#cc part two chapter five

[sweetbans29]

Milkshakes - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Should Have Been Me

Summary: 3 times you and Caitlin get milkshakes and once when she's just missing you, AKA the prequel to Should Have Been Me (based on THIS request)

Warnings: fluff, last part is angst but is also really sweet

Word Count: 3.5k

Sweetbans Masterlist

AN: I hope this helps heal what was broken in Should Have Been Me

one. midnight talks.

Your dreams are coming true.

Caitlin and you just graduated high school and are on your way to the University of Iowa. Both of you had made the women's basketball team and were ready to start a new chapter together. And in the frenzy and excitement of graduation, the two of you found yourselves sitting in your favorite diner.

You are sitting across from your favorite girl, sipping milkshakes as the two of you talk about anything and everything.

"Do you think the team is going to like us?" You ask as you take a sip of your milkshake.

"They are going to love you," Caitlin responds. "I haven't met a single person who doesn't love you."

Her hand comes across the table to hold yours. If it was up to her, you would be sitting on her side of the booth so she could cuddle into your side. If anyone were to ask, she was 100% a physical touch girl. Some part of her was always on you at all times. There was just something about your warmth that she had been drawn to.

It had been like that since you could remember. Even before you were dating she would be right next to you. It became extremely helpful when she would get overworked during games, even if you couldn't see it. She has always had a big mouth on the court but when she was around you, it would tame her enough to just flirt with a technical instead of receiving one every other game.

When the two of you were growing up you would have sleepovers. You would always wake up with Caitlin curled up by your side. Even when you put a pillow in between you to separate the two of you because of the heat or whatever the reason, she would find her way to you in the middle of the night usually resulting in you waking up in a sweat but you never minded.

The only time it ever really got to be too much was when you were out and about with people. There is one time, in particular, you could remember it being a distraction.

Your high school team decided to go watch the guy's team play in one of their playoff games. It was an away game and you had all piled into two cars, not wanting to deal with using more gas than necessary or having to find parking. You and Cait had driven to school together and then jumped into one of your friend's cars. She was saving a spot for you when another girl from the team jumped in and sat in the spot, leaving you to sit on the other side and away from her.

She was annoyed but knew it would be fine if she sat by you during the game.

When you all arrived at the game, Caitlin stood right next to you to make sure she would be sitting somewhere around you. And she was right, she sat right in front of you which she was happy about. This meant she could lean back into your legs while you played with her hair.

When she sat down she immediately leaned back and your legs welcomed her torso. She was content. Content for at least a whole five minutes until you began to tab her back.

"Can you sit up? My legs are falling asleep," you say and she reluctantly gets up and slumps her shoulder. When you noticed her shoulders you leaned in.

"Are you okay CC?" You ask, whispering into her ear.

She nods. You don't push it.

A few of your teammates mention they are going to go grab snacks and you join them. You get up and squeeze Caitlin's shoulder. Her hand comes up to hold yours for a quick second before you remove it from her which she wishes you didn't.

When you come back, you notice someone has taken your spot behind Caitlin so you find a seat a little further down with the girls you just came back with.

You feel eyes burning into you and turn to see your girlfriend's eyes staring into your soul. You give her a questioning look but she just crosses her arms and turns back towards the game.

You get back into the game and cheer on the team. They come out victorious and you could not be more excited. The team decides to head to grab a bit after, and Caitlin stays as far away from you as possible. It doesn't matter if it is internally tearing Caitlin apart - she is mad at you and wants to make that known.

When you finally get back to the school and get in your car with Caitlin, she sits in the front seat, arms crossed just like the game, and doesn't say a word to you.

"CC what's wrong?" You ask as you turn to her before even turning the car on.

"Nothing," she says and you know she is lying to you.

You reach over and touch her arm and she immediately flinches away from you, turning towards the window.

"Caity babe, look at me," you say now putting your hand on her favorite spot on her thigh. Her knee begins to tap.

Your other hand goes to rub her shoulder and neck - you are doing all of her favorite things and you both know it.

She sighs and the tension she was holding in releases. She turns to face you - arms still crossed.

"Use your words, love," you say as your thumb comes to rub her cheek.

"it's dumb," she says and lets out a 'hmph'.

"It's not it if has you feeling this annoyed," you remove your hands from her.

"No," she yelps and grabs your hands bringing them into her. It all clicked.

"Come here," you say and open your arms. She unbuckles and awkwardly maneuvers over your center console and into your lap. You have to admit it is not the most conventional and you realize that when her elbow hits your horn. You let out a laugh and she lets out a groan. You move your seat back as far as it will go and you wrap your arms around your girl.

Her head finds its place in your neck and you feel her relax into you.

"I'm sorry," you say as you rub one of her thighs. Her legs are lying across your center console and her feet are on your passenger seat.

"'S okay," she mutters into your neck. "Just like being close to you."

"I know, I should have known that," you say. You sit there for a few minutes before loosening your grip on your girl. "Ready to go home?"

"Will you spend the night?" Caitlin asks.

"Of course," you say and kiss the top of her head.

The two of you talk about what you both plan on expecting to experience as you head into college. You reassure her that the team will love her. It is not that she was worried per se, but it was a known fact that people naturally gravitated towards you over her.

"I wish we were roommates," she says. It had been about two weeks since finding out that the two of you would be in different rooms but were still in the same dorm. She has brought it up at least once since you found out.

"I think we will be okay," you say.

"But we aren't even on the same floor," she says dipping her finger in your milkshake.

"Hey!" You yell at her and pull your glass back. You offer her the excess of your shake that they brought you in the mental cup and automatically grab her excess. She complies with the trade.

"We will be okay. We will see each other the same that we see each other now, if not more," you say. "Plus, if you saw me 24/7 you would get annoyed with me."

"I would not," she says appalled that I would even think that.

"You would," you say knowingly.

"Would not."

"Would."

Would not."

"Would."

"Would not." You know you are not winning this.

"Agree to disagree," you say.

"Fine, but I wouldn't," she whispers and takes another sip.

"Don't push it, Clark," you warn. She throws her hands up in defeat.

The two of you finish your milkshakes as you both continue talking about how excited you are, including how you plan to continue doing some of your favorite things together. It is all just a matter of time.

two. i love you.

It was the summer before junior year of high school and you and Caitlin were heading home from practice for your club team, Attack. She was driving the two of you back to your house when you mentioned you wanted to stop to get milkshakes. She happily pulled over at your favorite local spot. Once the two of you had gotten your sweet treat, you sat in her car drinking milkshakes.

"I feel like we are single-handedly keeping this diner in business," you say as you take the first sip of your milkshake. "They literally get better every time."

"I can't imagine our lives without these," Caitlin says.

The diner was the first place the two of you went when you got your license. Caitlin was the first to get hers and you were only a few months behind. When Cait got hers, she begged her parents to let her take you to get milkshakes and after hours of bugging them, they finally said yes.

She drove to your house and picked you up to get milkshakes, the first time without one of your parents.

Since then, the two of you have been there multiple times a week. That is how you ended up there now.

"This will always be our place," she says and you sit there in thought. The two of you sit there drinking your sweet treat.

"Cait?" You ask as she is finishing her milkshake. She looks up at you.

You go silent again and are just staring directly at her dashboard. Caitlin looks at you until you finally turn to look back at her.

"This will always be our place," you say, repeating the words she just spoke to you. She smiles.

"Ya," she says.

"Just like I will always be yours," you say and Caitlin freezes.

"I love you," you say.

Up to this point, the two of you had both told each other you liked each other more than friends and started to explore what that looked like. You would say the two of you had been dating for the past couple of months - keeping it really low-key as you didn't know how the people around you would take it. But there was something about this moment, something about being together and just doing life together that helped you realize she is your everything.

She looks at you slightly shocked.

"You don't need to say it back!" You say, not wanting to pressure her. You just didn't want to go another day without telling her. "I just needed to tell you because, well, I do. I love you, Caitlin Clark."

A goofy little smile makes its way to her face and she pulls you in for a hug. It isn't the most comfortable considering you sitting in a car and have some piece of the center console pushing into your rib cage but you didn't mind.

"I love you," she whispers in your ear as she hugs you.

It was the first of many times the two of you would say those three words to each other.

three. firsts.

You were in first grade, the same as Caitlin. Your parents decided it would be a good idea to enroll the two of you into a summer basketball league which you didn't want to do but Caitlin had convinced you it would be fun. Caitlin's convincing was really just saying it would be fun. She was your best friend and you had no reason to not believe her so you agreed and your parents.

Your dad took the two of you to the first practice and he watched as the two of you outplayed everyone else on the court.

To be fair, Caitlin growing up with two brothers, and with her competitive nature, she had her dad teach the two of you the basics before the first practice. It served both of you well considering there was no girl team and the two of you were on the boy's team.

He watched as the two of you ran circles around the little boys and were already playing well with each other - it had him thinking that both of you had insanely bright futures. And that was not just because of your dad but the other dads came up to him and sparked up conversations on how good the two of you were.

After practice, the two of you come bouncing over to your dad with giant smiles on your faces, faces still red from running around but neither of you could be bothered by that.

"That was so fun!" You say and hug your dad.

"I told you it would be," Caitlin says in a matter-of-fact tone.

You roll your eyes at your best friend.

"I know what you told me," you say. "But you didn't say it was going to be like that."

"Well I didn't know it was going to be like that," she says.

"Okay, girls, it was more fun than both of you thought," your dad says as he grabs both of your backpacks from you.

You load into his car and are on the way home.

"Daddy," you yell from the back. "Can we get a treat?"

"Sure sweetie," he says and pulls into a diner on the side of the road.

"I've been here before!" Caitlin yells and gets excited.

"Do they have anything sweet?" You ask giving it a questioning look.

"They have the best sweet treat," she says. "Well except my mommy's cookies."

"Oooo your mommy's cookies are really good," you say remembering having one the last time you were at her house.

"Ya but they have milkshakes here," Caitlin says excitedly. She begins to run ahead when your dad calls out to her to not run in the parking lot. She comes right back to your side and holds your hand.

"Milkshake? What's that?" You ask as you swing your hands.

"Wait, you've never had a milkshake before?" Caitlin stops dead in her tracks and looks at you like you are crazy. You shake your head no. She then proceeds to pull you to the door like you couldn't wait any longer or you would die.

"You need one now!" Caitlin yells.

The three of you sit in a booth, you and Caitlin on one side with your dad on the other.

Caitlin picks out a chocolate milkshake for the two of you to share. As the two of you waited, Caitlin wouldn't stop talking about how it's going to be the best thing ever and that you will never be the same. She was hyping it up so much, she made it sound like it was the most magical thing in the world.

The waitress brings out the milkshake and places two straws on the table. Both of your little fingers work to unwrap the straws.

"Okay, you try it first," Caitlin says as she pushes the glass towards you. She looks at you with excited eyes.

You stick your straw in and take a sip. It doesn't hit your tongue immediately as your little hands come to hold the glass as you try sucking the liquid gold up with all your might.

Your eyes light up when you finally get a taste of it.

"WOW!" You yell.

"Right?" Caitlin says with a laugh and sticks her straw in. She struggles like you do to get the first sip.

"I could drink this every day until I die," you say. Your dad lets out a little laugh.

"Well this used to be just my thing," Caitlin says pulling her legs up to sit on her knees. "But since you like them too, this can be our thing now!" The excitement radiates off of her and mesmerizes you.

"Ya! It is our thing now!" You say as the two of you finish every last drop.

four. without you.

It has been 3 years since she had lost you. Two years without you.

It's the second anniversary of your passing and Caitlin has made her way back to your hometown. She is driving through the town you two grew up in, not really having a destination but reminiscing on when you were here with her.

The two you both grew up in held so many memories.

She drives past a park - your park.

In high school when you couldn't sleep you would make your way to this park. It wasn't super far from your house but became much easier to get to when you had your own car.

If you had stopped responding to Cait at night it would be one of two things. Either you had fallen asleep or clearing your mind at the park. She would always check your location. It would worry her if you were at the park alone. It never mattered how tired she was, if she saw your little dot not at home after 9pm, she would be up and heading to your location.

You are at the park, on the court. It wasn't uncommon for you to be there at this hour - your parents and Caitlin knew you would go when you had too many thoughts in your head.

You run through a few sequences when you hear footsteps approaching.

You grab your ball and turn towards your girl.

"Babe, you didn't have to come," you say knowing she would be there every time.

She gives you a 'you've got to be kidding me' look and you give her a shy smile. You walk up to her and she wraps her arms around you. Typically it would be you holding her - that's how she preferred it but whenever you found yourself at the park, you would also find yourself in her arms.

"I couldn't sleep," you say after a few minutes. She rubs your back.

"I know baby," she says.

"What if I don't get in, or make the team?" You ask separating from her.

"That is crazy," Cait says as she tries to get you to look into her eyes. "You are going to get in."

"But what if I don't," you say, not able to look into her eyes.

Her hands come to cup your face.

"Look at me, please," she whispers. You slowly bring your eyes to hers. Tears threaten to fall.

"You are getting in and we will be playing college ball together and than we will get drafted to the W. That might not be together but that is okay, I have no doubt that we will end up together again. I will make sure of it," Caitlin says.

You believe her because your heart can't bear the thought of anything else.

Leaning in, you rest your forehead on hers.

"I love you so much," you say and kiss her.

Caitlin brings her fingers to touch her lips. She misses the way your lips mold perfectly to hers.

She keeps driving, finally pulling into an old rundown parking lot. She parks her car and sits there.

She grabs something from the passenger seat and holds it up to her chest, giving it a hug. It's the stuffed bear the two of you made on your anniversary all those years back.

As she hugs the bear, her hand finds the chain around her neck that holds the ring you never got the chance to give her yourself. She fights the tears but fails.

She looks up at the abandoned restaurant, void of light and life, sort of how she feels now.

There have been a lot of highs in the past few years but with the highs came the lows. She was incredibly thankful that Colin moved to Indiana with her because she would not have done on her own. She thought about you every day.

She stares off into the space as she thinks about you.

She hasn't been able to stomach the thought of drinking a milkshake without you and hasn't had one since. It didn't feel right.

She is busy in thought then something catches her eye. A pop of color amidst the grayish building.

Caitlin gets out of the car and makes her way over it. She walks up to see a single group of flowers growing through the pavement in front of the door. She bends down and runs her hands through them, bear still in her arms.

She squats in disbelief as her hand runs through your favorite flowers growing in front of one of your favorite places. She stares in awe, similar to how she would look at you.

A gust of wind comes and brushes through her hair. She sighs.

"Forever and always," she whispers, eyes closing - tears finally falling to bring life to what seemed to be the impossible.

AN: I had to end it that way, I do not apologize. Hopefully, this helps get a glimpse into life before the pain. Let me know what you think! And as always, thank you for all the love and support 🤍

[anachronisims]

How to EFFECTIVELY Use Empty Standby List to Reduce Flashing and Crashing

This tutorial is for TS2. Obviously. This is virtually the last "chapter" of advice for the Pink Flashing Survey Report (still forthcoming as a single readable thing but posted in bits and pieces over the last six months). PS it's a lonnnnnnng post. Ctrl+F "tldr" for the very short version once you open the cut.

"Part 1" of the Empty Standby List ("ESL") tutorial was already written comprehensively with screenshots by Digi at her wordpress. Following Digi's tutorial will get you set up with ESL as a routine automated background task your computer runs, typically every five minutes.

@gayars set up two instances of the routine, each running every five minutes, staggered two/three minutes apart. In other words, task 1 runs at 12:00, task 2 runs at 12:03, task 1 runs at 12:05, task 2 runs at 12:08, etc. However, I found that this negatively impacted the graphical performance of my game, notably by having the ESL task window flash over the game window, which I had never seen before, nor since reverting back to a single 5-minute task routine.

Anyway. Go do Digi's tutorial if you haven't already; I'll wait.

Background on Why this Matters

So, now your computer will be wiping the standby memory every five minutes. The thing is, this won't be able to have much impact on your game unless you wait to let it wipe before you do a major loading action.

Major loading actions are, in general order of strain (most to least strenuous):

Loading a full neighborhood.

Loading a large (3x4 or bigger) populated lot.

Loading a large unpopulated lot.

Loading actual CAS, if you have a lot of non-defaulted CC.

Loading a medium (3x3) populated lot.

Loading a medium unpopulated lot.

Loading a small (2x3 or smaller) populated lot.

Loading a small unpopulated lot.

Loading CAS catalogs from within a lot (e.g. using FFS clothing tool, "Change Appearance" on the mirror, shopping for clothes/trying on clothes on a community lot).

Turning up your lot view settings (generating other lots' lot imposters within your current lot)/panning the camera around.

You should already be doing at least all medium- and large-lot loading with the Lot View Settings Juggling Method, and “uint LotSkirtIncrease” removed from your userstartup.cheat - otherwise whenever you load a lot you are compounding the strain by also having the neighborhood load at the same time.

Using Resource Monitor Effectively

If you watched the Jessa Channel tutorial on flashing, she recommended downloading a third-party RAM usage monitoring software. This is unnecessary. For purposes of reducing your crashing, all you need is the native Windows program "Resource Monitor" that she also recommends.

To open it:

Click the Windows symbol/start menu.

Begin typing "Resource Monitor."

Click Resource Monitor when it shows up.

Once it is open, get to the useful information:

Click the "Memory" tab.

Make sure the "Processes" and "Physical Memory" subs are fully open, as above.

Sort by "Commit (KB)."

Each time you reopen Resource Monitor, it should restore your last view settings, so you won't have to repeat these steps.

While Resource Monitor is still open, "Pin" it to the taskbar so it will always be readily accessible.

Right-click the icon on the taskbar.

Click "Pin to taskbar."

If it says "Unpin from taskbar" you have already done this step :)

Now comes the monitoring part. You will focus on the dark-blue "Standby" block of the bar graph on Physical Memory.

Every fifth minute, when the ESL task runs, this will flash down to 0 and then pop up to about 30-75, depending on what you are doing. It will go higher faster if you are doing stuff, obviously, and hover pretty low if your computer is just sitting still. TLDR the remainder of this tutorial: only take stress actions when Standby is below 100.

As we all know too well, TS2 has a 4gb RAM limit. The problem is, TS2 seems to count the memory that is in standby, too, not just the committed/working set. Thus, before you take a major loading action (that is going to push up to 1.5gb into Standby), you need to wait for Standby to wipe so the game doesn't accidentally think it's using more memory than it is. Got it?

This is how much RAM my game is using when my neighborhood opens, pretty closely zoomed in on any particular lot. If it is zoomed out further - like a whole city block - both committed and working set are easily over 2.2gb. When I pan around the neighborhood, it continues going up. Portions of the hood that go back out of view seem to get relegated to standby, but yes, my game has crashed just from looking too much at my neighborhood from too wide an angle. Unless I slow down and let ESL run before moving on to the next section.

Six months of diligent Resource Manager monitoring has resulted in substantial reductions of crashing and flashing on my first hood view load and first lot view load. It is not 100% guaranteed, but it cuts it back to Very Playable Levels. And when I have tested the theory by purposefully not letting ESL run before a stress point, it always flashes and/or crashes within the next couple minutes.

SO! Here's what I do when I'm launching my game.

Because of overheating concerns, I always fully shut down my computer when I'm not using it for more than an hour. If I have been playing and experience a flash or crash, I will restart before trying again. @infinitesimblr, a survey Respondent who reported virtually no flashing or crashing despite a vast CC catalog, also recommends restarting between using Bodyshop or SimPE and the full game. I have found it may make a difference with Bodyshop (which I use too rarely to make a pseudoscientific claim) but that I have found basically no impact going from SimPE to the game. YMMV.

Immediately after Windows is done loading, I open Resource Monitor and wait a few minutes. Often background updates begin running and the Standby bar goes crazy - sometimes filling up the entire available RAM - and I just let it sit and do its thing. (Usually I start the computer right before my kid's bedtime so I am not actively waiting on it or anything. Go take a shower or make a sandwich or drink some water, like you did in the old days when the game itself took 20 minutes to load.)

Once the standby bar levels out and is consistently peaking no higher than about 250mb between ESL wipes, after the next ESL wipe, I will launch the game. (Usually between logging into Windowsat the beginning of storytime and checking Resource Monitor before we go do tuck-in, it is reliably hanging out below 100 unless a big TS4 or Windows update was downloading.)

Reminder: do not delete thumbnails anymore prior to launching the game. I also have turned off RPC's clear caches option and have observed faster loading times with minimal increases in crashing.

After the neighborhood selection screen comes up, wait for ESL to run again before opening your neighborhood.

If you have continue to have more than VERY sporadic hood load flashing after taking these steps, you should try launching into a subhood if you have one, then pivoting to the main hood if that's where you're playing that session after yet another ESL wipe. If that doesn't help you simply need to thin out your hood or accept the flashing. (I ended up deleting about 25% of my deco trees and 10-15 outer-lying lots that will be re-placed in a subhood.)

After the hood is loaded, navigate to the lot you want, but DO NOT actually load that lot until ESL runs yet again. Ditto for CAS - Do not select "Create New Family" until ESL has run again.

Play should be proceed as normal at this point. You probably don't need to alt-tab back to Resource Monitor again unless your sims are going traveling or you are changing play lots.

BONUS TIP #1: You can put a shortcut to the ESL routine on your desktop and push it manually (just double click the icon) if you don't feel like waiting once the game is loaded. I have had imperfect results with this vs. just waiting the five minutes, though, because the game wants to run through some stuff and flush it. But it's an option for you to experiment with.

BONUS TIP #2: If you have a really deep clothing/hair CC catalog, try to avoid using the FFS clothing tool option where you select every outfit for the sim, and their hair and makeup, at the same time. Instead, choose individual outfits by type and use the regular mirror option to change appearance (or SimBlender has it, I think, so they can do it where they already are).

[crepesuzette2023]

Ivan Vaughan writes about John and Paul

This is just a relatively brief excerpt from Ivan Vaughan's book, which, for the most part, focuses on his life with Parkinson's disease. (From what I can tell so far, it's absolutely fascinating: far more than 'simply' a memoir, it's a reflection on illness, the mind-body connection, science, psychotropic drugs, patients' autonomy...and much more.)

But since this blog is climbing the drainpipe to the John & Paul business, and there's been some recent discussion of Mark Lewisohn's claim that John was such a bad boy Ivan's mother sent her son to a different grammar school to separate the two, I thought the following might be interesting.

And the ending of this chapter also gives some context to Paul's reaction to John's murder—another topic about which ML has interesting opinions.

This isn't to pile on ML, but more...as words from someone who was there.

(CC: @mythserene, @anotherkindofmindpod) I met John when I was three or four years old. One wet morning there was a knock at the front door. My mother opened it, and looking down, found a boy a bit older than me, smiling, but preoccupied with the effort of remembering what he had been rehearsed to say.

‘I believe a little boy lives here. I wondered if you might like to come out and play.’ He stood there in the porch, rain pouring down behind him, with a pair of slippers under his arm.

‘Come on in. What’s your name? You live round the corner don’t you?’

Next day I went around to the house where he lived with his aunt and uncle. We played with Dinky cars. I was surprised by his generosity and willingness to share his toys; he was happy even for me to take some of them home. When his Uncle George came home with some sweets John readily shared them. There was an immediate bond between us. He was older, read books, and his great intelligence and experience were apparent. I accepted his leadership but I was determined to preserve my independence. From the warm security of Aunt Mimi’s control, John accepted me into his life.

John was a member of his local library and immersed himself in books so that by the age of five he was already a fluent reader. I was still in the infant school when he started at Dovedale Road Primary School, but we played together after school and weekends. There were numerous parks, a golf course, and fields full of tangled growth and trees — just right for playing cowboys and Indians. In one barren area with large lumps of hard earth we played football and cricket. We spent hours digging all tracks to race our Dinky cars. Our most exciting game, though, was ‘fires’. We would go to a large area of waste ground and simply set fire to the straw and watch the place. I have never understood why nobody stopped us.

John’s gang comprised, besides himself, Pete Shotton, Nigel Wally and me. I was the youngest and was constantly having to prove my worth. I feel privileged to be John’s friend since he was nearly two years older. He protected me against Timmy Tarbuck and his gang on the rare occasions when I made the mistake of confronting one of them.

John and I went to different grammar schools, but I used to hear about the chaos and riots that seem to be a daily feature of his schooling. I’d rather lost touch with him when I went to university, and did not see him again until sometime after I was married. Then one day, as I was playing with my little boy Jus on the steps of our house in London, white Rolls Royce turned into the road. John jumped out followed by a woman I have not met before.

‘Hello, Ivy! This is Yoko.’ (…)

My attachment to both John and Paul ran deep and occasionally I would go to great lengths in order to see them at a moment’s notice. Maybe Paul saw our continuing friendship as a way of maintaining simple values he held dear. Jan liked Paul, though she did not see much of John. She was not the least bit mesmerized by their fame. She enjoyed eating at expensive restaurants in sampling London’s nightlife, into which Paul took us from time to time. But, should the effort to come to great, she was willing to let the relationship fade.

A month after telephoning John in New York [with the news of the Parkinson’s diagnosis; their first conversation in years], a heavy parcel was delivered. It was not until I was reading the titles of the books it contained that I realized they had been sent by John and Yoko. There was one by Arthur Janov, author of the Primal Scream, and one entitled Mind Magic. How to Get Well had on the fly-leaf a message from John that read ‘to start looking’, and The Snow Leopard had a note saying ‘to relax’. This last book gave me the greatest pleasure and I frequently re-read passages from it. Its author, Peter Matthiesen, lost his son through illness and journeyed in Nepal and in Inner Dolpo on a completely pointless journey to catch sight of a snow leopard. The peace he found travels across to the reader from each page.

John’s accompanying letter urged me, in punning language, to keep my spirits high and strongly suggested that it was up to me whether I sank or swam. I must not lose faith in myself.

Ten weeks later he was shot dead. Paul and I did not contact each other about it; in fact, we never brought it up in conversation. I hardly reacted outwardly at all. The day after John’s death, however, a colleague said that he supposed I was very upset at what it happened. I heard myself say: ‘I don’t know what I feel. I don’t know that I feel much at all’. As soon as he had gone, I instinctively made my way to a room where I knew I could be alone, and I wept profusely.

-- from Ivan-Living with Parkinson's Disease by Ivan Vaughan. 1986.

[lostintransist]

Liaison - Chapter 2 - Da’ Fuck is a Roadman

The worst part about your job had to be the commute. The trip to the office each day took nearly an hour. Between the two trains, one bus, and a half-mile walk any energy you might have had been used up. You did not mention to anyone on the team where you lived and that you refused to buy a car. Mostly you were sure that your years of driving on the right side of the road and turning on red lights would lead to you killing someone in a vehicular collision and would rather avoid that.

The old building you shared with three other tenets creaked every time the wind blew and your small studio in the basement required two dehumidifiers to keep mold from overtaking the space. The jaw-cracking yawn overtook you as you stepped off the bus. You make it as far as the front door before the exhaustion becomes too much. You manage to brush your teeth, rip off your bra, and toss on an overlarge shirt you stole from an ex before sleep steals you away.

The weekend slips by too quickly for your liking. You can see the emails piling up in the inbox of your work email, anything truly urgent would CC Kate who worked nonstop. You stop into a cafe on your way home from the weekend market, happy to start to recognize the barista behind the counter. Sunday afternoons you did your shopping for the week and rewarded yourself with a scone and a warm latte. The day is capped off with a video call with a friend in Maryland and by eight you are asleep.

You wake early, 4 AM the alarm goes off to make it to the office for your 6:15 call. You dress simply in jeans, rain boots, and a long-sleeved green shirt. Starting on the walk for the bus you clock the young man posted up at the edge of an alley. You keep an eye on him but don’t change course as you continue closer to where he stands.

When you get within ten feet of him he jumps out and mumbles some words at you.

Tilting your head at him you try and process the sounds you heard.

“Wanna run that by me again kid?”

He mumbles the same words, louder and makes a vaguely threatening gesture.

“Yeah, I got nothing. Good luck with whatever you need,” you step into the road to continue past him.

Mumbler jumps in front of you, shouting now.

“I’m trying to rob ya you stupid American!”

“Why didn’t you say that back there?” Hooking a thumb over your shoulder to point to where this interaction started. “Also you don’t have a gun, do you even have a knife?”

As he starts to sputter the youth in his face is evident.

“Okay, so how does this shtick work?” gesturing to all of him, you continued. “Do you just walk up to people and demand their wallets or what?”

“Yeah, give me all your money!”

Mentioning wallets seemed to re-energize him.

“No thank you,” you start walking again. If you don’t make up the lost time you will delay yourself at least fifteen minutes and might need to call a cab to make it to work for your phone call.

❈❈❈

The hardest part of your job, second only to dealing with people who didn’t understand your role, would be the lack of consistency of who might be in the office from day to day. Harold hadn’t been at his desk when you finally rolled in, already accepting the call you had scheduled for this morning in the lobby. You waved to the one person at a computer as you dumped your things and asked for a moment of patience from everyone on the call as your headphones connected.

The call dragged on for nearly an hour as you stayed on mute replying to emails. When a question could not be answered by anyone else you jumped into the conversation, explaining you had three options for a team that would fit their needs. At this point, you would need a timeline and payment. Confirming the email address took another five minutes, back and forth. When the call wrapped up the clock ticked closer to 9 AM.

Letting your head slam against the desk you took a series of deep breaths. A message tone dinged from your computer. Looking up you found a message from someone named Roach.

>Calls that bad?

Turning you catch sight of the person who had been in the office when you arrived.

“You Roach?”

>That’s me.

Masked and covered from head to toe, the man looked as innocent as a bloodied tiger. You saw a lot of men like that lately. Something about this job had them covering up more than a nun in a convent.

“Okay, I’m still meeting everyone. And no? The call wasn’t that bad but I ended up being late because some fucker I think tried to rob me?” After explaining the whole situation this morning to Roach he sends you a message through the chatting platform.

>You met a roadman.

“Da’ fuck is a roadman?” Incredulity had become a familiar state since moving to England.

Staring at Roach you wait for his typed response. He looks at you, makes a face beneath his mask, bobs his head from shoulder to shoulder, sighs, and puts his fingers on the keys.

>A roadman is what you might call a mugger in the US.

“No, a mugger has a gun or a knife and can back up his threats. That child told me to give him all my money and couldn’t even find a decent threat to make me comply. All the bastard did was make me late.”

Roach’s only reply to this is a hearty shrug.

A voice from behind has both you and Roach spinning in place.

“Liaison I need a contract confirmed,” someone barked at you.

The demand hits wrong after the roadman incident and the achingly long call. You turn to see a large man, again in a mask, staring at you from near the door. This mask looked hard, the upper face half of a skull. This must be Ghost; Kate had warned you about him.

“I must have missed the question in that statement, care to try again?”

Roach’s brows nearly touch his hairline as he quickly averts his gaze.

The tall, broad Lieutenant moved faster than his shape would indicate he could. He looms over you, hard skull and eye black leaving no color beyond the whites of his eyes.

“Did I stutter Liaison?”

“No, but you might need to if you try to tell me what to do without asking again.” You flick a nail against his mask. “Now if you’ll excuse me I don’t want to be here anymore.”

Slipping from beneath Ghost’s shoulders you make it two steps before his hand wraps around your bicep. Snapping back to look at him you contemplate the wisdom of punching him.

“Ghost! Let her go,” Price’s command splits the air.

He lets you go with exaggerated care. You flip him the bird, hiding the move from Price using your body. You stalk up to Price who is staring Ghost down over your shoulder.

“Did he hurt you?” Price asks as you draw near. He wasn’t Ghost’s captain but had recently been promoted to work directly below the elusive Sheppard. You tried to keep up on who worked under who but with so many moving parts you had to check your spreadsheets every time you had a question.

“No, I’m fine. But next time the meathead needs something from me tell him to send an email and to use all his manners.” You sweep past Price and head for the kitchen. Might as well start some bread so you can beat something up.

That second interaction with Ghost solidified the tone of your relationship. The same day he threatened you with his size and laid hands on you he found you in the kitchen. You pulled the tray of rolls out of the oven when he spoke.

“I’ll take one of those.”

Without pausing to consider you shut the oven softly and tip the hot pan over, spilling the steaming buns onto the floor. You don’t even try to make it look like an accident.

“Whoops. Guess you forgot to ask for something you wanted.”

You ignored the fuming soldier behind you as you set the hot pan on the stove to cool and cover the dough and place it in the fridge for later. You gave it an hour before checking back to find the kitchen clear and cleaned up the rolls from the floor.

Three weeks later you are pulled from an important email by a fist in your hair. Ghost growls in your face.

“What the hell did you agree to with Sarcosis?”

A wince you can’t stop slips. “Hair pulling is a kinky thing for me Ghost, you ready to follow up on this offer?”

Disgusted, he lets you go. Then Soap is there, pushing between you two. Rubbing the back of your head you decide to answer. He did ask a question after all.

“Sarcosis needs to borrow one man, someone who can play spotter for one of their snipers. Job is less than three days. I wrangled a favor to borrowing one of their men if we ever need ‘em.”

“Why take the job?” Soap peers over his shoulder, hand still firmly placed on Ghost.

“All Keith is asking for is an impartial set of eyes to confirm a kill. They aren’t on the no-fly list. Do they need to be?”

“No-fly list?” This question comes from Ghost.

“Yeah, the no-fly list.” You pop open a sticky note from your screen, enlarging both the note and the words you let the men read the list you got from Kate. “Taking jobs with these guys won’t fly, hence the no-fly list.”

Ghost takes a deep breath, tucking the demon’s demeanor back behind his vest. Soap lets his hand drop back to his sides.

“Now if all this excitement is over I am going back to my emails,” turning your back to the men you return your screen to normal and type away at your ongoing email.

Roach sends you a message that you see but don’t reply to.

>Sarcosis nearly got Ghost killed on their last job, might want to flag them for your no-fly list.

Ghost and Soap stand behind you for an uncomfortably long time. When they eventually move you pull your headphones on and settle into the chaos of never-ending emails.

❈❈❈

It took you six months to figure out the rules for jobs. You had asked Kate, repeatedly. Each time she gave an answer about whether to accept or reject, you would question her. Why accept this job and not this one? Over and over you asked and the answer always amounted to a feeling. Vibes. You took notes on every call and Kate’s decision since she couldn’t articulate why to accept one job over another. She had worked with the 141 for so long that she had a sense for these things.

Those six months were grueling, but you found a pattern. The price of a job could be relied upon to weed out anything the team wouldn’t take. The numbers broke down to roughly £20,000 per man per job. The more complicated the explanation the more guys you figured would be needed. That rule of thumb would be right more often than not.

The guys would take rescue missions but were better equipped to handle situations where there would be no witnesses. They worked well with teams from most companies and governments but there were a few that several men refused to work with again. It was a small list but the fact you recognized each name on sight often gave you a queasy sensation in your stomach.

Enough of the team would submit requests to take one job or another you had to start a running list of preferences and skills. Pinning down hard skills turned into a bit of an issue so you had a self-reported list and a list of skills reported by others. The sheer number of interconnected spreadsheets and the random formulas learned to create boggled your mind. Once one of the members of the accounting team, Doreen, saw your massive spreadsheet she collected the general information known about the office to add to your knowledge pool. She also helped you break out the information about each member into a separate file that fed into your master sheet. Doreen, for as old as she was, had a vast understanding of spreadsheets. The search function would become a new god in your role.

Chapter 1 |

Masterlist

@nicroyal02 Chapter 26 is up on A03

[alphabetboyluvr]

THROTTLE - JJK | EIGHT

one/ two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven

warnings - welcome one and all to the chapters that made some of my wattpad girlies stop reading throttle, you have been warned! mentions of drugs. jungkook wears a key around his neck and it ain't for a door! solo masturbation (m). enter stage left: cc @ yoongi's door. infidelity (boo), dry humping (yay), yoongi has a choking kink (?), he cums in his pants <3 back for round two! not all that explicit, oral (f), he's so talkative <3, protected sex, incredibly sombre aftermath!! v satisfying end to the chapter IMO!!

word count - 16.5k

minors dni // series masterlist

It surprises everyone when Jungkook is the first to speak. He stands, shoulders broadening like a fallen angel unfolding its wings, and then he's back.

The man you once knew? It's undeniably him. He's still just as powerful in his stature as he always was, just as handsome, just as life-threateningly attractive.

For a second - only a moment, barely even a millisecond - you let yourself indulge in the chime your stomach has been subduing.

It's just the same as it always has been.

He's different now, though. So vastly different, you question whether or not you would have recognised him in the street.

His hair is dark, and it doesn't frame his face in the way it used to. Shame. You used to love getting your fingers tangled in it. It's pushed back now, the fury in his dark brows as clear as day. They're missing a piercing, which you'll admit is a bitter loss, but the lip ring is still there, at least.

You don't let yourself think about the one on his tongue. Haven't thought about it for weeks. Months.

Only because every time you do, you force yourself to think about roadkill instead. It's the only way you can get it out of your head. Does now mean that when you see roadkill, you think about him. Fitting, really, given the tragedy of your time spent together.

Instead of letting him know just how fucked up he still gets you, you simply raise a brow in his direction. Your back sinks into the chair you've poised yourself on, and you cross your arms, imploring him to speak the fuck up.

Part of him doesn't want to, just as 'fuck you' to your prissy rich bitch attitude. He'd forgotten about this; how much a little cunt you'd been when the pair of you had first met. Back then, it had gotten his interest piqued. Kept him coming back for more. Was the thing that got him cumming, full stop.

But now, it just feels vindictive.

And so he decides to be just as much of a vindictive swine back.

"No one's been looking for you," he says as his eyes burn into you - and yet you remain perfectly cool. Calm. Unaffected.

There was a time, a few moons ago, when a look like this from Jungkook would have surely killed you. Now, it's just all very laughable.

"Eunhee's never been much of a liar, Jungkook," you smile, glad to have checked in with her before heading to the boxing club. Maybe he did stop showing up at your door two months ago, but it was enough of a weapon to use against him.

"That senile old bat?" He laughs, and you remember just how mean he could be. It's a trait that you'd pushed to the side in your memories, all rose-tinted and sweet. The reality makes those memories a lot easier to swallow, the salt from his words diluting the sugar. "Wouldn't take her as a credible source."

The air around the pair of you is stale; unpleasant. It reeks of desperation. Desperate for what? It's debatable. Nothing good, that's for sure.

Quite literally everyone in the room is uncomfortable.

Everyone except for the pair of you.

See, this is a back and forth you've perfected. The way you bicker - the way you taunt one another - used to be foreplay. He'd rile you up just ruin you.

It's electric. Jungkook wonders what has more volts - your shared energy, or the taser he's pretty sure you've got hidden in your bag. You're too smart to come somewhere like this completely defenceless.

He's just as smart as you, though. Reads your moves, and knows exactly what to predict. Maybe it's not a form of intelligence that will do any good, but he's spent so long studying you that it would be impossible for him to not be an expert by this point.

He could write an encyclopedia about you; a dictionary based on your vocabulary.

He'd file himself under 'asshole', and would hope you'd reassign him to 'inamorato'. You wouldn't. If anything, you'd place him in a pile of discards; words unused by you for so long that you've forgotten their significance in your life.

If he were to have his own dictionary, he'd file you under cocotte. CC for short. But he'd draw fucking hearts in the margins, and crack the spine from just how often he looked at your page. Might just rip it out and keep it in his wallet like a passport photo.

"Credible source?" You smirk, ruby red lips pouting in a way that feels new to him. They're slightly different, he thinks. The shape is the same, but they seem poutier. The product of fillers, maybe. He never thought you'd be one to go down that route, but he's questioning everything he knew about you as the lights of the club reflect in the diamond on your finger. He's blinded by it; blindsided by you. "Surely this isn't Jeon Jungkook talking about credibility? About trust? That'd be a first."

"Watch your fuckin' mouth," he snaps, and it's clear you've hit a nerve. Good. "Got shit to say? Say it, then get fuckin' gone, C."

And, oh, it's painful. So gloriously painful.

The way you don't falter is the worst part. The name given to you in the sanctuary of his car lingers on his tongue, his lips ajar. There's no crease between his brow, eyes just as round and inviting as they always had been.

You think he's baiting you. Think he's trying to get your defences down. You don't realise that his defences actually are - not until he knocks his head to the side, flicking a switch as his glare returns.

"I think what Jungkook is trying to say," Jin speaks up, knowing that there'll be no resolution without a mediator. He can feel the energy between the pair of you. The vibrations run deep and jagged, stained in red and echoing regret. "Is that we aren't aware there was business to discuss?"

You turn to face Jin, but let your eyes linger on Jungkook for just a second longer before you address his friend. Handsome, you think. Incredibly handsome, in fact.

You've always thought Jungkook was the most beautiful thing about Daegu, but you might change your mind. All you need is this new guy - the one with plump lips and shoulders that eclipse Jungkook's - to glare at you. See if it gets you searing under the collar, hot between your legs, like Jungkook's glare does.

Many men before have looked at you with suspended disbelief, agitation curving around their brow bones. It's nothing new. The way that Jungkook's glare could have gotten you on your knees? That was new to you.

"Nor was I - or at least, I wasn't. Not until Jungkook told me about that little plan of yours a few months ago," you say as you smile at Jin, all pleasant and performative."But I'm very selective about who I invest my time in."

You don't have to look at Jungkook for him to know that he should take your next statement personally.

"I've no time for little boys running around playing cops and robbers. I conduct my business exactly like that; like a business. I make negotiations, I make deals. Sign contracts - and I'd never hire someone without running a background check. Can get yourself into a whole world of trouble if you don't know who someone really is."

"You're planning on employing us?" Namjoon pipes up, the prospect of a hefty payday sounding like music to his ears.

"Not employing," you say. There's more you could divulge. So much more. But it's time for baby steps, now. No use in getting ahead of yourselves. "Think of it more like... entering a partnership. A mutually beneficial agreement."

"Your appearance on TV today," Jin says, the most analytical of the bunch, trying to figure you out. "How would that help to aid your negotiations?"

You smile. It's quite simple, really.

"That was to stop you from thinking you could ever fucking touch me."

There's more venom than you intend there to be behind your words, but you haven't quite healed from the last invasion of your autonomy. You're still disgusted but how easily you were manipulated into thinking that Jungkook ever gave a fuck about you. If they think they're ever getting the chance of getting that close again, they're sorely mistaken.

"The world is watching boys," You continue. "One wrong move, and the world will be asking: what happened to her? It's my way to keep you in check. Anyways, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Who do you work for?"

"Who do you work for?" Jungkook spits back.

"Myself. Answer my question."

Jin takes the reins from Jungkook. "We're not at liberty to say."

"Fine," you shrug, getting to your feet. You're here to talk with men, not boys. If they can't make decisions for themselves, then what's the point? "I'll be on my way then. Time is money boys, and if you aren't willing to give me a dime, then it's not worth it for me. I don't need you."

"Yeah, well, if you don't need us, then why the fuck are you here?"

The way Jungkook's nostrils flare amuses you. Let's you know the real question he's asking: If you don't need me, why did you come back? Back here, specifically?

It's a good question. One you wish you had a solid answer for.

"There are rats all over this city," you tell them, thinking that it'd be best to choose at least a half-truth. "I don't know many of them, not well. Not personally. Don't know you fuckers personally, either - very rude of you, by the way, to break into my apartment like that. I'm sure Jungkook could have just told you the code - but anyways, I digress. I know how you operate, to a certain degree."

"Oh, yeah?" Jungkook questions, doubting that very much. "How do we operate?"

"Like fucking idiots," you say with a voice as flat as his tyres after a few too many burnouts. "You send in unprepared fuckers who think with their dicks instead of their brains."

Jungkook scoffs, but the rest of them wave their heads a little, contemplating the fact that you're entirely correct.

"I know your weak spots," you say, but choose not to elaborate on the fact that you were once Jungkook's. You sit back down; an act of defiance for the fact that Jungkook quite clearly doesn't want you there. "And I know some of your strengths. I also know that we have a mutual interest in the downfall of my father. Might not trust you fuckers as far as I can throw you, but I trust that your feelings towards him won't have changed all that much in three months."

"Yours seem to have changed," Jungkook notes all rather bitterly, and it makes you laugh.

You lean forward in your seat, elbow resting on your knee, chin in your palm. Your ring glistens in the light, but Jungkook ignores it. Wishes he could ignore you, full-stop, but he can't take his eyes off you. Deprived for so long, he doesn't know when he'll get this luxury again.

The fact that you're in the boxing club alone - unprotected, despite it all - should be indication enough that your feelings towards your father haven't changed. Why risk it? Why put yourself in a circumstance where you could be used against him if you weren't willing for that to happen?

"Look at you," you smile, but it's laced in contempt. "Finally making assumptions of your own. I'm proud. You got a little way to go, though, baby. You're missing the mark. Give it some time and you'll be able to make assumptions that check out."

The pet name is delivered with such ease that Jungkook almost doesn't notice it. It's the look in your eyes that really delivers it, the chaos and confusion you're conveying in one simple smirk.

"Like yours did when we first met?" He says with a raised brow, thinking you've never made an accurate assumption in the whole entire time he's known you.

"I assumed you were a cunt. Ding, ding, ding. Always right."

This earns a snicker from Namjoon, who can admittedly see why Jungkook liked you so much. There's something about you that gets the heart rate going; gets people interested in what you have to say.

Jungkook says nothing. Rolls his eyes, and grates his jaw. Doesn't see any point in conversing if you're just gonna be a bitch. He always knew you were like this, but he'd managed to chip away at your softer side and had somehow forgotten just how hard your exterior is.

You've fortified it, now though. Built your defences up. It's been three months, and you've not wasted a day. Naive of him to think you would have. You're your father's daughter after all.

"Look," you turn to Jin, still pretty and poised, but this time there's an air of sincerity to your words. "I'm waving a white flag here. You fuckers are lucky I came to your first. Might not trust anyone else in the city, but I don't trust you either. Thing is, boys, I'm traceable. If you try and do anything to me now, you fuckers'll get caught."

"So why would we want to do business with you?" He questions, incredibly curious. He thought after everything with Jungkook, that'd be the last you would see of him.

"Cause I was always traceable, you silly cunts. Do you think just cause I wasn't on speaking terms with my dad, that that was it? The moment you did the raid, I was back on his radar. I'm your connection. I'm your way in," you say, gesturing to yourself to really drive it home how important you could be for them. "If you want to bring him down - if you want to take him for all that he's worth - then you need someone on the inside. You need me. Honestly, the fact you thought a ransom situation would work is laughable, but it just shows you're lucky to have brains now to go with your brawn."

"We haven't agreed to anything," Jin reminds you. There's a warmth to his voice that contrasts the atmosphere within the room.

"No, but you will."

"Why?" Jungkook interrupts, eyes narrow, voice scornful. He's picking at the sides of his fingers, chipping away at hangnails.

"Cause what more do you have to lose, huh?" You shrug. "You're Kang's bitches, now. Wouldn't you rather be mine? I give great employee perks."

The way your eyes dance around the room, from man to man, and eventually land on Jungkook's is deliberate. He knows this, and he lets it get to him.

"What would they be?" Namjoon scoffs, unaware of your innuendo. It's kind of sweet, how naive he is.

And so naturally, you shatter all illusion of innocence.

"Ask Jungkook."

There's silence. No one quite knows how to reply.

No one except Jungkook.

"Ring on your finger be happy with you saying that?"

And for the first time, you're rattled. You hadn't expected him to mention it.

"That's of none of your concern," you shrug. Now's not the time to let him get to you - but the way you rabbit on afterwards is evidence enough that he has. "I'm not here to be interrogated. I'm extending an olive branch; giving you the chance to earn the money you were so desperately trying to make from me. You get your money, I get my father's downfall on a silver platter."

The way you look at Jungkook is unfamiliar. It's as cold and frigid as the winter nights you used to stow away with him in his car; breath clouding in the freezing temperatures despite the warmth in your heart.

A few months ago, such a look from you would have destroyed him. Absolutely decimated his entire sense of belonging. Life wouldn't have been worth living.

Now? It feels like a luxury. A sinful indulgence. He's been deprived for so long he'll take even the smallest hit of whatever you'll give him - and even when it's fleeting, your attention is like crack fucking cocaine.

It's not just your hair or your gaze that has changed. In fact, a lot about you has. There's a hollowness to your cheeks now that there wasn't before; a slight gauntness.

Without the convenience store snacks to keep you going, you actually had to eat decently. Having someone to go home to also meant that your junk diet had to be replaced with something more... appropriate for a woman in her twenties. No more eating like a teenager.

Your loss of appetite in the aftermath of Jungkook's revelation had certainly helped with this, and if anything, you've gained weight over the last few weeks - but you're still not as soft as you once were. He can see it in your cheeks. Saddens him, a little.

Has him thinking about what you could look like beneath those clothes of yours. Wonders if his hands will still fit your waist perfectly, or if your tits will still overspill in his palms just how he liked it. Considers that maybe they won't. Maybe he'll never get the chance to find out.

You think Jungkook looks colder. It's funny, cause the weather has heated up quite considerably, but it's never been frostier between the pair of you.

Getting to your feet, you brush down the tops of your thighs to straighten any creases. You've still got a persona to keep up, even when it's dark outside.

"You can discuss it amongst yourselves," You sigh as begin to head for the door, heels clicking as beneath your feet. There's something about the sound that you just adore. Maybe it's the repetition. Maybe it's the way it drowns out the chime in your stomach as you walk past the man you once thought you... No, you think. That's not right. The man you used to fuck. Much better. "I don't care, either way. I need an answer by the end of the week, or I'll find someone else. You aren't special. Plenty of other fuckers in the city who want to make a quick buck. Plenty of others who hate my father for one reason or another. You just had the balls to try it first."

"How do we know we can trust you?" Jungkook calls after you.

He's disappointed when you simply call back, "you don't."

There's more to be said, he thinks. More to discuss.

So he follows you to the parking lot. None of the other boys do. They already know they aren't welcome, and quite honestly, none of them wants to third-wheel such an awkward encounter. They'd already filled their quota for the day.

As he enters the dreary parking lot, he notices a car that's unfamiliar. It's a Merc. Black. Matte. Not too standard around these parts. Fuckin nice, though. He's impressed. Makes a mental note to ask you about the spec some other time.

"Hey, honey." You speak pleasantly into your phone as you pace around, not realising Jungkook's presence yet. He doesn't speak up. Too curious about who this honey could be. "Yeah, Just heading to Jieun's now. I'll be a couple of hours. Okay, okay. Love you, too."

Jungkook pretends like he didn't hear that bit. Does a terrible job of it - but at least he tries.

When you clock him, you couldn't be less bothered if you tried. So what if he heard you on the phone? It's up to him if he reads into it or not.

"You wanna know you can trust me?" You raise a brow, reading his suspicions of you.

Jungkook remains silent. He'll pretend it's to preserve his hard exterior, but in reality, it's to save himself from admitting the truth: he'd trust you with his life.

"I just lied," you continue. "I'm not going to Jieun's. I'm going to Yoongi's. Can follow me if you like. We both know it wouldn't be the first time. I'll be transparent with you - but don't think for a second that I trust you back."

"Yoongi's", Jungkook nods. Remembers the way Yoongi used to look at you. Remembers how he once thought that he was competition. More fool him for ever thinking you actually cared. You've a ring on your finger, now. Neither of you were ever competing, apparently. And if you were? Fell at the first hurdle. "What's that then? A little extra marital fun?

You smile insincerely. "Not married yet."

"So?"

"So even if it was, Jungkook, you're not the one who put this ring on my finger. You've no right to an opinion."

"And I never would have given you a ring," he says, as if he thinks his lack of interest in you could hurt you any more than it already had.

"Never would have wanted you to," you shrug, both of you as good at feigning disinterest as one another.

There's something about him though that has you curious. Has you feeling like you're being challenged. It's just like it was when you first met. The words you speak are laced with disgust, but the burning in your eyes can only be described as desire. He hates how easy it is for him to get like this around you. Hates that you know exactly what you can do to him.

He's realising now that you're far more in control of your feelings than he ever thought you were. He only ever saw you so vulnerable because you chose that. You let him. He's shut out now, and he doesn't like it.

But he does like the smile resting on your pretty lips as you walk towards him.

The way you encroach on his physical space has him hitching his breath in his throat, as if he's terrified to breathe around you. It's fitting, given the way you make him feel like he's drowning.

It's more than that, though.

What he truly fears is inhaling your perfume. smelling your shampoo. He's terrified of what it will do to him if he learns your hair still smells like gasoline. Even more petrified of how he'll feel if he learns that you don't smell like it anymore, mind you.

It's when you extend your index finger and hook it beneath his necklace that he really begins to lose his mind.

"Yanno," you say so quietly he has no choice but to edge just a tiny bit closer. Raising the key to be level with your eyes, you study it, watching the way the tiny crystals almost sparkle in the moonlight. You know they don't. It's just an illusion. If you had to guess - had to assume - you'd say coke. It's the only thing you can imagine him doing. His eyes are focused down on you, lashes long, gaze stern. "You should have told me you like coke."

Jungkook stays silent as you look up towards him, your lips laced in seduction. He knows better than to let you succeed, but - fuck - it's so hard not to. Whatever you're doing has an ulterior motive. It has to.

"Bumping coke's gonna ruin that pretty little nose of yours," you note.

"The fuck would you know about it?" he scoffs, but doesn't pull away. Can't bring himself to. All he can think about is the way your lips look. The difference in them is minimal, but they're definitely plumper. Have to be. Or maybe he just wants to kiss you more than he ever has done.

Your lips part as you lay your tongue flat and press the key to it.

Jungkook swallows, the lump in his throat swollen and intrusive. You wait a second. Wait for two. Then twist the key and dab the other side against your tongue.

"Takes longer if you swallow it," he whispers. "Snorting is much more cost-effective."

"Maybe so," you shrug, releasing the key from your mouth before pressing it against his chest with a slight push. "But you can't go around wearing Class A evidence like that, you silly prick. I meant what I said," you trail off to a whisper, stepping even closer towards him. He doesn't back away. Quite the opposite. He edges a little closer too. He knows he shouldn't - knows you're just baiting him - but god what a temptress you are. "I need to know I can trust the men I work with. I can't have you getting thrown into jail just for the fun of it. I need you clean."

There's something different about that last command. A softness. A plead. Your eyes linger on his, and then you pull away from the magnetism of his being.

"Stay off the drugs, Kook. A deviated septum looks sexy on no one."

And you're right.

But it doesn't really matter. The coke was just a pass time until his favourite drug came back to town. He's one hit down, and thinks the high will last him all fucking week.

The buzz perseveres. He's so consumed by it that he can't recall the conversation he had with the boys before he left. Can barely fucking remember the drive home.

But as he strips himself bare in the quiet comfort of his apartment, he can remember you.

Can remember your eyes, and the way they engulfed him with the heat of your fury - but also the way they simmered. Lashes low, lids half closed, you'd looked at him like a fucking siren, and the memory of it had his tattooed hand stroking at his firm cock. He hadn't been able to get like this since you'd left. Had tried on more than one occasion. Never managed to see it through. Would feel sick after a pump or two.

It's different now. His wrist flicks and his hand works his shaft, head thrown back into his pillows. His hips pulse, desperate for more friction, his own palm a shitty compromise after the luxury of your pussy.

It's when he's thinking of you that he gets breathless. Starts to moan. Wanks himself even faster. Harder. "Shit, C."

The term of endearment sounds so fucking sweet on his tongue. Has his torso tensing. Ass too. The wave of an orgasm threatening to crash.

Driven by instinct, his strong fingers wrap tightly around his hardened length, stroking gently. Tilting his head back, eyes firmly closed, he lets pleasure wave over him as he rolls his hips up into his palm. A guttural moan escapes his wet mouth, his teeth finding their home on his bottom lip.

More. He needs more of you. Needs your hair in his face, the scent of gasoline suffocating him. Needs his lips around your nipples, hands grappling with your ass. He needs you here.

All he's got - the only thing he's got - are his memories. His body writhes beneath him, the chain around his neck slipping from its position. There's little thought that goes into the way he moves the chain and holds the key tight between his teeth to keep it in place; nothing except the knowledge of your tongue licking against it earlier.

And then his lips close around it. His teeth ease, and the key sinks onto his tongue, the chain taut on his chin. He slows the movement of his wrist for a second. Rolls it once. Twice. Tries his best to work out if he can taste you or not.

He can't, but he can't taste the coke either, which means you did exactly as you intended. He moans, vibrating around the small key, devouring the idea that he'd exchanging spit with you once again, in a way. He knows the truth of the matter couldn't be further away from that, but it feels so fucking forbidden.

Just like you always have been. You'll remain that way.

But as his torso grows damp with the release of his orgasm onto his abs, ropes of sperm that he wishes he could have fucked into you going to waste on his skin, he can help but let his mind run wild.

Can't help but wish for more.

And so it comes as no surprise when Jungkook arrives at the boxing club, bright and early the next morning and says, "I'm in."

────────────

There's a sheen to Yoongi's skin as he opens up his apartment door, damp from the shower that was shut off just a few moments prior. Hair wet and sticking to his forehead, you're surprised to find you're the one choking on your words.

And then he smiles.

Smiles as if he's just beaten the high score of an arcade game, smiles as if he's managed to reach the peak of Apsan just in time for sunset. He smiles, and it feels like he's fixing you up with gold; seeping into the cracks that Jungkook left in you.

"If you wanted me to cover your shifts, you could have just asked," he beams. It's the first time he's seen you in three months. "You didn't have to be all dramatic and quit on me like that."

His teeth are showing, and they only show more when you give him a light tap on the shoulder with a closed first. His body jolts back slowly, eyes eating you up like a souffle pancake after a month-long fast. He bites down on his bottom lip with those pretty pearly whites, and pushes his door a little further back to invite you inside.

"You know you like a girl who keeps you on your toes," you grin back at him.

"Coffee? Tea?" He asks as you cross the threshold. You both know he won't have any at home, and that he'll need to order it in, but the gesture is kind. He's kind. "On my toes, yes. Sprinting marathons just to keep up with her? Less so much."

"Wine? And you'll thank me for the cardio in later life," you assure him, and toy with a joke about other forms of cardio you could do together. It dances on the tip of your tongue, and you know that if you spoke it aloud, goosebumps would form on his bare arms - so you say nothing, instead. 

He'd be the perfect distraction, you think, nothing like the boy you're trying to forget. Kind, and handsome, and someone who actually gives a shit about you. 

Forget distraction. He'd be the perfect man. Or at least he would be if he wasn't so helplessly infatuated with you.

That's thing about Yoongi; he sees all the good in you, and ignores the bad.

He'll take your witty banter, but neglect to factor in how mean it can sometimes be. He'll watch you yawn at work, half-bored to death, but refuse to acknowledge the fact you could cure said boredom with the tasks on your to-do list, that you instead leave for the next shift worker. He revels in the beauty of your laugh, but apparently is deaf when he hears you bitching about customers who have done very little wrong.

You aren't a saint. Perhaps not a sinner, either, but you sure do feel a lot closer to one than you think you should.

For all his wrongdoings, Jungkook never once treated you like you were a saint. There was no pedestal beneath your feet when you kissed him; he'd stoop to your level.

He saw you exactly as you were, which is why it hurt so much when you realised you'd only ever seen a facade that he'd cooked up in the shitty back room of a boxing club.

Thoughts of him are dissolved with mindless chatter, Yoongi always so good at taking your mind elsewhere. He knows you in such a way that talking is easy. It never feels calculated, never feeling like you need to think about what you say. He'd never judge you for a single thing.

Perhaps he should. Perhaps if he'd have held his guard up a little higher, stood his ground a little firmer, then he wouldn't be so weak to the way you batter your lashes and give him coy looks in dull-lit rooms.

There's talk of the garage; the usual customers, your old boss, how late shifts drag without you there. He's quiet when you ask about Jieun. Just tells you she's all good. He changes the subject. Asks about your dad, and how the fuck you managed to keep that one quiet. 

You're surprised to find that honesty feels nice. 

Until, inevitably, it doesn't.

"You gonna tell me about the ring?" he eventually asks after you've both had a little wine to ease the tension of three months you've been away.

You don't drop your eyes from him, not even for a second. His damp hair is nearly fully dry, and he looks so comfortable in a pair of grey sweats and a white shirt, reclined on his sofa. Simplicity looks good on him.

You're still in business casual, tight dress hiked around the top of your thighs as you sit on his floor. It was always your default when you came to his place, for some reason always opting for the floor instead of next to him on the sofa. Always been concerned about keeping a little distance. Funny, how the one time the distance would be apt, you find yourself wanting to sit next to him instead. You don't, though. Not yet, at least.

"What of it?"

Yoongi looks at you like you're a little bit mad. He kind of thinks you are.

"It's on your ring finger."

"Oh?" you say with a small laugh. "Is it?"

His eyes narrow on yours, before they glance back down to the ring. The stone is clear, and if he were to guess, he'd assume it was diamond - but he'd never struck you to be the kind of girl who ever wanted diamonds. Opals, maybe. Emerald, topaz. Stones with a bit about them. Something interesting. Not a diamond. Of all things.

But perhaps he didn't know you as well as he thought he had done. Perhaps you really weren't the girl he had dreamt up in his head; the one that he spent hours upon hours daydreaming about after you left.

Funny, how both he and Jungkook would get lost for lifetimes thinking about you, but they were both so vastly different.

In Yoongi's you'd come back home, show up at the garage like no time at all had passed, and tell him that you were wrong all along. He's the one you want. He's the one you've been going crazy thinking about. He's the one you came back for.

Sometimes he thinks about that week you went to Busan. Thinks about what it could have been like if he'd been the one to take you. Thinks about how fucking good it could have been to experience life outside of the confines of work and your apartments together. He thinks and he thinks and he thinks. Occasionally he acts on those thoughts too, but he tries not to.

It all feels a little wrong.

But that's what he likes about it. The fact he knows he shouldn't be thinking about you when he's turned on just turns him on even more; so he finds himself thinking of you far more often than he should. Thinks of you when he's alone; his bedroom lights switched off, duvet pushed midway down his thighs, hands roaming down his body. He grazes his skin with the tips of his nails. Pretends it's you.

"What about you," you shrug, nodding towards the scrunchie that's looped around the neck of a wine bottle on the counter. "Don't think your hair's long enough for that."

"You'd be surprised," he grins, pleased to find you grinning back.

"Prove it," you flirt, getting to your feet to retrieve it.

Yoongi watches as you retrieve the scrunchie, and knows that he should tell you no.

He should say 'actually, that's my girlfriend's.'

But she's only ever been a distraction to stop him from thinking about you - and how can he think of anyone else when you're in his space, heels off, dark hair draped over your shoulders like fine silk?

In your heart of hearts, you know that the scrunchie means he has someone. The hair grips by the sink, the takeout containers for two next to the recycling, the fact his apartment is actually clean and tidy, too.

"Prove it?" He grins as you return to his sofa, but you don't sit. You stand in front of him. Keep your eyes on him. Wait as he adjusts a little, his leg unhooking from beneath the other so that his lap makes the perfect seat for you to sit upon.

And so you do. You hike your dress up. One of your knees rests down next to his thigh. You're tentative. Slow.

His hand strokes up the back of your thigh. He nods. Encourages you further onto his lap. When your second knee finds its home next to his other thigh, he nods again.

You're smiling as you lower your weight, ass perched on the tops of his thighs. There's a little distance between the pair of you. You're not as close as you could be. Proceeding with caution. His lips pouty, eyes pure. A paradox.

"Prove it," you nod, and your hands start to toy with his hair. He's smiling right back at you, enthralled with the flirt almost as much as he's enthralled with the way it feels to have your nails scratching against his scalp. "Gonna make your hair look so pretty."

It's unfair, he thinks, that you get to have your hands in his hair, but his aren't allowed in yours. Doesn't realise that you wouldn't object.

"Don't think you will," he simpers back, the hand of his that was on the back of your thigh now resting on top of it, stroking ever so gently. The touch is so gentle, so minimal, and yet it has you pulsing beneath the lace of your underwear.

There's a ring on your finger, and someone waiting for you at home, but no one's had you in a position this provocative since you jumped town. See, you're 'waiting'. 'Want it to be special'. Don't want to make the same mistakes you did last time the ring had been on your finger.

Or at least that's what you tell yourself, and your fiance seems to believe it - why else would he get down on one knee again?

"I definitely will," you banter as you wrap his hair up with the scrunchie. His hair sticks on end, like a tiny sprout, and he looks adorable. "Gonna make you look sooo pretty."

He frowns, but with a sparkle in his eyes that let you know he's just joking. "Done?"

"Done," you beam, giving it one final adjustment. There's a slight movement to your hips, too. Getting cosy. His hand sinks a little further up your thigh. You pretend not to notice it. "Prettiest sprout in the whole of Daegu."

"Only Daegu? There are prettier sprouts outside of Daegu?"

You shrug. "Maybe. We should enter you into the national pretty sprout competition."

He adjusts his hips, sitting up a little straighter. He moves you into a more comfortable position as he does so. You're closer now. So much closer.

"Think I could win?"

"Best in show, baby," you grin. "I'd win for best sprout stylist, though."

Laughter echoes around you, his smile so sweet, so saccharine that you think he must surely be made of sugarcane.

The way Yoongi looks at you is devastating. Eyes soft and round, they're glossy and wet. Earnest.

They drop to your lips, then return to your eyes. Repeat. His lashes flutter whenever he does so, and there's a reflection from his floor lamp that looks like a pretty little love heart in them.

So devastating. It's the kind of look people would write films about, all for that one shot of his eyes after the confession scene. The one that will go viral, the one that will be cited for years as 'the look', the one that would earn Min Yoongi a place in the heart of every young woman who watches it. Young men, too. Fuck it, anyone with a pair of working eyes.

He's got a look in them that makes you want to believe in love; but the fact you even have to think about it just proves that this could never be that.

"I'm using you," you tell him, knowing that honesty is all you can really give him. He deserves that much, at the very least. Deserves more, you think, so much more than you can ever be - but he doesn't want more. He just wants you.

He tries a little banter. "To win the competition? I know."

But you don't feel like bantering. You want him to know how much of a piece of shit you are. How much you only ever think of yourself. How selfish you can be.

There's a look on your face that is unfamiliar to him. A warning. I'm a hurricane; I will destroy you. It's one that he ignores.

"I know," he whispers back, seriously this time, his index finger tucking away strands of your hair that are hanging loose. Eyes focused on the movements of his fingers, he's too scared to look into yours. Shy, almost. Timid, and sweet, and everything that Jungkook's not. "And I'm letting you. I'm using you, too."

It's funny, because he really thinks he is. He thinks he's got control over the situation, that all this is happening because he chose for it to happen - as if you haven't been holding the cards this whole entire time. He's only winning because you're letting him win.

Part of you feels bad. You know that his feelings for you run deeper than your simple want to be wanted, and yet you don't try and rectify the situation. He's a grown man. He can make his own decisions. He can make his own mistakes.

The tentative tips of his fingers trail down your cheek, your neck. He pushes your hair over your shoulder, and presses a kiss against it.

His lips trail a little further up, ghosting your neck, occasionally pressing down. He's slow. Takes his time. Savours this; savours you.

You're surprised by the way it feels when Yoongi finally kisses you.

His lips are just as they should be, firm and soft, and when his tongue begins to trail across your bottom lip, you accept it into your mouth. There's silence in your sternum. You had expected that bell to chime like it so often did, but instead, there's just a small fizzle and pop, like a sparkler being dunked in a water cup. You can feel the fizzle, mind you, working its way down until you find yourself clenching.

This is good, you tell yourself. What you need.

Yoongi's tongue is slow as it licks into your mouth. He's working you out. Seeing how you taste, how it feels when your moans vibrate against him.

His hands tentatively begin to roam; hips pulsing beneath you. The weight of your body on top of his feels like a fucking crime. His fingers trail up your back. Tickle at your spine. Curve round your ribs and ghost the underside of your tits.

Your breath hitches, and all you can think about is him.

Your fingers clasp around Yoongi's, holding them in place, stopping them from moving further. He looks at you, head tilting when he realises yours is shaking. He's scared he's fucked it already.

"Just," you say quickly, noticing the panic in his eyes. "These," you gesture to your chest, not wanting to be specific but needing him to know. "Off limits. If that's okay?"

He nods. "Sure, of course. I'm sorry."

"No," you smile. "It's okay."

You could clarify. Could explain. Could make up some lie about how you don't like it, or how you're insecure, but Yoongi accepts your boundaries without question.

"Sure?" He asks, a little scared to venture further. He doesn't want to do the wrong thing. Doesn't want to make you uncomfortable, or make you feel like regretting your choices. He knows that he's probably only ever gonna get one shot at this, but he's gonna treat it like an audition for a permanent position. If he does well, maybe you'll want him again.

His hesitancy is sweet, you think. Endearing. Perhaps a little bit of a turn-off, but you don't seem to mind. You like that you can take of him just as much as he wants to take care of you.

The pace of his hips increases beneath you, your clothes aiding and abetting your crimes. It's not technically cheating if nothing happens. Or at least, that's what you tell yourself.

Sure, his cock is fucking solid beneath his sweats, trapped in the confines of his underwear, and - fuck it, fine - maybe you are so wet that you're leaving a small mark on his crotch from where it's seeped through - but it's nothing.

It's not like you're actually touching his dick. Your hands are exclusively in his hair, his pretty sprout long gone, the scrunchie now around your wrist.

And it's not like he's inside you, either - although he wishes he was. In fact, he's thinking about it when he begins whining into your mouth. Your hips are working against him, the friction getting you closer and closer an-

"God, you're gonna make- fuck, I'm gonna-" he rasps, but he doesn't slow his movements. His hands are on your waist, dictating the speed at which you're moving on top of him. He's using you just as much as you're using him.

"Cum?" You finish his sentence with a sinful smirk against him. Your tongue flicks against his, and he's whining again. You're so direct, so blasé, that he doesn't know how to control himself. "Don't pretend like it's the first time, Yoongi."

See, Yoongi doesn't fuck like Jungkook.

Yoongi fucks nice girls. Girls who fuck for love. Girls who rarely fuck. Girls who do as they should; sit pretty, let the man have his way with them, and ask for nothing in return. Girls who are prudish, and refuse to discuss sex unless they're about to have it.

More often than not, Yoongi goes for girls who love him.

And it's probably why he's so fixated on you; because he knows you never will.

You're unattainable. Good girl gone bad. Sultry and seductive in a way that he's never seen before.

He ruts up against you, chest heaving as his grip on your waist forces you to angle a little further away from him. He shakes his head ever so slightly, lips hanging ajar. "Not the first time. Course it fucking isn't. Look at you."

And now you're fucking whining. He likes the reciprocation. Makes him feel like you want this just as much as he does - and you do. There's nothing you want more at that moment than to have Yoongi twitching in his underwear, unloading himself all because of you. You want the control. The power. The satisfaction.

You want a man weak for you, to make up for how weak a man had made you feel. You want confirmation that Jungkook was nothing special. That you can have the same impact on any man.

And here Yoongi is, hard beneath the weight of your body, your pussy hot against his stiff crotch; body clammy as he pretends like the scrunchie around your wrist doesn't belong to a girl who bakes him homemade tangerine tarts, just because. He isn't thinking about her. He's utterly consumed by you. He'll feel bad about it after you leave, but for now, he's just thinking of ways he can make you stay.

"Slow," you tell him, placing your hand against his chest, just below his ribs. You both ignore your ring just like you both ignore the scrunchie. He's just as corrupt as you are. Maybe you're a good match. Maybe you can be each other's favourite mistakes.

You shuffle back a little; ass perched on his knees, eyes looking at his crotch as your palm follows your gaze. It's not hard to get a read on his size beneath his sweats. They're a pale grey, but there's a telling dark stain where you've been sitting.

"Shit," he hisses. "We can't- I can't. I want to - fucking hell, I really do - but I can't."

"I know," you nod. "That's not what I'm after."

The way you smile as you say it has Yoongi thinking he might just cum right there and then. You're fucking with his head - but what bothers him the most is how much he likes it.

"What are you after, then?" he asks as he feels your hand squeeze around his length. He groans, head tipping back against the top of his sofa. The way his hips pulse is involuntary, and it has sin lacing your smile.

"Just wanna adjust you slightly," you shrug. You want his cock laying flat against his body. It's kind of at an angle now, and while it feels great to grind down on, you know it will be even better if you can work up and down his shaft a little easier. Better for you both.

He bites down on his lip to hold back another moan and nods when you release the pressure of your palm.

"You wanna move it, or shall I?" you ask, not wanting to overstep a boundary.

"I'll do it," he says, hand dipping beneath his waistband without hesitation. It's not cheating if he does it, he rationalises. It is cheating if you do it. He's decided, that's his limit. As long as you don't actually touch his cock, then it's fine. He hasn't given the kissing much thought because he doesn't want to stop doing it.

He looks at you as he strokes his cock, just a couple of times. Just enough to make you wish it was your lips around it, not his hand. You can't see anything - it's still hidden by his sweats - but the adjustment just makes the outline so much clearer. So much bigger.

"This okay?" he asks, almost nervously. Eyes darting around your face to get a read.

You nod. "Perfect."

His hands find your waist again, and he pulls you further up his lap. He holds you in place as he slowly pushes up against you. Your hand snakes behind his neck, the other clasping one of his wrists. Your nails dig in; a moan stuttering from your pouty lips.

"That feel better?" he checks, but your reaction was all he needed to confirm it.

Still, you're notoriously the worst - and so you smirk. Lean forward. Subtly move your hips as you do so. Press a chaste kiss against his neck. Whisper, "I'm not sure. You'll have to try again."

He's even slower this time. Deeper. You shouldn't be doing this, Yoongi.

And yet he does it again. Groans. Curses. "You make me so hard."

You can't help but laugh. He's sweet. Nice to be with. "You're welcome."

It's the giggle that gets him.

Sweet? Nice? Yeah, fuck that.

His hips get erratic. The speed, the pace. Jesus H. Christ. It's a good job you aren't fucking because you think he'd actually break you. You know he'd kiss it better, so it's okay - but now you're thinking of his tongue and how badly you want his head between your legs.

"Wait for me," you whine into his lips, as your hand dips towards your clothed cunt. It's so warm and wet that it's a miracle Yoongi hasn't stripped you bare just to have the luxury of experiencing it.

You both know this is a one-and-done kind of thing. One time can be classed as a mistake. A lapse in judgement. Forgiveness will be far easier. Repeat offences? Well, they're a pattern. Guaranteed to reoccur. It'd be an affair, for lack of a better term.

Yoongi was raised better. You weren't, but that's neither here nor there.

With your dress hiked up around your hips, it's almost cruel how easily Yoongi could access your pussy if he really wanted to. Has been resisting the temptation. The lace of your underwear - black and barely there - leaves little to the imagination. He's salivating at the sheer thought of how you could taste. He can smell your arousal, and thinks you must be some kind of delicacy.

His brain is playing tricks on him. Making him feel like he hasn't eaten for weeks. What he wouldn't give to have you in his mouth right now.

It's out of bounds, though. He can't.

But he can match the rhythm of his hips to the pace you're rubbing languid circles against your clothed cunt, right above the hood of your clit.

And again, he wants it in his mouth.

He needs a distraction. Something. Anything. Feels your grip on the back of his neck and decides that's it.

"Throat," he husks. "Put your hand around my throat."

The sound Yoongi makes when you do as he's asked, nails digging into his skin ever so slightly, is unlike anything you've ever heard before. It's desperate, unrestrained. Pathetic. So fucking hot.

But you're both mewling now, bodies clammy beneath your clothes.

It hits you first; the wave of an orgasm crashing down over you, taking Yoongi with it. Your body shakes on top of his, teeth biting down into his shoulder as hands squeeze your ass so tightly you think it might bruise.

Good. Would be nice to have the mark of someone else on your skin for once.

He folds almost as fast as you do. He's quiet as he cums, not minding that your grip on his throat had dropped. There's no announcement, no prewarning, he just lets his body fall into the familiar notion of what it feels like to experience euphoria because of you. Breath hitched, cock spurting into his underwear, Yoongi's head lolls. His eyes are half-mooned, lips resting ajar, looking directly at you as he cums.

It's sordid. Dirty. Forbidden. Your favourite kind of sexual exploit - but Yoongi is a willing participant. Wanting.

His hair is a little ruffled from your hands, body limp and docile from his release. He makes no objection as your frill his hair with a smile. He does eye you a little curiously as you begin to tie his hair back up with that damn scrunchie again. He's glad it's off your wrist. Felt guilty looking at it.

You tilt your head, eyes expansive and inquisitive as a smile prevails. "Prettiest sprout in Daegu."

And he really is; honey skin all pink and clammy, eyes glossy, a smile forming on his pouty lips. But he's also not stupid. He knows you're just trying to pretend like what just happened never did.

It's the sensible thing to do - but fuck, he's been thinking about that (or at least some variation of it) for months. Years, even. Against his better judgement, he steals a chaste kiss from your lips. "Prettiest sprout maker in Daegu."

The bashful shake of your head, the way your cheeks apple, the sound of your fucking giggle, all confirm it for him.

"Shut up."

"Don't think I can," he grins, satisfied to have finally gotten you like this. And then he kisses you again, because he knows full well that very soon he won't be able to. "Why the fuck did we never do that before?"

You wrap your arms around his neck and simper into his kiss. It's nice to be wanted. Nice to have someone want you just for the sake of wanting you. Nice to use someone instead of being used. There's no ulterior motive with Yoongi; just bad timing. That's all.

"'Cause we'd have never got any work done at the garage if we knew how good it felt," you hum, voice light and airy. He's missed you in the months you've been away. "Would have spent all our time in the stock room."

"You did that anyways," he laughs, pressing kisses down your neck. "Fucking slacker."

His lips stop beneath your collarbones, just shy of your chest, mindful of the boundary you set earlier.

"You never complained," you remind him. "You loved it."

He shakes his head. Doesn't deny it. Just grins.

And that's when the guilt starts to creep in for you, too.

Yoongi's one of the good ones. Hair tied up all cute and silly just because you wanted to do it. There's safety to be found when you're sitting in his lap. He'd never fuck you over. Never.

But you've twisted his arm, and made him fuck over some other poor girl. You know it's gonna eat at him - because he's a good person. Far better than you are.

"Hey," you say quietly. "I should get going."

"It's late," he replies, his deep voice a similar dulcet volume to yours. He's mirroring you. It's cute. "You can take my bed. I'll sleep on the couch again. Like last time."

The way he tacks that last sentence on is so delicate. So pure. Proof that you can trust him. It's tried and tested. Customer approved. Trip Advisor recommended.

In your heart of hearts, you know you don't deserve another minute of his company. You look down. Choke on your words a little. Shake your head. "Wouldn't wanna put you out."

You've a home to get to.

"It's no bother," he smiles.

You know leaving will hurt him, but fear staying will do more damage.

And again, you've a home to get to.

"Stay," he says.

"I can't," you whisper. Nudge your nose against his. Let your lips linger a little too close. Don't press down until he does. And then you kiss him like you really mean it. You think you do. "I'm sorry."

The worst thing about Yoongi is the way he smiles. It's innocent, even if what you just did wasn't. Sincere. Compassionate. You know he's only thinking about you - but there are other people in this equation. You reach for the scrunchie. It pulls from his hair with ease - a testament to how he feels about his short-lived romance. It doesn't matter though, as you pick up his wrist and place the scrunchie around it.

He looks at it; at your nails and how they clasp his hand so delicately. He squeezes them. Nods. Purses his lips, takes in the shine of your ring, then looks at you. "I'm sorry, too."

You're not sure what for. For not acting sooner? For not asking you on a date all those months ago? For the fact he moved on when you moved away?

"It's cool," you say and try a sincere smile back. He sees right through it. "We're cool."

"We are?"

"We are."

Yoongi calls you a cab. You've had too much wine to risk getting pulled over. The scandal your father would face as the result of you getting a DUI isn't worth it at this point. You've a role to play. A home to get to before the sun rises.

And despite it all, he kisses you goodbye.

"Better not go rogue again," he tells you.

All you can do is smile. "No promises."

────────────

When your fiancé calls through to the master bathroom - letting you know he's off to work - you pretend you can't hear him. There's a shuffle by the door as he waits for a reply, but when he doesn't get one, he assumes you're beneath the water.

Easy enough mistake.

You've been too busy staring at your reflection for upwards of ten minutes, trying to assess who the fuck is staring back at you. The marble countertops are cold beneath your hands, the shower running freely, 'cause you're not the one footing the bill. Your fiancé is.

You don't feel bad about the fact you're quite literally pouring his cash down the drain. There's enough money to cover it - but of course there is. Despite his well-to-do salary man image, his main income comes under the table. It's illicit, but so is everything in the world you'd left behind all those years ago.

The man who put a ring on your finger is on your father's payroll. Has been since he turned eighteen. Is following in his own father's footsteps.

It's all very sweet, when you come to think about it - what kid doesn't look up to their father? You sure had.

You, the daughter of a political figurehead; he, the son of the Chief of Police.

It's what made you such a great couple from the get-go.

Was kind of like the fairytales your mother would read to you before bed. You wonder now if she was trying to ingrain the idea of such a suitor from your early childhood. Get her ideal man embedded in your brain before it even had a chance to fully develop.

Your fiancé is a little older than you are, so they had to buy time. Make sure no relationship between the pair of you could be scandalised.

Once you were of age, it seemed to be a match made in heaven. The stuff of Shakespeare plays.

It was only natural that you would end up together. Set in stone. You'd marry and become an unstoppable force for your parents. The city would remain theirs.

Thing is, you never wanted to be a character in a Shakespeare romance. You always thought it'd be fruitless. They all end up the victims of great tragedies, anyways.

What you had wanted was to be the muse of a sonnet. Have a man dote on you; write you poetry under the glare of sweltering summer heat. Someone who'd make metaphors out of the condensation on cans of chilsung, consumed together down by your favourite spot along the river. He'd mumble nonsense about the smell of your hair and how he'd long to touch you with his ink-stained fingertips.

As you grew, you began to favour motor oil over ink. Hardly a surprise that you'd been suckered by a motor-loving swine with ink etched into his knuckles. You tend not to think about how gentle those hands of his could be. He'd been everything you had ever wanted wrapped into one. Tied with a pretty red bow.

Now, you think you'll be lucky if you make it to the footnotes of a political history book.

You shower. Take a little longer than normal to rinse the grimey feeling of betrayal from your skin. It'll never leave. Not really. Lodged beneath too many layers of skin.

It's not like you had gone to Yoongi's with the intention of letting things get that far. A little flirt, sure, something harmless - but it was just so lovely to have choices. So nice to be able to choose someone who is also choosing you, even if just for a moment. A lapse in time; in judgement.

Your fiancé never chose you. He chose the path of least resistance from his parents, and you just so happened to be crossing the same road as him.

He's tall. The full cliche - dark, handsome. Had been your first 'love' before you knew what love actually was. First everything. First boy to cheat on you, too, but you mother just told you all men were cheaters. Nothing to get your knickers in a twist about. Your father was leading by example.

So even though you're in his apartment, wearing clothes washed in his detergent, helping yourself to snacks he bought, you know not to be too comfortable. Not to convince yourself he actually wants this relationship for anything other than his own political gain.

He's banking on a promotion. Not within his career, but within your father's corruption. You're an asset.

And him? Well, to state it plainly, he's an ass.

He's also definitely fucking his secretary, but it's not like he's getting lucky with you so you don't care all that much. She was in the picture before you. Or at least, while you were away. It's been a few years since you were last here. Enough time for something to blossom. Poor thing probably actually loves him. You doubt it's reciprocated.

The ring on your finger is nothing more than a political move; a safety net for the man who had held had refused to pawn it after you left the first time. You'd been a diamond girl, back then. Had been a different person entirely.

You're sat on his sofa, twiddling at your ring, garbage reality shows play on his obnoxiously large television screen, when he pops home towards the end of his lunch break.

He seems agitated. Doesn't really greet you. Is looking for a casefile he'd left at home this morning.

"Think they're by the bed," you hum, vaguely aware of flicking through them this morning after he'd left.

Petty convenience store robbery, nothing really to write home about. You scoff at the cases he's been assigned, as if he were still a rookie. He's been on the force for years. He should be investigating major crimes. Murders. Narcotics. Corruption.

Then again, he'd end up investigating all of his friends if he did those cases. Must be better for him to stay away.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he dismisses as he rushes on through.

There's a slight waft of perfume as he passes you. It becomes clear why he decided to cram the document retrieval into the last ten minutes of his lunch break. You find yourself wondering if you had smelt like Yoongi when you'd arrived home the night before.

"You picking up the car this afternoon?"

Shit. The car.

"Yeah." Your capability of making lies sound like bible truth is commendable. A skill. Talent. "Was just about to go."

"Okay, good. You gonna be near Kang's? I need some more oil."

You're silent for a moment. Think of which lovely little lie to tell. Settle on, "Jieun lives not too far from it. I can pop by."

He hums something in response. You think it might be a thank you but he doesn't care to articulate it properly. It's not till he walks back to the living area that you realise he's still talking. "-actually be good for you to get out of the house. You can't mope around here all day."

You scowl. Look at him with genuine disdain. "Sorry?"

"I'm just saying," he shrugs, a look on his face as if he genuinely thinks he's not being a dick. "You can't be out all hours at night - and before you say it, I don't care if it's just at Jieun's, I have a work schedule I have to sleep for - and then spend all day doing nothing."

This time, you stay silent.

You don't think he's wrong, but he's also the one who had given you terms and conditions when he put that ring back on your finger. No GS25 was one of them. No university either, which is what you'd really wanted to do; actually educate yourself on business affairs, so that it wasn't all bullshit when you were dealing with the hooligans from Kang's.

But no. To be welcomed back into the fold was to be restricted; prevented from doing things that would garner you any further independence.

"While I'm at Kang's, I'll see if they've got any jobs going," you say. The garage in front of the boxing club would actually be the perfect place for you to work while you figured out your next move. You also know there's no way in hell it would ever be given the green light.

"Working for your father's political rival?" he scoffs, not taking you seriously for a second.

"Says the man who wants me to buy oil from there," you scoff right back. "But fine, I can go back to GS2-"

"No. Your father said-"

"You think I give a rat's arse what my father said?"

"Your father said to keep a low profile until he can justify another job opening in the mayoral office."

"Joy. Can't wait," you say as he walks to the door. He's out of it without even so much as a goodbye when you mumble, "You might be his bitch, Hoseok, but I'm not."

Realistically, the conversation had been done as soon as you mentioned getting a job.

It's on the list of 'No Can Do' activities, set in place by your father to keep his political appearance clean. No job, no school, no clubs, nothing worthy of a scandal. Nothing that could be used against him. He might have won the last election, but Kang came pretty fucking close to stealing it from him. He needs to gain back the favour of his people.

It takes well over an hour to get to Kang's by foot from the city center apartment you're in, so you head to the nearest bus station. Figure you'll just hop on the 503. Will try not to think about Jungkook when you do so.

You're dressed down, a slouchy jumper over a pair of jeans fading you into obscurity. Nothing special. You know you should really make more of an effort to keep up appearances, but you're tired. Exhausted. Not physically, but mentally.

Your old life is draining you.

There had been method to your madness: you'd returned 'home' for a reason.

Part of you wishes you hadn't. Wishes you'd have gone straight to Kangs.

But you needed an 'in', and to be honest, you needed protection. You play a mean game of poker, and your bluff has been perfected, but behind the poker face, you're scared. Of your reality. Of your father. Of the men who dwell in Kang's boxing club.

And so you'd needed to get your ducks in a row before you stepped foot into Kang's. Couple of months was all it had taken for your family to be convinced that your reckless youth had been outgrown; for a ring to be back on your finger.

You find yourself thinking about Jungkook; what it could have been like if you'd have met him before... well, before everything.

You think about your life as a teenager - privileged, affluent. Think about his hardships, and how you could have tried to help. Your father never would have listened to you, but you could have a least appealed to his sense of humanity. Could have tried to stop the funding cuts. Probably could have extorted your father; used his mistakes against him.

Instead, you'd distanced yourself. Changed your legal name as soon as you could because you knew that, eventually, you'd want to run. Would want to remove yourself from any position of influence.

It's why you never could have helped Jungkook. You had been running from the very thing he needed: power, influence, money. At the time, they'd been meaningless to you. Not meant for you, you thought - though you're doing rather well cosplaying as Daddy's little princess again.

As you make your way across town, you notice how bad the air quality is once more - heavy in your lungs, drying your eyes out.

You make your way to Yoongi's, and for a moment, it feels like nothing has changed. Like you're just going to hang out on a day off. You'll gossip about the boss, maybe make theories on why Jieun had called in sick the week before.

But when Yoongi opens his apartment door, he wants to look like he's ambivalent about your arrival. Indifferent. Unphased. Can't help but smile, though.

"Twice in twelve hours?" he says. "Really making up for lost time, aren't you?"

You roll your eyes, because there's an innuendo lacing his words and you're not sure what to make of it. Both of you are sober, now, not a drop of wine left in your systems and yet... you kind of feel like you are a little tipsy.

Your skin is clammy, heart beating a little faster than it should be. Just the air quality, you tell yourself. Harder to breathe. Yeah, just the air. Just the pollution, baby.

Funny, how it's Jungkook's voice in your head again.

But Yoongi's heart is doing the just same. Can't blame it on the air.

He knows last night was wrong, but the adrenaline rush that had come with giving himself up for you made him feel like he'd digested enough uppers to kill a man. Swallowed them whole. Chased a high he'd never reached before. Nirvana. Purgatory disguised as paradise.

"Look, Yoongi I-" You begin, but he interrupts you. Knows the tone of voice you're using. Doesn't want to hear it.

"Don't," he says, opening his door a little wider to invite you in.

You hesitate, but when he knocks his head back, eyes half-mooned as they drink you in, you can't refuse. He nods to the sofa, where you take a seat, shoes off, feet up, legs crossed.

He stands by the wall opposite you, keeping a little distance. Looks down - but then right back up and into your eyes as he says, "You've only just got here. Don't treat me like I was a mistake already."

There's silence as you look at one another. Your lips rest ajar, a million thoughts fighting it out to be spoken first.

"You weren't."

You're not sure you believe it, but you want him to. Don't want him feeling like you regret him.

"No?" He says, dark but deliriously honest; not only how they drink you in, but how they also pour out for you. The windows to his soul are open, curtains wafting in the breeze. He's inviting you in. Offering you a home. "Why does it feel like you were about to say that it was?"

Because you were.

Not because you thought it was a mistake for you; but because it was a mistake for him. The scrunchie has been hidden away, and his take-out for two containers have been left out for the recycling collection. He's testing out what it could be like, you think. What it could be like to have you in his space.

"I can't give you what you need," you say quietly, avoiding eye contact. You'd expected a little more small talk before jumping to the hard hitters, but Yoongi's been striking out for years. He's making the most of your defence being down.

"Can't, or won't?"

"Both," you feign a half smile. "Even if I wanted to, Yoongi, I don't think I could. I'm not made for you people like you."

"And what am I like?"

"Good," you speak so softly he can't help but smile. "Deserving of more."

He just shrugs. Doesn't hide his hurt. "What if I don't want more?"

"Yoongi-"

And then his hurt takes precedence; obscures any whispers in his mind that tell him not to do... well, do whatever the fuck this is. He's waited years for a green light from you. Instead, you'd raced through amber the night before. Looks red now. He just wants fucking green.

"I don't want more."

"Yoongi."

He looks down. Shakes his head.

When his gaze meets yours again, the windows are shut - but the curtains are still drawn open wide. It's dark inside. Lights are off, but there's somebody home. They're waiting for you to come home, too.

He walks a little closer to the sofa. "Tell me you didn't want me last night."

You're so good at lying. Have mastered it. And yet-

"That's not fair."

Why aren't you lying to him? You can be cold. You can be callous. You're perfectly capable of treating the ones you love like they mean nothing more than the shit beneath your shoes, and yet it's hard to do it with Yoongi. Hard to tell him anything he doesn't want to hear. He deserves the earth, you think, and yet all you're giving him is dirt that will get trapped beneath his nails.

"Tell me you didn't," he repeats, standing a little taller now. His shoulders are broad. Powerful. You'd be safe with Yoongi. Would want for nothing. "Tell me you didn't want me last night."

You look down. Shake your head.

Shame is a funny feeling. Fools you into thinking you should be honest.

"I can't."

Yoongi doesn't smile. Just nods. "Because you want me, too."

"Not for the right reasons, Yoongi," you stress, hoping he'll see sense.

"Who gives a fuck about the right reasons?"

"You will."

"I won't."

"When you ruin what's good for you because of something I can't give you, then you'll give a fuck," you tell him. The hairband might be hidden but there's half a tangerine tart left in his fridge and a concert ticket she bought for him taped on the door of it. His life is good. He doesn't need you storming through it like a summer typhoon. "I am nothing. I can give you nothing."

And then Yoongi does something all rather unexpected.

He smirks.

Toys at the corner of his lips with his tongue. Crosses his arms and raises his brow. "You gave me yourself last night."

"I gave you my body," you correct him, getting to your feet. Nothing good will happen from this conversation. You just need to get your keys and go. There's an urgency to your movements, heading towards the kitchen section of his open planing living space. Your keys will be on the hook where he keeps his own, you're sure. "Look, I've got-"

Your movements are halted as Yoongi reaches for your hand. Pulls you round. Walks you back until your ass is against the kitchen cupboards. You're looking up at him. The closeness of your bodies is intentional. Orchestrated by him; allowed by you. His voice is low as he says, "That's not nothing."

"But it's not enough," you stress, and you absolutely mean it. "I'm engaged to be married, Yoongi."

"And I'm already going to hell," he whispers, resting his forehead against yours. You don't stop him. "So I may as well have fun with it."

This is a side to him that you've never seen before. One that screams danger. Either he's learnt what you like in a man, or maybe he's just been hiding this part of him. He's tried being perfect, has seen it doesn't work. Maybe this is the real Min Yoongi.

"Yoongi," you say with little thought as his nose nudges against yours.

"Mhmm?" he hums back. His lips ghost yours. Your heart is beating out of your chest. One of his hands is flat against the kitchen counter as the other brushes up the curve of your waist.

You shake your head. The movement only causes the friction of your lips to tenfold. "If this happens, it doesn't mean anything."

He smiles against you. Shakes his head. Presses his lips against yours. One, two, remember to breathe. Pulls away. "It means everything."

You've always been a sucker for men who speak in definitive terms.

But you know how dangerous they can be, now. Know not to trust their words.

"We're not on the same page," you say. At least this way, you can't be accused of leading him on.

"We're not even reading the same damn book," Yoongi smiles against you. Kisses you again. Pulls away before you're ready for him to do so. "But does it really matter if they both have the same ending?"

And then you kiss him. It's soft. Tender. So sweet and gentle compared to the hardness of your heart. "It's not a happy ending."

"So close it, then," Yoongi says, pulling away from you a little. He's giving you the chance to leave. To get out. Escape. "Close your book. Stop this from happening."

But then you're kissing him again, and his tongue is in your mouth and - fuck - it's so nice to feel someone touch you with such intent. You know this is more than something casual, know that you've cared for Yoongi for too long for it not to have stemmed from nothing, but there's no permanence. It's terrifying and soothing all within the same swipe of his tongue against yours.

"One last chance," he says, lips so close to yours that he may as well be sending you telepathic messages. "Close your book if you want to."

It's shameful, the way you shake your head. Keep your eyes closed. Swallow. "But I wanna know what happens next."

Must sound like music to Yoongi's ears. He kisses you so deeply you think you may suffocate.

"What happens next is up to you," he moans into your lips, his nimble fingers pushing the button of your jeans through its fastening. "But it starts with this."

The sound of your breath is heavy. It soundtracks the murmur of your jeans zip being pushed down. Doesn't hide the way he curses against your lips.

"Yoongi," you whisper, eyes closing to stop yourself from catching his gaze.

His lips press against your throat, his dexterous fingers toying with the lace of your underwear. He knows he shouldn't. Knows that there's no taking this back. Knows he's fucking everything up - but he's played it safe for so fucking long and where has that ever gotten him before?

"Yoongi, I-" you try again, but his tongue strokes against your neck, teeth grazing it ever so scarcely. His fingers sink into your jeans. Press on your clit above your underwear. It has you gasping for air. He eases his pressure, then reapplies. Repeats. Your hips move languidly against his movements. You want this. Want him.

Want to feel like you're actually loved.

"Say the word, and I'll stop," he promises.

But you just shake your head.

"No?"

"No."

"Don't stop?"

He presses his fingers against you. Circles. Once, twice. God, it feels so fucking good to have him touch you like this. Has you mewling. "Don't stop."

"I won't. I'll make you feel so good," he husks against your neck. "You know I can do it. Know I can make you feel better than anyone else ever has."

The promise is pointed; directed at Jungkook. You hate that you're thinking about him. Hate that as you tug on Yoongi's hair, his fingers still pressing against your clothed cunt, it's Jungkook's face in your mind. His smirk, how he loved watching you come undone, how he comes undone.

And so you open them. Focus on Yoongi. Tell him how good he's already making you feel. Tell him how you've thought about this before.

It's not a lie. Admittedly, it was before Jungkook had ever come onto the scene, when you and Yoongi were still dancing that awkward line of flirting or friends. You'd settled on different sides, but, for a while, you contemplated what could happen if you chose the same side as him. Spent a couple of late nights imagining how he'd feel.

He's more delicate than you ever expected. Gentler. Softer.

"Is that what you want?" You moan as his lips yours, nails scratching up his throat, remembering how much he'd liked it the night before. He whines a little into the kiss. "Wanna make me feel good?"

He nods. "Wanna be the reason you cum."

His hands sink further into your jeans. Slip beneath your underwear. You're like fucking silk on his fingertips. Incredibly sodden silk, but silk nonetheless. Exquisite.

Yoongi presses his body into yours, and you can feel his bulge against your tummy. No matter how badly you appear to want him, he wants you more. Always has done.

What a devastating achievement this is. Yoongi finally has the girl he's wanted in the palm of his hand, lungs stuttering her chest - but it's tarnished.

All he ever wanted was to love you. Not to fuck you. Sure, it'd be an inevitable side-effect, not one he'd ever complain about, but this just... wasn't how he'd envisioned it.

He's not sure that he could classify what he feels now as love. It's something quite similar, yes, but it's tainted. The waters he's treading are murky, as if something could pull him under at any time. A little bit of seaweed, maybe, wrapping up around his ankle, seeping up his legs like the ribbons of ballet shoes, pulling him down to dance on the ocean floor.

He'd let it, he thinks, if it meant he got to dance with you.

It's when your hands creep to the top of his trousers that he knows he's won. Knows that you do want this, too. Want him.

The second your hand wraps around his length, warm and stiff in your palm, he's ready.

You'd come undone with one another the night before. Used each other. It was self-serving. Self-gratifying. But now?

He's going to be the reason you come undone. His movements. His hands. Him. All him.

The way he guides you through his apartment is sweet. Careful, and gentle; his back is to the walls just in case he knocks into them. Keeps you protected.

And that's exactly what Yoongi is; a safety net.

But as he gets you on his bed - gets you undressed, gets his lips in places he only could have dreamt of, his tongue on your skin, teeth nipping - it's easy to forget that the safety net is still suspended a few meters above ground. You're not entirely secure.

The way Yoongi cradles your jaw makes you think you are, though. He always asks permission. Never takes a chance. Is vocal not for the sake of it, but to make sure that you always have an out. He wants this, wants you, but only because he's convinced you want him too.

Let me eat your pussy, baby. Is that okay? Will you turn over for me? That's it. God, yeah like that. You're so fucking good at that. Wait, wait- no. I'll cum. Don't wanna cum yet. Sit on my face. Shut up, no, I don't care. Maybe I want you to suffocate me. God. Taste so fucking good. That's it. Grind. On my face, baby. All over it. Look at how hard you made me.

And how can you refuse his requests?

Yoongi doesn't hide what he likes. Likes you. Likes you on top. Your hand around his throat. The way your nails feel against his skin. Would really like for you to leave a mark but he always grabs onto your hand whenever he thinks that you might. It's a reminder: his body isn't yours.

His heart might be, but who cares about that?

You don't, clearly, and so nor does he. He'll take what you give him.

And what a gift it is; clammy bodies, dulcet moans, whines of his name.

Yoongi's thought about this so many times, but he's never realised how good it would feel; what it would be like to hear you giggle while he's pushing himself inside you. Had never realised that you'd kiss his temples when he bottoms out, or that you'd whisper his name like a fucking bible verse. Never considered that you'd be so tight around him that he'd spend a fair while warming his cock inside of you, kissing you slowly as you adjust to his size. Never thought you'd taste so sweet, sound so serene.

Never thought he'd get this.

But he did.

And so now he gets it. Gets why that blonde-haired prick couldn't stay away. Gets why he wanted Yoongi to know how well he'd been fucking you - because now it's the only thing Yoongi wants to do, too.

Wants you. Wants you. Wants you.

Wants you in his bed, on his floor, in his shower. Wants you in the GS25 stock room, wants you out back in one of the cars he's working on. Wants you in every way he can get you.

Wishes he hadn't taken so long to act on it.

Because he knows that he can never really have you, now.

It's why he's letting himself indulge on this occasion. He knows what he's doing is wrong, but as far as he can see it, it's a once in a lifetime. He'll never get the chance again.

Never get you sat on his cock like you are now, never get to watch the light that peaks through his half-closed blinds illuminating your features, never get your cheeks all rosy and dimpled like this ever again. Never gonna hold your bare hips as you grind against him, never gonna pull on your wrist to bring your chest flat to his, never gonna kiss you through another orgasm.

But for now, he does. Bucks his hips, whines your name, tells you he's there, tells you - oh god, like that, baby - he's gonna cum. Fuck.

And so you meet him there. Rub delicate circles on your swollen cunt, bringing yourself to release just when he does. The thin layer of latex between you protects you from becoming his, but it all feels the same. The way your heart beats. The way he kisses you. It all feels the fucking same.

His arms wrap around your back. Hold you tightly. A kiss is pressed into your shoulder; up your neck.

The guilt that you expect to arrive never comes.

It will do, eventually - but much later on. His will come in the depths of the night, when he's sleeping beside his girlfriend, too much of a coward to tell her that he's betrayed her.

You think yours will come in the cold light of day a few months from now, when you finally let your brain process everything you've been through.

He tells you he's sorry, cock still buried inside of you, and you shake your head. Tell him you're sorry, too.

"What if I don't forgive you?" He teases, trying to lighten the mood - but you almost think he means it.

"Good," you smile. "It would be good if you don't."

You trace the vein that runs down his arm, and forge some faux sense of intimacy. You're playing house, but you can't play forever. Always have to go back to reality at some point.

This point comes half an hour later; Yoongi shirtless in a pair of sweats, leaning against his door frame toying with loose strands of your hair. He wants to kiss you. "Do you regret it?"

You want to kiss him, too. "Do you?"

The way you ask is so light and airy that Yoongi still feels like he's floating. The only thing he wants to weigh him down is your body on his.

"No."

Your want is growing too large, so you look down to avoid his gaze. Yoongi notices a lash on your cheek. A wish. He should reach for it. Collect it on his thumb, tell you to blow it away.

But he already knows what you'll wish for. Who.

And so he doesn't give you the chance. Hopes the wind will steal it from you.

"Don't be a stranger," he tells you as you go. His lips are plump, annoyed with his brain at the lack of kisses stolen from you before you left.

You lie. Tell him that you won't be. Say you'll see him soon.

Both of you know that you won't.

And it's only confirmed when you get into your car - breath heavy, eyes warm, tears verging - and you spot fucking Jieun walking up the road towards Yoongi's apartment. She's carrying a punnet of tangerines. Wears her hair tied into a half ponytail like you used to do.

This. Now. Yeah, this is when the guilt comes.

It makes so much fucking sense. Of course they'd have ended up together without you in the way to fuck everything up like you're so bloody good at. You wait until she's inside his apartment complex to start the car up, and fucking pray that Yoongi's gone to freshen up, that he's hidden the condom in the trash, that his lips won't taste like you.

Oh god, it's all so fucked.

"What have I done?" You berate yourself, head resting on the top of your steering wheel.

Whatever has happened has happened. You can't take it back. Nor can Yoongi. Just a fact of life now: Min Yoongi has fucked you. And you've fucked his life up.

You dart through town, giving little to no shit about the speed limits nor the unwritten rules of the roads, and find yourself cleaning tears off your cheeks with the back of your hand. You're not crying, not really. Not intentionally. It's just kind of happening.

That's your excuse for everything these days. It just happened.

The radio is off, and the roads are smooth beneath your tyres, but everything just feels so fucking loud. The engine barely makes a rumble but it feels like it's roaring at you. Screaming.

And then you are, too.

Screaming at the world; why it had to be this way. Why you're incapable of making good decisions. Why you couldn't have just stayed in Busan with the boy who'd stained you red with the colour of his love that ended up being nothing more than a little lie.

By the time you get to Kang's, you really are sobbing. It's in the way your shoulders shake; chest tightens. That's the issue with going back to your family. You're a frightened little girl all over again. Out of your depth. No fucking clue what you're doing. Just trying to feel something. Anything. Anyone.

For a moment, it had worked. And now everything is broken again.

You twist the keys in the ignition; let the engine cool before you pull yourself together. Pull down the sun visor, check yourself in the mirror. Check for signs of weakness. Grab a little lipstick from the centre console. Your eyes aren't all that bad. There's a little blush on your face, but there's plausible deniability. If anyone questions if you've been crying, you can blame it on windburn. Or tell them to fuck off and mind their own business. One of the two.

A deep breath settles in your sternum. You're not who you were a minute ago. You can do this.

Shoulders rolled back, you hold your head high as you enter the boxing club. The TV is playing in the background, Seokjin and Namjoon sat up by the sofas. They're surprised to see you, but it's not entirely out of the blue. They knew you'd be back.

Jimin clocks you as he's grabbing a water, and nods. You don't nod back.

And despite the fact you refuse to look at him as you enter the boxing club, Jungkook knows.

He's not entirely sure of what he knows, he's just aware of the fact you aren't quite yourself. There's an elegance to how you carry yourself and now is just the same, but... there's something. He can't pinpoint it. Can't figure it out.

But of course he can't.

It's a matter of the heart, not the mind.

In the same vein, it's not a matter at all. He doesn't care about you. Not like that. Doesn't give a shit if you're hurting, or if you're upset, or if someone has been unkind but-

Oh, fuck it.

He does care. He does, he does, he does. He cares so much. So, so much. So much that it feels like his heart has been ripped from his chest just looking at you. There's blood pooling all around him. Kids fucking dance in it like puddles. You watch from afar with a smile and a shrug, holding his still beating heart in your hands. You did this, love.

Jungkook closes his eyes. Shakes the image from his head. Tells himself to stay off the hallucinogenics for awhile.

His eyes find you again as you walk towards Seokjin. Jungkook is down by the bags, unwrapping his hands after a heavy session. There's sweat gleaming on his skin, staining pretty patterns down the back of his shirt. He's pleased you'd arrived now. Knows he looks like shit, but also knows how much you liked fucking him after a workout. Would tell him not to shower. Was the pheromones. Some shit like that. Drove you fucking wild.

The pleasure he takes in your timing is forgotten about when he realises just hollow your eyes are. Finds himself actually wanting a shower - admittedly, with you. It was always where you'd find the most comfort together, and that's what he wants. Just wants to fix whatever's gone wrong for you today.

Instead, he just walks toward the sofas. Doesn't like not being a part of the discussion. There are a few nods. Slight deliberation - and then Seokjin calls the Jungkook and Jimin in to the sofas regardless.

"Taking a vote," he says. It's already been discussed in private between the boys, but no formal plans have been put in place.

You choose to stand. Jungkook sinks into the leather of the sofa in front of you. Avoids eye contact. You pretend to look at the men around you, but you don't really take any of them in. You're unfocused. Disillusioned; disassociating. Daydreaming of the beach, where the water is clear and the sand is warm.

And then, you do let your eyes fall on his. They're so wide and worried. Jungkook is certain he's never seen you like this. Something isn't aligning. Hasn't been since you left, but he thought things would fall back into place when you returned.

You okay? he says silently.

You look him up. Look him down. Part your lips - only to close them again once Seokjin starts talking.

"All those in favour of working together?"

One by one they raise their hands. Seokjin first, then Jimin. Namjoon looks around. Shuffles uncomfortably. Doesn't look at you as he raises his hand.

"Kook?" Seokjin asks.

"It's a bad fuckin' idea," he says, eyes never once dropping from yours. He's not telling the boys. He's telling you.

"Your forte," you say sweetly, but there's no smile on your lips.

And he just nods.

"Yeah. It is."

He raises his hand.

Full house.

"Alright, then," Seokjin beams. "Let's get to work."

[anonymous-dentist]

Will you still continue writing and putting qbbh in your stories?

I'm asking this question after months because I can't stand people "separating" the cc from the character, when it can't be done, not when the cc defends such a despicable person. I kept quiet for a long time because you're my favorite writer, but I'm tired of pretending that it doesn't bother me because I suffer daily from racism and xenophobia (things that both qbbh and cc don't seem to care about JAJAJA).

I don't know if you will respond to this or just ignore it, but regardless, thank you for writing such beautiful works and stories, I won't follow you any further, not until I have your response. And if you keep writing Defender of the Bastard, I'll pretend I've never read any of your works, that I've never even met you.

I used the translator to make the job easier 0___=

Okay, anon, I'll start this by saying that I 100% understand where you're coming from. If you've seen my pinned, you know that I hate that shitty green teletubby and all his friends equally, and I do NOT fuck with anyone supporting them. And you've probably seen me speaking up about the freakish xenophobia that parts of Bad's fandom have been taking part in basically since April (that I know about, I've never been a viewer.)

But also? I don't write qBBH. I've written him maybe five times Ever since the QSMP started, and three of those five times were in Breaking Dawn. And, even then, he's not really super important to the narrative at all, and he was never going to be. If anyone from the book club was gonna be important, it would be Maxo because he was super important during the Regret Arc, unlike Bad. And you may have noticed that I haven't even mentioned Bad in that fic since he started getting weird about Dream recently. I legitimately rewrote all of the most recent chapter to keep Bad out of it.

With my other current multichapters (Let a Spider Run, Evil Eye), he was never gonna be a big part of them because I quite genuinely just don't give a shit about his character and because his character isn't too important to the parts of qCellbit and qRoier's stories that I want to explore. Breaking Dawn? Regret Arc. Let a Spider Run? ...Kinda all over the place, but it's the bit of May when Cellbit and Roier started getting interested in each other. Evil Eye? Current "Fuck The Federation" Arc. So if you wanna follow those, go ahead, Bad would only be a cameo mention at most, almost definitely not someone super important. The fic he'd appear most in would be Breaking Dawn, but even then it's like one or two more times because, again, Maxo is actually the more important one there. Limited roles, dig?

But also? You have no right to demand what I do and do not put in my writing. Am I gonna put Bad in anymore? Not in any huge role because I never did, but you showed up and decided to effectively threaten me into not writing him at all by saying you'll never read again. And that's disappointing because I'm so ridiculously thankful for all my readers and I never want to make anyone uncomfortable, but you coming in and demanding I effectively change the plot to my passion project instead of coming and talking to me in dms or something is just kind of a dick move.

I don't hold anything against you, anon, and I won't hold anything against anyone who decides to unfollow me because I'm gonna keep having qBad appear as minor characters in my fics, but you've gotta understand that he's a character. Does he suck? Yeah, and so does the CC, but separating fact from fiction is a vital part of appreciating Minecraft RP storytelling. And I 100% understand having difficulty separating character from CC when it comes to a CC who has done some real shitty things, but sometimes you just need to take a step back and stop consuming content from something that brings you this much distress just by having a single character in it.

You're probably young, and I'm really, really sorry that you've dealt with so much horrible bullshit because of this one man's fandom, and I'm sorry that this guy is on a server that you love and appreciate and I understand that so well (I was a DSMP writer for a while, after all), and I hope that you understand what I'm saying here. I'm not currently planning on including him in anything beyond one or two brief appearances in Breaking Dawn, but you don't really have much of a right to demand that of me. I made this decision weeks ago.

[sheepwithspecs]

F or Tune: Chapter 1 Preview

For #FirstDraftFall (one of the many answers to writers who do not want to participate in NaNo after seeing their pro-AI posts) I am working on an original story I've been wanting to write for years. I plan to release it as a serialized (weekly?) post once it's finished, and I wanted to share the first chapter with everyone. I'm open to CC and honest feedback, especially if this chapter piqued your interest in the rest! If not, what could be different? What is it missing? Reminder: it's still in the draft stage, so be kind!

Deirdre Forst was thirty-five years old to the day when she discovered a dryad in the family well.

On most days, the well was never high enough to see anything clearly, and certainly too deep to house something as flighty as a dryad. Dryads, impulsive little imps that they were, thrived best in the shallows. They loved nothing more than to lurk just beneath the water's surface, lying in wait for unsuspecting travelers. But the rains had been plentiful that spring, and this particular morning the water was close enough to the mouth of the well that Deirdre could see her features outlined in a perfect circle of fieldstone.

That was what gave her pause, when on any other day she might have dropped the wooden bucket and went about her business. For the most part, her reflection was normal enough: rounded cheeks, large ears, crooked nose, thin lips. Any discrepancies were subtle enough that, had she not been observant in nature, she might have overlooked it entirely. But her brown eyes were a pale blue, her white cap sat askew on her skull, and the corners of her mouth were quirked a little too high to be natural.

She leaned into the mouth of the well, squinting at her rippling reflection, and was instantly rewarded with a thorough drenching of icy water. She was left sputtering and choking, wiping fruitlessly at her face with sopping sleeves. The serene morning was broken at once by a grating, wooden sort of laughter. The dryad lifted its head from the water, shaking back tendrils of soggy hair to better view its victim.  

"You should have seen the look on your face!" It practically squealed with mirth, tail slapping the water's surface. Bare arms draped over the stone wall as it continued to cackle, delighted at its own juvenile prank. Like all dryads, it resembled the wood of its mother tree; it was all gnarled limbs and spindly fingers, each sporting an extra jointed knuckle. Its small breasts were two knots of wood on an oaken torso, piercing eyes lined with white whorls of lichen. There was no nose or lips to speak of, only a gaping maw filled with jagged brown teeth.

"Yes, yes. Very funny." The dryad stuck out its tongue, forked end flicking in the open air. It was hideous to look at, but Deirdre knew better than to be frightened. Lesser fae were childlike, silly creatures, too preoccupied with making mischief to be of any real danger. When it came to the fae, everyone knew the prettiest ones posed the highest risk. They were far more likely to go about stealing unwatched babes from the cradle… or souls from the corpse.

“You’ve had your fun,” she coughed, wiping her nose on the sodden shoulder of her kirtle. She fished around for the bucket at her feet, lifting with an expression that demanded obedience. “Now get out of my way, lest I give you a taste of your own medicine.” She shooed the dryad from the mouth of the well, keeping one eye on it as she attached the bucket to the winch and let it drop into the water. 

“You’re no fun at all!” The dryad slumped against the base of the well, plucking sullenly at the moss growing on the rough stones. “It was such a nice bit of fun, too. You might have at least pretended to laugh.”

“Some of us have work to do, you know.” Deirdre gently smacked aside its sinuous tail, shuddering at the texture of algae slime against her knuckles. “Off with you, now. With all these pools and puddles, you’ve no business in the wells of honest folk.”

“And where’s the fun in that? The lanes are too muddy for pilgrims, and you’re the only humans on this side of the forest.”

“Then you’ll have to go bother those on the other side,” she replied stoutly, beginning the laborious process of drawing the water back out of the well. Wasted breath, she scolded herself as she fought the winch. A dryad would no more stray from its mother tree than she would leave the clearing that housed her family’s cottage.

“They’re no fun, either. Most people don’t notice me until it’s too late,” the dryad preened. “I might’ve splashed the lot of them in the time it took me to trick you.”

“Is that so?” When no answer came, Deirdre glanced up to find herself being watched. The dryad’s eyes were large and wide-set, made for viewing things from beneath the water’s surface. It looked her over from head to toe and back again, tail flicking water onto the mossy earth. She held her tongue, knowing better than to ask what it was staring at. The chances of a straightforward answer were slim to none. Fae kept their own counsel, their thoughts strung together in ways that only served to befuddle mortal minds.

“I see!” it exclaimed at last. “You’re one of us, aren’t you?”

“Ought t’be,” Deirdre scoffed, swallowing back a trickle of unease. “I was raised in the forest all my life.”

“You know what I mean.” The dryad graced her with a revolting smile. “Tell me, forest child: where did your human parents discover you? Were you nestled in a hollow stump, or on a bed of willow leaves? Did you blossom from a fruit, or a flower? Or perhaps you’re nothing more than a changeling, masquerading in human skin?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Deny it if you like.” The dryad cocked its head, weedlike hair falling across its knobby shoulders. “But you are of the forest, same as I.”

“If I am,” Deirdre grunted, turning the crank by degrees, “I don’t know it, and I don’t care to know. I’m myself, and naught else.”

“Tell me true, forest child.” It tucked its long fingers beneath its chin, peering over the mouth of the well to watch the bucket rise slowly from the depths. “Have you ever considered finding your fortune?”

“My—!” Startled, Deirdre’s hands slipped on the crank. The rope whistled as it unwound itself once more, the bucket falling back into the water with a mighty splash. She fought the urge to let out any number of oaths, hands balled into fists at her side. “What kind of foolish question is that?!” she managed, the words hissing out one by one between clenched teeth.

“Is it foolish?” the dryad replied simply. “How strange… you barely flinch when I accuse you of being fae, yet tremble like a newborn fawn when I mention leaving the forest. Why should that be? You’re no dryad, nor unicorn, nor fairie. There’s nothing tying you to this place.”

“Do I look like a plucky youth to you?” she huffed, narrowing her eyes at the brazen creature. “I’m no maiden, nor am I an old crone with nothing better to do than wander up and down the lane. Of course I’ve no intention of finding my fortune! I’m content with my life, and know better than to leave it behind on a whim.”

“But what of your dear mortal parents? Do you not wish for their comfort?”

“If you must know, they’ve comfort enough to last several lifetimes.” Deirdre hurriedly turned the crank, lest she be somehow forced to exert herself a third time. “My brother found his fortune and was back home by the time he was two and twenty.”

And ought to have, she added smartly to herself, seeing as he was the eldest son of a poor woodcutter. His fortune was practically laid out for the taking.

“I think you should go, too.” The dryad ran its long fingers through its hair, the extra joint curling the ends. They fell to its wooden skin with a wet slap. “If you were to venture out into the world, you would certainly find fortune.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” she replied dryly, filling her vessel with fresh, clean water. “Now, off with you!” She swung the empty bucket at the dryad’s head, purposefully falling short of her mark. It flicked its tail at her, falling backwards over the stones and back down the well shaft. “You’d best be gone by the time I get back!” she called down after it, her stern voice echoing back at her. Its wooden giggle faded into silence, dry and crackling as old lumber when put to the flame.

Finding my fortune. Shaking her head, Deirdre shouldered the vessel and turned to make the dreaded uphill climb back to the cottage in the clearing. What a notion! Me, a woman grown! Adventures are for knight-hungry maidens and… woodcutter’s sons, she thought again, her mind on her brother.

For all her posturing, the dryad had been right about one thing: Deirdre wasa forest child. It was Timothy who had discovered her in the forest all those years ago, playing by himself while her parents cut wood in the timber. Perhaps something had befallen her birth parents on the road. Perhaps they were on a pilgrimage and had lost their way. Or perhaps they had simply left an unwanted child to the mercy of the fairies. Such things often happened, in the forest.

In any case, there was no trace of family to be had, and so they raised her as their own. And, in her opinion, she was all the better for it. The life of a woodcutter suited her far better than that of a pilgrim, or a noble lady, or a merchant’s daughter. Why would she ever want to leave?

If you were to venture out into the world….     

Had she been ten or fifteen years younger, she might have considered the dryad’s words a portent. To go into the world in search of fortune was one thing, but being certain of finding fortune was another. Many an adventurer would happily give their sword arm for that sort of luck. Yet here she was, throwing it away under the pretense of being too old.

“You’re not actually considering it, are you?” she mumbled to herself, struggling to climb the well-trodden footpath. The forest was her home, the only world she’d ever known. Even after Timothy’s triumphant return, she’d never cared to set foot beyond its leafy borders. He had been young, foolhardy, and resilient enough to face the dangers of the wider world head-on. Meanwhile, she was now older than her mother had been at the time of his leaving. To go running off in search of fortune was almost unthinkable.

And yet… if she was guaranteed success… would it not be foolish to ignore the call?

[pccyouthleader]

Hedgehog Hodgepodge: A Story of Espionage, Confusion, and an Evil Plan Gone Haywire

Chapter 6: International Man of Mystery

Shadow made his way to Tails’ lab, intent on asking the crafty fox to design something for him. During the melee that took place earlier, Aurora’s communicator had been shattered, and he felt personally responsible. He reached the lab and gave a firm knock on the door.

“Uh, hey Shadow!” said Tails when he opened the door. He stood fidgeting with a stylus and looking apprehensive. Shadow’s relationship with Sonic’s friends had never been very “warm and fuzzy.”

“Tails,” acknowledged Shadow. “May I come in? I have a little project I’d like you to undertake.”

“Sure,” said Tails, stepping back to let Shadow by. “Let’s head over to the workbench where CC is.”

Shadow pulled out the broken communicator he had slipped from Aurora’s bag when she was checking on her mother. He handed it to Tails, who let out a brief whistle.

“This thing’s been through the ringer!” he said, turning it around in his hands. “What happened?”

“It belongs to Aurora,” replied Shadow. “It sustained major damage during a, uh, scuffle.”

Tails narrowed his eyes at Shadow. “You broke it, didn’t you?”

Shadow simply nodded. 

“Well, that’s no problem! What do you want me to do exactly? I’m not so sure this much damage can be repaired,” Tails said, noting it had missing parts.

“Can you make a new one for her?” asked Shadow.

“You came to the right place!” replied Tails. “I’ll make a her one with all the latest technology! I’ll even make it her favorite color!” Tails was getting excited thinking of the possibilities.

“Good,” said Shadow. “Spare no expense. When can I pick it up?”

Tails thought a minute. “For Aurora? I’ll have it ready for you by 4:00!”

“Sounds good,” replied Shadow with a sly grin. He knew that fox would fast track anything for Aurora.

When he turned to leave the lab, he saw the award Aurora had mentioned earlier. It stood in a glass case near the exit, so he walked over to examine it. The trophy stood about a foot tall and was shaped like an obelisk. It’s jet black shell was like none he’d ever seen. The certificate lay flat on the shelf next to it. The trophy looked legitimate enough, but the award certificate was very suspicious. Several words, including Tails’ last name, had been misspelled.

Shadow walked back over to Tails. “Aurora mentioned that you had never heard of the award committee that gave you that prize.”

Tails nearly jumped out of his skin. He had already engrossed himself in the task of building her new communicator. Plus, Shadow had a way of startling everyone.

“Yeah, that was a new one on me,” he replied, embarrassed. Clearing his throat, he continued. “The committee just stopped by one day with the award… two rather strange-acting guys. They said they had seen my work at the Global Automation Fair.”

“Strange-acting in what way?” Shadow asked, crossing his arms.

“They just seemed kind of… jumpy, I guess. They didn’t really have a whole lot to say. The whole ordeal was over in five minutes.”

“Hmmm…” came the reply from Shadow. “May I look more closely at the trophy?” he asked.

“Sure,” said Tails, shrugging. Why was Shadow so interested anyway? 

Shadow walked to the display case and opened the glass door. The trophy’s dark surface somehow bore a leathery look. Placing his hand around it, he was taken by surprise to feel the relic begin to warm under his touch. Withdrawing his hand, he called to Tails over his shoulder.

“Have you noticed anything odd about this trophy?”

“Geez, he’s obsessed…” Tails muttered under his breath. “Nope,” he said aloud, hoping Shadow would leave him to his work.

Closing the cabinet, Shadow turned and left the lab, deep in thought.

“Is he always so… mysterious?” asked CC when the door closed.

“That’s Shadow for you,” said Tails. “You never really know what to expect.”

“Hasn’t he been both friend and foe to your group in the past?” CC was searching her internal files for memories of Shadow that she had gleaned from others.

“Yeah,” said Tails, “but I think his feelings for Aurora have solidified the friendship part. According to Sonic, it’s very likely that Shadow is in love.”

CC was intrigued, but saw that Tails was once again trying his best to concentrate on the new communicator. She filed the conversation away for another time.

[jusalilweird]

20 Questions for Fic Writers!

Tagged by @silverinerivers! I am also procrastinating 🤝

1. How many works do you have on ao3? 270! I used to be very prolific in high school, but I've slowed down since college XD

2. What’s your total ao3 word count? 910,686

3. What fandoms do you write for? Tower of God, and MCYT, mainly Hermitcraft and hermit-adjacent series (Life Series, Evo, MCC, anything where a hermit may be featured)

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? The two fandoms I write for have a pretty huge fandom size difference (based on fics alone, Hermitcraft has about 4x the amount of ToG's), so the kudos difference is very drastic. Also, since I've been writing ToG for quite some time now, my most kudosed ToG fics are just the first ones I've written, since they've been around the longest. So I'll just post my most kudosed Hermitcraft fic, and my two most kudosed ToG fics, one for pre-anime and post-anime (due to the fandom explosion in between)

lightning often strikes twice - ToG, 2k, rated G, Eduan and Khun interacting in the data world

Mornings - ToG, 800 words, rated G KhunBam sleepy morning cuddles

and the wind will remake all that time has worn away - Hermitcraft, 13k, rated T, a fic featuring a bunch of hermits curious about Grian's new wings

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I do my best! I like interacting with readers :D

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Ooo, hmm... *filters my fics by Angst tag* *67 fics appear* Uh. Thus Kindly I Scatter is one of my first angst fics ever, and evidently it's hurt a lot of people XD. But I'll go with Ache, the first fic for one of my month challenges. That one was fun to write :D

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? I haven't written many multichaps, so I don't really have one that builds up to a happy ending. But Memory Lane is a nice fluffy one ^^

8. Do you get hate on fic? Not really, I think most of my comments have been pretty chill. And I'm not too active on social media, so I don't really pay attention if anything's been said there.

9. Do you write smut? Best part of turning 18.

10. Do you write crossovers? Not really, unless you count stuff from different MCYT series. I think it can be a big vague on what constitutes a crossover, because ccs can be part of different series

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of, and I hope not.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes! It's always an honor when someone wants to translate/podfic/create other derivative works off my own <3

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yes! Kings and Prophets as a raffle gift fic for a fandom event. It was very fun to write (and ended up about 9x the original predicted length). Still one of my favorite fics <3

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship? KhunBam, what else XD Started with them, still hung up on them

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but probably won’t? Last I checked (a few years ago), I had 136k words worth of WIPs in my graveyard, and it's only grown since. I did have this one Gods AU KhunBam fic called Post-Immortem that I remember planning extensively, but unfortunately, I only got a few chapters in before I got bored XD. Multichaps tend to be difficult for me.

16. What are your writing strengths? I really like worldbuilding! Fantasy has always been my favorite genre, so I love writing AUs. I think I'm also decent at writing action scenes (Doing martial arts for most of my life has helped, I think)

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Characterization can take me a while to get, and also I'm not very good with writing multichaps. Long plot buildups aren't really my thing.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I've never done it extensively for a long fic, but I've done it in a few oneshots. I have some knowledge of Spanish from school, and I can speak Mandarin, but my writing is ehhhhh. I think it's fun!

19. First fandom you wrote for? Tower of God, whoo! And it hasn't changed XD

20. Favourite fic you’ve written? Oh hmmmmm, Like Seeds Scattered Across the Sky probably (beloved fae fic :3), but Dear Fellow Traveler is pretty close as well, although that one isn't finished yet. It's taken me a long time to finish, but if all goes to plan, it'll be done by the end of the month ^^

[justanotherkinrequest]

mod tommy / mod 🍎

howdy ! i'm mod tommy ( previously seen as mod kris ). i use he / they / fauna / disc , and also masc + neutral terminology . nice to meet you !

( note ; i am only accepting requests for my whitelisted sources as nothing else is really interesting me at the moment =[ )

whitelist requests only

- stimboards

a grid of 9 gifs that are meant to induce stimming or just an overall happy feeling. often centered around both a kintype and themes / aesthetics.

- moodboards

a grid of 9 static images centered around a theme , aesthetic , and / or kintype .

-kinboards

a grid of 9 gifs of your kin . can include items your kin had in your media ( ie. a plush they held ) , or other people from your media ( such as friends or partners ) .

- pendulum readings

a divination request that answers a question between two choices (ie. yes or no , this kintype or that kintype , etc )

- recipe kits

a set of recipes that are related to a kintype. they may be centered around the kintypes personality , or sometimes can be used to be closer to memories from said kintype. don't forget to list any allergies or taste preferences !

- decor kits

a set of links to items that you can use to decorate your house or room that relate to your kintype. 

- care kits

a set of links to various items that may help you calm down , destress , or anything that you consider self care ( ie. fidgeting ).

- names , pronouns , titles

a group of provided names , pronouns , and titles you can refer to yourself as. these can also be requested separately.

- doodles

a silly little doodle of your kintype ! feel free to ask for any additional features that you want added !

- sprite edits / colour-ins

used to make your source / media sprites or images look a bit closer to what you remember ! i will not do these for anything that does not have official artwork ( ie. real life fiction , mcyt characters , etc. ). colour-ins are moreso for manga or black and white sources / medias.

- shufflemancy

a divination request that lets songs answer your questions ! i can try my best to interpret them , but be aware that i’m still new to divination and may not provide much.

whitelist ( bolded = favourite , likely to complete quicker )

- general

fictives , kins , therians , copinglinks / copingkins

- tv shows

bee and puppycat , cartoon network shows , disney cartoons , jojo's bizarre adventure ( part 5 mainly ) , monster high ( g1 & g2 ) , my hero academia / boku no hero academia , my little pony ( g4 ) , pokemon , the promised neverland , villainous

- movies

barbie movies , equestria girls movies , five nights at freddy's movie , heathers , heathers : the musical , it chapter 1 ( 2017 ) , mean girls , mean girls : the musical , monster high ( all movies )

- books

my hero academia manga , the promised neverland manga , warrior cats

- video games

billie bust up , blush blush ( sfw ) , cookie run kingdom , cookie run ovenbreak , deltarune , doki doki literature club , five nights at freddy's ( all games ) , little misfortune, minecraft , night in the woods , omori , pokemon , undertale

- online media

dream smp , empires smp , generation loss , hazbin hotel , helluva boss , hermitcraft , lumine webtoon , origins smp , qsmp, the amazing digital circus , traffic smp / life series

- themes

agere , petre

- other

aus and fanfics of any media / source listed above , bursonas ( ie. simpbur , argbur , etc ) , conceptkin , mcyt factives* , otherkin , placekin , songkin

*i will not do factive requests from any other source

blacklist

- general

factkin , factives from sources other than mcyt

- tv shows

adult animation , inside job

- video games

pico's school , newgrounds games in general , the coffin of andy and leyley

- online media

creepypastas , homestuck , spooky month , vocaloid , zoophobia , more tba

- characters

q!forever , c!dream , cc!dream , cc!forever , cc!schlatt

- dynamics / themes / elements

cannibalism , extremely bright flashing , homophobia , incest , snowgr@ve / weird route ( deltarune ) , transphobia , yandere / obsession

- aesthetics / 'cultures'

babygirl , bodikon, coquette / nymphet ( this includes any subcultures of the aesthetics ie. key west kitten or bubblegum coquette ) , dreamcore , traumacore , weirdcore

- other

live action media / sources ( unless specified in whitelist ) , nsfw / kink / fetish related , oc / non-canon kins ( does not include crossover kins ie. dsmp x crk )

please do not tag my posts with anything on my blacklist either , thank you

replycons + creds

tommyinnit replycons by ; final-kin

angel dust gif replycons by ; mod 🦜 on this blog :D

[spacemonkeysalsa]

God of Ambivalence

A tiefling Artificer splits a large stone on a beach to discover a one handed-wizard inside.

Pairing - OC/Gale, Shadowheart/Lae'zel but there will be more as it goes on.

Read Chapter One on Ao3

Read Chapter Two on Ao3

Read Chapter Three on Ao3

Read Chapter Four on Ao3

Read Chapter Five on Ao3

Read Chapter Six on Ao3

Read Chapter Seven on Ao3

Or read Chapter Seven below the cut I'm dumb and forgot to post this chapter, but I'm also awesome and made this cambion who's pov we are inside of, Erakis, in CC so here's a pic of him complete with cursor on his face:

Before he knew where he was, before he could identify the bird calls around him, before he even recognized the warmth of the sun, rather than a slower, heavy heat of hell, Erakis knew there was something alive in his mouth. The soft, squishy creature was writhing as his teeth inadvertently started to close around its malleable little body. 

He spat it out, wiping at his lips so furious that he snagged the back of his hand on his extended canines. Dark maroon skin breaking and bleeding. The slug would make it, but squirmed indignantly in the mud where it had landed after being expelled from Erakis’ mouth. He sat up and checked his surroundings, head rattled and sore, memories foggy, and eyesight not much better. He was covered in tiny invertebrates, sunk into less than his calve’s height of water, and mud. The only reason his lungs weren’t filled with mud, water and slugs was because his upper body was caught on a bush, snagged on his leather pauldrons, holding him above the gentle creep of the river’s water.

He started to pick the slugs off, noticing that roughly half of them were leeches. When he tried to rise up out of the water he groaned, to see it was much more than half. He didn’t manage to straighten up all the way though, as his armor was still stuck on the bush sitting out of the side of the ravine.

How hurt was he? His head felt tender, but nothing beyond a hangover. His wings seemed alright, which was a relief. He relied on them more than he wanted to admit, and when they did get injured, it felt like it took longer for them to heal than the rest of his body.

He should have dodged the thunderwave. Never mind its range and power, he’d withstood them before, he’d even managed to use the wind to take flight rather than be knocked off course. The wizard had got him though, there was no way around it. He couldn’t even manage to get his bearings before he crashed, even with the extra height from the drop into the ravine. How fucking embarrassing.

With part of it still caught on his leather armor, Erakis unstrapped his pauldrons rather than continue to try and fight the bush to release him.

Quick as his fingers allowed, the leeches came free, fat and fed. One would hope that cambion blood was hot enough to dissaude them, but the little bastards loved it. He found a few on his tail and whipped them off in one swipe through the air. He hoped there weren’t too many clinging to his back and ass, as he didn’t have the best vantage point for those angles of himself, and trying to bend in the right direction to find those angles was making it painfully clear that he really had hit his skull quite hard. Horns weren’t chipped though. Small favors. There wasn’t a great deal of blood through the thicker parts of his wings, and that seemed to have deterred them from congregating there. He unlaced his trousers and bent all the way over, sure he could feel something wriggling around on the underside of his cock, but didn’t find a leech there, thank whatever diabolic psychopath wasn’t quite so pissed off at him today.

“So, what are we dealing with?” a grating, nearly whining voice caught him by surprise and he cursed under his breath. He didn’t look up, didn’t try to correct his incredibly undignified stance. Mol didn’t respect him anyway; it hardly mattered in what state she found him.

“I would be the last to know,” Erakis pointed out to her, in a grumble, still refusing to cease the search of his privates for any additional passengers. When he didn’t straighten up, he felt all the bones through his spin and wing-joints click into place, viciously snapping like they were angry with him too. He faced Mol, where she stood in a wide stance, withstanding the river’s current. Mol was a diminutive tiefling, the kind of woman who looked like she probably didn’t have enough to eat growing up. Her dark red skin was patterned with tattoos, some of them old and fading, some of them fresh. Her warlock’s mark crossed with the infernal script lining her left arm. Messy black hair blended into the oldest marks on her, black tattoos around her eyes. Her flame orange eyes pierced through him, betraying rage that he wasn’t sure he’d earned.

Had she just portaled there? Without splashing? Gods, she made his boiling blood run cold, and not in the fun way.

“Feeling sorry for yourself?” Mol rolled her glaring eyes at him. Stretching, as though watching him had stirred some sympathetic feelings of discomfort in her own body. Something popped. Her hips, maybe? Slight and thin, she looked like a child compared to the big cambion, but he knew better than to dismiss her as weak or vulnerable. Like a lot of warlocks, she was imbued with a great deal of diabolic power, and unlike a lot of warlocks, she was exceptionally skilled with the blade in the sheath on her back. “Did the wizard hurt you?” she taunted. 

“You’re welcome to take a different approach. No need for me to be involved, where my uses are limited,” Erakis had to keep his tone civil with Mol. He’d slipped up before and suffered for it. The dynamic was unthinkable a few generations ago. A half-fiend, cowed by a tiefling warlock? Even now, he was sure some would raise an eyebrow to hear her speak to him like this.

“Where’s your glaive, Erakis?” Mol challenged him, given the slightly twisted smile she offered, he was afraid that she already knew.

“I uh… he absorbed it?” Erakis stripped the last of his armor off, finding a few more uninvited guests hanging onto his stomach.

“What?” Mol actually sounded surprised by that. Alright, maybe she didn’t know much more than he did.

“He absorbed it,” Erakis repeated. “The wizard. The wizard you sent me to fetch, he looked at the glaive and sort of just… it evaporated and flowed into his body, and then he thunderwaved me into the ravine—it was a dazzling two seconds.” He stripped off the shirt he had under his armor as well, suddenly sure that the logical conclusion of all this was to simply get naked and make sure he didn’t miss anything. He sighed, hoping that Mol would scram before it came to that. “What do you want me to do?”

“It’s not what I want,” Mol snapped, but the anecdote about the glaive had rattled her. “It’s what he wants—and he’s already decided to take a different approach, yes. For now. Don’t go far. Don’t be seen. Disguise yourself, for pity’s sake? You stand out.”

Erakis just nodded, wringing his shirt and feeling the gravity of defeat. In a community as small as Moonhaven Anew, any outsider would stand out, but a cambion was more than an outsider. That was an invader. A threat on sight.

Mol cursed, “He’s going to be pissed about that glaive.”

“He can add it to my debt,” Erakis rolled his shoulders and turned away from Mol as she fired up her portal again.

“What debt?” she laughed cruelly, “you’re a free agent, Erakis. Just like me.” He finally heard a splash from her as she deliberately smacked the running water of the river with her tail.

Gods, what a joke. He threw a leech in the direction that she’d vanished.

She was right about the disguise, but he didn’t relish it. He’d seen other cambions slide in and out of a less socially scandalous form with no problems, no visible discomfort even. He didn’t know what their secrets were, but for him, taking on a human form was always excruciating. It was worse than the time Rapheal had his wings nailed to his shoulders. And the worst part was that he knew the responsible choice was to do it before he climbed out of the ravine. He shouldn’t risk being seen again, shouldn’t give anyone any reason to think there was still a cambion in the area.

If he was a smart fiend, he would have gone in disguise from the beginning. It might have bought him a few seconds to pretend to be a human traveler. But, he’d had no reason to think they knew he was coming.

Then again, he’d also had no idea what he was up against. He knew better than to ask too many questions when Mol came to him with a job to do: “Moonhaven Anew. I’ll get you a portal. It’s a little piece of nowhere in a bigger piece of nowhere. There’s a wizard in distress. Fetch him, don’t hurt him, but kill anyone who’s with him. Bring him back here in one piece and you’ll get a treat. ” 

Whatever she’d promised was forfeit now, he was sure, not that any ‘treat’ from one of Raphael’s favorite pets was much of a motivation. The bigger motivation had all along been the simple, desperate desire not to be the person who hadn’t done the Archdevil a favor when he asked.

[dreamedge]

AO3 tag game :3

shout-out to @ragecndybars for the tag! <3 I got to think a lot about some older fics and also the deep, eternal impact CC has has on my soul, so I'm emotional rn lol.

How many works do you have on AO3?

21! Which is, a lot more than I thought tbh. I've been writing these long, long fics for so many years now that I've sort of forgotten about all the little ones I've managed in between. And even the long ones add up after a while. Though, I did only import a small selection of my fics from ff.net, so the back catalogue of stuff I've actually written is way longer. ... That's fine, some of that stuff can stay buried lol.

Even at 21 though... *Looks at my shoebox of story ideas and outlines* Its... its still not enough. Its, its just no where close to even making a dent in everything I want to write eventually.

What’s your total AO3 word count?

650,444. I'm pretty sure at least half of that is entirely in CC, and another quarter is in can i bleed. Which, tbh I'm not sure how I feel about that lol. Deeply introspective fics, my passion, my talent, my beloathed. Some part of me does miss simply writting 5k chapters and calling it done for a week. Not all of me though.

How many fandoms have you written for, and what are they?

Only 10! That number probably isn't going to grow much either. I tend to gravitate towards bigger projects these days rather than simple oneshots or even like, 5 chapter long stuff, so I tend to go all in on a small number of fandoms instead of spreading my attention around, even though I want to.

Cardcaptor Sakura

Digimon

Dragon Age Inquisition

Percy Jackson

Persona 3

Power Rangers RPM

RWBY

Teen Wolf

Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle

BNHA

Top five fics by kudos:

A Most Precious Thing (Tsubasa): tbh this being number one is an absolute surprise, though I'm very happy about it. According to AO3, this was published almost 10 years ago, will be 10 years exactly in just a few weeks, but people still regularly give it kudos and comments. It was a complete experiment, style wise; I'd never written anything like it before, I've written one thing like it since, and I'm just so thankful that people loved it so much despite the inexperience behind it.

Of the Woods (Teen Wolf/CCS): This being so high up is not a surprise, and I'm annoyed about it. Mostly bc I know its only so high up bc its for such a big fandom, written during said fandom's height. I think its probably one of the fic I've soured the most on since I wrote it; its just not that great.

Crests Corrupted (Digimon) : Oh, here it is. My masterpiece. Maybe its weird to say that of the fic that's only 3rd, but it truly is, and to see a fic I have put so much of myself into being even this high and this appreciated means so much to me.

can i bleed within your love (Persona 3) : Hi! I don't have much to say about this one, only that I'm so happy with the sheer outpouring of love this has gotten, and I can't wait to finish it.

True Feelings Chocolate (Digimon) : Oh, um, I sort of forgot about you. What are you doing here? ...This is awkward, I really didn't expect this to do so well. Its just a silly little fic I wrote for valentine's one year. I'm glad it did well?

Do you respond to comments?

I try! I don't succeed a lot of the time; generally I'm very tired after posting a chapter and then its been like two weeks and responding feels awkward. Also I tend to ramble, if you haven't noticed yet, some sometimes I'll just close out of responding to avoid any chance of me accidentally spoiling or saying something I shouldn't. I'm... working on it.

What’s the fic with the angstiest ending you’ve ever written?

Oh that's easy. Its the RWBY one, Your Love on Your Sleeve and Your Pain Buried Deep. I don't tend to write angsty fics, I like happy endings, I think this is the only one I've ever written and I'm glad to keep it that way.

Do you write crossovers?

I've written one before, the TW one that's up there. I generally tend to prefer fusions over straight up crossovers; I've gotten several P3 fusions planned, a PJ fusion, the bnha fic I wrote is a fusion. I just, I love fusions. I greatly prefer writing them over cross-overs generally.

Have you ever gotten hate on a fic?

Once or twice, but that was ages ago and I've mostly blocked it from my memory. The fandoms I'm in now have been full of such lovely people, I've been really lucky.

Do you write smut?

Smut, as in the fic happens to have a sex scene? Not typically, but I'm not against doing so when the need calls. Smut, as in the entire point of the fic in the sex scene? No. I'm actually very bad at it. I'll do it if I must but I find even writing kiss scenes awkward, let alone everything else. I will gladly leave it to people much better at their craft them I am.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

To the best of my knowledge? No I don't think so.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I've had people offer? I don't know if they ever did or even if, in my general ineptitude when it comes to responding to people, I actually agreed they could.

Hey, if anyone wants to translate my works, feel free!

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

... Hey, thats not fair.

Hmmm, well, after much thinking I'm gonna go with Kurogane/Fai from TRC. Other ships may currently have their hooks in my brain, but kurofai is a big comfort to me still, I really love them. And lets be honest. Ain't no one doing it like those two.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish, but don’t think you ever will?

I have, its not posted anywhere, and technically I've barely started writing it, its almost entirely outline rn, but I do have a p3 fantasy au thats just... fucking massive. Its a huge project just from the outline i have, long even in comparison to CC, so long that I doubt I'd ever finish it to the point where I've barely started it.

What are your writing strengths?

Combat. I write a damn good fight scene and I know it. I take a lot of pride in that. I also tend to have a pretty solid grasp of pacing on an overall level for longer fics. Per chapter pacing gets a bit more eh, but the overall pacing of arcs and stuff for my longer fics, I generally know what I'm doing.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I never know when to shut the fuck up! This is a problem I've known I've had for years. I just let characters go on these long, internal monologues, which is only acceptable because I also write deeply introspective fics. However, it tends to slow chapters down a lot and after a bit, characters repeat themselves and its a problem.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fics?

I'm incapable bc I'm monolingual but I've always loved fics that use other languages! Maybe I can do that some day lol.

What was the first fandom you ever wrote for?

Yknow, if I dug far far far back in my ff.net account it would probably be Naruto? I think. My memory is fuzzy and I'm not actually going to go look. However, thats the first one I posted.

The *very* first fic i ever wrote, I have a very clear memory of for some reason. It was a FFX2/Series of Unfortunate Events crossover, I was in the fourth grade, I thought it was the coolest thing. Hm, memories.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written so far?

I actually have two answers for this, which, I know is against the spirit and rule of the question BUT. Too bad.

One is A Most Precious Thing, bc it was such an experience to write. Despite being 10 years old I still love it. It was, as I said above, an utter experiment. It is written entirely in 2nd person, which is not actually a choice? I made? Um, I tried, very hard in the beginning, to write in in my standard 3rd, and it didn't work. The story actively refused to be written as such and I kept ending up back in 2nd. And at some point I just gave up and wrote the rest of it as such. And it taught me, so much, about point of view and how that relates to emotional distance, and really, but trusting myself with my writing, that even if I can't say why this is happening, somewhere deep down there is a reason to it and I should trust that. As a writer who takes my craft very seriously, this one has a soft spot in my heart bc of all of that.

However, Crests Corrupted owns a piece of my soul that I will never get back. It is my thesis, my masterpiece, It has defined years of my life, I have poured hundreds of thousands of words into it, I have given it so much of my heart and my pain. It has redefined how I approach writing, it has shaped, totally, the style in which I write today. Even years from now, even years after I finally finish it whenever that is, I don't think I will ever be truly free of it. It is my favorite. How can't it be?

[azsazz]

Sarah never confirmed that Azriel is getting a book, but she did say in an interview that Azriel’s story (also Mor’s & Elain’s) is one she looks forward to telling (and not just because of his bedroom habits) and by the end of ACOSF we should know who use getting the next book. She said to her best friend Steph (who is a big Azriel fan) that she wants her to read his bonus chapter and text her all her theories. (Steph said after HOFAS she believes his book is next but she’s not the author so I won’t believe anything until Bloomsbury/SJM says anything) She said in another interview (there’s a video of it on Tumblr) that each book will feature a couple getting together. One couple per book and no multiple povs like TOG/CC. I think Bloomsbury & Sarah confirmed two books and one novella. And to be fair, Sarah did write Tower of Dawn, and she has multiple pov of male characters. ACOSF was Nesta’s book with Cassian as the other pov. @yazthebookish and @bookofmirth have many posts on why Azriel could be getting his own book and other things that are interesting!💙

Ahhh okay okay, thank you for sending me this! Honestly, there are so many things I would love to see happen in this series but we are five books in and as much potential as a lot of the characters have, I have no doubt that some will be forgotten, unfortunate as that is. Obviously I'd love to learn about my baby azzy and eris, lu, even tam, elain, etc. there are so many characters that have served or alluded to serving important roles but it's giving me a little cc vibes. tog seemed way more thought out and each character had their roles and yeah, there were a few that we missed out on but i feel content for the most part (NEED TO KNOW ABOUT MY BOY FENRYS PLZ)

I'll be excited with whatever tidbits we get and then i'll just have to keep making up the rest i guess because i'm delulu like that.

[tottwritesfanfic]

Hope’s Fire State of Play - Chapter 37

This post is intended to be a quick (well, compared to re-reading the entire story, it’s actually still like 1200 words long) refresher for people who have already read Hope’s Fire up to and including chapter 37. As the last update was all the way back in 2018, and there are a lot of moving parts in this story, (as well as a lot of characters), I figured it might be helpful! Obviously, if you haven’t read all of the story up until this point, there are tremendous spoilers ahead, so please bear that in mind before clicking on the readmore.

So! Where is everyone, and what’s going on?

As of the end of Chapter 37 of Hope’s Fire, it is the early hours of Tuesday morning (it’s actually Tuesday 1st June 2004, although the full date isn’t especially relevant to the plot), and the story features: 12 Chosen Children, 12 Digimon Partners, 7/8 parents (who are actively involved for the time being), and about 20 different characters across the various areas of the story’s main setting. I tend to refer to this as the “Mirror World”, or MW for short, because the day/night cycle is the opposite of Earth’s. This also means that it is Tuesday afternoon in the MW. (Though that much is pretty arbirtrary and just helps to keep track of the story, it’s functionally just 12 hours offset and doesn’t much matter which way.)

The scale of Hope’s Fire makes it a little overwhelming to keep track of, honestly, which is why I tend to break the story down into “arcs” - not in terms of plot, but in terms of location.

At present, there are five main areas that the characters are spread across: Earth, the Digital World, and then three locations within the MW: “The City”, “The Forest City”, and “The Mountain Fastness”.

Of these five arcs, Earth and the Digital World (DW for short!) are pretty straightforward. Most of the kids and parents involved are using Taichi and Hikari’s apartment as their Earth-based hub, aside from poor Mr Ishida who is stuck at home all by himself, because Yamato and Sora disappeared from his apartment, and no one on Earth (or the DW) currently knows where they are, or what has happened to them.

In the Digital World, Daisuke and Iori are preparing to defend against signs of corruptions or distortions, because both the DW and the MW seem to have similar problems with creatures crossing between worlds and/or being corrupted as a result. This is a Bad Thing. Miyako is shortly to join them, because honestly, an army of two isn’t great, which means that Yamato and Takeru’s mother Natsuko is about to take over the role of liaison. She’s using Ken’s laptop, which runs chat software that connects to all the D-Terminals, and the phones of the older Chosen Children (CC) who don’t have D-Terminals.

One of the biggest challenges they face, therefore, is the fact that in the MW, the signal is spotty and often unreliable, and the CC are still learning its limitations. At times it has cut out for no obvious reason, leaving some of the CC dangerously under-informed. For example, there is signal in the Forest City, but not in the Mountain Fastness.

Speaking of the Fastness! This is where both Ken and Jou are, along with their partners. Jou accidentally dragged Ken and Wormmon into the MW via a Fear Gate, which came as something of a shock to everyone. Jou was injured in this incident, breaking both his foot and the frame of his glasses. This puts them in a doubly awkward position, as the Fastness seems to be rather disorganised and poorly resourced, and they are currently trying to persuade the local inhabitants to help them link up with the others. How they will manage this with Jou’s injury and the fact that the Fastness largely regards the world outside as impassable? That remains to be seen.

Meanwhile, in the Forest City, Taichi, Koushiro and Takeru are all recovering from various wounds and fatigue they suffered over the last few days. Taichi fared best, with just a few cuts and scrapes, but Koushiro and Takeru were both badly injured by a fall on Sunday, and these injuries were made worse by their lack of immediate access to proper medical treatment. Despite breaking his wrist, Koushiro is already impatient and trying to research as best he can with only one good hand and no laptop, while Takeru has basically only just woken up as he was already injured before the fall, which…he’s not having a good time, okay? He’s been better. They have all been reunited with their partners, which is a big source of relief for Koushiro…and also Hikari!

Hikari is in the Forest City too, but had a very different experience getting there, and is the only CC to have made a deliberate return journey to Earth in order to resupply, (bringing Alwyn, a resident of the Forest City, with her when she did so). After being separated from Tailmon when her partner was dragged back to Earth without her, Hikari made the unfortunate discovery that, unlike in the DW, their electronic devices are more than capable of running out of power in the MW.

Unaware that the other three were on their way to the Forest City, she was forced to put herself in harm’s way to get her devices working, and carry back a message to the others on Earth. Hikari returned to the Forest City with a large selection of batteries, and Tentomon in tow, and is currently trying to acclimate herself to the time difference between worlds. She is also happily reunited with Tailmon, who had previously returned to the MW with Taichi and the others.

Despite some of the aforementioned communication hiccoughs, for the most part, everyone mentioned so far is on the same page in terms of what they know about the others and their progress. This is definitely not the case when it comes to the final plot arc, centred in The City.

What is known is that Yamato was exploring the location, and vanished in the early hours of Sunday morning. Following his disappearance, Sora also vanished from his apartment in equally (if not more!) mysterious circumstances late on Sunday evening. Both have their partners with them, but (with one exception!) this is all that anyone else knows.

In fact, Yamato was apprehended by soldiers of The City on Sunday, who mistook him for an enemy spy, and interrogated him as a result. Following the trauma of this interrogation, Yamato was thrown back to Earth via a Fear Gate, at which point he accidentally dragged Sora and Piyomon over to the MW, as he was fearful for Gabumon’s safety. Sora was then also subjected to an interrogation by a mysterious and unpleasant person known as Lord Cahir, who afterwards erased Sora’s memories of this encounter.

As a direct result of this, not only do the others not know where Yamato and Sora (and their partners) are, but the two of them are also very much isolated and ignorant of what has been happening elsewhere. Additionally, having spent several days with little food or water in cold dungeons, neither they nor their partners are faring particularly well.

However! Having found herself amid a mysterious city herself, Mimi had been looking for them, convinced that she found herself in the city Yamato had described before his disappearance. After a few false starts and dangerous encounters which left her both shaken and wounded, Mimi managed to charm another band of soldiers roaming the surface, who agreed to guide her to meet Their Graces, rulers of The City, as she had an important message from the Forest City thanks to the others passing it along.

Whilst travelling to meet Their Graces, Mimi became aware that Yamato had been apprehend there a few days earlier, and made the obvious assumption that Sora must be with him. Furious that her friends were being mistreated, Mimi immediately disregarded her own injuries, stormed off to meet Their Graces, and demanded they be released.

Chapter 37 ends with Yamato, Gabumon, Sora, and Piyomon being summoned from the dungeons, for reasons neither they nor their captors understand…

[xelphinanyxalis]

New Chapters from "𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕚𝕗 ℂ𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕧𝕠𝕚𝕔𝕖𝕤....? (𝚁𝙴𝚆𝚁𝙸𝚃𝙴)"

Part 3.

- [Chapter 16](https://www.wattpad.com/1490406613-%C3%A7h%C3%A5%C3%BE%E2%80%A0%C3%AAr-16-%C3%A4-%C3%9F%C3%AFg-%C2%A7%C3%AF%C2%A7%E2%80%A0%C3%AAr%27%C2%A7-m%C3%AF%C2%A7%E2%80%A0%C3%A5k%C3%AA)

- [Chapter 17](https://www.wattpad.com/1491034816-%F0%90%8C%82%F0%90%8B%85%F0%90%8C%80%F0%90%8C%90%F0%90%8C%95%F0%90%8C%84%F0%90%8C%93-%E1%9B%91%E1%92%A3-%F0%90%8C%95%F0%90%8B%85%F0%90%8C%84-%F0%90%8C%90%F0%90%8C%80%F0%90%8C%90%F0%90%8C%84%F0%90%8C%93-%F0%90%8C%94%F0%90%8C%82%F0%90%8B%85%EA%9D%8B%EA%9D%8B%F0%90%8C%8B)

- [Chapter 18](https://www.wattpad.com/1491471595-%E1%B6%9C%CA%B0%E1%B5%83%E1%B5%96%E1%B5%97%E1%B5%89%CA%B3-%C2%B9%E2%81%B8-%E1%B4%AC%E2%81%BF-%E1%B5%81%E2%81%BF%CA%B7%E1%B5%83%E2%81%BF%E1%B5%97%E1%B5%89%E1%B5%88-%E1%B4%B0%E2%81%B1%CB%A2%E1%B5%97%CA%B3%E1%B5%83%E1%B6%9C%E1%B5%97%E2%81%B1%E1%B5%92%E2%81%BF-%E1%B4%AE%E1%B5%98%E1%B5%97-%E1%B4%AC-%E1%B4%BA%E1%B5%89%CA%B7)

- [Chapter 19](https://www.wattpad.com/1491482155-%CC%A0c%CC%A0%CC%A0h%CC%A0a%CC%A0%CC%A0p%CC%A0%CC%A0t%CC%A0%CC%A0e%CC%A0%CC%A0r%CC%A0-%CC%A01%CC%A0%CC%A09%CC%A0-a%CC%A0%CC%A0n%CC%A0%CC%A0o%CC%A0%CC%A0t%CC%A0%CC%A0h%CC%A0%CC%A0e%CC%A0%CC%A0r%CC%A0)

- [Chapter 20](https://www.wattpad.com/1491499306-%CC%B6c%CC%B6%CC%B6h%CC%B6%CC%B6a%CC%B6%CC%B6p%CC%B6%CC%B6t%CC%B6%CC%B6e%CC%B6%CC%B6r%CC%B6-%CC%B62%CC%B6%CC%B60%CC%B6-%CC%B6h%CC%B6%CC%B6o%CC%B6%CC%B6p%CC%B6%CC%B6e%CC%B6)

Lost Chapters:

- [Lost Chapter Two](https://www.wattpad.com/1491569197-%C2%BB%C2%BB%F0%9F%85%BB%F0%9F%85%BE%F0%9F%86%82%F0%9F%86%83-%F0%9F%85%B2%F0%9F%85%B7%F0%9F%85%B0%F0%9F%85%BF%F0%9F%86%83%F0%9F%85%B4%F0%9F%86%81%E2%96%BA%F0%9F%85%83%F0%9F%85%86%F0%9F%84%BE)

- [Lost Chapter Three](https://www.wattpad.com/1491650752-%C2%BB%C2%BB%F0%9F%85%BB%F0%9F%85%BE%F0%9F%86%82%F0%9F%86%83-%F0%9F%85%B2%F0%9F%85%B7%F0%9F%85%B0%F0%9F%85%BF%F0%9F%86%83%F0%9F%85%B4%F0%9F%86%81%E2%96%BA%F0%9F%85%83%F0%9F%84%B7%F0%9F%85%81%F0%9F%84%B4%0%9F%84%B4)

- [Lost Chapter Five](https://www.wattpad.com/1492851318-%C2%BB%C2%BB%F0%9F%85%BB%F0%9F%85%BE%F0%9F%86%82%F0%9F%86%83-%F0%9F%85%B2%F0%9F%85%B7%F0%9F%85%B0%F0%9F%85%BF%F0%9F%86%83%F0%9F%85%B4%F0%9F%86%81%E2%96%BA%F0%9F%84%B5%F0%9F%84%B8%F0%9F%85%85%F0%9F%84%B4)

[walkingstackofbooks]

Trying to actually write a DS9 fic! I've decided to just post the first bit here, unedited, in an attempt to motivate me to continue on Thursday, when I next have time to come back to it ^_^

5 times Julian watched Miles die (and 1 time he didn't)

DS9's Visionary meets Supernatural's Mystery Spot: This story is set during an alternate Visionary, where Julian was affected by the chronotons instead of Miles, and he was stuck in a time loop where Miles kept dying.

There is very definitely butchery of medical procedures in this first chapter - I know nothing of anything, so please suspend your disbelief.

The call came, as it so often did, when Julian was already in the infirmary, patching an officer up. At this particular time, he was carefully removing shards of glass from an Andorian, who had been pushed to the ground when a brawl had started in Quark’s - unfortunately landing on top of a bottle which had been thrown to the ground seconds before. 

“Odo to Bashir.”

Julian motioned for a nurse to take over from him as he acknowledged the comm. “Bashir here”. 

“Doctor, Chief O’Brien has been stabbed by a Klingon. You’d better-”

“I’m on my way,” Julian replied, medkit already in hand and halfway out of the door. With Quark’s being directly opposite the infirmary, it was just as quick to run as it was to transport. 

He saw the Chief almost immediately after stepping into the bar. It didn’t look good, and as he approached it only seemed worse. He was well aware that a stab to the heart didn’t have to be fatal, but blood was gushing through the fingers of the ensign trying to put pressure on the wound, and his tricorder was showing him that it would take every ounce of skill he had to put the Chief back together. 

“Odo, are you able to staunch this wound at all?” he yelled, wondering if the shapeshifter’s abilities would result in a better seal than human hands. His mind was a blur of calculations, computing how long it would take to knit Mile’s heart back together - and how much time he had left to work that miracle.

“Doctor, I’m rather-”

“If you don’t try, Constable, O’Brien doesn’t have a chance. Bashir to infirmary - incoming stab wound, I need a biobed cleared and 20 ccs of heparin at the ready.” 

Odo had seemingly realised that this was no time to disobey the doctor’s orders, and swiftly took over the job of keeping O’Brien’s blood inside of him. As Julian had suspected, his efforts were far more successful than the ensign’s had been, and within seconds, Julian had initialised an emergency transport. Rematerialising in the infirmary, the two of them stood either side of a biobed, the Chief’s ever-weakening vitals now fully on display.

Julian took a second to check that the biobed’s readings were in line with his tricorder’s, and cursed - the full data forced his estimation of how long Miles had left to fall from five minutes to barely over two. But that was fine; Deep Space Nine had the technology to cope with that.

“Marin, I need the stasis chamber prepped and ready now. Jabara, where’s that heparin?” 

“Sir, the stasis chamber’s still due for repairs.” 

No. 

Fuck. 

How had he forgotten that? 

“Dammit, Miles, that was supposed to be at the top of your priority list!” he muttered, picking up a muscular regenerator, and trying to ignore the countdown that had taken residence in his brain. 1 minute 46 seconds. 

“What do you need me to do, Doctor?” Odo asked, and Julian had to take another precious second to translate the medical jargon he’d been about to let loose into language Odo would actually understand. 

“Simply put, the blade went through part of the Chief’s heart, and I have to mend it by going inside the wound. Keep as much of a seal around the wound and my regenerator as possible - but first I need to get in there.” Tools ready, Julian nodded at Odo to uncover part of the wound. Blood began oozing out immediately, although slower than before, now that the heparin was taking effect. Julian attempted to start his work, only to find that Odo was holding the regenerator fast. 

“Constable, I need to be able to move this,” Julian almost growled. 1 minute 22 seconds. He didn’t hear Odo’s apology, but felt the tool released, and hastily, carefully, began his work. 

1 minute 10 seconds. He didn’t have enough time. He supposed he could increase the speed - the heart wall would be thinner than it should be to function on its own, but it might be enough to save the Chief, and give him time to rebuild it fully later. 

1 minute 0 seconds. Yes. Yes, this was working, 23% of the gap was now filled. 

50 seconds. Steady now, careful - you don’t want to trap anything inside the heart that shouldn’t be there. Take five seconds to check the screen; yes, clear. 

40 seconds. Call for a nurse to be ready with the defibrillator on a very low setting. The delta inducer’s levels also need to checked - okay, they’re fine. 29% left to go.

37 seconds. No. Nononono. There’s still more time. There’s supposed to be more time.