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rafey-baby · 2 days ago

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forbidden fruit 2

Once upon a time there was a princess and a hunter...

snow white!reader x hunter!rafe

c/w: mentions of violence & murder, one bed (my fav cliche ever!), slightly suggestive, also if it’s not obvious this is *loosely* based on the story of snow white, 18+ mdni!

wc: 2.4k

is he warming up to her? #it’s hard to tell

part one & moodboard

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

“Have you ever considered a less...um, violent job?” she asks, nausea coiling in her guts at the mere thought of harming— let alone killing an innocent animal.

The inky sky has turned into an even gloomier hue, and if it wasn’t for the luster of the moonlight illuminating their journey, they wouldn’t be able to see a thing. However, it’s still a challenge for them (her) to evade the thick roots hiding underneath the spongy moss and brittle lichen— she thinks her fingers aren’t enough to count the times Rafe has had to prevent her from toppling over onto the soil with a steadying grip on her arm.

At this point, she can’t comprehend how he even knows where they’re going. She thinks that every rock and tree trunk they pass resembles the last but apparently, he’s using them to track the route to his cabin— something he tried to teach her about two hours ago, but gave up the moment her attention was captured by a tiny squirrel hurriedly scampering off into its hiding spot.

“If I’m bein’ honest, I think killin’ is the only thing m’good for at this point,” he murmurs while inspecting a fallen spruce in the middle of their path.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” she argues, rounding the obstacle while he simply steps over it.

“Tha’s cause you don’t know me. Listen, m’not…m’not a good person, I’ve done some, uh, real shitty things, alright?” he looks over to her, gemstone eyes sullen.

She wonders if the real shitty things include other people’s blood on his hands. After all, the queen wouldn’t have asked him to end her life if he’d never done it before. A shiver creeps up her spine when a vivid image of him doing something so remorseless flashes in her mind.

However, it’s soon replaced by him dropping the knife and sparing her life, even if it meant complicating his own.

“I think…a bad person wouldn’t be helping me right now,” her words are honest but he doesn’t offer her a reply, merely flits his eyes over her frame with a furrow in his brow.

They fall into a serene silence, wordlessly treading further and further into the somber forest while she keeps getting distracted by the glittering stars above them; mesmerized by the beauty of something so far away from all the cruelty on this planet.

However, when she goes on to take her next step, the ground (or what she thought was the ground) suddenly cracks underneath her, the partly frozen lid of the pond shattering with a loud crackle— only a surprised squeal leaving her throat when she loses her footing and tumbles right into the frigid water with a splash.

Turns out, it’s not just some small little puddle that’s partly covered by fallen leaves and branches, but a rather deep one; saturating her all the way up to her neck as she gasps for breath when the coldness surrounds her helpless limbs.

“Shit.”

She hears Rafe hiss before humored laughter bubbles from his chest.

“Rafe, this is not funny,” she complains with her teeth chattering when the icy liquid soaks through the fabric of her dress in an instant.

“M’sorry, you jus’ look like a wet kitten right now,” he shakes his head, chuckling as he extends an arm towards her— pulling her up and steadying her with a firm grip on her waist.

“Ow,” she cries out when she leans her weight on her left foot.

“What’s wrong?” he seems almost concerned as he scans her for any visible injuries.

“Think I sprained my ankle, it hurts,” she frowns, reaching for his forearm for balance.

“Of course you did, told you to be careful,” he clicks his tongue, slightly annoyed at the fact that she really is a helpless case. “Can you walk?”

“I don’t know…” she mumbles; face crumpling up when she tries to take a step forward.

“Right, uh, c’mere then,” he huffs out before his hands are on her waist once more and he’s lifting her into his arms like a bag of flour.

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“There’s no way you’re walkin’ right now,” he scoffs as he shifts her into a better position before he’s continuing their trek. “What would you even do without me, hm?”

“Probably freeze to death like you said,” she pouts, eyes despondent when she leans into his supportive hold.

“Yeah.”

“M’sorry,” she sniffles, the ache in her foot combined with him being mad at her causing her eyes to burn.

“Shouldn’t be that long ’till we’re there, princess. Think you can manage not to cry before we get there?”

“I don’t know…it hurts and m’cold,” she sulks, feeling miserable, even if she knows she should be grateful she’s not dead or alone in the woods right now.

“You’re a big girl, know you can take it. You’ll feel better soon, yeah?” he attempts to provide her some sort of comfort with his limited knowledge of handling something so fragile.

She hums out something incoherent in response, weak arms wrapping around his neck as she takes in a shaky inhale— damp skin prickling under the chilly air that’s making the leafy trees sway back and forth, reminding her of shadowy ghosts.

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

“Uh, think there should be a dry shirt for you here somewhere…” he trails off as he goes through his closet. “This is probably a little too big but should be fine, yeah?”

The cabin is small and secluded; the darkened walls blending in with the rest of the forest and concealing them from the outside, making her feel strangely secure. However, his taste in decor makes her rather uneasy as she tries to desperately focus on the crackling fireplace beginning to warm up her trembling limbs and not the assortment of dead animals and their fur or other body parts on display.

“Oh, it’s perfect, thank you,” she tears her eyes from the elk antlers presented on the wall, offering him a tense smile when she takes the cottony shirt from him; the material surprisingly soft between her fingertips.

However, before he has the chance to leave the bedroom in order to give her some privacy, she timidly speaks up again, words clumsy and hurried. “Could you— um, could you help me undress? This corset is quite impossible to take off by myself…especially now that it’s wet.”

“Uh, right, yeah,” he clears his throat, gesturing for her to turn around before he’s pulling her closer by a grip on her hips, the wooden floorboards creaking underneath their feet making up for the sudden silence.

She doesn’t know why the gesture feels almost intimate or why it makes her hold her breath when he begins to unfasten the strings holding the corset top together, but a strange shade of suspense colors the air around them nonetheless.

“A tight little thing, huh?” he rasps as his fingers deftly work on the satiny ribbons— a process that feels eternal while she tries not to pay any mind to the way her heart keeps thumping louder and louder by each passing second.

When she finally feels the silky material loosening around her middle, she has to will her erratic breathing to slow down as he unhooks the rest of the dress— the fabric forming a pearly white puddle on the floor.

Then, he’s wordlessly slipping his shirt over her head; the sleeves far too long and the hem fitting her more like a short nightgown.

“Thanks,” she swallows before she’s gingerly turning around, lacking the courage of looking him in the eye for any longer than a glance.

“Right, uh, we should get some sleep. You can take the bed ’n I’ll sleep on the floor, yeah?”

And she’s already nodding before the words register in her disconcerted brain. “Wait, no, it’s your bed. I can sleep on the floor,” she argues immediately, momentarily forgetting why she was so shy in the first place when the weight of being an inconvenience builds up on her shoulders.

“Nah, m’not gonna let a fuckin’ princess sleep on the floor. S’fine, jus’ take the bed, I don’t want it. Need to make sure we weren’t followed anyway,” he grumbles, attempting to leave the room once more.

“Rafe, you need sleep just as much as I do. It’s the middle of the night, my stepmother doesn’t even know what you did yet. She’s expecting you to return tomorrow, right?” she tries to reason, not willing to give in because letting him sleep comfortably is the least she can do to even begin returning the favor.

He lets out a weary sigh before shrugging off his jacket, far too worn out to argue. “Yeah, alright, guess you have a point.”

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

They end up sharing the bed.

And once they’ve both settled into the opposite sides, she’s far too intimidated by Rafe’s disgruntled aura to utter out anything other than a whispered goodnight before it’s quiet once more.

However, as the night stretches on, she begins to grow restless; tossing and turning on the creaky mattress and driving Rafe mad in the process.

She doesn’t mean to, the last thing she wants is to disturb his rest but her thoughts are racing and she can’t seem to close her eyes for more than a few seconds because truthfully, she feels terrible— everything familiar has been turned upside down in the span of a day and the only life she knows has practically ceased to exist. All she wants is to go home but that’s not an option anymore and it’s scary.

“Hey, uh, you good?” Rafe’s sudden drawl makes her flinch.

“Sorry, can’t sleep,” she peeps out, expression apologetic when she twists to face him, causing the sheets to rustle around them.

“Yeah, me neither since you keep movin’ around like a lunatic,” he grumbles, irritation clear in his tone.

“M’sorry. Just can’t stop thinking about everything and I just…I’ve never understood why she hates me so much,” she breathes out, features contorting into something heavy-hearted as she chews on her bottom lip.

He blinks tiredly; movements lethargic when he runs a hand through his hair.

“The queen? Well, in case you haven’t noticed, she’s, uh, not that alright in the head. M’sure you’ve done nothin’ wrong, okay?” he attempts to reassure her, albeit to no avail.

“I just— just feel like...this is all my fault, you know? And now you’re in danger too because of me,” she rambles, not able to let the thought go.

“You don’t need to worry ’bout me, princess. There’s enough people that want me dead already, what’s one more?” he lets out a dry chuckle that makes her frown.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothin’ just, uh, listen…the worst thing that’s gonna happen is that she’s gonna have me killed when I don’t return, ’n once she finds out you’re still alive, she’s gonna send her soldiers to bring her your—”

“Rafe, that’s not helping. Why would say that?” she interrupts him and apparently, he finds her scowling face to be the most hilarious thing in the world because next thing she knows he’s laughing, sleepy features scrunching up as he shakes his head.

It’s safe to say she does not understand his humor, whatsoever.

“All m’sayin’ is that we’re gonna have to find someplace good to hide.”

“We have to leave the kingdom?” she asks, worried.

“Yeah, think so,” he says, sounding far too impassive for her liking.

“But I can’t just leave, this is my home.”

“I know, but s’gonna be okay,” he murmurs, mouth stretching around a yawn.

“But what if— what if something happens?” she sounds panicked, all the worst-case scenarios bouncing around her skull because she’s never even been this far from the palace. How on earth is she meant to survive in the real world?

“I’ll keep you safe, yeah? Now can you let me sleep?” he lets out a drowsy exhale, seemingly fed up with the conversation already.

“But what if—”

“Shh, c’mere,” he hushes her before he’s tucking her flush against his chest— a heavy palm resting on her thigh to keep her from moving because he’s exhausted and more than aware that tomorrow is going to be a long day, especially with this overthinking princess who he wishes would just shut up.

It’s something he’d tell her outright if he wasn’t certain that she’d start crying all over again in response— the rest of the hike here with her sobs and hiccups thrumming in his ears more than enough for one day.

And the sudden proximity seems to work because instantly, she stops shifting around; nearly stops breathing altogether when she swallows. “What are you…”

“Just, uh, need you to calm down, yeah?” he pats at her hip before she’s clumsily humming out another apology.

And despite the slight trace of the muddy water, her hair still smells of forest berries and wildflowers, making exasperation worm its way into his veins. He doesn’t understand why she’s trusting her life in his hands so thoughtlessly; it’s like she has no sense of self-preservation with the way she’s blindly following him anywhere, when not even a day ago he attempted to murder her.

He wonders if she’s always been like this; naive and dumb, always seeing the good in people, even when there isn’t any. All it took was a few remotely sweet words and she’s already allowing him to hold her this close— a foolish deer resting peacefully next to a starving wolf and expecting not to get hurt.

Momentarily, he gets the urge to just finish the job right now, wrap his arm around her throat until the flame burns out, leaving her eyes dull, lifeless. After all, it would make his life considerably easier. He can almost feel it— the moment her heart comes to a halt in her ribcage as she turns into nothing more than flesh and bones, freeing him from this burden.

And at the end of the day, it’s part of his nature to kill for his own benefit, muscles nearly stinging with the self-serving temptation because that’s what he’s always been; selfish.

“Rafe, that hurts,” her voice is small, nervous, nonetheless forcing him to resurface to the current; his rough fingertips mindlessly sinking into the bare surface of her thigh, harsh enough to leave a bruise.

Her entire form is tense, breathing shallow and limbs unmoving, resembling a rabbit rigid with fear, only amplifying this ever-growing itch under his skin.

He clears his throat.

“Sorry,” a mutter through his teeth before she can finally feel the pressure dissipating— his thumb smoothing over the sore patch while he tries to decide what the fuck he should do with her.

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lavenderovercast · 2 days ago

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FINE DINING

summary: shota has an unconventional way of helping you calm your nerves down when you're feeling out of your element at a party. relationships: fem!reader x shota aizawa tags & warnings: !! 18+ CONTENT, MINORS DNI !! established relationship, public sex, cunnilingus // fingering, mentions of alcohol/drinking, praise kink BABY, u get talked thru it <3 🍑 prefer to read on ao3? well, lookie here! 🍑

While you’re far from shy, you have never been a fan of parties. Not only because they have other people, but because you have to put so much effort into them. Especially when it’s something like a gala or ball, which you have… No experience with. Because of this fact, you’re holed up in some corner with a cocktail in hand and anxiety in your chest.

You smile at the occasional stranger you make eye contact with, but for the most part pray that no one actually notices you or takes the time to talk with you. It feels like your tongue might try to fall out of your mouth if you use it right now.

Your outfit doesn’t help the situation much, either. It’s a lovely gown, really— with glitter tastefully applied to the fabric in a way that makes the clothing feel dreamy. And you know that you look good in the damned thing too, because the slit down the leg and the sweetheart neckline complimented you wonderfully when you looked in the mirror.

So it’s not a matter of discomfort with your outfit, but rather the fanciness of it all. It doesn’t feel like you belong, try as you might.

“Nervous?”

“You could tell?” You ask playfully, eyebrows lifting as you peek up at your husband over the rim of your glass. His lips twitch a little at your question, but he only nods his head in confirmation.

“Kind of hard not to when I’ve watched you down multiple cocktails now.” He replies, making your smirk drop. Eesh, maybe you should keep track of how much you’re drinking. Or maybe this place just needs better liquor, because this is not helping. You roll your eyes in reply, lips twitching into the tiniest of smiles.

“Yeah, well,” You mumble into your glass, averting your gaze sheepishly. “I’m not really used to… Any of this.” You make a vague gesturing motion, and then clear your throat before taking another sip of your alcohol. From beside you, Shota gives an acknowledging hum, his expression thoughtful.

“I’ve got an idea,” Shota states, making your eyebrows raise quizzically. Your expression shows your skepticism, because he offers a smirk as he continues. “Meet me in the restroom. It’s nothing bad, I promise.”

You’re quiet for a moment, intrigued by the man’s vagueness and mildly concerned as to what he could have in mind. But you trust Shota with your life, so you let your lips quirk up into a little smile as you nod your head. He seems satisfied with your response, slipping away from you. Naturally, you follow after the man— making sure to keep some distance to have some subtlety.

When you make it to the restroom about a minute after Shota does, you close the door behind you with a gentle ‘click’, looking at the man with curiosity. He’s leaned over the counter now, seemingly fixing up some of the dishevelled strands of his hair. A rare and interesting sight to bear witness to. Before you can comment on the action, though, he catches your gaze in the mirror.

You smile in return, making your way closer to the man so you can wrap your arms around him. Chest pressed against his back, you tilt your head up with a hum. “So… Are you going to tell me the reason why you’ve brought me into the restroom?”

Shota gives a hum, as though he’s considering how to answer you. Knowing him, he’s just doing it to prolong whatever amusement he’s taking from your squirming and curiosity. You can see it in the way the corners of his lips subtly curve up, until he shifts so he’s turned to face you. Rough fingers gently grasp your chin before his lips are on yours.

A soft noise leaves you when he kisses you, your lips tugging into the smallest of smiles against his mouth. You hum, snaking your arms around the man’s neck as your eyes slip closed. You’re not really sure of where this is going, because it’s… Different of Shota to act so affectionately in public.

Well, if you could consider this public, anyway. It’s probably the closest you’re getting to any PDA, and you are perfectly content with that thought.

When your kiss only deepens, his teeth nipping carefully at your bottom lip, is when your suspicion and confusion, with a healthy dose of curiosity, really begins to rise. You’re able to push your suspicions and rising emotions to the back of your mind until you feel yourself being gently backed up.

You give a muffled squeak in surprise when your lower back gently hits the counter, moving a hand from Shota so you can try to stabilize yourself by gripping the edge.

To be truthful, this position on this counter is awfully familiar to you. Something about Shota has, since very early on in your relationship, seemed to magnetically draw you into the man. To the point that him pressing you up against a counter like this is familiar. There’s a big difference with this time around though, because you’re in public. Shota clearly doesn’t mind this fact, but you want a moment to decide if you do.

Cold hands brush against his wrists, careful fingers wrapping around them before pulling his hands off of your person. With his hands go his sweet lips and bitter tongue, and as per usual, it’s difficult to convince yourself to stay away from him. Even when you know something is up, and now your suspicions are waving around red flags. He looks down at you with half-lidded eyes, and you can imagine there’s some worry in the way he observes you—as if he’s afraid he’s made you feel uncomfortable. But he’s always had a way of making you feel safe and secure, so you’re blunt with your questioning.

“What the hell are you doing?” You question, raising your eyebrows at the man. Shota blinks, and then shrugs his shoulders a little. You swear you can see him fighting off a smile, the cheeky bastard he can be.

“You’re tense,” Shota observes as though you haven’t known the fact for the whole night. “I can help.”

“In a public bathroom?” You question with a quizzical eyebrow, tilting your head up to look at the man. There’s a mischievous smirk on his face as he nods— cheeky bastard. You feel the skin on your face grow hot as you squint your eyes at him. “You really want to take that risk?”

“Sure,” He hums nonchalantly, burying his face into the crook of your neck. He places a chaste kiss against your skin, and you have to dig your nails into your palms to avoid shivering at the sensation. Shota really does know all the ways to make you melt. “Long as we’re quiet… They won’t even notice we’re gone.”

You bite your lip, considering the pros and cons of getting frisky in a restroom. There’s a beat of hesitation on your end as you spare a glance to the locked door. The worst that can happen is someone knocks, so… Fuck it, why not.

“For a hero, you sure like finding trouble.” You mumble playfully, your own lips tilting up into a smile before your gaze drifts to Shota’s lips. Those familiar feelings of love and want come hurtling back into your chest, and you find yourself leaning forward on your tiptoes. All so you can wrap your arms around the man’s neck and tilt your head up to him. Shota looks amused.

“Mmm, only with you.” Is his mumbled response, and you can’t help flashing a grin before pressing your lips to his. With the urgency he was displaying earlier, you’re pleasantly surprised by the gentleness the man expresses as he leans into you, lips moving carefully against your own. The faint taste of alcohol and mint floods your tongue. In any other situation, you’d joke about the mint.

The kiss is over as quickly as it’s started. Shota’s breath is hot against your skin as he presses his face into your neck, where you can feel him smiling against your now clammy skin. Adrenaline is beginning to pump through your veins, and you’d be a liar if you said that you weren’t very interested in doing this now. Any anxiety that you might still have is thrown out of your mind when Shota begins to kiss your neck.

It takes him no time at all to find the sweet spot that has your fingers digging into the edge of the counter, your breath catching at the little sparks that flitter across your skin. You can hear a deep chuckle rumble from the man, but he doesn’t say anything as he focuses on leaving little hickies and marks across your previously unblemished skin. Unfortunately, this is a fact that you aren’t dwelling on.

No, instead, you focus on the fact that his hands have wandered to your hips to pick you up and place you on the counter. Your legs dangle off the edge, but the surface seems stable enough. Shota’s hands are quick to wander from your hips to your thighs, a satisfied noise coming from him as his mouth comes off of your neck.

You feel the dress being pulled up by Shota’s careful hands, and suck in a sharp breath when they wander up the skirt to your panties. He’s happy to pull them off and you’re happy to lift your hips a little so he can do so with ease. You’re even more happy when calloused fingers find your clit nearly immediately, making your mouth part open into a soft ‘O’ shape as your brain goes fuzzy with need.

Little sparks and tingles dash across your skin as Shota sets a careful pace, familiar with what you prefer when it comes to these exchanges by now. He applies little pressure at first, and rubs slow, tight circles to start building you up. It’s when he starts to pick up the pace that you give a soft moan, much to his satisfaction. He seems to take it as his signal to pump a finger into your pussy, pleased with just how wet you are for him.

Like always, he’s methodical and careful not to hurt you. He works his finger in and out of you slowly, causing more of those sparks and friction to light a fire in your belly. It’s when he inserts another finger that he starts to pick up the pace again, slowly stretching out your pussy with his digits. There’s the familiar sensation of adjusting to him, a dull ache that you’ve always enjoyed.

“Fuck, Shota…” You pant, eyes growing half-lidded as you lean your head against his own. It’s hard to focus, despite how much you want to praise him for this pleasure. He hums, and you can feel him leave a gentle kiss against your skin. Something about his sweetness only makes the fire in your belly, your need for him, grow.

“So fucking pretty for me,” Shota huffs into your neck, the words sending a rush of heat over your person. You can feel yourself clench around his fingers as he pumps them in your pussy, cooing softly as he stretches you out. “Look at my good girl.”

The praise doesn’t fall on deaf ears. You give a little whine, pleased with the words rolling so sweetly off of Shota’s tongue as you lean forward, pressing your forehead against his shoulder. You feel him nuzzle his face against your head, whispered praises continuing to flood your hearing as your hips buck into his moving fingers.

You’ve fucked before, of course, but this is a different experience. In comparison to past encounters, it’s far more intense with the risk of being caught.

And when Shota’s fingers curl in a ‘come hither’ motion that leaves his fingers grazing against your g-spot, you can’t help the pitchy whine that leaves your mouth. The sound causes Shota to lift his free hand so he can cover your mouth, but the low groan that you hear coming from somewhere deep in his chest tells you that he enjoyed the sound.

His fingers don’t stop as he gently scolds you, voice raspy against your ear. “Gotta stay quiet.” The statement makes you huff softly, wanting to retaliate. He’s the one that had the idea to bring you both in here, why should he also be teasing you? Normally, you would tell him to be quiet—but your mind feels a little too foggy from the feeling of his thick fingers in your pussy to form words, let alone argue with him.

You only manage to nod instead, tongue fat and heavy in your mouth again. Words would fail to describe how fucking badly you want the man to just push you up against the counter and fuck you silly right now, so you seem to subconsciously do your best to rip a hole into Shota’s shirt instead. You can’t help anchoring yourself to him, your fingers dug so harshly into the fabric of his shirt that your knuckles start to turn white as the pleasure increases.

“That’s it. You’re doing good.” Shota coos, and another shiver runs up your spine. It takes everything in you not to whine, instead opting to dig your teeth into your bottom lip with a muffled sound.

It becomes increasingly more difficult to control your volume, however, when you watch your lover shift his weight so he can kneel in front of you. Rough hands grab at the hem of your dress, and your breath catches as he pulls them up just enough to reveal your pussy to the man.

Shota doesn’t seem all that interested in keeping his mouth off of you for any longer than necessary, however. A blessing in disguise, really, because you think you would go crazy if his lips didn’t immediately start pressing hot kisses against your inner thighs. His hands move to your knees, carefully spreading your legs apart as you shift your weight on the counter. A gentle squeeze reminds you to be patient.

It’s only when you are still that Shota comes closer to your aching cunt, his tongue feeling heavenly when he finally buries his face between your legs like he belongs there. Your breathing quickens as your hands lift to his head, fingers now digging into the man’s hair as his nose brushes against your clit.

His tongue laps at you for only a moment before he dives right in, his hands squeezing where they grasp you just a little tighter than they had before.

Shota laps at you like a man starved, seemingly as desperate as you feel right now. The noises that are starting to fill the room are downright filthy, wet and obscene in a way that would typically embarrass you. But goddammit, does Shota’s tongue feel like heaven— and goddammit are you so very turned on by the eager groans that he’s providing you as he drinks you up.

You still have enough sense in your lust-addled brain to slap a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound now threatening to rise up from your chest at the contact. Your anxiety at the thought of being caught in this lewd act is more prevalent than it was earlier, but it’s hard to try and stop the man when his tongue is buried in your cunt like this. The best you can do is try to make sure that you won’t be caught.

A calloused finger finds its way back to your pussy, and you can’t help the low, muffled whine that slips past your lips again. You press your palm harder against your mouth in a desperate attempt to keep yourself quiet.

Shota seems more than pleased with himself, though, and you can imagine that the man would be smirking if he could. His tongue moves against your clit at an eager pace, his moving fingers matching the speed of the muscle in a way that makes your head spin.

It’s just the right amount of friction and pressure to make you feel absolutely boneless, a skill that Shota has perfected over years of being with you. Your orgasm approaches quickly and suddenly, making little stars fill the corners of your vision as you gasp. A wave of heat and sparks comes rushing over you, and you can feel yourself shaking as your hips buck into Shota’s face.

Your fingers dig into the dark locks of hair on his head, nails barely grazing his scalp. You can hear a pleased groan from the man in front of you as he laps at you like you’re his last meal.

The feeling subsides slowly, but leaves you trying to catch your breath as your grasp on Shota’s head loosens, before you’re gently running your fingers through your lover’s hair. His tongue doesn’t stop lapping at your overstimulated cunt until you’re gently pushing him away, your entire body suddenly feeling like jelly from your intense orgasm.

You’re a little nervous that you won’t be able to stand on your own, especially when Shota rises back to his full height and slots himself between your legs. He’s gentle as he brushes some hair from your face with his fingers.

“Do you feel better?” Shota questions, his face warm with subtle affection. The sight of it makes you smile as you give a slow nod.

“Sort of,” You mumble lazily, reaching a hand up to catch his wrist so you can press your head into the palm of his hand. “Might need to get my hands on you again when we get home, though…”

Shota raises his eyebrows at you, and then chuckles as he tilts his head to yours. A gentle kiss on the forehead, and then the subtlest of smirks comes crawling over his face. “Well, I’m glad that was just an appetizer then.”

#mha #bnha #mha aizawa #aizawa shouta #aizawa x reader #bnha x you #mha x reader #aizawa shota x reader #shota aizawa smut #heroes 🦸#peach writes #ummm hi this was filthy. sorry. hope y'all enjoy

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pregobirthlvr · 2 days ago

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Birth prompt : 1, 3 (at work), 2 (normal speed labor), 3 (painful labor), 1 (partner), 1 (in bed birth), 1 (laying down), 1 (head first), 2or3 (difficult- brutal), third pov

Last Minute Work

Word count: 1482

May had just finished filing away the morning’s paper work. Her belly continuously got in the way, making the task twice as hard. Her company offered her to take a few days off before the baby was born but she was determined to stay at work until she had it.

Her suborness now had her working while 3 days overdue. May waddled back to her desk. The office chair groaned as May lowered her massive self into the chair. In the past few days the armrests started to brush against the sides of her belly. Still she refused to go home.

It wasn't until she started to feel some strong cramping that she started to consider leaving. She rubbed her belly at the latest cramp, her other hand gripped the side of her desk as she tried her best to stay quiet. The office wasn’t particularly silent, with her coworkers chatting around her, but she still didn't want to risk any attention being brought to her.

May finally managed to sit back up after the cramp disappeared. She made a note of the time so she can start keeping track of these cramps. She then reached into her desk drawer and grabbed her cell phone. She quickly sent a text to her partner at home, ‘I think it’s time. I’ve been having cramps all morning, and they’re only getting worse.’.

She sticks her phone back inside the desk and returns to her work. She continued to work for another hour, monitoring how closely the cramps were starting to get. She heard her phone go off inside the drawer. She reached inside and brought out the device. Her partner had texted her a few times, ‘Are you okay?’, ‘Do you need me to come and get you?’, ‘Should I call the midwife?’. May starts to type out a message when a massive cramp starts to build inside her. This one is brutal and finally convinces May she is fully in labor.

She breathes through the painful contraction and quickly types out a message to her partner, ‘Come and get me. I’m in labor.” She quickly sends off a few emails to let her bosses know she was taking off.

She waited for her latest contraction to end before she shakily stood up. She balanced herself with help from the desk then took off for the exit. She waddled through the office hoping she wouldn't be stopped on her way out. She was so grateful when she managed to get to the front door with only a few polite goodbyes.

Just as she stepped out the front door a contraction started. She leaned against the wall and grunted softly. She rubbed her bump and looked around for her partner. Almost on queue she felt her phone go off. She pulled it out with shaky hands, breathing hard as the contraction reached its peak. The massage was from her partner ‘Just left. Be there soon. Hang in there.’

She groaned, realizing she had to wait in front of the office while in labor for her partner. She just hoped there wasn't much traffic and they’d be here soon. Her legs were already starting to feel less stable underneath her.

It didn’t take long for her breathing to hitch as the next contraction started. She frantically looked around, hoping her ride would miraculously arrive. Unfortunately for her, the only cars in the parking lot were her coworkers.

She grunted and tried to breath through the contraction. Her legs bent without her telling them to. Her thighs opened up to help the pain in her lower half. Her dress rode up but hopefully not enough to flash anyone, not that she could even check over her massive bump.

At the peak of her contraction she saw her partner pull into the parking lot. They slammed to a stop and put the car in park. They got out and went around the car to open her door and help her inside. They ran back around and hopped back into the driver's seat before taking off.

“Why didn’t you have me pick you up sooner?” They ask, taking a sharp turn out of the parking lot.

“I didn’t think they were that bad,” She explains, rubbing her belly.

The drive was quick, her partner determined to get her home as fast as safely possible. May was thankful for it, as she only had to experience two contractions between work and their drive-way. Unfortunately for her, the second began as she was leaving the car. She grabbed at her partner's arms, which were around her shoulders to help her inside.

“Please help me keep moving,” May begged her partner. “I don't want the neighbors to see.”

They nodded and continued to move May despite her legs shaking and almost giving out at one point. Right as they got her inside and shut the door, May fell to her knees letting out a deep groan. She remained there panting while her partner started to remove her shoes and jacket.

“Let's get you to the bedroom before the next one,” May hears in her ear.

She nods back, lifting her hands up for her partner to grab. Her partner helps her to her feet and leads her up the stairs and into the bedroom. She cries out and grabs the door frame when the next contraction starts. She's only feet from the comfort of her bed but the contraction is too painful for her to move even an inch.

She pants and white knuckles the doorframe. Her legs shaking violently underneath her while her belly contorts through the contraction. She just starts to catch her breath when there's a soft pop sound and a sudden gush of water underneath her.

“My water,” She moans, the next contraction starting already. “Bed. Please.”

Her partner nods and even though she’s contracting, they start to move her. She weakly protests at first but stops as soon as she feels the soft mattress bump against her legs. They wait for their contraction to end before getting her up onto the bed.

Once up in bed May rubs her belly and tries her best to catch her breath. She shifts her weight feeling the next contraction already creeping up in her. She’s thankful she can relax her body now that she’s laying down. But She quickly regrets it as all the pressure is now on her back.

“You should check how far along I am,” May says to her partner. “I feel like I need to push.”

“Sure!” her partner says and makes a motion to go check. “Looks like you’re 10cm, you're ready to push whenever you feel like it.”

“Good because I’m already pushing,” She wails as she pushes hard with her contraction. She grabs her knees and pulls her legs up spreading them far apart. After a while she collapses back against the bed and waits for the next one.

Again, she’s grabbing her legs and pushing hard. The head slowly made its way down her birth canal. She screams and pushes over and over the head only makes its way out little by little.

“It’s barely moving…” May gasps out. She’s panting, her face bright red, and sweat covered her forehead. She looked exhausted.

“But it’s moving. You just have to keep pushing. Come on, baby” Her partner encouraged.

May whined but was unable to fully protest before her head was thrown back and she was pushing again. After another 10 minutes of pushing she could feel it. The head was now straining against her lips. She screamed and pushed even harder. The end was so close, she was almost done.

“It’s so big…” She moaned as she pushed with the next contraction. The head started to peak out, even now she knew this was going to be hard.

“It’s okay you’re stretching nicely,” her parameter said.

She grunted and screamed along with her next contraction. When it ended the head was half way out, stretching her lips to the absolute max.

“It hurts,” She started to get out before screaming and pushing once again.

She pulled her legs back, the head sliding further out of her. When she suddenly felt the pop of the head busting forward out of her.

“Almost done, one more push,” Her partner instructed. “Just wait for the shoulders to turn. I’ll tell you when you can push.”

She nodded. The wait wasn’t long. It was with the next contraction her partner gave her the go ahead. She pushed one last time and the baby slid free into her partner's arms.

“You did it baby! The baby it’s here!” Her partner announced. “It’s a girl!”

May started to cry as she was handed her baby. She looked down at it and smiled. Then back up at her partner.

“I can’t wait for our next one,” May said excitedly.

#pregnancy kink #birth kink #labor kink #preg kink #pregnant kink #my writing

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youremychaos · 7 hours ago

Text

Harrow, my love…it’s been a while hasn’t it? Life has been crazy these last few months, and I completely missed your update. However, I am here now and ready to dig in!!

First of all I completely forgot that Jimin woke up in Yoongi’s pov (had to backtrack a little lol)…which threw me for a whole ass loop when I started reading this ‘cause what do you mean JIMIN?! The way my heart stopped and I wiggled in my seat. My baby has come the fuck home!!

How dare you throw Haegeum!Yoongi in my face like this…that man has me in a chokehold that I don’t wanna be let out of. The image of Taehyung wearing a balaclavas does something to my core…those eyes just peeking out…yeah, sir whatever you want, you can have it.

Okay the build up of Yoongi coming up to see MC is crazy, my vibrating in my seat! I want them to link up again already!!! Joon too, that man needs a good hug.

The main character has arrived!!! Yoooooonnnngggiiiiii…what an entrance my guy! Stroll in with a pair of bloody chopsticks and a simple, “Darling”...what a charmer.

You would be amused by the visual of Yoongi leaping onto him like a kitten if the situation were not so infuriating.

This right here? Yummy and funny. I like your visual even though I’ve seen it with my own eyes from the mv.

Coming up to the end of the first half, I know Yoongi is feeling all types of kicked sideways. Bringing Jimin is a huge gamble and kind of manipulative all things considered. If anyone could bring MC back it would be Jimin but I don’t think he would push for her to join them again. I feel that Jimin more than anyone can understand where MC is coming from and her mixed emotions about everything that has taken place so far. It seems that Yoongi knew his gamble might not work and has something else up his sleeve. He isn’t the type to just leave so willingly.

MC comparing Yoongi and Ryujin hurts. I can see what she means but damn does it hurt to admit it. After all is said and done, Yoongi is a shady ass dude with a shaky track record in love. The way he goes about things aren’t always clear and are often very infuriating. So, I can see why MC is reluctant to go back. The song lyric “How deep is your love?” comes to mind when I think of the trio together. Namjoon and Yoongi would kill for MC and if push comes to shove, I think she could do the same but she would feel bad about it whereas Namgi just keep it pushing like it didn’t happen. I have so many thoughts and feelings about this but I shall read more to see what’s going on.

Harrow, you play dirty! ATEEZ as bodyguards?! How am I going to survive this fic, huh?! You’ve pulled so many of my favorite idols into this universe that I don’t know who to drool over…it is unfair! But I will say, ATEEZ do fit the vibe, so good choice!

“Not so fast,” she says, causing you to chuckle despite yourself. “You always roll away. Snore in my face for once.”

Affronted, you attempt to wiggle out of her hold, surprised by how strong she is as she holds you in place. “I do not snore.”

Hwasa rolls her eyes, says, “Everyone snores a little,” and wiggles closer as her hold on you loosens—so close your noses nearly touch.

I love that you can include such innocent and cute scenes in between the death, sorrow and destruction.

Jimin is alive and well, the way I was tearing up as they hugged. But started giggling right after seeing how Ryujin and Hwasa left MC to be stuck in between Yoongi and Namjoon. What good friends they are lol

The one on one talk went a lot better than I thought it would. MC needed to let those tears out with Yoongi and I’m more at ease that he is willing to wait for her mental health to get better. Healing takes time and having him/the guys not push for her to come home too soon means a lot. Goodbyes and hellos are hard, but the way you pulled apart each interaction was wonderful, the tension between Jungkook and MC is still there which I love. I tend to forget that they have their own thing going on at times because I get so wrapped up in Namgi/MC.

There is a subtle shift in the family dynamics or I could just be reading too much into it but with Seokjin’s bullshit out in the open, it seems to me that everyone is a little more relaxed. Not as on edge with being alive.

Oh shit…things are bout to take a turn for the worst right? Now that I’m thinking about it, does Hwasa know what Christian looks like? Does Ryujin? And if so…would she give MC easily or put up a fight? Ryujin is asking waaaayyyy too many questions about MC's relationship with the family men and Hwasa is giving up too much information...I'm not sure how I feel about it.

I am starting to not trust Ryujin again. Her dinner speech had me on edge, like it was a backhanded request almost…kind of on the lines of “we’ll be cool once i’m back in my rightful place”. I could be wrong but idk, that’s the feeling I got. I’m not trusting Ryujin at all right now! What do you mean, it doesn’t matter? I swear if she was/is messing around with Christian, I’ll scream!

I mean it is possible she could have a relationship with Hwasa but I doubt that. I think it would be with someone that holds more power. Ryujin is starting to show her ass and I’m not a fan. If you were married/dating whatever with Yoongi in the past, keep that shit to yourself! Telling MC that nothing has changed or that you were the same as her…that’s just evil. Planting seeds of doubt when there really doesn’t need to be any….but if I want to play devil’s advocate, if Yoongi does truly feel something for MC he should treat her differently than how he treated Ryujin. On the other hand, he has an image to uphold, so certain styles are expected as the woman of the house.

I hope Yoongi puts a fucking bullet in Ryujin’s skull, right between her eyes! This slimy two-faced bitch! Harmless my ass! I want to reach through the screen and punch Ryujin myself! Damnit, I am so pissed off. You know MC’s history or at least a little with Christian. She knows MC wants nothing to do with him and once Yoongi finds out all bets are off. There is no respect or trust to be gained. Whatever good could have come with working together will be shot to shit cause it will be an all out war over MC.

I’m trying to think of what chapter it was but there was a part where either Yoongi or MC was trying to figure out how Christian got so much power. I know that Seokjin was a part of it but could Ryujin be too? Is there more to Seokjin that still hasn’t been uncovered yet? Once again this man is on my shit list. He knows more than he is willing to tell and Ryujin is on some kind of other shit that will backfire for sure.

Once again, I am left at the end of the chapter with so many theories and questions. I love that every character is so freaking two-faced. I never know what to expect. I'm excited to see what you whip up next and I'm prepared to scream about it. At some point I'll scream in your dms when I get the chance.

I love you and your mind!!!

Collateral 🗡️ 23: This life of death and destruction

Your ex-boyfriend gets in over his head working for the local mafia, and Boss Min has come to collect his payment: You.

But was it simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or has he always had his sights on you?

🗡️ Yoongi x Female Reader x Namjoon

🗡️ word count: 13.6k

🗡️ mafia au, strangers to lovers, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+

🗡️warnings: violence (a man gets stabbed in the eye, weaponized chopsticks, blood); recreational drug use & getting drunk; vomit.

🗡️note: are we ready to continue this story??? the cast of characters has doubled in size, and i think the angst & drama has multiplied, as well. i wrote this opening scene on april 20, 2023 moments after watching the Haegeum mv. it feels good to have finally built the rest of the chapter around it over a year later. this chapter is like 80% dialogue, lol sorry. we are setting up for what is to come in the rest of the fic. enjoyyy!!!

🗡️ also note: in this chapter, mc is borrowing clothing. if you are comfortable with imagining the clothing belongs to the thin kpop idols, please do. if you are not, then please don't. i am not making assumptions or allusions to body size but instead trying to paint a picture of being at the mercy of others.

🗡️ if you have not read the Yoongi POV chapter, i strongly recommend you do so before reading this.

🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin

🗡️ posted sept. 2024 | read on ao3

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“He looks hesitant,” Ryujin drawls in a bored tone. She turns to face you and her lips upturn at the edges, eyes sparkling. “Like he’s scared of what he may find when he gets here.”

The air is stiflingly hot, creating a sticky film over your skin, and your body feels heavier than it should. In this humidity, you are dizzy and agitated. More than anything, you are not ready to come face to face with the man who has caused you so much confusion and mental duress.

“Good,” you say, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. Your fingers dig into your hip bones, and you do your best not to shuffle anxiously. You do not fully believe in your conviction, but you want your performance to be believable enough that the girls don't think you're weak. “He should be.”

“Looks like he brought all the family men,” she adds, turned back to watch their approach.

Your heart flutters suddenly, wondering whether she means Jimin is there too, unable to hide the tremble in your voice as you ask, “A-all of them?”

This time, when Ryujin faces you, her expression appears contemplative, almost sad.

“All of them,” she confirms, causing nausea and excitement to stir.

All you can say in response is, “Oh.”

Before you can stop yourself, your feet are carrying you forward, toward the window. You do not fully approach, not wanting to be seen, so you stop as soon as you spot them walking in the street toward the noodle shop downstairs that doubles as your hideout.

Seven figures approach in a V formation. Six of them wear ratty dark t-shirts and khaki pants, and they hold what look like juvenile weaponry—baseball bats and chains. Over their heads are balaclavas, reminding you of Christian's men. Is it meant to taunt him, you wonder. Do they think they will find him and his men here?

Yoongi is in the center, leading the charge, with no face covering and wearing a baby blue satin bomber jacket with thick white lines down the sleeves. On the breasts of the jacket are embroidered dragon heads, reminding you of Namjoon.

Namjoon. The thought of seeing him again, like this, makes your insides stir. You feel the urge to vomit, but you hold your ground and watch as the men approach, wearing a frown on your lips.

When the heads disappear from sight, you turn and listen for the silence that lingers in the air, save for the thrum of your pulse. A calm before a terrible storm.

Ryujin lets out a long, loud trill of a whistle—a signal, no doubt—and you listen as the

hideout breaks out into chaos. Men scramble through the short hallway that leads out into the open space that Yoongi and his men will soon enter.

"No guns!" Ryujin commands as she stomps through the space toward the hallway, clad in a white tank top tucked into a short black tennis skirt and tall leather equestrian boots. "You are on the defense only. Do not harm a single hair on any of these men's bodies. Do so and you die!"

As you stand near the window, you listen to the street commotion below. Vehicles drive along the narrow roads, vendors shout while ringing bells and chimes, and in the distance, a dog barks.

You know that you will not hear the men's approaching footfalls, but you listen for them, anyway. Yoongi and the family men only need to walk through the small dining hall of the open-air restaurant below, then up a flight of stairs. You hear nothing that might give their positions away.

"Wanna hide?" Hwasa—the nickname of your darling friend Hyejin—asks. She rests her chin on your shoulder and loosely wraps her arms around you, engulfing you in a perfume of roses and lilies.

You shake your head and mutter, "No," watching the doorway for any movement.

Finally, heavy footfalls echo through the space, giving you goosebumps, and when you hear the sounds of shouting followed by someone running into the room, you hold your breath.

"Fuck, fuck!" a man yells as he rounds the corner and cowers, shaking like a leaf in the wind. He seems to be patting himself down for a weapon, then he sighs and squeezes his eyes closed as he presses his back to the wall.

"Ya!" Hwasa yells, making the man gasp. "What is it?"

"B-big Duri," the man stammers, eyes wide. He shakes his head quickly as if attempting to clear away his thoughts.

Duri is a hulk of a man who stands watch at the top of the stairs. He is as muscular as he is tall, with a bit of softness around his belly, and his towering status has earned him the title Big Duri from the other men. One snarl from him makes men cower away in fear.

"What about him?" Hwasa asks.

"He was s-stabbed," the man says, staring at the floor. "In the f-f-fucking eye."

Hwasa drops her arms from around you and stands up straight. You open your mouth to speak but find no sound can pass your lips.

Footfalls approach, heavy and fast. You are not sure who you expect storming in from the hallway, but for some reason, it is not Yoongi.

He walks in assuredly like he owns the place, dark hair framing his face in waves. Clenched in his right fist are two bright red chopsticks that look like the ones served at the restaurant downstairs, and you could swear the thinner ends of them are dripping with blood.

"Darling, let's go," Yoongi says, wide eyes fixed on you. He looks like a madman with his hair somewhat disheveled and a sheen of sweat on his throat.

You are surprised to see Yoongi dressed as he is. Under the pastel jacket is a white tee tucked into loose-fitting blue jeans. When was the last time you saw him in blue jeans? Your first trip to Hong Kong?

You heavy-blink, breaking from the thought process, and attempt to hold steady and keep cool. But you do not feel cool. Your pulse quickens, and you worry you might faint.

"I'm staying here," you say, voice trembling.

You half expect Yoongi to storm over and grab you by the arm. Part of you even feels saddened when he stays where he is.

"Darling," Yoongi says, lifting his free hand to wave you over. "I'm not asking you twice."

"How many men did you kill out there?" you ask, eyes on the chopsticks that drip blood beside his dusty white sneaker. Yoongi's arm drops to his side and he heaves a weighty sigh, shoulders falling.

Behind Yoongi, Ryujin saunters in. She grins and stands beside Yoongi, resting her head against his shoulder as she reaches for the bloodied chopsticks in his fist, saying, "You owe me a bodyguard."

Yoongi—whose eyes never leave you—throws the chopsticks to the floor, off to the side. They clatter against the uneven wood, and you wince at the thought of blood splattering.

He mutters, "Fine."

With that admission, you surmise that Yoongi has, indeed, stabbed Big Duri in the eye. How he managed to do so when he is so much smaller than the man is beyond you. You would be amused by the visual of Yoongi leaping onto him like a kitten if the situation were not so infuriating.

Slowly, Ryujin lifts her head from Yoongi's shoulder. She turns her gaze to you as she says, "She doesn't want this life, Yoongi. She told you so, herself."

"Darling," Yoongi says, seemingly ignoring Ryujin, making her roll her eyes. "I will make some changes. We will figure it out. Just come home."

You shake your head. "I told you I wanted to leave."

"You are in danger," Yoongi insists, and you scoff. For the first time since you have arrived to this dingy place, there has been no hint of violence until he turned up.

As Yoongi sighs, his nostrils flair. You can clearly see that he has something on his mind, but he remains still and silent.

Anger rises, and you clench your fists at your sides. This is not the reunion you expected, but you cannot say you are shocked. "I told you I no longer want this life, and the first thing you do is stab a man—a good man!"

"Darling, I—"

"Go home," you interrupt.

Yoongi watches you, expression cold save for a flicker of sadness in his eyes. Every nerve in your body wants to propel you forward and into his arms, but you do not want to return to the home of a maniac who attacks men with chopsticks, beautiful as that maniac may be.

"I have told you time and again that I cannot handle this life of death and destruction! And here you are, bringing it straight to my feet. Go home, Yoongi."

Yoongi tongues the inside of his cheek, raising his eyebrows. In the doorway, you see Namjoon appear, balaclava raised to his forehead. His dark grey tee is smeared with sweat and blood, and before he can open his mouth to speak, you turn around. There is absolutely no way you will be able to keep your strength if you are forced to face any more of them.

"She wants you to leave," Hwasa says. You are grateful for her as you hear the heels of her boots against the rickety hardwood. "Now!"

"I want to speak to her," Namjoon says, and you are surprised to hear Yoongi say, "She does not wish to speak. Come on."

As their deep, low voices mutter, tears fill your eyes. You breathe in deeply, hoping to ward them off, but as you exhale, the air comes out shattered, and you know that you are only moments away from crying.

"Tomorrow night, we can sit down and discuss matters," Ryujin says.

You keep your eyes on the late afternoon sky, hanging on her every word.

"Amicably," she continues. "No weapons. No hot tempers. And you have a man en route to Busan to take Duri's place when we arrive. Deal?"

"All of us?" Namjoon asks, and you fight the edges of your lips, which curl into a sad smile.

Ryujin sighs. "Yes, all seven of you sordid little devils. Now get the fuck out of my hideout. You gave our darling a scare and I will not have her fainting because of it. I will send you a time and place, and you will show up dressed as respectable men. Seriously, what the fuck are you guys wearing? You look like trash."

Ryujin's voice fades as she continues to berate them, footsteps retreating, and it occurs to you once more that somewhere out in the chaos is Jimin. You turn, and the movement causes Yoongi's head to lift and eyes to open wide and expectantly, standing halfway in the hallway. You were not expecting him to still be here. To your disappointment, Namjoon has already left the room.

"Is Jimin here?" you ask.

Relief floods Yoongi's face, and he cracks a smile, nodding as he says, "Yes. Come see him."

You shake your head, blinking back the tears that threaten to fall.

"Glad he's awake," you say. "Perhaps I will see you all tomorrow."

Yoongi's expression turns sad, and you watch as he mouths the word perhaps before you turn your attention back to the window. The sound of his shoes retreating makes you want to throw up, and you swallow it down as a single tear streaks your left cheek.

* * *

Ryujin lies on a large fur rug that she has pulled near the window. Atop the rug is a mess of blankets and pillows, and her limbs tangle with those of Hwasa and the other three girls.

You sit arrow straight on the wide window sill, staring at the street below. The sky slowly darkens, illuminating the buildings with an orange glow that is exaggerated by the neon lights on each restaurant and storefront.

"Yes, Yoongi," Ryujin says into her phone, playful irritation in her tone. "I swear to you there is nobody by that name in our ranks. Seokjin-oppa has already warned me about his possible presence."

You listen, hoping to hear traces of Yoongi's voice coming through the phone, but you know that it is hopeless; his dulcet tones do not exactly travel far even while in the same room as him. Muffled and at a distance, the notion is hopeless.

"You know," Ryujin continues, "you would have less to worry about if you hadn't stabbed my most trusty security guard in the fucking eye with a chopstick."

Her words make you wince, and you turn away from the window, staring at the empty wall opposite where Ryujin and the girls rest. The floral wallpaper is peeled in places and tinted brown from water damage, but otherwise, the space is clean and empty, save for six suitcases and the items Ryujin has brought in and strewn about for comfort.

Outside of this room is a hallway that connects to more rooms, though you have not bothered to look into any of them, save for the bathroom, which is the first room to the right as you exit this one. Whatever this hideout was originally built for, you do not know, and you do not care, although you imagine at least one of the rooms could serve as office space for the restaurant below.

A shrill laugh barks through the air, making you jump. You gaze over your shoulder to find Ryujin's head tilted back, eyes closed as she full-body laughs.

"Don't be a fucking idiot," she says, opening her eyes to meet your gaze. "No scrub in clown paint is going to buy our little darling from me. Now get some sleep; we'll talk about this tomorrow evening, as promised."

Something about Ryujin calling you our little darling sends a chill along your spine, and you turn back to staring at nothing. She ends the call abruptly, and you hear as her phone clatters against the wooden floor, undoubtedly tossed aside.

"Darling," Ryujin calls, voice soft and pretty, causing your shoulders to rise to your ears as if protecting you—from what, you are unsure.

You swallow hard. "Hmm?"

Ryujin giggles. "Come. You're so tense. Relax with us."

She is correct that you are tense. You have been tense for days. When you got into her car at the airport, she said you would be here for two or three days, but it is going on a week, and you are tired of sleeping on rugs in a pile of bodies. You want to return to a bed. Any bed.

As you turn to face Ryujin and the others, you are struck by a sense of homesickness and longing that makes your stomach churn. Hwasa and three slender beauties called Solar, Wheein, and Moonbyul crowd Ryujin, who sits up on her elbows, gaze fixed on you.

Hwasa's head is against Ryujin's left shoulder, near her breast, and she watches you, as well, gaze soft but pleading. Moonbyul, with her long, straight hair lightened to a pale gold blonde, has her head on Hwasa's tummy, curled in on her. The other two are resting similarly, with Solar clinging to Ryujin and Wheein clinging to Solar, long dark hair draped over limbs which are draped over more limbs clad in white cotton and black spandex.

You watch them in their near-stillness, questioning where you would fit. Clearly, the five of them are tight. They call her mother, and she proudly dotes on them as if they are her precious children.

Ordinarily, you wait for everyone to begin dozing off, then you curl up on one of the outside edges, back turned from whichever woman is beside you. But you know that Ryujin wants you to be physically close to her—you can tell by the way she watches you.

What would physical closeness to a woman like her entail, you wonder.

"So shy," Ryujin pouts. "So moody."

Hwasa, as if mirroring her energy, juts out her bottom lip.

Ryujin tilts her head, studying you. "What does the lady require to help take the edge off?"

Although she is not explicitly saying so, you know that she is offering pills. Every day that you do not give in and crawl to Ryujin and her pile of women, she assumes it is due to some defect in your ability to relax. In a way, you suppose, she is correct.

"Going home would take the edge off," you respond, voice flat and lacking all mirth.

Ryujin sighs, and her pretty, impish smile falls into a dramatic frown. "I, too, would like to go home. And I promise that we will, soon. Yoongi is convinced there is some third party attempting to track you down, and he has been insistent on weeding the man out. He seems to think that you are safest while remaining in hiding. I, however, think we are sitting ducks."

You hum and nod.

She sits up ever so slightly, causing the clinging women to shift along with her movement. "What do you think?"

What do you think? Such a simple, innocent question, yet it stirs an anger in you that is so deep, festering in the dark pits of you that are fed by lack of proper comfort and sleep.

There is a part of you that wants to snap at Ryujin and ask whether she really cares what you think. You want to storm up to her, take her by the straps of her white tank top, and shake some sense into her while demanding she returns you to Korea at once.

Another part of you worries that Yoongi is being too paranoid to think clearly and that he is making an already strange situation worse. You find it hard to believe Christian has weaseled his way into Taiwan and is lying in wait to pounce, if that is what the phone call just now suggests.

But, then again, you never would have imagined Christian would show up with a briefcase of money, nor did you expect to see him turning up to the mansion in the middle of the night. Still, the notion feels ridiculous. You're not in Korea anymore.

You shrug, purse your lips as if you are thinking it over, and say, "I don't really know."

Truth be told, you are exhausted, catapulting emotionally from one extreme to another, finding it impossible to truly relax. You are not sure whether Ryujin has done anything to deserve your vitriol; she has kept you safe and fed, even if you are slowly succumbing to exhaustion-induced hysteria.

Her history with Yoongi notwithstanding, she appears reasonable and kind. It is hard to hate her for her past when it has opened up Yoongi's arms to you—for better or worse. It is not as if you regret the time you have spent with him.

And, if you are being honest, you wonder whether the transgression between them was as simple as the men put it, or if there is more to her side of the story. Surely, she did not wake up one day and decide to betray the man she loved.

Or, perhaps, she is charming you the way Yoongi did. What better way to tame a wild beast than to uproot it from the comfort and safety it has grown accustomed to and force it into close proximity, giving it no other choice than to be grateful and eventually feel some semblance of love toward its captor. Maybe she and Yoongi have more in common than you realize.

The thought makes you snicker, and you stand, taking notice of how Ryujin lifts her chin and watches you. Hwasa stirs and sits up, causing Moonbyul to roll off of her with a groan and clench onto the pillow below her.

"Going to the bathroom," you say.

Hwasa stands as Ryujin sing-songs, "Buddy system," causing you to smile and roll your eyes.

You are not allowed to do anything outside of this room—including taking a shit—without the accompaniment of one of the girls. Lucky for you, Hwasa is always willing and eager to be close.

Hwasa tiptoes over and snakes an arm around your elbow, momentarily resting her head on your shoulder as the two of you walk. You have come to enjoy her company quite a bit, and you are relieved to have her here.

While it was shocking to lay eyes on Hwasa after your plane landed in Taiwan, she was very clear and open about her circumstances, and you found it easy to trust her. According to her, Seokjin and Jimin gave her the position at Paradise knowing she was one of Ryujin's women, reminding you of Hyunjin and how he and his family were safe, after all.

Yoongi may not have been working directly with Ryujin this entire time, but it seems that his men have been. And, judging by how comfortable he seemed with letting Ryujin touch him and boss him around earlier, you do not suspect that he harbors the same ill thoughts that he seemed to when you first encountered her all those months ago.

You wonder what has changed. Has it been your presence in his life, or something more? After all the destruction Ryujin's team has caused Yoongi's family over the last several months, ending with Jimin in a coma, some sort of truce had to have been made. You have heard whispers of conversations, but you are curious about the specifics. It seems the woman who was at the helm of the destruction, Hyungseo, is not here.

In due time, you think. You have no doubt Ryujin will open up to you.

As you and Hwasa leave the room and venture quietly into the hall, two armed men look up from the game of Chinese checkers that they play on the floor, and smile. They are beautiful, and you smile back, yanking your gaze away from them before you are able to make any more of an impression on either of them.

Admittedly, you are lonely. Physically, emotionally, sexually…and there is something in the gleams of their eyes that stirs you deeply, but you know that it is not them who do it for you.

It is their eyes. They share the same piercing, knowing gaze of hunger and brutality that glimmers in the eyes of the family men. Your family men.

"I think Yunho likes you," Hwasa teases, voice loud enough for him to undoubtedly hear, though you do not turn back to look.

Instead, you press your palm against the cold metal door leading into the small bathroom and sheepishly ask, "Which one is he, again?"

A snicker comes from the floor, undoubtedly from Yunho's companion Seonghwa, and you turn as you enter the dimly lit room, grinning widely at your friend. The bathroom door swings shut, and the scents of toilet cleaner and bleach sting your nose.

There are three toilet stalls in this room with mint green painted metal doors. The walls are a similar shade of green, and the yellow and white tiles on the floor are chipped in places.

You make your way to the sinks straight ahead and turn on the water, which is always cold, and run your hands under the stream. On the counter, in the corner, is a large black makeup case containing travel-sized toiletries for yourself and the rest of the women, and you open its lid and rummage around for your toothbrush and toothpaste.

"How are you holding up?" Hwasa asks as you unscrew the cap from the toothpaste and squeeze a small dollop of its contents onto your bristles, careful not to take too much.

You shrug, and rather than respond, raise the brush to your mouth. The mint is cloyingly sweet as it hits your taste buds, and you close your eyes, worried that its minty sting may tangle with your emotions and cause tears to well.

"Will you be joining Ryujin to meet with them for dinner tomorrow?"

Without opening your eyes, you begin to shake your head, not sure whether you can handle sitting at the same table with all of them. But then Jimin's bright, gleaming smile crosses your mind, and you shrug and nod. You may as well.

Hwasa chuckles, and her hands rest softly on your shoulders before giving a gentle squeeze. All at once, you relax, dropping your shoulders and tipping your head forward, instinctively giving her permission to do anything she would like.

As you finish brushing your teeth and tongue, she squeezes your muscles and rolls her thumbs in circles. You hold the small plastic brush between your teeth, feeling a dribble of frothy, minty spit roll down your lip to your chin, and you rest your palms against the counter until Hwasa lifts her hands away.

"I suppose I should brush my teeth, too," she says with a pout in her tone, and you open your eyes to see her squirting some paste onto a matching toothbrush that she has written AH on in large letters for Ahn Hyejin.

You spit, rinse, and spit some more, then use the inside of your sweaty black tank top to dab the moisture from the edges of your mouth. When Hwasa is finished, the two of you link arms once more and make your way out of the bathroom, ignoring Yunho and Seonghwa as you walk by.

The rest of the girls, led by Ryujin, walk by in a fit of soft giggles, and you make your way to the pile of blankets and pillows, feeling physically exhausted despite being uncertain of whether you may actually be able to sleep.

Hwasa follows and lies down beside you, beaming as she scoots nice and close and wraps an arm around your waist before you have a chance to roll away and face the wall.

"Not so fast," she says, causing you to chuckle despite yourself. "You always roll away. Snore in my face for once."

Affronted, you attempt to wiggle out of her hold, surprised by how strong she is as she holds you in place. "I do not snore."

Hwasa rolls her eyes, says, "Everyone snores a little," and wiggles closer as her hold on you loosens—so close your noses nearly touch.

You feel too warm, and the scent of Hwasa's perfume mingling with her body heat stirs something inside you, filling you with the urge to flee. You are lonely, and she is beautiful and soft, and suddenly it feels as if all the air has been sucked from the room.

At a loss, you close your eyes. Whether you roll your body away or continue to face her, she will not create more distance because she cannot. As soon as the other girls return, they will pile into the bed, and you will feel the weight of ankles and wrists drape over you.

"Good night, pretty dove," Hwasa sing-songs.

You crack a smile, unable to hold back despite how dangerous it feels to allow yourself to be anything but stoic and collected for the time being. The nickname reminds you of Paradise and of Jimin, and you are unable to hold back.

"Good night, Hyejin," you mutter in response, forgetting her nickname for the familiar one as her warmth and comfort lulls you fast into a sleep you did not expect to come.

You actually feel…good.

* * *

The rattle and clanking of dishes and silverware have all of your nerves on high alert, causing your pulse to spike and your palms to sweat. You are acutely aware of the fact that at any moment, several men you miss and adore are going to come walking into the private dining room to join you, Ryujin, and Hwasa, and you are going to have to face them.

Each time a member of the serving staff enters, your eyes dart up in panic, and each time they bow apologetically, confusion painted across their features. Under the table, from your right, Hwasa grips onto your hand and mutters kind words that are lost over the pounding of your heart.

When your trio arrived first, you were grateful. You assumed that by the time you waited on the arrival of the men, your nerves would have calmed and you would have composed yourself.

But you were wrong. Oh, how you were wrong.

With each passing second, your heart riots behind your ribs, quick and dizzying. You feel the urge to excuse yourself to the bathroom, but you are terrified of what it may do to Yoongi if he arrives to find that you are not sitting at this table.

Food and drink are brought in. Large dishes covered in steaming meat, vegetables, rice, and noodles. Carafe after carafe is set down, and as you sit forward to peer into one of them, Hwasa says, "That is kaoliang. Fermented liquor from China." Your mouth begins to water, but you are not sure you are ready just yet to start drinking.

Shadows linger outside the door to the private room, tall and wide blobs obscured by the privacy glass. Ryujin glances at her watch, mutters, "Fucking finally," and stands, causing Hwasa to stand as well.

You remain glued to your seat. Even if you wanted to stand, you are not sure you would be able to.

As the door slides open, your heart pounds. Seokjin enters with a smirk and a bow of his head, followed by Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, Jeongguk, Namjoon, and finally, Yoongi.

Jimin beams, eyes and mouth wide and happy, and he rounds the table in a rush, pushing past Ryujin, who attempts to pull him into a hug. Your eyes fill with tears, and as you finally get onto your feet, legs wobbling beneath you, the tears spill, streaking your cheeks.

You stumble and crash into the papered wall from the force of Jimin's hug, elbow scraping and stinging, but you do not care. Jimin smells and feels so familiar, and you sob in his arms, burying your face into his black lapel and letting out a deep, shattered breath.

"Oh my god," you manage to mutter against his shoulder, and he tries to loosen the hug to hear you speak, but you shake your head like a petulant child and pull him closer, refusing to let go. "I was so scared, Jimin. I thought I might never— I've missed you so much."

Voices greet one another, and chairs scrape across the floor, signaling that the others have begun to find their seats. This time, when Jimin begins to release the hug, you allow him, dropping your hands from his shoulders but holding them loosely around his hips.

Jimin's eyes are glassy with tears, and hair is slightly longer, almost grown out into a mullet. For the first time since you have met him, it is brown, and you mutter, "Nice hair," while doing your best to smile widely despite still crying.

He grimaces at you, lifting his hands to thumb away the moisture under your eyes. Then he leans in, kisses the tip of your nose, and says, "All better, dove."

"Thank you," you whisper, sound lodged in your throat, then you release Jimin for good and pivot to take your seat, taking a deep breath before allowing your eyes to fall on the rest of the men.

To your surprise and dismay, you find Ryujin sitting across from you with her eyebrows raised and a sharp, devious smile playing on her lips. To her left is Hwasa, and to her right is Jeongguk. You do not need to look to see that Yoongi and Namjoon have taken the seats on either side of you because of course, they have. Where else would they be?

But you do look. You sweep the sprawling rectangular table, starting with Namjoon at your left, then Hoseok, with Seokjin at the far end, where you anticipated Yoongi might sit. Past Seokjin is Taehyung, then Jeongguk, then Ryujin, who is leaning to the side and whispering something to Hwasa, whose hand reaches to where Jimin sits on the other far end.

Jimin inspects Hwasa's rings and nails, dainty fingers tracing delicate lines. When she turns back to look at him, there are tears in her eyes, and you realize belatedly that she has missed him, as well. Of course, she has.

You do not look at Yoongi, gaze ending with Jimin. Yoongi clears his throat, causing Ryujin to stand, and—feeling uncomfortable with also standing while she speaks—you quickly have a seat.

Ryujin bows her head, hair pulled in a tight bun at the back of her head. She, matching Hwasa, wears a black suit with a white silk blouse, blending in with the black suits and black satin undershirts the men wear. You are the odd one out in a sleek black evening gown; Ryujin was insistent. At least it, too, is satin.

"Gentlemen," Ryujin says, and all at once, the men stand, bow their heads, and sit, including Yoongi, who scoots in close beside you. "Thank you for joining us tonight. I trust you have found us a replacement bodyguard?"

Yoongi hums a gruff, low note, and you are acutely aware of his presence by your side. His scent—earthy and musky, ever so slightly tinged with citrus—sneaks past the savory blend of food smells and floods your senses. You swallow a lump of trepidation that has crept its way to your throat.

"First of all, I would like to thank you for trusting me with taking care of our little darling," Ryujin says, turning to look at Seokjin. She remains standing. "As you are all aware, things between Yoongi and I have not always been easy. But, moving forward, I would like for all of us to remain amicable."

At this, Ryujin's eyes land on Yoongi. She appears fierce and ruthless in the way she looks down at him, lips upturned as if to show that she is enjoying this position of power.

You glance from the corner of your eye to find that Yoongi peers back up at her, sitting tall on the edge of his seat. His expression is blank, as is to be expected. There is a long pause during which you wish someone would speak or move to eat or drink—anything to cut through the tension.

Finally, Yoongi folds his arms over his chest and sits back, shifting his weight in a more relaxed position. He clears his throat, and you turn your gaze to the piles of meats, vegetables, noodles, and rice.

It sounds as if Yoongi attempts more than once to speak but struggles to find the words. At this, Namjoon sits forward, pulling your attention to the left, and he asks, "May I?"

Ryujin's face lights up. "Of course, Joonie-oppa. The floor is yours."

"Firstly, thank you for your hospitality. The hideout was certainly difficult to locate—"

Ryujin snickers. At this, Jeongguk stands, facing her, "Look, noona, if you would have answered your phone, we never would have shown up there with—"

"Sit down," Ryujin snaps, turning a playful but intense glare on Jeongguk, whose mouth snaps shut as he takes his seat. Beside him, Taehyung snickers. "I didn't answer my phone because I wanted to converse with her before making any choices, and you idiots acted irrationally."

At the word her, Ryujin lifts her hand and gestures to you, momentarily pulling your gaze. Although you do not glance around, you are certain that all heads turn to look your way, causing you to shift uncomfortably in your seat while you begin watching droplets of condensation streak your water glass.

"Pardon us for being concerned," Yoongi responds, voice tense and pained.

This seems to quell whatever emotion that has Ryujin acting defensive, and she slowly takes her seat and reaches for the bottle of kaoliang. All seem to be waiting for her response, and she takes her time lifting her glass to her lips and sitting back in her chair.

"Nobody faults you for being concerned, oppa. But you need to be more considerate of the reason she has come to me in the first place."

Yoongi must open his mouth to speak once more because Ryujin lifts her hand to stop him before she continues.

"Yes, I know that you are concerned for her safety, especially in the wake of some mysterious man from her past showing up out of nowhere. But she was already planning on leaving for mental health reasons. So maybe storming in with chopsticks blazing is not the wisest way to reunite with someone who is already shell-shocked from all the other bullshit she has had to witness."

"Some of the bullshit was at the hands of your people," Namjoon interjects.

Ryujin levels her gaze on him. "The most heinous bullshit, I would imagine. And as you can see, Hyungseo is not present. I am dealing with her, and Seokjin, Yoongi, and I have already discussed ways I can help with harm reduction."

Your gaze moves to the right, to Jimin, and you are surprised to find he is already looking at you. You smile, unable to stop the tears that form from how relieved you are that he is alright.

"I know that trust has been tarnished between our families, and that myself and my girls have taken things too far," Ryujin admits. "I sent my people out to scare you, and they did so much more than that. I will never stop feeling sorry for what has happened. Not a night has gone by that I have not been filled with regret over someone so precious to all of us becoming seriously injured."

Ryujin lifts an arm, reaches over Hwasa, and holds out her hand to Jimin. He takes it without hesitation.

"He could have died," Jeongguk says, brows knit in a frown.

Ryujin sighs. "I know this, Ggukie. And I am so, so sorry. I am determined to quash any bad blood and begin earning your respect. Tomorrow we leave for Busan. Once we are all back home, Serendipity will be opened for a night of drinking, drugs…whatever you heathens do."

To your surprise, many of the men snicker, amused.

"Seokjin and Hoseok already have a security team on standby so that you are not only relying on my people to keep you safe," Ryujin continues. "The era of family feuding is over. I am happy with my little piece of the peninsula, and I want drug operations to continue in a way that is lucrative for both of us. We will remain your first line of defense in the harbor, and in return, all that I ask is that we get free reign in Seoul to come and go."

Yoongi clears his throat. "If Sunmi-noona will accept the offer, she can be your liaison in the city once more."

At this, a mischievous smirk tugs on Ryujin's lips. She gives Jimin's hand a squeeze before releasing it, then raises both elbows to the table to cradle her chin in her hands. "Tell me, oppa. Why does Sunmi-unnie spit at my feet whenever I mention your name?"

Yoongi says nothing.

Rather than press him, she winks, then reaches for a large metal spoon and begins to fill her dish. Everyone hesitates, and it is Jeongguk who breaks the tension and follows suit, scooping food onto Taehyung's plate and causing the others to act in kind. You sit still, unsure whether you have an appetite.

"Darling?" Yoongi asks at the same time two fingers gently caress the back of your arm.

Your evening gown is a form-hugging halter top with a low back, leaving your skin open to soft, delicate assaults like the ones Yoongi likes to conduct in gentle motions. You flinch but try not to pull your arm away, worried about hurting his feelings.

Yoongi chuckles softly. "Are you not hungry?"

You shake your head but mutter, "I don't know."

"Should I have sat elsewhere?" he asks. He shifts as if he is looking over and around you, and you imagine he is speaking nonverbally to Namjoon.

The room is too bright, the food and cologne smells are too numerous, and the sounds of voices and silverware and porcelain are too loud. You raise your shoulders to your ears, then turn toward Yoongi, still unable to meet his eye as you ask, "Can we talk somewhere else?"

Yoongi stands, says, "Excuse us for just a moment," and waits for you.

As you stand, you catch Ryujin's eye. She appears concerned and places her palms on the table as if ready to stand and defend you.

You nod and say, "We'll be right back," and watch as she relaxes.

A warm palm presses against your lower back, and Yoongi guides you toward the door, out into a small hallway, and to the left. The restaurant's main dining hall is to the right, and you are thankful to walk in the opposite direction, not sure whether you can handle another person's eyes on you.

Yoongi walks into an empty private dining room, switches on the light, and holds out his arm for you to enter. As you step inside, you hear him conversing softly with who you assume to be an employee, and then he joins you, closing the door behind him.

As you stand and face the large, empty dining room, you expect Yoongi to touch you or prod you into speaking. Perhaps you expect him to beg you to return home. Instead, he seems to be waiting.

After only a handful of seconds, you decide you cannot take it anymore. Every ounce of you yearns for Yoongi, and knowing he is so close and being so patient has you reeling. You turn and quickly step toward him, reaching for his lapels and burying your face against his chest. He smells like home, and as he wraps his arms around you, warmth fills your chest, and you begin to cry.

"I'm sorry," you say. "I'm sorry I had to leave. I miss you, Yoongi, but I can't stand being there. I can't do it."

"Shh," Yoongi whispers, lips pressing to your temple, causing you to cry harder. It has only been a week, and yet you feel as if you have been away from him for so long.

"I'm sorry we keep creating distance. I don't know how to make it work out. I'm so scared, Yoongi." You are fumbling, mouth on autopilot, dredging up each time you and Yoongi were apart, feeling somehow responsible for everything despite knowing you have always only done your best.

"Yesterday was a mistake," Yoongi says, peppering kisses from the crown of your hair to your cheek and back up. "I was terrified and not in my right mind. You left in a frenzy, and then there was that letter, and it all been very confusing—"

You sniffle loudly, letting out a sound that halfway sounds like a laugh. "Oh my god, the letter. I'm so sorry."

Yoongi chuckles, gently grabs your shoulders, and pries you away from his chest. You allow him to move you, and you stand straight but keep your eyes on his black satin shirt. You do not want to see his scar or the pretty way in which his eyes downturn when he is sad.

His voice is soft and conspiratorial as he says, "I almost killed Seokjin after I found it."

With wide, surprised eyes, you look up, unable to hold back any longer. Yoongi's smile is loving and big, and his eyes sparkle with happiness, making your stomach roil with uncertainty. His scar is still so red against his soft skin, but it adds so much to his allure and beauty.

"I was under the impression you were running away with Barom, what with the timing of it all. You packed a bag, left behind all of our gifts, and disappeared into the night the moment he arrived."

Despite Yoongi's high spirits, you shake your head somewhat desperately. "I wrote it earlier that day, thinking I might run away a night or two later. I was scared that if I said goodbye, I wouldn't be able to leave." Tears build once more, and your body goes limp, hanging against the weight of Yoongi's hands. "Yoongi, I'm so—"

"Alright, no more sorries," Yoongi says, pressing against your shoulders enough to signal that he would like you to stand up and get your shit together. "Seokjin explained your conversations and motives to us already, and I have long since forgiven the both of you. I understand why you felt you had to sneak away. Remember when I went missing in Hong Kong? I was also in the midst of a mental health crisis, darling. I have no hard feelings."

You straighten out and search Yoongi's eyes for any hint of dishonesty, but all you find is a soft, loving gaze looking back at you. With a relieved sigh, you step forward and wrap your arms around him, pressing the side of your cheek against his chest and listening to the steady beat of his heart.

"I love you," you say, feeling the words fill you with warmth.

Yoongi drapes one arm over your shoulders and rests his other hand against the back of your head. "I love you, too," he says. "And if you need time and space, I will give it to you. Despite everything, I trust the girls to take good care of you."

"Is it weird?" you ask, pulling out of the hug and stepping back only far enough to see Yoongi's face. His only response is to raise one eyebrow. "Being around her again, I mean. Was she always so bossy?"

Yoongi chuckles and shakes his head. "I suppose it is a little weird, but we were friends first and foremost, and being friendly with her again feels easy. She has not always been that bossy, per se, but she has always been strong-willed enough to face all seven of us down the way she did tonight."

This makes you laugh, and you lean into Yoongi once more, tilting your head to press your lips to his throat, just under his chin.

"Thank you," you say. Yoongi hums, and you add, "For giving me time and space. For being understanding. That night was a fucking mess, and I have been really scared for what the aftermath may look like."

"No hard feelings," Yoongi repeats. "As long as you are happy."

All at once, you are flooded with myriad thoughts. Are you happy? This last week, while being more or less calm on your nerves, has also been lonely and strange. Would you feel better if you cut your losses and went back home to your men, where everything felt familiar again? Could you cycle through medications until finding the magical cocktail that would allow you to be whole again?

No, you think. Probably not.

"Are you sure?" you ask, voice soft and uncertain. "I don't know how long I might need. I can't promise—"

Yoongi kisses your forehead, pressing his lips slowly as he hums. He says, "I'm sure. We can figure it out one day at a time."

With everything out in the open, your stomach pangs with hunger. You smile and ask, "Can we go eat now?" and you are delighted when Yoongi smiles with relief and says, "Yes, of course."

With his thumbs, Yoongi rubs below your eyes. His hands linger on your cheeks, and you expect him to lean forward and kiss you, but he drops his hands a beat later, then grabs onto one of yours and asks, "Shall we?"

Yoongi leads the two of you back to the dining room, and as you enter, you are pleased to find the entire table has erupted into pleasant conversation. Jeongguk's arm is draped over Ryujin's chair while Hwasa emphatically tells them a story, and Jimin is leaning close, listening with his chin propped onto his hands.

Taehyung is explaining something while glancing between Namjoon, Seokjin, and Hoseok, and as you and Yoongi round the table and return, nobody acknowledges the two of you until you take a seat and Namjoon—eyes still on Taehyung—gently places a hand on your knee.

It is only when you begin to reach for half-empty bowls of food that Namjoon takes your plate in his hand that you realize how long it has been since the two of you have spoken. You are once again overwhelmed with emotion and fight the urge to say sorry a hundred more times.

Instead, he points with a large metal spoon and says, "Both of these dishes have a tangy garlic sauce, but this one is a bit more spicy."

"I'd like to try both," you say, watching as Namjoon spoons a heap of chicken with vegetables onto your dish, followed by a heap of tofu and peanuts with vegetables in a slightly redder sauce full of chopped red peppers.

As Namjoon sets your plate in front of you, you reach with your long metal chopsticks with the intent to gather some noodles from a dish that is across from Yoongi, out of Namjoon's reach. However, Yoongi takes the dish and begins to scoop some onto a smaller plate for you, and you sit back with a smile and wait for him to finish.

"Still having those dreams?" Namjoon asks.

You know in an instant that he is referring to the dream that you wrote about in your letter, and you feel silly as you bite your bottom lip and nod.

"That has to be really stressful," he says, reaching for a pitcher of water to fill his empty glass.

You smile sadly, imagining his white shirt filling with blood. It is stressful, but— "On the plus side, I get to see you."

As you lift your gaze to meet Namjoon's, his furrowed brow and wilted frown gently lift, not quite into a smile, but at least something a bit more relaxed.

"Hi," you say softly, taking in Namjoon's familiar, beautiful face.

His smile widens, creasing his cheeks with dimples. He mutters, "Hey, you," and the soft, dulcet tone of his voice fills your chest with warmth.

You open your mouth to tell him that you love him. That you miss him. That you're sorry for leaving. So, so sorry.

But Ryujin loudly asks, "Caviar?" pulling the attention of everyone at the table.

Behind her, waitstaff hold new plates, and everyone nods in agreement before continuing their conversations. And although you could pour your heart out now, Hoseok steals Namjoon's attention away, and you decide the moment has passed.

Food and drink continue to appear in waves, and suddenly, you are tipsy and full and tired. Namjoon stands to walk around the table and have a quiet conversation with Ryujin, and Jimin seizes the opportunity to steal his seat. He and Jeongguk discuss business operations at Paradise while you rest your head against his shoulder and close your eyes listening to the sound of his voice. He is alive. He is awake.

He speaks slower, and there is a rough quality to his voice that was not present before. It seems to take him more time to process what is said to him, and he reacts as if on a delay. But he is here and alive and awake.

Only when more kaoliang is poured, and Ryujin raises a toast do you sit up and take your cup. You barely hear what she shouts, booze and excitement slurring her speech, but you make out the words together, family, and happy, and you tap your small glass against as many as you can reach before shooting the strong liquid down.

A large, warm hand rests on your right knee, and as you set down your empty glass, you turn to find Yoongi watching you, glassy-eyed with a smile on his lips. You attempt to smile back but instead, swallow thickly and search for something to say. Luckily, he speaks first.

“Do you have any idea how difficult it has been without you at home?” Yoongi’s gaze becomes pained but remains soft, tugging at your heart.

And although the sentiment is sweet, you are unable to ignore the impossibility of his question. In fact, for some inexplicable reason—you suppose you must blame the alcohol—you become somewhat annoyed.

You ask, “How could I possibly know that? And anyway, don't you have your hands full as it is?”

Across the table, Jeongguk snickers. It takes Yoongi a second to react, and you are glad when the corners of his lips raise into another smile, even if just for a second.

“Being around those girls has made you sassier than you were before, darling,” he mutters under his breath.

You roll your eyes. “It has only been a week, darling.”

Leaning close, elbows on the table, Yoongi lowers his voice and says, “It only took me about a week to begin wearing you down.”

Arousal stirs from the tone of his voice, but so does your stomach. Being kidnapped and worn down is not exactly a topic that you delight in discussing. You must not show your dissatisfaction, however, because Yoongi leans in close and presses a soft, warm kiss against your cheek.

As the raucous dinner comes to an end and you begin to wish everyone a safe trip home, Jeongguk finally approaches. You have been holding back the urge to kick him in the shin all night, feeling somewhat scorned by his lack of attention.

"So you're going to stay with the girls?" he asks, standing close enough to wrap you in an embrace but keeping his arms to his sides.

You nod and find it hard to hold his eye contact, looking down at his satin-clad shoulder instead. Jeongguk lifts a hand and delicately places two fingers under your chin, tilting your head until you look him in the eyes. The contact of his skin against yours sends an electric current through you, and you shiver.

"Call me if you need anything. I can be to Busan in a matter of hours."

Sheepishly, you glance down again and mutter, "I don't have anyone's number anymore."

Jeongguk drops his hand, turns to the left, and says, "Seokjin-hyung! What the fuck, man?"

Arguing ensues, but you are too distracted by Namjoon wrapping his arms around your side and pressing his lips to your neck. Suddenly, your bones are jelly, and you stumble to the right, leaning your weight against his embrace. Yoongi joins, taking your chin in his hand in a similar fashion to Jeongguk, and tilting your lips against his.

"We'll be ready whenever you are," Namjoon insists, lips grazing over your skin. "Whatever you need…please don't shut us out."

Somewhere behind Namjoon, Seokjin shouts, "Yah! I'll upload everyone to her contact list. Quit fussing!"

"Okay," you mutter while smiling against Yoongi's retreating mouth, unable to find anything more substantial to say despite it all lying in wait at the tip of your tongue all night.

"We miss you," Yoongi says, pressing another kiss against your temple. "But we can wait if that is what you need."

Tears well and you fight the urge to sob. Not here, you tell yourself. Not now. You have already cried so much.

You hug everyone, even Seokjin and Hoseok. Jeongguk attempts to play it cool, but he stares at your lips the entire time, and you practically beg him to kiss you before ultimately letting him walk away. Jimin litters your cheeks and temples with loud, wet smooches, causing you to giggle and shriek.

Taehyung asks about your medication, making your heart ache from his kindness. You briefly inform him that you have been having no dizzy spells, and he promises to send you more medication as soon as you are in Busan.

Finally, Namjoon and Yoongi pull you into another three-way hug and take turns kissing your lips, cheeks, and forehead. They mutter soft, sweet phrases that you only make out the tones of, feeling the whooshing of your pulse as you begin to question whether you are making a huge mistake and should just grab your shit and go home.

And then, all waving and clambering out the door haphazardly, they are gone, and the room is quiet.

You sigh and glance around at the dregs of food and alcohol, feeling simultaneously full and empty in more ways than one. Tears fill the edges of your eyes, and you do your best not to blink, worried that any movement will cause them to spill.

Ryujin sighs loudly. "Alright, well, this was fun and all, but I want to get fucking laid. You girls down for a night on the town?"

You glance down at your outfit, ready to complain, only you look good enough to go to a nightclub and find you have nothing to say to the contrary. You even wear a pair of cozy black ballet slippers, which you slid on while feeling unsure whether you could handle so many tumultuous emotions while wearing heels, and for that, you are grateful.

"Sure," you utter while turning to Hwasa, who has a drunk but devious grin tugging on her lips. Her smile widens and she claps excitedly.

The drive to the nightclub is long, and you are exhausted by the time you arrive, having been fading in and out of a stupor. You feel more drunk than you had earlier, and you are tempted to suggest taking a cab back to the hideout alone. Of course, that would never fly. You can already hear Ryujin singing buddy system in your head.

Hwasa eagerly pulls you from the back of the car and chuckles as she rubs her fingertips along the edge of your hairline and says, "Poor sleeping beauty. We'll get you something that will wake you up, okay?"

You respond with a halfhearted smile and nod, and she takes your hand in hers and yanks you to the door, not bothering to stop for the security guard who, to your surprise, makes no move to stop you either. Inside, loud bass-heavy club music plays, and you are led through a series of hallways until you enter a large room full of the rest of Ryujin's girls and a group of men.

The room is dark and somewhat hazy, lit by strips of purple lights along the ceiling and floor. Short two or three-person sofas line the mirrored walls and are dispersed throughout the space, most of which are occupied. On tables set beside each sofa are bottles of champagne and piles of cocaine, with glasses large and small scattered throughout and topped with small lamps that emit very little light.

Ryujin approaches a man sitting amidst the chaos by himself, sitting hunched over with his elbows on his knees, thumbing through his cell phone. You are curious whether these men are people she knows, and you watch to see how familiar she is with the lone man, but Hwasa steps in your line of vision and takes your chin in both of her hands.

"Coke?" she asks.

You want to say no, proud of yourself for being off the shit for as long as you have been away from home. But you are certain that without it, you will not survive this night, so you nod and allow yourself to be tugged further into the room, to an unoccupied table.

"Don't worry, this is from our stash," Hwasa says as she picks up a discarded rolled-up 100-dollar Taiwanese bill and tightens it between her finger and thumb. "Moon and Solar were in charge of overseeing the distribution process."

You mutter, "How generous," doing your best to smile, and watch as Hwasa snorts a small pile into one nostril and then the other. When she hands the bill to you, you take in a deep, slow breath, and let it out, then lean forward to snort from the edge of the pile first into your left nostril and then your right.

As you let the bill fall to the table and tip your head back, sniffing in again on each side, you ask, "Does Ryujin know these men?"

"Mmhmm," Hwasa hums as she fills two glasses with champagne and hands one to you. "A few of these guys worked at Paradise while I was there, and some of them are from Serendipity. Maybe you know them."

"Oh," you say, pulling the glass to your lips but stopping to ask, "How did they end up here?"

Hwasa purses her lips and tilts her head, making a show of how hard she is trying to conjure the answer to your question. Then her eyes widen and she says, "Oh! Some guy started to come around to Serendipity and just sort of gathered the rest of these guys up as, like, a posse. I don't really know what they do, to be honest, but they always dress up in matching suits and cover their faces, which is creepy as hell."

Your stomach tenses, and you feel too anxious to turn your head to the left and figure out who Ryujin is talking to. Although you know that there is absolutely no way in hell it is Christian, something about the description of the men reminds you of his men, and you begin to wonder whether there really was credence to Yoongi's worry surrounding the possibility of Christian being on this island.

"What's his name?" you ask, voice barely loud enough to be heard over the music.

"Hmm?" Hwasa asks into her champagne glass as she leans closer.

You begin to glance over to where Ryujin and the man are, but your heart pounds so hard, you worry you might be sick if you see him.

"The man who gathered all the guys, from Serendipity, " you say, leaning closer.

"What's his name?"

"Oh," Hwasa says, taking a slow slip of her champagne while her wide, dark eyes stare past you. She blinks owlishly, then pulls the glass from her lips and says, "He has a nickname…Insanity? Something like that."

Unable to stop yourself, your head flies to the left, searching the features of the man whose lap Ryujin has claimed with her legs. His nose is sharp and somewhat hooked, and it is not a familiar shape. Worried, you glance around the room, but there is no sign of Christian, as far as you can tell.

"Something the matter?" Hwasa asks, touching fingertips to your arm and making you nearly drop your glass of champagne.

You must look frantic when you turn back to her, based on the fear that pulls at her pretty features. You blink and wet your lips, shaking your head. Unconvincingly, judging by the way her brows knit and she continues to stare at you.

"I just..." you swallow thickly and glance around the room once more, slowly scanning every face you can see. "I just thought he sounded familiar."

Hwasa makes a small sound, and you scan several more faces before returning your gaze to her and asking, "Huh?"

"It's just," she says, uncertain, "well, I heard he was previously working on Jeongguk's team, back when he was a drug runner. So…maybe he is familiar?"

Something is not adding up. Although Seokjin mentioned that he has kept Christian around to do whatever he pleases, it seems odd that he would be known to these women as someone who was once part of Jeongguk's team. As you recall from the day you were taken to the mansion, he did not seem to perform his drug-running duties to Yoongi's liking. Did Seokjin keep him on Jeongguk's team even after that day? Could he have had something to do with the group of men Jeongguk massacred with kunai knives for fucking him over?

You stare at your glass of champagne trying to make all the pieces fit, but it feels like you are missing a huge chunk of information.

Hands touch your shoulders, causing you to jump. You mutter, "Shit," under your breath at the same time Ryujin's high, somewhat mocking laughter fills your left ear.

"So sorry to scare you, pretty darling," she slurs, sounding quite inebriated.

"Don't worry about it," you say, attempting to loosen your posture. Ryujin's hands remain on your shoulders and you do not want her to feel how tense you are. But then she squeezes your shoulders and you close your eyes, this time succeeding in relaxing.

"How do you feel after such an emotional dinner?"

"Good," you respond while her thumbs circle over your muscles. You wonder whether she is the reason Hwasa always gives massages. Or perhaps it is the other way around. "And, I don't know. I guess also conflicted. Homesick."

Ryujin's hands fall away and she rests her chin on your left shoulder, loosely wrapping her arms around yours and pinning yours to your sides. Hwasa busies herself pouring a third glass of champagne.

"You really like them, hmm?" Ryujin asks.

"Yeah," you say, possibly too quiet for how loud the music in this room is. "Most of them, anyway."

The last part is a joke. You like Seokjin and Hoseok just fine, but you are certainly not as close to them as you are to the others. Taehyung, too, for that matter, although he has had the pleasure of watching his boyfriend rail you, which has formed its own kind of bond between the two of you.

"What is your relationship with the guys?" she asks.

Hwasa hands her a glass, and she releases her hold on you and takes it, muttering a soft, "Thank you."

You turn to face Ryujin. Although you still hesitate to become too close to her, you do feel comfortable in her presence, all things considered. If Yoongi is willing to trust her again, then perhaps you should be, too.

"Yoongi, Namjoon, and I are a thing." After a pause, you add, "And…sort of Jeongguk."

Ryujin's mouth falls open and she gasps. "I need to know more!"

You feel your cheeks become hot, and you pick up your glass of champagne, which Hwasa has filled. But rather than explain, you ask something that has been on your mind for a while.

"Before, when you and Yoongi were together, was Namjoon…" Unsure how to finish the sentence, you trail off. Luckily, Ryujin knows just what you mean.

She nods. "Yes. Romantically, those two have always been the closest. Namjoon and I were never super physical. We were just very, very comfortable around one another because of Yoongi."

Interesting. You suppose this makes sense, remembering a conversation between you and Jimin a while back when he told you about how marrying Ryujin was a means to an end more than anything else.

"Yoongi and I were meant to bring two families together. And, don't get me wrong, we were physically and emotionally attracted to one another. But we also had more fulfilling relationships on the side. For Yoongi, it was Namjoon."

"And for you?" you ask before you can stop yourself.

Ryujin smiles wide, but then it falls to a frown. She shakes her head. "Doesn't matter. Nobody you know."

You nod and accept her answer. You suppose that perhaps the two of you are not that close, yet. In tandem, you and Ryujin raise your glasses to drink. But then she yells, "Oh!" and you startle enough to nearly spill your champagne onto yourself. "Jeongguk, though! What happened with him?"

You tip your head back and chug the rest of your bubbly. It is truly miserable to drink quickly, and you instantly regret your decision, feeling the carbonation sloshing around in your guts.

"We, uh…" you begin, feeling shy. Why do you feel shy?

"You should see those two," Hwasa interjects, causing your face to heat even more. "They bicker like children but then circle one another like feral animals. I can only imagine their chemistry behind closed doors."

Affronted, your mouth falls wide. "We what? No we do not!"

Hwasa nods, grinning. "Yes, you do! I thought the two of you were fucking for sure when I first started working for Jimin. I was shocked to learn Jeongguk was with Taehyung and you were with Yoongi."

"And Namjoon," Ryujin supplies.

Hwasa's grin widens.

You raise your hands to your face as if to hide. This day has been exhausting, and these two are giggling at your expense like a couple of school girls.

"Oh, stop," Hwasa says as one of your hands is tugged down from your face. You open just the one eye, keeping the other closed tight behind your palm. "Everyone wants a piece of your ass. Don't be shy about it! Embrace it."

With a sigh, you shake your head. "Not everyone," you groan, feeling defensive.

"Everyone with eyes," Ryujin says, waggling her eyebrows while Hwasa makes kissy noises. "I would shoot my shot if you weren't already so taken."

Hwasa nods and says, "Me too!"

Suddenly, it is too warm and too loud in here. "I need a stronger drink!" you declare, making both women laugh.

You take a step back and turn, moving in autopilot toward the door before realizing you have no idea where you are nor where a bar in this building is.

Ryujin takes your right hand and yanks you gently back, sing-songing, "Ah, ah, ah, not by yourself."

"Alright," you concede, interlocking your fingers with hers. As you begin to walk toward the exit, your left hand is engulfed and you glance to find Hwasa is coming along.

You exit the mirrored room and turn right, taking a dark hallway about halfway and then turning right once more, through a thick black curtain that is guarded by two men on the other side. There is a bar directly to the right, and Ryujin tugs you to the counter and orders a bottle of whiskey that you do not catch the name of.

With a nod, the bartender grabs an unopened bottle from a high shelf and then delicately stacks three medium-sized glasses. Hwasa takes the glasses, Ryujin takes the whiskey, and your hands remain held by both of theirs.

Back in the mirrored room, you return to the table off to the right, toward the back. The girls release your hands to pour three drinks, and you fidget by pinching the satin of your skirt between your thumbs and knuckles, suddenly feeling antsy.

"Cheers," Ryujin declares as she slides a drink in front of you. You take it, hold it up, and tap it against their glasses, then pull it to your lips and smell the strong, bittersweet liquid before taking a sip.

The potent, boozy caramel flavor that you have come to expect is accented by a hint of something earthy, possibly wood. You take a bigger drink, hold it on your tongue, allowing your taste buds to open and fully experience the onslaught as they adjust, and then you swallow it down.

"Tomorrow, we return to Busan," Ryujin says for the second time tonight as the whiskey flows down into your chest, filling you with warmth. You look forward to being at a proper home rather than on some random floor in a balmy, empty building.

"I'm looking forward to seeing your home," you say, sounding far more meek than you intend to.

"I'm looking forward to hosting you."

Hwasa leans her elbows on the table and says, "You finally get to have your own room. That is, of course, unless you want to stay with me."

The playful smile on Hwasa's face, paired with her tired and intoxicated bloodshot eyes is almost enough to make you melt. Almost enough to make you follow her into any room she wants to lead you into.

When you shrug and say, "Honestly, I may be too lonely to sleep alone," you are being brutally honest, and not all all flirtatious.

"I can even decorate it like your room in the mansion," Ryujin says. "Is it still yellow?"

Her words halt your movement of lifting your glass back to your lips. "How did you know that?"

Ryujin rolls her eyes and says, "Please, nothing about that man has changed, down to the way he likes to outfit you. It's exactly as it was seven years ago."

Bile swirls around in your tummy, and you set the glass down on the mirrored table with a clank that is louder than you intend. Could that be true? Is Yoongi really outfitting you in the same fashion he was outfitting her all those years ago.

Hwasa clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth and swats at Ryujin's arm, muttering, "Mother, don't say things like that to her," under her breath.

You shake your head, determined to not show how strange the information makes you feel. But Ryujin turns, pouts dramatically, and wraps her arms around you.

"Oh, sweetie, I don't mean to suggest he was trying to turn you into a second me. He just seems to have the same tastes and fashion sense, is all. Trust me, he loves you way more than he could ever love me. I can tell."

You have no idea whether Ryujin is being truthful or trying to make you feel better, but you decide that either way, you see no use in dwelling on it. You are going to be living under her roof for the foreseeable future, and becoming upset whenever she says something a little too blunt, snippy, or insensitive is not going to get you anywhere.

With a nod, you say, "I know. Don't worry." But it only makes her squeeze you tighter.

"Just look at his bullshit excuse for taking you home with him," she says. "Collateral, my ass."

What an odd statement. You ask, "What do you mean?" But what you really mean to say is what do you know?

"The man takes you as so-called payment from your ex but then spends millions of dollars on a wardrobe, an armored vehicle, the most lavish birthday party in all of Seoul. Make it fucking make sense!"

Ryujin releases the hug, and as soon as you are free, you slam back your whiskey and pick up the 100-dollar bill, squeezing it tighter into a tube. Ryujin whoops and claps as you lean close and snort from the edge of the cocaine pile into your left nostril and then your right.

"Mommy needs some, too," she says as she takes the bill from your hand and leans forward.

You tip your head back and raise a knuckle to each nostril, sniffing deeply to make sure none of the drug is stuck inside your nose cavity, then you stand up straight, stretching your back by pushing forward your chest, and reach for the bottle of whiskey.

"Partying so hard without me?" a male voice asks from behind you, and you nearly drop the bottle.

The tone, the accent, and the cadence all confirm your fears are true.

"Christian?" you mutter as you spin, and you almost do not believe your eyes.

From the expression he wears and the way his gaze falls to the floor, eyes widening as they lift to your face, you wager he also cannot believe his.

Christian steps forward and you take a step back, elbow hitting the table and causing you to grip tighter to the bottle of whiskey.

"Barom-oppa!" Ryujin shouts as she pounces on Christian, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Hey there, dearie," he says, lifting his arms to return the hug, never taking his eyes off you.

Christian looks somewhat normal compared to the last time you saw him, with a white and red floral button-up tucked into black slacks, and a black leather blazer. His hair has some product in it to give it a slightly messy style, falling in front of his eyes, and he wears minimal makeup.

But there is a darkness to him. Smudges around the eyes rather than clean lines, tattoos on his throat and neck. On his left hand, he wears a black leather driving glove, and across his nose is a red scuff, as if he has been punched. Under the rich musk that fills the air around him, you sense the stale smell of cigarette smoke, and he has silver hoops in his ears and one in his left nostril.

A lot has changed about Christian in the months since you have known him.

Ryujin releases their hug and takes a step back, causing Christian to look down at himself and rub his hands down the front of his jacket as if her tiny body could have somehow managed to do anything to the leather. Then he stands up straight and shakes his head to the side just enough for his hair to move out from in front of his eyes, and you realize that his left eye is completely white. Is it…missing?

"Oh my god, your eye!" you shout, lunging forward before you can stop yourself and raising your left hand toward his face while your right hand nearly drops the whiskey bottle once more.

Christian takes your wrist in his gloved hand and holds firmly onto you, and your entire body flushes hot with nerves as you realize the mistake you have made. The way his gaze holds onto you, even with only one dark iris and pupil, is piercing and intense, and you attempt futility to pull your hand away.

"Funny story how I lost that," he says, expression pulling into a strange, sad grin. He leans close, nicotine on his breath as he says, "I'll have to tell you some time."

You pull on your arm, desperate to release it, but his grip is far stronger than you remember. Should you be afraid of this man?

"Christian," you begin, glancing from your hand to his face.

"Perhaps over drinks, some time," he continues. "Just the two of us."

You nod, willing to lie to him if it means letting you go. Panic rises as you continue to take stock of how different he is from the man you used to know.

Ryujin takes the whiskey from your hand, sets it on the table, and then grabs his hand in both of hers as she says, "Alright, that is enough of that. I need you two to play nice."

The room returns to view, and you remember why you are here and who you are with. You realize belatedly that these two not only know each other but that they are friendly with one another.

"Wait," you say, turning to Ryujin, "you told Yoongi—"

"Look, I lied to him," she says, cutting you off.

Your mouth falls open and your pulse whooshes in your ears. "You…but…" Could she possibly know what she has done by bringing the two of you together? "Why?"

Ryujin chuckles and steps close to Christian, placing her dainty, manicured hands over his chest. "Oppa is harmless. You know that! And Yoongi…well, he's paranoid. Trust me, darling. Nothing bad will happen to you."

You are not so sure you are convinced, but you know that freaking out will do nobody any good. Especially when you are so far away from home. You are not eager to show any more weakness to any of these people. Especially the one they call Mister Insanity.

Someone shouts for Christian, using the name Barom, and you turn quickly back to the table. Your glass contains more whiskey, courtesy of one of the women, you assume, and you pick up the glass with shaking hands and slam it down, then reach for the bottle again.

Intoxication roils through you in hot waves, and you squeeze your eyes closed to take a deep breath in and out before shooting more whiskey. A small hand touches your lower back, and you wish you were curled up in a bed all by yourself, far away from these people and this music. You are tired of being touched.

"I know it's weird to see an ex," Ryujin says. "Sorry for surprising you like this. He told me he wouldn't be around tonight."

"How did he lose his eye?" you ask, focused on the wrong thing as you turn to face Ryujin. You tremble so hard that your teeth clatter.

Her smile falls to a frown and she shakes her head. "That isn't my story to tell."

You nod, accepting her answer, and turn to Hwasa, who watches you with a concerned expression. You mouth the word, "Bathroom?" and she nods and rounds the table, taking you by the arm.

"Down the hall to the left," Ryujin says.

As you walk through the room, you squint, attempting to ignore all the movement in the mirrors in your periphery. It's too much. Everything is too much.

The darkness of the hallway is a blessing and a curse, relieving you from the chaos of the private room while introducing challenges of its own; it is almost too dark and somewhat claustrophobic.

You stumble and Hwasa's hold on you tightens. She picks up the pace and leads you straight into a single-stall bathroom, then turns on a light that is thankfully relatively dim. The moment she closes and locks the door, you stumble forward, fall to your knees on the rough tile before the toilet, and vomit the contents of your stomach.

Your mind races with myriad thoughts, but one is the loudest of them all: What the fuck is Christian doing here?

Oh, oh, I broke down all my doors Oh, do you see it now? Nothing was fixed at all

I never asked to be like this

🎵 visit the playlist

hello, hello!!! we meet again!!! i hope you have all been having great middle of the year months! things have been ok for me but i have been reading a lot more than i have been writing. how did you feel about this one??? it is a little slower, as it is setting the stage for the final chapters. any guess how things are going to go? how do we feel about the new (and returned) characters??? it felt really nice to writing Jimin into the scene again. 💜 i'll be honest, describing Ryujin & the Mamamoo girls laying on the rugs and blankets made me think of Quanxi and her harem of fiends from Chainsaw Man.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!! REBLOGS ARE IMPORTANT BLAHBLAHBLAH LIKES ARE ALSO AMAZING AND SO ON. 💜 tags will be coming in reblogs. also, character asks are always active if you have some burning questions or comments (just don't expect me to outright spoil anything hehehe.)

i love you, stay hydrated!!! if you are somewhere with a heatwave, stay cool!!! 😘😘😘 until we meet again!!!

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#fic: collateral #theharrowing #bts mafia #ymc reviews #ymc highly recommends

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miniscule-meow · 1 day ago

Text

Isabell and the Lads (17)

Masterpost Wordcount: ~2.9k Warnings: angst, swears First Part | Last Part | Next Part (eventually)

It has only been two days since her… incident with Marcus, but Zeke seemed to pick up on the disconnect instantly. He came home after class that day, and it was like he could smell that something was wrong. He’s regarded her cautiously ever since, but he hasn’t said anything about it. His gaze has just lingered between her and Marcus, his brow knitting together as if he’s trying to silently solve a puzzle. To their credit, the humans seemed to realize that she needed some space, and they didn’t push the issue. Marcus has hardly even looked at her since that day, and he absolutely refuses to hold her.

Frustratingly, she has mixed feelings about the whole ordeal. She doesn’t know why part of her twists uncomfortably when Marcus pointedly avoids her. Getting a human to leave her alone should be a major victory. There’s just something so bittersweet about the whole thing, she can’t figure it out. It can’t be that she likes these humans. Tolerating them is one thing, but actually liking them? Looking forward to spending time with them? Craving the warmth of being held- No. That’s not it. The fact that she’s even considering it makes her insides cringe with the sense of her own betrayal. She doesn’t belong here, and she doesn’t plan on getting attached. As soon as she’s able to, she’s going right back home and all the entrances to this apartment are getting her signature big black ‘X’ across them.

That day can’t be too far off. Her leg has been slowly getting better now that the stitches are out, but she’s still stuck here for the time being.

She’s been taking stock of everything that she has and everything that she needs to get together in preparation for the journey back home. She wants to bring as much as she can carry back with her, so that when she gets home, she can finally have a respite from humans before having to turn around and go borrowing again. And since she’s in a position nowadays where she has humans just willing to bring her whatever she wants, it would be foolish not to get what she needs. It’s just a matter of figuring out how to gather supplies without them figuring out what she’s doing. If they suspect that she’s getting ready to leave… They’ve been nice so far; she’s just not convinced that they’ll let her go so easily. She can easily imagine what they might say:

Why don’t you just stay a little longer?

Do you really have to go? You’d be much safer here anyway.

Of course, we think of you as a roommate, you just can’t leave.

Just let me take care of you.

Absolutely not. They’ve been nice enough, far nicer than she could have imagined, even despite the bumps along the way. But she’s not going to let herself become some little pet for them to keep. She just has to wait a little while longer, just until she’s ready.

The movement around her snags her attention, pulling her away from her planning. She’s out on the kitchen counter, Zeke had suggested they all watch a movie together. Marcus had tried to get out of it, but it’s growing apparent that both of them have a hard time saying no to one another. Hopefully, they can all just watch the movie, and things will smooth over on their own. Zeke is the sort of person who just seems to be able to fix things. It might be a lot of pressure to put on him, but to her, that’s what he does. He must have a plan, so she’s confident that things will be fine.

“Why don’t you two go pick out a movie?” Zeke suggests. He steps aside to let Marcus scoop her up and whisk her off into the living room. Judging from his previous track record, he should have leapt at the chance to hold her. Instead, he gives a noncommittal hum.

“You go ahead, I always pick. I’ll just make popcorn this time,” Marcus responds quickly. His words are so nonchalant, one might think that nothing was wrong, but it’s his quick movement across the room that betrays him. It’s as if he’s putting as much distance between them as the kitchen will allow. He’s not a very good liar, she observes. She shares a look with Zeke, both of them clocking the oddity of his actions before she just shrugs.

“Okay,” Zeke says finally, freezing Marcus in his tracks. “Would someone like to tell me what happened?” He leans against the counter in front of her, “Isabell?” he prompts.

“It’s really not a big deal, you don’t need to be upset or anything,” she responds simply.

“I’m not upset, I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on. You two have been weird the past couple days.” She looks away, unwilling to respond. He blinks down at her slowly before turning his gaze over to his roommate. “Alright. Marcus?”

For a moment, Marcus remains silent, leveling his own stubborn gaze to meet Zeke’s. She can’t see the look he’s giving but she can see his jaw flex. Even from her extreme angle she knows, he’s displeased. Eventually, Marcus succumbs to his measured stare.

“I hurt her,” he says fiercely, “that’s what happened.”

Slowly, Zeke’s eyes drift down to find her again. As they do, the atmosphere in the room freezes. She avoids his gaze while he inspects her. She can’t even begin to chisel through the wall concealing his thoughts. Perhaps he’s wondering why she didn’t tell him sooner. Perhaps he’s just checking to see how hurt she might be. Maybe he’s just irritated by the tension that’s been sparking between them for the past few days and that’s all.

She can’t help but feel as though he wants something from her. She just shakes her head, unable to find any words that might satisfy him. His eyes narrow in response.

“Like, visibly? Or…” He turns back to Marcus, prodding for more information.

“Yes, Zeke,” his voice is clipped with irritation. “She’s bruised all over, and then I freaked her out so bad that she tried to jump out of my hands. I yelled at her when I caught her, so I probably traumatized her too. It wasn’t cute.”

Zeke’s stare finds her again. There is a dangerous intensity in his eyes now, and all of it is focused on her. She wants to tell him that it’s okay, everything is okay. It doesn’t even hurt, and she knows he didn’t mean to do it. But the nerves sparking through her make it impossible for her to speak. Not while he’s looking at her like that. She’s seen Zeke look at Marcus like this before, and she swore that if she was ever the focus of his ire that she would simply disintegrate on the spot. Now that she’s finally found herself on the receiving end, she can confirm it is every bit as uncomfortable as she imagined it to be. Her mind is static, her tongue is ash, and her lungs feel as though they have filled with water.

“May I see?” He leans towards her, keeping his voice even with notable effort.

Isabell knows that Zeke won’t respond the same way Marcus had, grabbing her and taking a look for himself. Or at least, she thinks she knows. That small seed of doubt is enough to confirm for her that it’s not a risk she is willing to take right now.

She knows how he got when he saw her bruise from before, the one that had convinced her that she had a broken rib. That one wasn’t even caused by one of the lads, and yet the way he stilled around her… the way he held his breath as his eyes took in every sallow green and blossoming purple that had printed itself against her side…. his rugged voice whispering, ‘is that from me?’ That bruise has since faded, and she would be almost back to normal if it wasn’t for the small smattering of purples and blues that have replaced it. She’s certain she just bruises easily. Marcus hasn’t been that reckless with her. Besides, she spoke to him about it already. She can fight her own battles, even if they’re against humans. Sure, the conversation was a disaster, but admittedly it had results. You can’t bruise someone if you refuse to even look in their direction.

She shakes her head insistently, gripping the hem of her shirt so tightly that her knuckles turn white. It’s fine, she wants to insist, but her throat constricts, refusing to let her generate any sound. Zeke studies her for a moment, long enough for her to fear that he’ll override her choice, and he’ll make her show him the bruises after all. Instead, he eventually breathes a small sigh.

“Okay,” his massive fingers drum against the countertop in front of her. “Marcus,” He finally turns his attention back to his roommate, his tone is deeply disappointed.

“I don’t need a lecture from you, alright?” Marcus snaps back, “I know what you’re going to say.”

“Well, it’s just that I’ve told you to be careful, I keep telling you to—”

“I know, Zeke. I know!” Marcus interjects, growing louder. Zeke doesn’t yield, his own voice raising to match him. Isabell’s hands clamp over her ears quickly. Zeke is always so collected, part of her didn’t think it was even possible for him to raise his voice. She was wrong.

“You don’t listen! She is the size of one of your fingers. Seriously, can you imagine how terrifying that must be for her? She’s already putting so much trust in us, you can’t—”

“I know!” Marcus repeats himself, finally fully shouting. “Step off! You’re being overbearing.”

“Over—” Zeke echoes with a sputter, visibly taken aback by this.

“Yes! You’re overbearing and you’re controlling. I know I fucked up, but at least I treat her like she’s another person.”

“Excuse me?” Zeke hisses the words, and the air feels like it’s been sucked from the room.

“You hover over her like she’s going to break if you look at her the wrong way,” Marcus presses on, apparently not at all concerned that he’s winding Zeke tighter than a spring.

“First of all—”

“Like, she’s an adult, dude. She’s survived this long on her own, do you think she needs you?”

“No. No, you don’t get to do that. This isn’t about me! You hurt her. You can’t just—”

“I know! I feel awful. She told me I was hurting her; I’m trying to be better. She doesn’t need you cooing over her all the time like a mother hen.”

“I do not—”

“Yes, you do.” Marcus plows on, hardly letting Zeke get a word in edgewise. “Yes, you do! What do you think you’re doing right fucking now?”

Their voices continue to overlap. Marcus punctuates his words by talking with his hands, slamming things around. Zeke remains anchored to the counter, his hand balled into a tight fist.

And then there’s Isabell. Stuck, as is becoming the pattern lately. She’s stuck right in the middle of this shouting match the humans are having about her. They’re fighting about her like she isn’t even here. She feels so bottled up, she finally just bursts.

“Stop it!” She shouts, maybe louder than she ever has before in her entire life. It has to be fruitless. How could a little borrower possibly cut in on a fight between humans? But to her surprise, they both stop. Right in the middle of their sentences, they just freeze. Zeke jolts, his hand that was resting nearby on the counter jerks away, as if she’s burned him. “You are fighting over me like I’m a toy! Just stop,” breathing heavily, her voice already feels raw. She was not made to be loud.

A muscle twitches in Zeke’s cheek as his jaw clenches. His sharp eyes bore into her now. He throws a glance back to Marcus, then with a breath, his expression smooths. His shoulders straighten, and it’s like a wall slides evenly in place over his feelings.

“I’m going to take a walk,” he grumbles coldly. She feels like she just watched him pack all of his stray emotions into a tidy little box. Before anyone can stop him, he’s gone, slamming the front door behind him.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Marcus breathes a heavy sigh in response. Then, the room settles into a thick silence.

“Marcus?” She calls out to him tentatively. Part of her expects him to storm off too, leaving her forgotten on the counter.

“What.” His response is sharp and dry.

“I just- I’m- I didn’t mean to—”

“Isabell, I swear if you fucking apologize to me right now—” he cuts himself off. Obviously on a jittery high from his fight with Zeke, he pushes his blonde curls back away from his face.

“Can you- Can you just let me get through what I have to say? Please?” There is a quiet desperation that leaches into her voice. If Marcus starts yelling at her too… Having humans yell over her is bad enough, she doesn’t want him yelling at her. Not again. He just nods, clamping his jaw shut and crossing his arms. She takes a deep breath, hoping she can actually manage to say everything she needs to. “I got scared, and I overreacted,” it’s a good start. Maybe most of her life could be described that way. “I know you don’t want me to say it, but I’m sorry. I am.” Now that she’s begun sorting through the words that have been jumbling around in her brain the past few days, they just keep coming.

“I mean, it’s hard. I’m afraid of humans. Obviously. I always have been, and for good reasons. But I’m not afraid of you. I’m not afraid of either of you, really. Not anymore at least. It’s just weird, because I keep feeling like something bad is going to happen. Like something really bad, worse than a fight or a couple of bruises, but it just never happens. You and Zeke, you literally saved my life. It’s not fair to you that I just keep expecting you to do something to hurt me. Logically, at this point, I know you’re safe. It’s just that I’m fighting every instinct I have to even just talk to you. Sometimes it just takes my brain to catch up with me, to go from, ‘Danger! This is a human!’ To, ‘Oh, this is one of my humans, it’s okay.’ I didn’t mean to make anyone upset. I didn’t want to start a fight. I’m sorry. Can we just be okay now? Please?” She didn’t mean to say that much, but it feels good to finally get some of that off her chest.

The enormity of what she said catches up to her like a freight train.

My humans.

She looks up at him, wondering if he noticed. Marcus is finally, finally, looking at her. His eyes are misty, and his lips are pulled into a wobbly smile. One thing she’s grown to appreciate about him is that you can always tell exactly what he’s thinking when you look at him. He blinks, and two tears roll down his cheeks, with more soon to follow. He definitely noticed.

Wordlessly, he offers her a trembling palm. She climbs into his hand without hesitation, hugging his fingers tightly. He pulls her right up to his face, holding her against his damp cheek.

“Bleh! Don’t cry on me!” She laughs, halfheartedly pushing against him. He turns his face, nuzzling his nose right into her middle.

“Sorry, sorry,” the world trembles around her as he laughs and as he cries. He moves her down to his chest, holding her close.

“Are you okay?” She rubs his thumb comfortingly. The irony of someone so small like her being able to offer any comfort to someone as big as him is not lost on her.

“Me?” He says with a laugh, though it’s followed by a small sniffle. “Yeah, don’t worry about me. I’m pretty tough.”

“And Zeke?” She asks cautiously, “I’ve never seen him so upset.”

“He’ll cool off eventually,”

“You really know how to push his buttons, huh?”

“Well, I’ve had a lot of practice,” he takes her over to the living room as he speaks, reclining back on the couch. “Zeke and I pretty much grew up together.” As he shifts, she goes from sitting in his hand to laying against his chest with his hand just resting around her comfortably. She settles into him, it’s like the bubble of fear that had been clinging to her has just suddenly popped.

Thinking about Marcus and Zeke growing up together makes her think about her brother. Her heart squeezes in her chest, leaving behind a hollow ache. If he could see her now… He’d have some strong words for her, that’s for sure. She really hates how big this world is, how she’s too small to fit in properly, how it’s separated her from the people that she loves, and how unlikely it is that they’ll ever find each other again. But right now, with Marcus’ warmth surrounding her, it doesn’t seem so bad.

She realizes that she might be incredibly touch-starved. Before all this, when was the last time she spoke to anyone else? Never mind the last time she hugged anybody. She has grown so accustomed to being completely alone that she hadn’t realized that this was something she was lacking. Of course, now that she knows, her resolve to escape back to the walls slips from her grasp, just ever so slightly. Enough for new, dangerous questions to creep at the edge of her mind.

Can she really go back to living all alone?

What have these humans done to her.

#isabell and the lads #my writing #g/t #G/t #gt #g/t stories #g/t writing #hurt/comfort #if anyone was wondering I LOVE Marcus

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