.”

“Of course,” Namjoon agrees.

You will your leaden legs and feet to cooperate as you turn to leave, grabbing your coat from the foyer closet on the way.  You slip it on and lead Namjoon out to the front porch, immediately wincing at the bitter cold that greets you.  

The door clicks shut and you burrow deep into your coat, turning to face him.  You force yourself to ignore the warmth that blossoms in your chest when his mouth curves into a soft smile.

“Your mother seems to be doing well tonight,” Namjoon notes. “I’m glad to see it.”

It’s not fair.  It’s not fair that he can just show up here on a whim -- looking like that, talking like that.  

Charming everyone in his path.  

“Namjoon, I’m going to ask again.  What are you doing here?”

The smile on his face falls and he looks skyward, exhaling a puff of steam into the cold night air.

”I’m here to come clean,” he confesses quietly.  “Thought I might do this new thing where I try not to act like an idiot around you.”

“Oh,” you breathe, stomach fluttering wildly in response.

A lock of his hair falls over his eye when he looks back down and you smother the urge to brush it back, hands balling into fists in your pockets.

“Thought I might do this new thing where I just tell you the truth.”

You’ve tried so hard these past few days to be angry with him, to use your hurt feelings like a wall around your heart.  But you can’t anymore.  He looks down at you with those huge, dark eyes and your grudge falls apart.

“I care about you,” he admits.  “I’ve been stumbling over my own feet for weeks because I didn’t know how to approach you about it. And then that night in the office,” he trails off, looking pained.  “That is not how I intended to treat you.”

A gust of wind blows through and you curl into yourself, teeth chattering.  Namjoon pulls off his coat and drapes it over your shoulders.  

“Please don’t,” you protest weakly.  “You’ll freeze.”

“I won’t,” he promises, stepping closer.  

You wrap the wool tight around your body, enjoying the way his lingering heat and scent wrap around you at the same time.  Your heart is beating so wildly you can hear your pulse in your ears.

“Namjoon,” you whisper. “You must know I feel the same way.”

He reaches one hand up to stroke his fingers across your cheek.

“I was really hoping you’d say that.”

He’s so close now that all it would take is the slightest tip of your chin, the most incremental change in angle to press your mouth to his. But he doesn’t close the small distance between you.  His gaze shifts to the street and you follow it, only now realizing a black sedan has been idling outside your house this entire time.  

Your cheeks flame hot at the thought of his driver witnessing this exchange.

“I want a chance to do this the right way,” he murmurs.  “Can I have it?”

You nod, waiting for your mouth to catch up to your brain.  “Of course.”

He smiles wide then, the kind of smile you haven’t seen on him in a long time and once again you’re struck by how handsome he is.  He narrows his eyes playfully when he realizes you are staring.

“Let’s get you inside before you get sick.”

You nod, pulling off his coat and watching as he shrugs back into it. He grabs for your hand, fingers brushing against yours just as you reach for the door.

“Good night, Namjoon,” you say softly.  

He squeezes your cold fingers with his.

“Good night.”

***************************

Namjoon sends his driver for you.

You shift uncomfortably in the backseat of the sleek car, avoiding Chun’s gaze in the reflection of the rearview mirror.  Up until now, you knew him only as the voice on the other end of the line when you’d arranged for Namjoon’s rides.

Now you’re matching a face with a voice -- and so is he.

You try not to dwell on how this must look after the scene outside your home just a few nights ago.  Especially now that he’s been tasked with taking you to Namjoon’s penthouse.

It’s embarrassing, certainly -- but even this pales in comparison to what you’d had to endure before leaving the house.  

When your mother had asked you to come see her and casually inquired about the last time you’d shaved your legs.  When Jinjoo had made a point of letting you know that she was planning on staying all night long just as you were walking out the door.

That was definitely the most embarrassing part.

That’s why you feel a knot in your stomach as the security guard in Namjoon’s building escorts you personally up to the very top floor -- the one accessible only by keycard.  That’s why you find yourself holding your breath right until the very moment Namjoon opens the door.

Then you let go of that breath.

“Thank you, Jaejin,” he greets, bowing in the man’s direction.  He turns his attention to you and the knot in your stomach explodes into butterflies.

“Thanks for coming,” he says with a careful smile.  

As if you had any choice in the matter.  You kick your brain into gear and remind yourself to stop staring and smile back as the door shuts behind you.  

He takes your coat and you take him in.

It’s the most casual you’ve ever seen him look, barefoot in jeans and a button-down shirt rolled to the elbows.  He looks fresh from a shower, skin glistening and golden.  The scent of him --- clean and male and intoxicating -- wafts over you.

Followed by a far less enticing one.

“Namjoon,” your nose wrinkles at the acrid smell,  “Is something burning?”

“Something was burning,” he admits sheepishly. “But it’s not anymore.  And you -- “ he pauses to let his gaze rake over you, “ -- you look incredible.”

Heat creeps up your neck and into your face, making you feel just a touch too warm in your brand new sweater.  

“Thank you,” you reply, accepting his compliment with a shy smile. “So do you.”

He looks at you for a long moment, and you clear your throat, feeling uncomfortable with the admiration in his eyes.

“Can I offer you a glass of wine?”

“Yes, please,” you breathe the words through a nervous laugh. “That sounds great, actually.”  You hope it’s not obvious that you’re jumping at the chance to take the edge off of your jitters.

Namjoon leaves you standing in his grand living room as he heads to the kitchen to pour the wine.  You’ve always known he was a wealthy man -- but knowing that in the abstract and seeing it firsthand are two different things entirely.  You take in the massive wall-to-wall windows and gleaming marble floors and custom-made art pieces with silent awe.

Namjoon interrupts your gawking when he returns with your wine.

“So about dinner,” he starts with a chuckle. “It’s on the way.  I attempted to cook something, but as you already know that didn’t quite work out.  Not surprising, seeing as I’ve never cooked in this kitchen before.”

Your brows shoot up in surprise.  “Never?”

“Never,” he says with a smile.  “I’ve never brought anyone to this apartment, either.”

His smile vanishes then, a more serious look taking its place.  You swallow thickly as you let the implication of that statement wash over you.

“No one?”

“No one,” he confirms quietly.

Your lips part with surprise and Namjoon looks away, like he’s admitted too much -- and you stand there spinning your wheels, searching for something to say.

The sound of the door chime is a well-timed and welcome interruption.

Namjoon heads to the door to accept the food and you realize the same security guard who escorted you up here is making the delivery.  It makes sense, of course, that only a trusted few could get this close to Namjoon’s private space.

“Are you expecting more people?” you tease with a smile when the guard wheels in a cart weighted down with enough food to feed an army.  

Relief washes over you when Namjoon smiles back. The strange moment that passed between you before is forgotten.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got one of everything.”

Pleasant smells emanating from the carefully-packed containers fill the apartment, pushing away the burnt one still lingering from the food that’s been relegated to the trash.

“Just so you know,” you laugh, “I like all of it.”  

****************************

The centerpiece of Namjoon’s outrageously opulent great room is the fireplace.  

Your fingers wrap tight around the stem of your wine glass as you stare into the flames and contemplate how this night will end.

You know how you want it to end.  

You know the dozens of debauched fantasies you’ve entertained about Namjoon -- the myriad ways he’s had you in your mind.  But there’s no way for you to know what his intentions are, how he expects this night to end.

That’s why you’re strung tight as a bow as you hear him clearing plates and cleaning up in the kitchen.  The sounds eventually slow and then stop.  And you wait.

You don’t hear him approach.  

You come out of your thoughts and look away from the flames and he’s just there, standing in front of the couch wearing an expression you can’t read.  The wine starts to wobble inside your glass, set in motion by your unsteady hands.

“Here,” he says quietly, reaching for it. “Let me.”

He takes the glass and places it on the coffee table, sinking into the space next to you.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs.  “I don’t think I’ve ever told you that.”

He leans in and reaches out to thread his hands into your hair.

“Namjoon,” you whisper weakly, pulse leaping in response.  

His eyes seem to darken at the sound of his name. His fingers slip out of your hair and under your jaw, tipping your chin up and compelling you to meet his gaze.  

“I told you I was going to do this the right way,” he murmurs, “And I meant it.  After that night in my office, I promised myself I was never going to put you in that position again.”

Your tongue slips out to wet your lips involuntarily, as if the action could take the place of the words you want so badly to say.  

But Namjoon makes no move, fingers firm under your jaw.

“Tell me what you want,” he coaxes gently. “If you want this -- if you want me, tell me.”

“Kiss me.”

The words come out in a rush, laced with such desperation they sound like a plea, not an order.  A smile tugs the corner of Namjoon’s mouth and he nods.

Carefully, deliberately, he sinks his mouth onto yours.

You sigh against the press of his lips as the pads of his fingers stroke the side of your face.  For a moment you can’t think; can’t process a thing beyond the spice on his tongue from the Buldak or how impossibly soft his lips feel against yours.  

He kisses you until you can’t breathe -- and just a moment beyond that -- until you are forced to pull away, chest heaving.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” he admits, panting.

“I’ve been wanting you to do that since we were kids,” you confess, emboldened.

He leans close again, eyes half-lidded, lips grazing yours.

“Well, we’re not kids anymore.”

*********************

NAMJOON

Namjoon has to force himself not to totally fucking devour you.

You are finally in his hands and the urge to unleash months of wait and want on you is so strong he has to take a physical step back.

You look up at him from where you sit on his bed -- hair mussed from his fingers, lips swollen from his kisses -- and he hesitates, unsure of his next move.

“If you’re thinking you don’t want to -- “ you start.  

Namjoon cuts you off with a strangled laugh.

“Trust me, that’s not what I’m thinking,” he vows, shoving a hand through his hair.  “It’s like I’ve wanted you so bad for so long I don’t even know where to start.”

Your eyes soften as you gaze at him.

Namjoon holds his breath as he watches you slip out of your sweater and then out of your jeans.  You lie back against his sheets, eyes holding steady contact with his.

“Start anywhere,” you breathe quietly.  “Start everywhere.  Just start.  Please.”

Fuck, you are going to be his undoing.

It takes him an irritatingly long time to work the buttons of his shirt open on account of his thick, clumsy fingers.  He finally manages to get out of it and his jeans follow right behind.

“You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” you murmur as he slides into the bed next to you.  His fingers rake over the soft skin of your stomach and you jerk under his fingertips, body reacting immediately to his touch. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you that.”

Namjoon smiles when you use his own words against him.  

He dips his head into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply -- savoring the soft, sweet smell of your skin.  He mouths at your pulse point, feeling it race in response when his fingers trail lower to tease the delicate band of your panties.

“I figured out where I want to start,” he murmurs, sucking gently at the hollow of your collarbone.  

He feels your deep intake of breath when he slips one hand into the satin, grazing against your mound.  He shifts lower, allowing one finger to dip into your center, groaning at the wetness he finds waiting for him there.

“So responsive, Jagiya,” he praises softly.  “So beautiful.”

You make a needy sound, hips lifting off the bed as you chase the pressure of his fingers.  He turns to capture your lips again with his own, simultaneously working two fingers into the tight space between your thighs.

“Namjoon,” you sigh brokenly, “F-feels so good.”

“I can do better,” he promises.  “Turn over for me.”

He waits for you to comply, body shifting in the bed.  Once you are face down, he climbs over you, dipping his mouth to the shell of your ear, biting gently on the soft skin.  You shiver underneath him, moaning softly.

Slowly, he kisses a line down the back of your neck, hands stopping just long enough to undo the clasp to your bra.  He slips it off of you, reaching under you to tease at your nipples with his fingertips.  He chuckles low with satisfaction when you twitch under his fingertips.

He continues his descent, dropping kisses along the soft line of your back.  His hands reach your panties and he pulls them off, mouth sucking gently at the base of your spine.

“Namjoon,” you gasp, the sound of your plea is muffled as you press your face into the sheets. “Touch me.”

He sinks one long finger into you then, savoring the tight pull of your heat as his tongue flicks out to taste you.  Your hips jerk off the bed and he uses both strong hands to urge your legs further apart.

“Relax for me,” he soothes, mouth closing over your wet center.  

He pushes a second finger into you and you shudder at the fullness, back arching.  The movement angles your cunt even closer and Namjoon seizes the opportunity, tongue firm as he swipes it against you.

He can tell how badly you want this.  He can feel it in the way your thighs tremble while he’s working you with his fingers and tongue.  He can hear it in the way you whimper when he nips gently at you with his teeth.

“Namjoon,” the tilt to your voice makes it sound like you are on the verge of tears.  “Please -- I c-can’t -- ”  Your thought evaporates into thin air when he groans directly into your center, curling his fingers deep against the spot inside of you that draws a sharp gasp.

“Yes, you can,” he murmurs his encouragement as you buck against his grip.  “Come for me, Jagiya.”

He looks up just long enough to see your fingers twisted into the sheets, face buried deep into the pillow as you fall apart in his hands.  You make the prettiest sounds as you succumb.  Somewhere in the midst of your frantic whispering he hears his name and the sound goes straight to his cock, making the ache there almost impossible to ignore.  

He ignores it anyway -- pushing the feeling aside to ride out the tremors with you, relishing the taste of your release on his tongue.  He praises you, savors you, keeps you anchored to his mouth until your hips drop flush to the bed with exhaustion.

Then he kisses his way back up the line of your spine, dropping down at your side.  You look so deliciously sated and flushed when you turn over that Namjoon can’t help the slow smile that comes over him.

You kiss it right off.

You fit your body against his -- slick skin against slick skin -- and kiss Namjoon so hard it takes him by surprise.  Your hands dive into his hair, mouth desperate against his.

Namjoon chuckles under his breath at your newfound boldness, fingers reaching to tease at one pebbled nipple.  Your body jolts in response and you answer with a move of your own, one hand sliding across the hard plane of his stomach and into his boxers.  

Up until this very moment, he’s been able to ignore the insistent throbbing between his own legs.  But the moment your fingers wrap around him -- the moment you start to pump your hand gently over him -- it becomes his only thought.

“Shit,” he groans, breaking the kiss to inhale deeply,  “God, that feels good.”

You pull away to maneuver your body over his.  

Namjoon watches through hooded eyes as you pull his boxers down his legs and then turn your attention to his straining cock.  He takes his bottom lip between his teeth to contain the noise he makes when your mouth descends onto him.

The moments that follow are a test of the last shreds of Namjoon’s self-control.  

The wet warmth of your mouth surrounds him, tongue teasing at the sensitive places that make his hips jerk and his mouth drop open in surrender.  Your grip around his cock stays firm, mouth soft in contrast -- both sensations almost too much to bear at once.

He slips a hand in your hair to push back the strands that have fallen into your face and you release him with a pop, lips wet and swollen, eyes glassy and wide.  

He nearly comes right then and there.

“No more,” he croaks, voice hoarse with arousal.  “That’s all I can take.”

The smile you return is nothing short of victorious.  Namjoon rolls you onto your back in one fluid motion, more than ready to retake his position of control.   Your eyes are sparkling with laughter and he grins back.

“You like seeing me at your mercy, huh?” he teases, dropping kisses into the crook of your neck.  

“I do,” you admit, shuddering when he slips one hand back down to the apex of your thighs.  “It’s nice to be the one in charge for a change.”

Namjoon kisses you slowly then, taking himself in hand to slide the head of his stiff cock against the wetness spilling from your entrance.  He pulls up on his arms and looks down at you just to appreciate the way you look right now, hair splayed across his pillow and skin luminous against his sheets.  

“You’ve always been in charge, Jagiya,” he breathes, enjoying the way your cheeks pink in response.  “Just like you’re in charge right now. So tell me what you want.”

The humor disappears from your eyes then, replaced by something heady and dark.  

Namjoon sucks in a breath when your hand wraps back around his cock, guiding him back to your entrance.  He throbs with need under your fingertips, muscles locked tight with anticipation.

“This -- ” you murmur, tilting your hips up to take him in, “ -- is what I want.”  

Namjoon sinks down carefully then, slowly -- choking back a moan at the unbearably tight grip of your walls.  You gasp, nails digging into his back as he strokes to the hilt.  

“This is what you want?” he goads, feeling powerful now, drunk on the sight of you writhing beneath him. He pulls back and surges forward again, drawing a desperate moan from you.  “Like this?”

You wrap your legs around him, hands sliding down the slick skin of his back until your fingers are gripping his ass, urging him to move faster.

“Yes,” you manage on a shaky breath.  “Like that.  Over and over and over.”

Namjoon buries his smile against your breasts, tonguing at your nipples as his hips piston against you.  He nips at one with his teeth and you whine, back arching off the bed.  

“You’re made for me,” he groans, panting his praise in between deep strokes, “So tight and wet I can’t think.”

You hum your contentment into his mouth when you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him close for a kiss.  He slips one hand under your ass, dragging you deeper into his heavy strokes and you cry out.  

He’s always hated the echo in this place.  But hearing the sound of your voice calling his name echoing off the walls is an entirely different story.  It lights a fire inside of him -- making him move faster, harder -- desperate to hear it again.

“Namjoon -- “ your hands claw at his back as you cling to him.  “ -- I think, I think I’m going -- “

“You will,” he rasps, when you lose all hope of finishing that thought.

He sinks his thumb into his mouth before dragging it down to rub slow circles across your aching clit and you clamp down around him in response.  He chokes on his own moan, summoning just enough control to keep himself from exploding inside of you.

But then you start to unravel.

In those final moments, you feel hotter and wetter -- begging brokenly in his ear for some kind of relief.  Namjoon holds off until the tight grip of your cunt starts to pulse around him and then he gives in.  He comes so hard his vision darkens before it comes back.  

Then he collapses on top of you, panting and wrecked.

You press a kiss into his neck and rake your nails gently up and down his back.

**********************

Namjoon wakes up alone.

He should be used to the feeling by now, but after last night -- after you -- he can’t help but feel disappointed.  

He shoves a hand through his hair, slips into a pair of lounge pants and heads to the kitchen in search of coffee.

Then he stops in his tracks.

You are standing in front of the massive window in his living room, wearing nothing but one of his old t-shirts, holding a mug of coffee in one hand.  You sip it thoughtfully and look out over the city, seemingly unaware of his presence.

So Namjoon just stands there for a while, admiring your long legs and soft skin and the dark hair that spills down your back.  Admiring the way you make this place bearable just by existing in it.

“Thought you left me,” he says quietly, and you startle out of your reverie at the sound of his voice.

“I did leave you,” you feign a serious expression, nodding at your mug. “For this. Thought you’d understand.”

“That I do,” he laughs, padding across the room to join you at the window.  

He tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear and you smile up at him.

“What are you thinking about this morning?” Namjoon presses quietly. “What’s on your mind?”

You sip your coffee and look back out the window before answering.

“I was just thinking about the day I came to ask for you a job,” you confess.  “How afraid and alone I felt back then.”

Namjoon can still remember how he felt seeing you walk into his office after all those years.   It certainly wasn’t afraid or alone and his chest squeezes at your admission.

“And now?”

“Now I feel …” you trail off as you turn back to look up at him.  “... like everything’s going to be okay.”

He stares back at you, suddenly overwhelmed by how good this feels.  

By how good it feels to be needed by you.  

By how you in his shirt, in his apartment, in his life, makes total sense.  

By how it feels like you belong here.

With him.

“You’re right, Jagiya.  Everything is going to be okay,” Namjoon vows, pulling you into his chest and pressing a kiss into your hair.   “Because I’m going to make sure of it.”

**************************

GLOSSARY:

Gajog: Family

Eomma: Mother

Ttal: Daughter

Amsaja: Lioness

Jaegyueo: Jaguar

TAG LIST:

@prettyguardiansailormin​​​ @barbikatherine​ @55west81st​ @laabellaavitaa21​ @codeinebelle​ @jalexad​ @trynavibewhileicry​ @poohsaidhi​​ @eltrain80​​ @bluewhale52​​ @sahmfanficbts​​ @midnighttifa​​ @krystle1990​​ @thestrugglesofateenagedirtbag​​ @hauntedlilies​​ @kjooniesbabygirl​​ @unicorn5090​​ @parkjimin-persona​​ @kosicastairs​​ @julia-pacheco-blog​​ @veryuniquenamegoeshere​​ @katbonv​​ @sunkissed725​​ @yourdaydreamerfan​​

[thorraborinn]

What is the historical scoop with the "gifting cycle" with gods? I see "gifting cycles" as a concept occasionally brought up amongst Heathens. According to the Longship: "It is then your responsibility as a good, honorable Heathen to repay the gift — not to fulfill or cancel out the debt, but to “flip” it around so that the other person becomes indebted to you." That sounds unnecessarily convulted while thanking gods.

Unsurprisingly, yes, I have some problems with this. They are taking some pretty-common sense ideas like generosity being something that contributes to a good reputation, and reputation being more important in a pre-modern society; and turning them into the elevated governing principles of all interaction and exchange. Personally, I am not going to start rubbing it in my friends’ faces that they owe me if I give them a gift just because it’s my “responsibility as a good, honorable Heathen.”

Also like... everyone can see the mathematical problem here, right? It’s not just me? Giving a gift to someone who can’t reciprocate with greater value would, in this system, be a horrible, selfish, destructive act. If you keep going back and forth not only matching gifts but outdoing them so that a debt is imposed, this is going to quickly escalate out of control. Eventually someone is going to owe more than they have. YES, this is a thing that can happen, and could in Norse society. When it happens with aggressive acts, we call it a feud. It’s bad. It continues until either there’s some kind of outside intervention or all the fuel is burnt up (aka too many people are dead to continue). And even if the tit-for-tat exchanges are “nice” like gift-giving, it can only end the same way, by overloading the available resources.

A minor edit to a paragraph from the “Gifting Cycle” page:

The central mechanism of the [feuding] cycle is debt. Heathenry teaches that if a person [does you harm], then you become indebted them. It is then your responsibility as a good, honorable Heathen to repay the [violence] — not to fulfill or cancel out the debt, but to “flip” it around so that the other person becomes indebted to you. It is then their responsibility to repay you. In this way, the [feuding] cycle goes on indefinitely.

THIS IS AN ACTUAL ACCURATE DESCRIPTION OF THE FEUDING CYCLE. IT’S BAD. WE DO NOT WANT THIS. OUR ANCESTORS DID NOT WANT THIS. THEY CONTINUOUSLY TRIED AND FAILED TO FIND A WAY OUT. IT BEING TRUE DOES NOT MEAN WE ARE MEANT TO UPHOLD IT. IF THIS IS A FUNDAMENTAL FEATURE OF HEATHENRY, THEN I WANT OUT. I’m not saying that the Longship’s description of the gifting cycle is as bad as this but the point I’m trying to make is that what they’re pushing on that page is exactly as fundamental to heathenry as things that we rightfully reject.

Anyway. They’re (mostly) describing something that did actually exist in Old Norse society (and exists in our own society), but it was a feature with a high probability of turning dysfunctional, that they themselves knew was dysfunctional. This isn’t something a Norse person would admit to doing, and they would probably get defensive or even aggressive if you accused them of it, just as any modern person would. The ideal was (as it is now) a person who gives generously and expects nothing in return. Gifts and counter-gifts probably have as much to do with each person wanting to prove themselves not to be stingy as anything described above. Kings and high-ranking people in particular were basically required to give generously and ask for nothing in return; they did of course get something in return anyway in the form of loyalty and support, and getting to keep their position now that they’ve demonstrated that they’re using it to benefit their followers (and even often their enemies) but to actually come out and say that as The Longship encourages us to do would have been political suicide.

We even have a story satirizing it, Gjafa-Refs þáttr (’the tale of Gift-Refr’ or ‘Gift-Fox’). In the story, Gift-Refr trades up gifts from powerful people by compelling counter-gifts out of them while pretending not to want anything (like showing up to the cafeteria in middle school with some pretzel sticks, trading up for a Fruit-by-the-Foot, cashing that in for a pack of Oreos, and so on until you’ve got a shiny Charizard and a Razor scooter... also uhhh sorry if this is out of date) until he himself becomes a jarl. Note, again, his pretending not to want anything, or to only want something extremely meager in response to his gifts, is itself a major factor in motivating the gifts that are given to him.

I’ll remind you that this is not exclusive to pre-modern culture (you only have to watch like a minute to get the point):

We can contrast this with Hávamál, which also talks about giving and receiving gifts, but very differently:

52. Mikit eitt skal-a manni gefa; oft kaupir sér í litlu lof, með halfum hleif ok með höllu keri fekk ek mér félaga. ‘One shouldn’t only give great things; often one gets oneself praise with little. With half a loaf of bread and a tilted cup I’ve gotten myself a companion/s.’

Notice also that Hávamál seems to always be talking to one person, not describing both ends of any interaction. It says you should give things, and if you get a gift you should give one in return, not because you’re indebted now, but because exchanging gifts (as well as laughter, and sharing your thoughts with each other (stanza 44)) is a good way to develop friendships.

So what the deal then? We have both examples of giving gifts specifically in order to impose a debt and giving simple gifts in order to build relationships. As is often the case, we should look at the different social contexts.

For one thing the gift : counter-gift thing isn’t done with necessities; it involves luxury goods, precious metal, or something else only accessible to people who are already living above the subsistence level. Presumably it did also happen among people of lesser means, especially through the socially-sanctioned compulsion to hospitality, and the Hávamál stanza could easily be described either way. Most often, it’s a king or other high-ranked person giving the clearly greater gift; it was status-affirming to give something great, so people at the top had to give the greatest things. This is depicted in typical Old Norse understated dramatics in Egils saga when Eiríkr bloodaxe gives an expensive axe inlaid with silver to Skalla-Grímr as if this makes up for all the terrible bullshit the kings of Norway have put the family through, but Skalla-Grímr finds it useless and throws it into the rafters of his house. The point is, Eiríkr is using the gift of the axe to affirm his position, and Skalla-Grímr is not positioned to actually formally reject it, but he sees it for the manipulative gesture it is. Note also that Eiríkr bloodaxe and Skalla-Grímr are far from being friends -- this gift exchange is managing hostilities, and Skalla-Grímr most certainly did not consider himself indebted. AGAIN we still have this. Boyfriend fucks something up in a relationship. He buys his girlfriend something expensive to make up for it. She either accepts it and he is forgiven, or rejects it because he isn’t worth it, or she pulls the real power move and accepts it but still tells him to take a hike. There are more arcane aspects to Norse gift-giving that we don’t understand, like why Flosi completely flies off the handle at Njáll’s gift of an unmanly cloak in Njáls saga, but by and large this gift-exchange stuff is still active in our culture, it just isn’t quite as totalizing and nuanced because we also, separately have a more complex variety of relations that aren’t mediated by gift-exchange.

Now, I haven’t mentioned gods at all yet. That’s because we don’t really know how they applied any of this to gods. We do know that they made sacrifices in hopes of receiving blessings for them, but we also have stories about people who were simply “friends” with the gods and while they also presumably made sacrifices they don’t seem to be formal exchanges. The overwhelming lesson about gift exchange among friends and family isn’t that you have to continuously bribe them into bribing you back for life, it’s that giving gifts is one of the nice and good things you should do because it’s nice and good. It seems reasonable to me that how you approach giving gifts to the gods would be a natural extension of what you consider to be the social context of your relationship with the gods. If they’re unapproachable like a violent king of medieval Norway then yeah, you’re probably going to try to use gifts to get on their good side and benefit as a result. If they’re your friends and family this is probably going to be conditioned more by thinking about them often and wanting to be close with them.

One last point I want to make. We know that giving gifts was important to Old Norse people and that they did it a lot. We can suspect one thing or the other about what their motivations were. I know that I personally have given gifts for a wide variety of reasons including “I want to do a nice thing for this person,” “I am obligated by some annoying Hallmark holiday,” and yes, “well they gave me something so unfortunately now I have to.” But if we’re gonna continue to push the line that heathenry is more orthopraxic than orthodoxic, i.e. that our actions are primary over our beliefs (and I’m not sure if The Longship does uphold that, but I do, even if I’m often critical of the ways that heathens articulate it) these motivations aren’t the important thing. A relationship based in reciprocity doesn’t actually even have to always be motivated by the same thing. Genuinely caring about someone’s happiness can develop out of a relationship that started with a basis in obligation, and (unfortunately or not) it can also happen the other way around.

Rather than describing a program of “the gifting cycle,” I’d rather that we have discussions about the meaning and power of reciprocity, of relations and networks of relations based in voluntary mutual responsibility. This isn’t uniquely heathen, of course, but we do have our own history and culture to draw on to help us frame it. Instead of recreating dysfunctional behaviors of our predecessors we honor them more by taking up the task of finding something better, while resurrecting and keeping alive their achievements. As I’ve said so often before, Norse society was full of internal contradictions, just like every society. Our task isn’t to recreate any kind of cohesive “system” (that didn’t really exist) but to take a position among these contradictions and act in accordance with what causes the most good, not what is best-attested.

[shreddedparchment]

A World of Our Own Pt.09

Paradise Lost

10/09/2020

Pairing: Bucky x Reader          Word Count: 5,013

Warnings: fluff, depression, anxiety, implied sex

A/N: Hopefully this isn’t too much of a mess. Life got me busy and I didn’t get to put this out when I wanted to. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work. xoxo

“Hello? Yes, how can I help you?” Her voice is still a bit on the nasal side, her hair an ice blonde. Her eyes are emerald green and her lips as red as a ruby.

She doesn’t seem to remember you one bit. It has been ten months and you’d only met her once.

“I’m Y/N? I have a meeting with Mr. Swan?” You muster up all your courage after that initial hesitation, intent on completing your mission.

“Oh, right. The no-show.” She gets up and gestures for you to follow.

Quickly you hurry to catch up, watching the way she swings her hips as she walks, the movement exaggerated by the tight gray pencil skirt she wears.

She’s surprisingly fast on her six-inch heels and you’re dumbfounded by the skill.

Stopping at the end of a long modern hallway with black marble walls, the secretary knocks on the pale wooden office door, waiting a moment for response.

“Come in, Kay.” A surprisingly young male voice speaks.

Kay steps in, stopping with her back against the open door as she leans her weight on the doorknob.

“The no-show is here for you.” Kay says, voice casual and relaxed despite the fact that she’s speaking to A.I.M.’s CEO.

“Oh? Hi!” He greets as you cross into view.

He’s most definitely young. Mid to late twenties. No way he’s older than thirty, with short and carefully styled brown hair, brown eyes, and browned peach skin. His chin is blanketed in rough stubble and two dimples crease his cheeks as he moves towards you with his hand extended.

“Y/N, right?” He asks and you quickly take his hand and shake it.

“Yes.” You agree. “Nice to meet you.”

“That’ll be all, Kay. Can you order my lunch for two o’clock?” He asks, releasing your hand but gesturing the red modern armchair in front of his long glass desk.

“Will do.” Kay agrees and leaves, shutting the door behind her.

Mr. Swan rounds his desk, long and lithe, moving to sit in his chair and takes a moment to breathe in and release it slowly, as if it’s the first time he’s sat down today. When he’s settled, he gives you a smile and places his hands on his lap.

“So, you’ve been out of town for ten months?” He wastes no time getting to his point. “Unfortunately, Y/N, I don’t have a position open for you. We’ve just filled all the open positions in marketing and taken on all the interns we could use.

“If you wanted the job, you should have shown up. You were hired. I can’t save your spot just because you decided to take an extended vacation.”

“I-” Your heart is pounding, your blood boiling. There’s a buzzing in your head because you know you can’t say what you want to. You can’t tell him that you were stranded on an island with Bucky because it’s a secret. Not that he was stranded, but that you were there.

“I’m sorry to waste your time. Really. If you’d like to reapply, we’ll keep your application on file and should a spot open up, we’ll keep you in mind.” Mr. Swan assures you.

“Mr. Swan,” You begin, forcing yourself to give him a smile. Tight and humorless, it’s more a desperate gesture than anything else. “I didn’t extend my vacation, there were problems with my passport and travel visas. I was stuck in an airport for several weeks before they put me up in a hotel until they could figure out what the problem was.

“I-I’m not asking you to give me the same position. I know that I’ve lost the chance for that, but if you could give me a job anywhere in your company, I can research my butt off.” You say rashly. “I’m not an idiot. Research and Development would be a good fit too, or maybe consumer research?”

“I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, “I don’t have anything for you. Begging for a job won’t get you one.”

“Mr. Swan-”

“Look, I have a lot of work to do. A company to run. And I’ve given you my answer.” Mr. Swan rises, reaching to refasten the button on his suit jacket. “If you don’t mind? I humored you because Pepper gave me a call to hear you out, but I’ll have to be more wary granting favors for friends. If you’ll excuse me?”

You don’t even have the chance to get up before he’s moving around to the door. He opens it up and leaves, disappearing to the right.

A moment later, Kay moves in and stops when she sees you.

“Oh, you’re still here? You should leave before he comes back. He’s an asshole but that was him being nice.” She explains, moving to his desk to drop off a thick yellow notebook.

When she turns, she stops by the end of the desk, looking at you pointedly.

You get up without word, moving out of the office feeling like there’s fire in your veins.

Loading the elevator, you turn and press the ground floor button. The cold air that blows from the ceiling sends a chill down your spine and it’s the push you need to knock you out of your daze.

As the doors shut and Kay takes her seat behind her desk, your rage overflows into one loud exclamation of, “Fuck!”

~~~~~~~~~~

“How long is this gonna take?” Bucky wonders, turning to Sam who sits beside him, relaxed as he lounges in his seat.

Bucky isn’t so unconcerned, sitting straight with one hand on his bouncing leg and the other balled into a fist on the table.

“I’m sorry, Sergeant Barnes, do you have somewhere else you need to be?” Fury asks, strutting towards them before stopping at the head of the table.

“Yes.” Bucky says, no fear or regret in his voice. “Y/N had a meeting with the head of A.I.M. today, to see if she could possibly get her job back.”

“Guess the money in her bank isn’t enough incentive to stop working?” Sam guesses.

Bucky shakes his head. “She wants to get back to normal if she can. We both do. But she’s having a harder time than I am. This means a lot to her.”

“Unfortunately for you and Miss Y/L/N, I’m afraid Augustus Swan is a grade A asshole. I don’t think she’s going to come away from that meeting happy.” Fury says, pulling out his own chair to sit.

“Then we need to make this quick.” Bucky nods, leaning both elbows on the table.

“I’ll dictate how long this debriefing will run, Sergeant Barnes. Rush me and I’ll keep you here all night.” Fury threatens.

As Bucky frowns, ready to argue, Sam meets his eyes and as he swings his chair around to face him, he shakes his head to calm him and then swings it back to face Fury.

“What do you wanna know?” Bucky sighs, leaning back once again, defeated by Fury’s iron stare.

“Well, for starters, when did you notice that things weren’t exactly right on that plane?”

~~~~~~~~~~

“You were lucky.” Sam admits, walking beside Bucky at a casual pace despite Bucky’s desire to be with you already. “If that stewardess hadn’t moved you and your Mrs. to the front of the plane, you’d both be dead.”

“Yeah.” Bucky agrees, wringing his hands with anxiety. “Were you able to find him? The stewardess’s husband and son?”

“In Texas. They were in contact with the airline but even the airline didn’t know what happened so, Ross filled in the blanks without actually owning up to the responsibility of it. Blamed it on malfunctioning engines.

“They didn’t take it so well. They’ve been paid off, but that hardly makes up for the years that kid is going to live without his mother.” Sam grieves, feeling for the family.

“I’m glad they at least know.” Bucky admits. “Y/N will be glad to know they’re able to mourn her properly. She won’t be happy but at least her heart will ache a little less.”

“She’s a good woman, Bucky.” Sam reaches over, clapping his partner once on the shoulder. “But she’s got you wrapped around her little finger.”

Bucky’s mouth turns into a small hesitant smile, shaking his head.

“Like, she’s got you whipped, dude. Whipped!”

As Sam laughs, Bucky follows, relaxing a little and grateful for the levity.

“You say that like it’s bad thing.” Bucky throws at him, but Sam takes his hand back and gestures his denial animatedly.

“No, I never said that. Honestly, anyone who says being whipped is a bad thing obviously never got it right.” Sam shrugs.

“You sound like you know what you’re talking about.” Bucky pretends to be thoughtful. “How’s that possible when you’re single as hell?”

Sam stops walking, fixing Bucky with a glare before he nods, looking betrayed.

“Alright, I see how it is. Don’t forget I owe you a tracking chip, Barnes. I will literally implant one in your ass.” Sam threatens, but Bucky can only laugh as he stops to look back at him.

Sam smiles, and for a moment Bucky can swear he looks almost grateful to have him back. Although he’s opted to take a break, a long one so that he can build a life with you before he goes back to work, he suddenly feels eager to return and really get to know his new partner.

“Will you come over for dinner next week? Once we’ve had a chance to settle in?” Bucky takes a step towards the three-story townhouse, a lovely pale sandstone exterior with dark gray highlights around the windows and teal front door.

You’d chosen the color specifically and though you didn’t explain it, he knows you’d picked it because it reminded you of the waters around the island.

You had loved your morning swims. It’s only natural that you miss the water if not the isolation. And yet, now that you’ve both been back, he sees you timidity as you walk out into the world and it makes his heart ache.

“Depends.” Sam quips, “You cookin’? I don’t wanna get food poisoning.”

Bucky shakes his head, smiling. “No. Y/N will be cooking. She’s got it all planned and the menu all thought up. She’s pretty excited about having you over actually.”

“Then I’ll definitely be there. Tell her I’m looking forward to it and I hope things are okay with A.I.M.” Sam’s well wishes give Bucky a warm feeling in his chest.

His two worlds are one in this moment and he appreciates the generosity that Sam has had welcoming you into their group.

Bucky wants to keep you as far away from the danger as possible but seeing as you’ve already been blown up on a plane because of him, he’s grown accustomed to the idea that he can’t ever keep you one hundred percent safe. He’ll have to take it day by day.

“Thanks, Sam. That means a lot. I’ll tell her. Hey and uh…maybe you should ask Sharon to come? Y’know…”

Sam quirks an eyebrow, his face full of wonder at Bucky’s audacity.

“…as your date?” He finishes, an amused smile overtaking his handsome face as he turns up and takes the steps two at a time.

“That’s not funny, Barnes!”

“It wasn’t supposed to be!” Bucky calls back then wiggles his eyebrows at Sam as he shuts the door.

Eager to find you, he drops his keys on the unpacked boxes by the door, stripping off his coat slowly as his ears listen intently to the sounds of the house.

The inside is simple, a dark gray concrete floor makes up the foyer that then shifts into stunning dark oak hardwood flooring. The windows are large with thin frames made of black steel. Immediately after the foyer to the right is the living room, two bright red sofas—one full and one loveseat—are pushed against the far wall, an unassembled coffee table half pulled from its box. A rolled up decorative rug lays on top of the larger sofa.

An open concept, the dining room follows the first floor with a decently sized dining table lighter than the floors with mid-century dining chairs in pale peach. Two of them are still wrapped in plastic.

On the other side of the dining table, is the black concrete kitchen island with maple cabinets. A black stainless-steel fridge and matching chef grade six burner stove are already hooked up an in use, a small pot of what smells like alfredo sauce burning and emitting the first puffs of black smoke.

Bucky drops his jacket and races for it, pulling the pot away from the flame then shutting it off.

“Shit…” He sighs, taking the pot to the sink then freezing when he sees cold noodles, all mushed and sticky and obviously overcooked thrown in what he can clearly see is a small fit of frustration from you.

He takes a deep breath, exhaling through his nose as he thinks about what he’ll possibly be able to say to make this day better for you. There has to be something that he can do.

As he waters down the sauce and begins to dump it, he makes up his mind.

He cleans the dishes first, then makes for the fridge to see what else you’ve bought to cook.

He finds the chicken that would have been for the pasta you were making and takes that out along with a few tomatoes, sharp cheddar, and beautiful red and yellow peppers.

Dinner is quick work, and though Bucky isn’t sure what he’s making will be very appetizing, he pours his heart and soul into this meal hoping that it’ll heal a bit of the darkness this day has obviously brought.

He sets the table and as he places the down two wine glasses, he suddenly hears a swell of music upstairs.

It’s beautiful, this melody, and it reminds him of a song that he knows he must have heard. There’s a full string orchestra, woodwinds, and a deep bass below. It all sounds beautiful, something he can’t quite put his finger on, but it’s melancholic and he can only imagine the state you’re in.

Deciding to get you down here before he pulls the wine from the fridge, he heads up the stairs.

The second floor has three bedrooms two on the left and the master on the right with a master bath and the second full bath sharing the same wall.

Although the inner walls of the house are made up of insulated and soundproofed drywall, the walls of each room on the outside are exposed sandstone brick, slightly darker than that of the exterior.

Bucky makes his way to the last door on the right, listening for a moment but the music is coming from the third-floor attic space.

Attic is used as a loose term. The space is actually completely open, nothing within it yet save for the large radio system that you brought from your place. The high-tech turntable is plugged into sturdy speakers that almost make it sound as if the orchestra is in the attic with you.

Bucky steps up onto the landing and spots you standing at the far end staring up at the large skylight as the sky grows darker with dusk’s quick approach. You have your arms wrapped around yourself as if you’re cold, the large sweater you’re wrapped in making you look soft and huggable.

You take his breath away, every time he sees you like this. You’ve always been beautiful but seeing you in clean clothing that isn’t torn or saturated in sea salt makes his heart skip a beat. He likes you looking cared for. You’ve gained a healthy amount of weight since you left the hospital and there is nothing sexier than how you look now.

The stretchy tights you wear underneath your sweater hug your curves tight, thick woolen socks on your feet.

If you hear him come in, you don’t show it. Your hands are clasped around the sleeves of your sweater, clinging tightly as you struggle with whatever you’re thinking.

Bucky needs to know what he can do, but he’s afraid to make it worse.

The only thing he can think of is to hold you, so that’s what he does.

He moves up behind you, waiting a moment before he places his hands on your shoulders then traces them down along the length of your arms. The way you have them crossed also brings his arms around your body.

As you melt against him, Bucky exhales the breath he’d been holding, kissing the side of your head as you shut your eyes and sigh.

“One of the things I hadn’t realized I’d missed being stranded on that island was music.” You tell him, voice conversational despite the grief you seem to still be processing.

“Me too.” Bucky admits, listening to the swell of music with new ears.

It gives him goosebumps.

“I guess things didn’t go well at A.I.M.?” Bucky probes gently, his lips pressed against your head as you continue to watch the sky through the skylight.

“I can’t exactly tell them that I was stranded on an island after my plane blew up.” You shrug. “Honestly, the guy was a pretty big jerk but, he’s right. They couldn’t exactly hold my position for me.”

Bucky sighs deeply, hating the disappointment in your voice. “You’ll find something, kitten. I’ll help you look.”

You shake your head. “I think maybe I should just take some time.”

“I think that’s a very good idea.” Bucky admits, his lips once again pressed to your head. He can’t seem to help himself. He wants to kiss you better, but he knows it’ll only do so much.

Both of you are aware just how much you’re struggling to get used to being back home.

You fall into silence, Bucky’s arms content to hold you.

Oh, shit. Dinner.

“I made you something to eat.” Bucky whispers, then drops his arms as you turn to look at him.

“Shit, the sauce!” You exclaim, fear making your eyes dilate.

“It’s okay, kitten. I took care of it.”

“I’m so sorry, Bucky. I’m so stupid.” You whimper.

“Hey, baby, it’s okay. Alright? Nothing to worry about.” He pulls your hand up to his lips and kisses your knuckles before lacing his fingers through yours to pull you from the room. “What do you think we should do with this space?”

He hopes you can’t see through his attempt to distract you.

“I don’t know.” You admit, looking back up at the space as he pull you down the stairs.

Bucky waits as you think, letting you lead the pace of conversation.

“We could just make it a multipurpose room.” You brainstorm. “You’ll need a gym? And I could use a space for reading.”

Bucky smiles, glad you’ve gotten your mind off your lost A.I.M. job, even if it is for a few moments.

“That sounds like a great idea. I’ll have to get you a nice lounge chair and some bookshelves.” Bucky nods eagerly.

As he pulls you through into the dining room, he lets your hand go to pull out your chair.

“This looks so good, babe.” You gasp, eyeing the cheesy chicken on your plate, laden with tomatoes and peppers. “Thank you so much.”

Bucky watches you sit down, your voice breaking as you thank him and then you’re shoving your hands over your face as you sob.

He doesn’t need you to say anything and there’s nothing he can say to make it better. All he can do is drop to his knees and pull you into his arms, holding you tight as you let the stresses of the day spill out.

You bury your face against his neck, clinging to his shirt tight, somehow making Bucky feel more needed here than you ever did on the island.

“I’ve got you, kitten.” He whispers, squeezing you tight. “I’ve got you.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“What are you going to do today?” Bucky whispers, eyes still shut.

He gives you a fright, making you jump with his sudden question and you turn to hide your face in your pillow as you laugh lightly.

“Holy fuck, Bucky!” You shout into your pillow and feel him shift beside you, his hand moving across your lower back. His hand over the sheets you’re using to cover yourself.

You turn to look at him, biting your bottom lip with playful anger.

“I’m sorry.” He laughs silently, puffs of air as he blinks slowly, like cat. Telling you he loves you without saying anything. “Serves you right for watching me sleep.”

“You’re so pretty though.” You tell him, reaching out to trace his nose from bridge to tip.

“Me?!” He asks, astonished by the news before he throws himself over you, grabbing your wrist as he goes to pin it up above your head.

Settling his weight on you, he breathes in and out heavily, enjoying the feel of you beneath him. With your wrist in his metal grip and his flesh hand squeezing your hip, you chuckle happily, licking your lips.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“If I’m beautiful, what does that make you?”

“Normal?” You wonder, knowing he’ll refute any disparities you make in your self-assessment. He’s biased. He loves you.

“Perfection.” He whispers, and you shake your head because you knew it had been coming.

“Nobody’s perfect, Bucky.”

“You’re perfect for me.” He clarifies, and leans down to kiss your lips slowly, just a peck.

He holds it, staring into your eyes.

“Perfect with me.” He continues.

You smile, perfectly at peace.

“You never answered my question.” Bucky tells you, throwing himself onto his left side, keeping his right arm around your waist.

“What question?” You wonder, reaching over to stroke his hair.

“What are you gonna do today?”

“Oh.” You sigh. “You’re going in today, finally?”

“Just for the day. Getting acquainted with the new headquarters. No missions yet. But soon.” Bucky nods.

“I’m gonna have to get used to being here without you.” You turn onto your side and scoot in close, pressing your nose right up to the tip of his, shutting your eyes in subdued lamentation.

“I’m gonna have to learn to leave you behind too.” Bucky points out. “I’ve gotten used to having you nearby, kitty cat.”

You laugh. Reaching up to stroke his cheek. “You haven’t called me that in a while.”

“Remember when you woke up on the beach? Right after the plane crashed?” Bucky’s brow puckers, a little crease between his steel and ice eyes.

“I remember you yelling at me to move.”

“I didn’t yell.”

“You might as well have.”

“I didn’t know you were so sensitive.”

“Yes you do.”

“Fuck. You’re right, I do.” He chuckles.

“Stop hurting my feelings, Barnes.” You pout.

He laughs, pulling you close again to kiss you.

“Mmm.” He mumbles, “Baby?”

“Yeah?” You pull back, catching your breath and pulling back to look at him.

“Why is it so damn hot in here?”

“I was cold.” You force a smile, too tight, too toothy. A downright look of guilt if ever Bucky saw one. “Too hot?”

“Not yet.” Bucky mutters, crawling over you again, his hands trailing down; one pushes your white long-sleeved shirt up to expose your tummy while his other hand slides down past the waistband of your sleep shorts. “But we can fix that.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky’s exhausted. He didn’t know how much energy it would take to get back into the swing of things.

As he trudges along down the sidewalk, he passes a few people and they kindly look up and smile at him, waving when they recognize him.

His interview after his rescue seems to have changed the mind of most people in the city. He’s no longer the Winter Soldier, but Sergeant Barnes.

“Hi Sergeant Barnes. Nice night?” A lilting voice asks.

He looks up in search of its owner and finds a young brunette walking by him. Dressed in a tight silver cocktail dress with sparkling sequins along the bottom hem of the skirt and a black coat much thinner than she should need in tonight’s cold.

The flirtatious tilt of her head and the sparkle in her eyes leaves him in no doubt of her aim.

“It’ll be much better once I get back home to my girl.” Bucky tells her, turning to walk backwards a few steps as he waves her goodbye.

“Lucky lady.” She tells him, pulling her bag up higher on her shoulder.

“I’m the lucky one. Have a good night, Miss.” Bucky gives her a nod and turns to be on his way.

He’s not sure if it’s wrong that he feels it necessary to mention you whenever a woman pays him this kind of attention. There are plenty who have wished him a good night without the flirting that he carries on conversations with and manages not to bring you up.

It’s almost like he uses you as a shield.

As he reaches the steps of the house, he climbs them quickly and then waits by the door with his hand pressed over his heart.

That girl really made him anxious. He doesn’t like being seen like that. It’s invasive.

When his heart is steadier, he pulls out his keys and lets himself in.

There’s a rush of hot air that chokes him. He coughs, pulling at his collar as he reluctantly shuts the door and its influx of arid air.

He sheds as much of his outer clothes as he can. Blue jacket and the gray sweater beneath it leaving him in a plain red t-shirt.

“What the hell?” He gasps, dropping his outerwear on the floor before locking the door and venturing up the stairs.

The entire first floor is empty. Dark. The smell of whatever you had for lunch still filling the house. Grilled cheese?

“Y/N?” He calls, moving for the bedroom but he finds it empty. “Baby?”

There’s a sudden rush of wind, a flash of lightning from the third-floor stairs, followed by a loud clap of thunder.

It pulls his gaze up and he follows his instinct taking the stairs two at a time.

Since moving in, after spending each day taking care of one room of the house at a time, the attic is no longer empty.

As he reaches the landing, to his left is a small home gym. Each piece picked out by him, a punching bag, mats, weights, treadmill for you if you ever decide to use it. Bucky prefers to run outside.

On the right side of the room, your reading corner. Six shelves at least seven feet tall with a step ladder to reach the higher shelves. There’s a tea table, two comfortable padded chairs, and another deep enough that you could curl into it and sit all day reading without needing to get up.

There’s a reading lamp and a colorful carpet to make the space cozier and on across a small coffee table a lounging sofa for Bucky to lay on when you’re reading and he just wants to be by you.

On the far side of the room, directly under the skylight, he spots you on a platform bed you’d had set up for what Bucky had thought was sky-watching. He can see that he was right.

Your eyes are trained on the sky above, thunder clouds flashing and echoing around the house.

Around the bed you’ve set up what looks like a semi-circle of potted trees. A mixture of four-foot palms and Cycas, all surrounding the head of the bed.

Without a word Bucky makes his way towards you, stripping down to his briefs as he goes. When he reaches the bed, he finds you also in your underwear, sheets tossed aside as you lay with your head against the pillows and your eyes trained on the window.

He crawls in, stopping over you for just a moment to smile down at you and lean down to kiss your lips.

Your hands come up to caress his ears, then up to the back of his head.

“You cut your hair.” You observe, a glint in your eye that tells him you like what you see.

He lays beside you, looking up to see what you see, and he finds a strange sense of calm fall over him.

Placing his hands on his chest, he relaxes and then reaches down to take one of yours.

“So, this is what you’ve been up to with the trees?”

“Something didn’t feel right.” You admit. “I think I found the answer.”

The heat, the sound of thunder, the lightning overhead, and now with the jade leaves of these trees filling his line of sight, bucky can almost see himself back on the island. Back when it was just them and no one in the world could hurt either of you. Where life was much simpler. Wilder. And just a bit quieter.

Even though things have gotten better, this feels like the world of two where your love was born and nurtured.

“This is amazing.” Bucky admires, giving your hand a squeeze. “I think we should get married.”

You turn to look at him, eyes wide.

“Too soon?” He checks, turning to look at you too. “Marry me, kitten.”

Bucky watches you turn onto your side. He mirrors you, wrapping his arm around you.

“Whadya say?” He waits, heart pounding despite his calm exterior.

He feels your hand trail down his side, tracing the side of his thigh before you bring it around to his butt then without warning give his left cheek a nice squeeze.

“Not the left side!” He yelps.

“I will!” You agree, giddy and the happiest Bucky has ever seen you.

Somewhere past the burn of the spot where Sam had pierced him with that implant gun, past the pain and the throbbing, Bucky realizes you’ve just agreed to be his wife.