#echoing the sentiment of prev

[good-beanswrites]

Fe Aspec Week Day 7: Free Day -- Legacy

This one took me forever to settle on something I liked -- I was toying around with some ideas about Lukas's epilogue text and the idea of legacy, as well as a bit of meta impact. A few scrapped drawings and 1k words later, I've got this 😂

As always, thank you so much for running this week!! 💜💚 I always have so much fun with the pieces, (it's been the only event week that I can regularly commit to because I always have a blast haha!) and seeing others' amazing work! It's been such a great time :D

Forsyth stepped back from his canvas. He wiped hair from his forehead, hoping he wasn’t smearing any paint there. He studied his work, then his model, then his work once more. He gave a decisive nod. 

“Well. I tried.”

Python choked back a laugh. “That’s not quite the confidence you want to hear from your portrait painter, you know.” He walked up to the canvas, but Forsyth was quick to angle it away from him. 

“Oh, hush, I wasn’t even painting you! I’ll have you know, it was rather difficult trying to paint something without having it in front of me.”

“What are you talkin’ about, Luke was sitting right there for hours!”

At his mention, Lukas perked up. He’d been lounging in front of Forsyth, his eyes lowered to sift through a pile of student writings. He’d been scribbling notes in the margins, absentmindedly angling his face this way and that when Forsyth requested.

“And I am incredibly grateful for his presence. However, I did not want to capture him looking like a sleep-deprived schoolteacher –”

“– but that’s exactly what he is –”

“– so I attempted to recreate my personal favorite expression of his.”

Lukas smiled. “Oh? And what would that be?” He placed the papers aside, giving Forsyth his full attention. Lukas nodded to the canvas, encouraging him to reveal it. 

“Well… you see… the point of this whole project…”

Forsyth searched for the right words. The point of the whole project actually struck him months ago, back at Rigel Castle. 

He and Python had sat for their own portraits, which would later be hung in the great hall to commemorate members of the Brotherhood. Forsyth could have cried seeing he and Python’s likenesses full of dignity and chivalry. The whole time, though, he couldn’t shake the feeling of injustice that boiled in his stomach: Lukas would get nothing. 

Sure, his name would appear in the records as the royal family’s right-hand advisor during and after war, but his image would disappear entirely. He left the Brotherhood to fulfill his dreams long before the kingdom was stable enough to commission a professional painter. With his brother furthering the bloodline and becoming the major focus of the household, Lukas was relieved of all marriage obligations – and opportunities for a couple’s portrait. Paintings alongside any future children were out of the question, as well. 

“It’s terribly unfair!” Forsyth had cried. “Are war and romance the only means to remember a man? Is he any less worthy because he will never marry?”

“You’re overthinking things, Fors.” Python had hardly spared him a glance. “Plenty of good people don’t get their paintings done.”

“And that is just as much an outrage!” 

He brought his concerns to Lukas, who seemed at peace with the situation, as Python was. The pair’s disinterest only caused Forsyth more urgency. After a bit of deliberation, he knew there was only one path forward. 

“I shall take this into my own hands.”

They would find out he meant this very literally. He showed up at Lukas’ schoolhouse with various brushes clutched in his hands, an apron thrown over his chest. He pulled up a nearby seat, propped up an easel, and got right to it. It became their routine: once classes dismissed for the day, Lukas would busy himself with reading through his school materials, and Forsyth would busy himself with work of his own.

He’d done his research beforehand, but had never actually painted anyone’s portrait. He looked again at the finished product.

“I was hoping to capture… er… the point of this work is to commemorate your independent situation… and thus… I remembered the days after you first told me, you were the happiest I’d ever seen you. The face is still a rare one, but after that night, I’ve seen that side of you more and more. I just thought…”

He gave an audible huff. Screw it. 

He turned the canvas around. 

“I am sorry. Perhaps I should have gone with a more dignified look, like the other knights’ portraits. I am aware that I have yet to accomplish a professional’s level of –”

“It’s perfect.” 

Forsyth blinked. 

Lukas stared at the canvas. He appeared to be working out his next words. Meanwhile, Python let out a long whistle. “Lookin’ good! Not too shabby, for your first masterpiece.”

“‘Not too shabby’ is an understatement.” Lukas stepped closer to the piece, his voice full of warmth. “Thank you, friend.”

In the painting, Lukas wasn’t sitting straight-backed and stiff; it was focused on his bust, leaning a bit in relaxed movement. He wore casual clothes, none of his usual professional garments. He smiled. His mouth was a little lopsided, a little odd, pinching his eyes a bit, showing some teeth, but not all – and it was a perfect replication. This was Lukas’s true smile, not the one he put up for others to view. 

Python gave him a poke. “So, now what? Where are we gonna do with it? We can’t just smuggle it into the royal gallery. And I don’t think Lukas is the kind of guy who wants to stare at it here in the school all the time.”

“Well, I… er….”

“I mean, we can certainly just go and hang it up somewhere around town, but I don’t think he’s looking for that, either.”

“I just thought he’d want it! For his legacy!” Forsyth huffed. His eyes shone with The kind of determination that the others knew not to overstep on. There was no stopping him now. “It’s important that he’s remembered through the ages! I think of all the heroes that inspired me – the way I gazed at their images in my fathers’ textbooks, gaining hope from their stories…”

“You’re hoping that Lukas ends up in some dusty textbook someday?”

“Indeed!” He beamed, not realizing that Python didn’t see it as a grand victory. “Just imagine: centuries from now, some harrowed scholar, crushed under familiar struggles. They get a hold of a secondhand book, and suddenly, bam!” He gestured to the painting. “They look upon his face and see that everything will be alright. They’ll think, ‘if Sir Lukas of Valentia can do it, and smile so purely at the end of it all, surely I can too!’”

He clenched his fists, caught up in his own excitement. His gaze was somewhere faraway, imagining this incredible future.  

Python scoffed. 

“It sounds like they’re just as much of a hopelessly sentimental dreamer as you are. They’ll probably think, ‘gods, now I need to study up on this guy too?”

“Python…”

“Or, if they’re like me, maybe they’ll think, ‘mmm, that is one fiiine –”

“Python!”

“Alright, alright. I think it’s a real nice gesture, Fors.”

Lukas had been quietly taking everything in for a while. Now he spoke. “I truly believe this is perfect. As you said – this is an expression only saved for rare occasions. It’s difficult for me to smile so genuinely. I… I never really see it myself.”

He placed a hand on Forsyth’s shoulder. “We can hope it reaches others someday, but regardless, I am grateful to have seen it right now. It inspires me about the future. I… I cannot thank you enough.”

[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Chapter 7 - Mon Ami M'a Donné

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: none really… some kissing and a wedding!!

Word Count: 2.5k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl! Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. Well, here we are; it's the wedding of the least convenient marriage of convenience in history, lol. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Montivilliers (just outside Le Havre), September 1939 

You are awoken by birdsong beyond the green shutters, and, more perplexing, a warm weight settled around you. It takes a few seconds to get your bearings. Your face is buried in the crook of Benedict's neck, a woodsy, citrus scent filling your nostrils and stirring your senses. Under the covers, his arms are wrapped around your body, one large hand splayed over your lumbar spine, the other rounding your shoulder. Your breasts are pressed into his broad chest, your legs entangled. One of your own hands appears to be resting on his hip. Moreover, something solid and warm pressing low on your belly makes your blood run hot. You must have both rolled into the middle of the bed during the night and are now clinging to each other.

It is different to waking up with Stanley in a way that makes you equally excited and confused. You are not innocent; you and Stanley have had sex. It is… fine, in your opinion. Mostly, you are mystified as to why so many women whisper breathlessly about it behind closed doors. In your experience, it was not unpleasant, but not precisely life-changing, either. He seemed pleased when it was over; that was enough for you. Or at least you used to think so. Laying now in Benedict’s arms makes you question that. Your fingers itching to explore, run over his body, touch, taste, and do things that never even occurred to you with Stanley. 

You try to stay still and modulate your breathing, wanting to savour this a little longer, even as your heart beats wildly. But all too soon, Benedict stirs, a slight moan as he stretches against you, half-conscious, pulling you even tighter against his body, all sorts of muscle and skin over yours. And yes, something hard pressed firmly between you now, your own body stirring so thoroughly, entirely without any effort on his part. Warm lips kiss your forehead, and his fingers flex on your nightgown, spidering across your back in a way that stokes a fire deep in your belly. It’s entirely possible this is a mere reflex to someone laying in his arms, but it doesn't stop you from hoping for more before he is awake enough to realise it’s you. 

A sharp inhale from him, and you know he is fully awake. A sudden awkward tension in his being as he tilts his hips away rapidly. You move at that point, too, pretending to be just awakening.

“Good morning,” you whisper, attempting nonchalance about how entangled you are, tilting your head to look at his face.

His hair is a chestnut riot, and his face slack from repose, stubbly cheeks and those expressive eyes glossy with sleep.

“Good morning,” he replies, rough and a little reticent, the sound echoing through his chest and rattling against yours, a sensation you want to burrow into.

There is a beat where you stare blinkingly at each other, his gaze falling to your lips, and your stomach swoops as it looks like he is about to kiss you.

Please…

But he seems to stop himself at the last minute and mumbles an apology, rolling away and detangling himself from you. A part of you is bereft even as you return the sentiment, edging out of bed and grabbing your robe, a need to cover up as if your body will betray your arousal too readily.

You head down to get coffee as soon as the bathroom door closes behind him.

—

Your stomach is a ball of knots, your hand clasped tightly in Eloise’s, as the taxi pulls up outside the town hall. It’s a few hours later - a bright, sunny late summer Wednesday lunchtime, the day before you are due to sail to England. But perhaps more significant to note…it’s your wedding day. And not the one you were ever expecting.

Benedict caught a lift earlier with Jérôme, and you are glad he was not around as Eloise and Marie helped you get ready, fixing your hair in an elegant style, your makeup understated but again chic. Marie has arranged for a photographer friend to attend so you have a few photos to take as evidence. Eloise and Marie will act as witnesses to the marriage. And that is the sum total of attendees. An acute contrast to your planned nuptials to Stanley. The last you heard about the guest list, which is very much your mother's domain, was close to 150, most of whom you are certain you do not know.

The building is handsome but primarily perfunctory; not an excess of decor, but still appealing in its clean simplicity. Jérôme meets you in an airy corridor with high ceilings and large windows and asks you to wait outside the room until you hear music from the grammarphone.

Somehow, the use of music surprises you. You assumed this would be very businesslike and transactional, a formality that would keep the worst of your conflicting emotions at bay. Until you remember, to everyone except the three of you, this is a real marriage. Of love. Jérôme is obviously going out of his way to make this the best he can, and it makes an ache lodge in your gut that you are lying to him.

“I guess you are giving me away, best friend,” you titter nervously to Eloise as she lingers in the corridor with you.

“It’s an honour,” she jests, even though you can see the apprehension in her stance.

“It’ll be okay,” you find yourself reassuring her, reaching out to rub her arm.

“I’m…I'm worried my brother might actually like you,” she confesses in a rush, making your heart rate spike. 

“That kiss was for show,” you quickly reply as if trying to convince yourself as much as her. “We will have to get good at acting such displays of affection if I am to escape.”

She nods and looks up from the ground, meeting your eyes. “I know… I just… there was something about it. You both looked… found and lost all at once…”

How she can sum up the jumble of exactly how that moment felt is jarring, but you are stopped in your reply by the start of the wedding march from behind the wall.

“Here we go…” you inhale deeply, a peculiar zip of energy racing down your body.

Eloise loops her arm in yours, face now resolute. “To freedom…” she mutters as the door swings open before you.

There, standing at the end of an aisle of empty rows of chairs, is Benedict. Looking handsome in a navy three-piece suit and crisp white shirt. He is all you can see as the strains of the music fade from your mind; taking each slow step with Eloise feels much more poignant than you expected.

His face is a kaleidoscope - softness, nerves, a gentle smile pitched to reassure, but something else you could swear, burning in his eyes as they lock with yours. It knocks the wind from you as you finally reach his side and see him up close. With one final squeeze of your arm, Eloise withdraws to take a seat. 

And then it is just the two of you, shoulder to shoulder, facing destiny.

As Jérôme begins the simple ceremony, you swear you can feel Benedict inching closer, a crackling energy emanating from his being. It makes you briefly look up at him askance.

You look beautiful, he mouths, and it fires something behind your ribs. 

You look so handsome, you mouth back, and his face is abruptly intense like before he kissed you when dancing.

The ceremony seems ephemeral, and before you know it, after declaring your intent and signing the marriage certificate, your hand is in his, trembling slightly as he quietly recites his vows after Jérôme’s prompts. Your heartbeat is loud in your ears, staring into his depthless eyes as he promises to love and cherish you until death. He pushes a simple, thin gold band onto your left ring finger, a mild quake in his movements as he does so. 

You cannot look anywhere but him as it’s your turn to follow Jérôme's prompts. Promising yourself to him in sickness and in health, to honour him. You can hear the tremor in your cadence, but it’s not fear. It’s the dawning realisation of how much truth lurks within your words. You’ve only known this man a matter of days, but somehow, in a short window, he has come to mean more to you than fifteen years of knowing Stanley. And it excites and terrifies you as you push the gold band onto his hand and see the flame in his eyes, wanting more than anything for this to be real.

“You may now kiss the bride,” Jérôme concludes with a cheeky lilt.

Time slows yet again as Benedict leans in, and his left hand tenderly cups your jaw, that wedding band cool against your cheek as your lips meet. It's the same fireworks inside as your lips slide together, and you cling to his jacket as you keep up the sensual dance. Just before it could be considered inappropriate, Benedict breaks the kiss but leans his forehead on yours, gaze locked.

“To the future…” he murmurs enigmatically at a volume only you can hear.

“To the future,” you echo mutely, knowing that could mean so many things.

Marie and Eloise cheer as you peel apart and turn to face them, your arms looping around each other's backs. The relief it is over is palpable; you try to put out of your mind just how monumental this moment really was. It feels like too much weight to bear when this is meant to be a means to an end.

“Mrs Bridgerton,” Marie smiles and hugs you as Benedict and Eloise embrace; you sense whispered words. In fact, you could swear you hear Eloise threaten Benedict with violence.

Then you swap, and Eloise draws you into a bear hug.

“Welcome to the Bridgerton family, y/n; it’s awful, you’re going to love it,” she quips in her usual droll style, even though you can see she is moved by the whole experience, a glassiness to her eye that makes you squeeze her tight again.

A steady but comforting arm - your husband's - wraps around you, and you walk back into the world as the new Mr & Mrs Benedict Bridgerton. 

“Mother will kill me when she finds out I eloped,” he whispers laconically as you pose on the sunny steps outside, the photographer snapping shots as you exchange quiet words, a warm breeze dancing through the tendrils of hair near your cheeks. It's obvious he is trying to comfort you in this rather odd, artificial situation, and you are so grateful for it, again that little lantern behind your ribs burns bright, just for him. It allows you to ignore the small crowd of onlookers any wedding party attracts in public.

“Your mother? Do not even get me started upon mine…” you respond dryly, and his laugh is a gentle, sympathetic ring that fills your being with light. In that instant, realising a simple truth—you have each other's back in some very fundamental way through this extraordinary time.

—

Upon your return to their home, you discover Marie has roped in her kindly neighbour to prepare a wedding feast. The house is alive with the scent of cooking. 

You all sit at their outdoor dining table under a pergola, resplendent with magnolia and jasmine, eating delicious courses of home cooking washed down with copious champagne. Many pleasant hours slip by, all afternoon and, in fact, into the early evening, until the sun slips low and the sky is brightly streaked with orange and pink.

Your seat is next to Benedict, and during conversation, his arm is always around you, either your shoulder or occasionally slipping lower, sliding down the thin material of your silk dress to grasp your waist and pull you into him. Just that move alone has your lungs catch. You know it’s performative for your generous hosts, but you can’t help but lean into it, blurring the lines of your reality as the champagne fizzles pleasantly in your bloodstream. Letting your fingertips linger on his sleeve, the veins on the back of his hand, leaning into his frame as you listen as others talk. At one point, he turns his head and kisses your temple tenderly, a tingle lingering there long after. 

“What made you fall in love with this one, y/n?” Marie asks jovially at one point, nodding to Benedict as she refills your glass.

“His painting captivated me before we ever met. And then we bonded over our love of art,” you begin truthfully as you can feel his gaze upon you. “I’ve never met someone as taken as I am with its multidimensional beauty. But as I got to know him, I realised he is also the sweetest, most eloquent and generous man I have ever met. A quiet strength of character that is endlessly giving. He makes me believe there is true good in this world,” you have to stop yourself before it becomes too much. “And well…” you duck your head, knowing you are blushing, “he is so very handsome… how could I not fall for him?”

Jérôme and Marie cheer as Eloise shoots you a puzzled look over her crystal flute, and you feel Benedict’s breath warm on your cheek. You know he is gazing at you with a fierce devotion that will knock you sideways. Your name is a ragged exhale from his lips before he cups your jaw and tilts you to look at him. An inferno behind his hazy pupils as his lips claim yours. You swear this kiss isn’t for show; it's more like a spontaneous response to your words, burning brighter than any previous kiss. A simmering passion that makes you want to open your lips and surrender to him right here and now. You reach up and touch his face, his jaw stubble tickling your palm as you cradle his face like he does yours.

“Perhaps it is time we give the newlyweds some privacy…” Jérôme whistles as you and your new husband part, unable to do anything but breathe his air, every fibre of you wanting to be alone with him. Only him.

“Don't be silly; this is your home,” your delayed reply, turning to look at them.

“Oui, mais… we will be sleeping at Madam Blanc’s ce soir,” Marie informs, squeezing her smiling neighbour's shoulder.

“You are newlyweds; we do not want to know the details. Or hear it,” Jérôme adds saucily, throwing you both a salacious wink.

“Where am I going to sleep?” Eloise bemoans, playing along.

Madam Blanc pipes up in French, something about another spare room, you believe, and it appears Eloise agrees, toasting their glasses to seal the pact.

Suddenly, you are on tenterhooks that you and Benedict will be alone in an idyllic French cottage on your wedding night.

“It seems it is decided; who are we to argue?” Benedict pipes up next to you, but even you can hear the thread of slight apprehension in his tone.

Oh god. What on earth are we to do now?

Benedict taglist: @foreverlonginguniverse @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa

[chimcess]

→ Chapter Nine: Landscapes Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Werewolf!Jimin, Witch!Reader, Shifter!Reader, Shifter!Jimin, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha!Jimin Genre: Supernatural!AU, Werewolf!AU, Angst, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Smut, Word Count: 10.2k+ Synopsis: Within the four realms of Lustra lay the Bangtan forest home to the Foxglove pack of the south and known as the “land of magic.” It is also home to the Bridd, a powerful witch from a cursed bloodline who is one of the sacred guardians of the forest. Y/N is the newest Bridd, a young girl who was given her position too early. Now a woman, Y/N is revered amongst the wolves as the most powerful witch they have ever known, but hiding under the surface is a woman who has to battle between her duty and her heart. Warnings: ANGST, strong language, PTSD, flashbacks, self-hate, self-depreciation, talks of death, nosey birds, Moland is a lot of fun to write about, (sorta) theft, home sickness, magic, very tame A/N: Don't know how I feel about this chapter. It was a bit difficult to write. I think you'll understand why in a moment. Thanks for reading!

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Namjoon pov

I stood in the cramped boat house, the scent of Bridd lingering faintly but unmistakably fresh. It was a small concession I could offer Jimin, a flicker of hope in a sea of frustration. Hoseok had instructed me to search outside and follow the trail, a task I’d already performed yesterday. Jimin, in his usual manner, insisted on a double-check. Today’s search yielded better results; I could discern the subtle shifts in the scent. Bridd had stood exactly where I was standing no more than forty-eight hours ago.

“She’s long gone,” Hoseok’s voice echoed clearly in my mind, despite the distance between us—five miles at least. “Wonder where she went.”

“Taehyung mentioned Viridi Gramine,” Hyuna interjected, her focus sharp and unyielding as she scanned for any trace of Bridd. “Do you think she might be headed that way?”

“Doubt it,” I said, tracing the scent from a small cot on the floor to a rusty fridge. “I don’t think she was ever planning to visit our cousins.”

Hyuna mulled over this, while Hoseok wrestled with guilt. We had all chided him for it, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that if he had been able to speak to Bridd and Jimin, none of this would have happened. Apologizing for his perceived failure, the younger wolf returned to pondering Bridd’s whereabouts.

“Not far,” Hyuna mused thoughtfully.

“She could be out of Moland by now,” I said, my tone edged with concern. “I have no clue which direction she might have taken. She could be lost out there.”

The thought unsettled us all. Hoseok, knowing Bridd’s limited experience with the outside world, worried about her lack of navigational skills. Without a map, she was likely adrift. Hyuna, however, believed in Bridd’s survival instincts. If she had to fight, she could, and her shifting abilities would serve her well. Most likely, she had flown over the swamps and into Clarcton—an efficient and practical choice.

“That makes the most sense,” Hoseok agreed, his mental voice tinged with resignation.

Following her scent outside, it abruptly stopped at the small deck adjacent to the house. She must have shifted from there. We had hit a dead end. Hoseok let out a frustrated huff, while Hyuna attempted to calm him. I could now catch my sister’s thoughts, fraught with anxiety and worry. Yeong-Mi had always been prone to migraines and panic attacks; her stress was palpable.

“Shut up,” she snapped at me, her irritation clear but tinged with underlying stress. “He’s right, oppa,” she addressed Hoseok. “You can’t blame yourself. We all know who’s really to blame for this.”

Sol’s face flickered in her mind—distorted and unfamiliar. Yeong-Mi’s memory of Sol was tainted, a far cry from reality. She had no intention of facing the Luna again anytime soon, a sentiment Hyuna echoed with a delighted giggle. Hoseok mumbled something about Sol only trying to help, but none of us paid it much mind.

“Sol can’t bear all the responsibility,” I gently rebuked my sister. “Bridd still made the choice to run off.”

“If she had just minded her own business,” Mini barked, her frustration boiling over, “Bridd wouldn’t have fled! God, how could she say that to Jimin Oppa when we all know how stressed he’s been?”

“An idiot,” Hyuna snapped back, her anger flaring once more. “Between Bo, his brother, and the copiae, the guy hasn’t had a moment’s peace.”

I had tried to remain neutral but found myself agreeing with Hyuna. Sol had overstepped her bounds. Taehyung’s reaction to her misjudgment offered some solace. The boy had yet to touch his mate since Jimin’s frantic panic the night he discovered Bridd’s empty bed. Rumors of their constant arguing since her disappearance were spreading through Bangtan.

“Eun-Jin mentioned that Jimin said Bridd was heading to the Ozryn mountains alone,” my sister added. “I haven’t been around him since she left, so I don’t know the full story, but he’s devastated.”

Hoseok growled at Jimin’s name. Mini defended her favorite alpha while I reminded him of the bigger picture. Sol’s misleading information had set off a chain reaction. Jimin’s reaction, driven by incomplete information, had resulted in his current turmoil. Hoseok vehemently disagreed until Hyuna asked him how he would have reacted if he had believed she was going off to harm herself after recovering from an injury.

“She’s alone out there,” Hoseok grunted, his resolve wavering in the face of his wife’s reasoning. “He should have never let that happen.”

“It’s not his fault,” Jong-Hyun, Jungkook’s older brother, chimed in, having returned from his eastward search. “They’re both stubborn, and I doubt Bridd would have allowed him to come along. Ji-Hyun mentioned they had an argument the afternoon she left. He feels partly responsible for what’s happened.”

I growled, “That boy’s attitude is going to get him hurt. Is that why Callisto’s been even more irate than usual?”

Mini laughed, “I think that’s just how she is around you.”

We shared a laugh, the tension briefly easing. Hyuna and Hoseok had found each other, and my sister was their next stop. She was almost to Syrena, and the couple wanted to go for a swim. We declined their offer—I had no desire to be a magindara’s next meal. Yeong-Mi chose to wait with us, keeping an eye out for any elves.

I drowned out the cacophony of voices, focusing instead on the faint, elusive trail I was following. The swamps were vast and treacherous, a labyrinth where finding Bridd seemed almost impossible. Fear gnawed at me. I hoped to God she was out there, safe and vigilant, though I knew she wasn't invincible.

I sat by the murky water, staring into its depths as if it might offer some answer, until Hyuna’s voice broke through. Taehyung was looking for me. My father was worried about a group of elves spotted in the northwestern corner of Moland and needed me out of the forest. Jimin, stubborn as ever, refused to come home. Taehyung needed my help to strategize. Hyuna had looped back to meet me near Bridd’s now-destroyed cottage.

“We’re leaving him out here alone?” I asked, a hint of disbelief in my voice.

“Of course not,” Hyuna replied, her small red form bristling slightly. “Jong-Hyun and Hoseok are keeping an eye on him. He’s deep in the forest somewhere.”

She was disappointed about their postponed beach trip but chose not to dwell on it. I tried to offer some comfort, imagining them swimming and laughing together another day, but she waved it off. She was grateful, but the thought of discussing it further would only trouble Hoseok.

“And he hasn’t found anything?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Hyuna confirmed.

As I stepped into Bridd’s clearing, the sight of the wildflowers struck me. Her garden was a riot of colors, an oasis of beauty amidst the desolation. Her cottage, surrounded by a lush garden of vegetables, fruits, and herbs, seemed almost surreal. A porcelain birdbath stood at the front, perpetually full, as though enchanted. The perfect, curated meadow seemed a divine attempt to keep Bridd from sinking into despair. Hyuna lay in the grass near the ruined house, her face etched with sadness. Taehyung had said an elf caused the damage. Bridd’s scent still clung to the remnants of her home, but it was fading.

“I wanted to go inside,” Hyuna said, her gaze fixed on the gaping hole in the cottage’s front. Her sadness was palpable. “But I don’t think Jimin would appreciate it. This is the only place that still smells like her.”

“He’s been here,” I said, noting the strong, fresh scent of Jimin. “Is he sleeping in there?”

She nodded. “I think he’s trying to fix things up. Jungkook mentioned it to Cadoc. Jimin’s obsessed with getting everything right before she comes home.”

We exchanged a look. Neither of us held out much hope that our little bird would return soon. I had more faith in Bridd’s survival skills than Hyuna did, but neither of us knew when—or if—she would come back.

Hyuna recalled her trips to Bangtan when she lived in Viridi Gramine. The Ozryn mountains were harsh, unforgiving, and lethal. Despite her royal lineage and traveling with the most skilled guides, there was always a risk she might not return. After finding Hoseok, the thought of crossing those mountains had never crossed her mind until her mother fell ill.

I had never traversed the Ozryn myself, but Hyuna’s memories sent a chill through me. Bridd might very well perish out there, and no one could prevent it. I considered suggesting that Jimin and I abandon Foxglove to search for her, but a single glance from Hyuna wiped the thought clean. We couldn’t leave the village without more information.

Bridd’s death would shatter Jimin, and Taehyung and Sol’s marriage—already strained—would likely fall apart completely. The Park family would never be the same. I desperately hoped she would return to her senses, but deep down, I knew she wouldn’t. The fierce determination in her eyes when I visited her cottage after Sol’s birthday spoke volumes. Bridd had more fire in her than Hyuna realized.

“She’s never seen so much of the world before,” Hyuna whispered, her voice as if confessing a forbidden truth. “How can she know where to go if she doesn’t even know what to look for?”

“She has maps—”

“Maps that predate the industrial revolution,” Hyuna cut me off sharply. “That girl is lost, and you know it.”

I didn’t need to say more; we were in agreement. I reminded her of Bridd’s tenacity when threatened, recounting our fight outside the cottage. Hyuna chuckled, acknowledging Bridd’s fighting spirit but still worried. When Bridd was in the infirmary, the witches had mentioned her fainting spells. How could we be sure she wouldn’t collapse out there?

“We don’t,” I admitted. “We just have to have faith. For Jimin’s sake. For her friends’ sake.”

“And Bridd’s,” Hyuna added.

“And Bridd’s,” I agreed.

A distant howl pierced the forest, signaling it was time to move. Taehyung rarely shifted anymore, so it had to be urgent. Hyuna decided to accompany me and wait for her husband at the Temple, her thoughts wandering to the prospect of confronting Sol, though I chose to ignore it.

As we neared the village, I heard the voices of the other copiae joining the search. Ji-Hyun’s loud complaints about his sister-in-law’s dramatics stood out. Hyuna fought to suppress a snarl, her thoughts simmering with anger. The younger wolf quickly dropped the subject, but my distaste for him remained. Taehyung shared my sentiments and told the Park boy to head home for the day. Ji-Hyun managed to keep his thoughts to himself long enough to change, severing our connection.

“Irrumator,” Hyuna grunted, her thoughts shifting from Ji-Hyun to Sol.

I chuckled. “He’s young. Cut him some slack.”

“He’s older than Taehyung!” Hyuna snapped. “He should know better. What he said to Bridd was out of line. How can you defend him?”

I bowed my head, conceding. I respected Hyuna enough to avoid an argument, especially with the looming threat of war. Disagreements with her would mean disagreements with Hoseok, and that was something we couldn’t afford right now.

“It’s not defending him,” I said, trying to keep annoyance out of my voice. “I just think this is a time for unity. Arguing over something we can’t change is pointless.”

Hyuna huffed but let it go. I felt a small victory in that, knowing we needed to focus on more pressing matters. Taehyung’s thoughts reflected his inner turmoil. While he agreed on the need for unity against our shared threat, he was hurt and betrayed by his closest friend’s disappearance.

Sol stirred complex emotions within me. My yearning to lead had once blinded me to her true nature. When Taehyung was chosen over me, I was disappointed, but any lingering romantic feelings vanished. I was genuinely happy for him, even if my actions didn’t always reflect it.

Sol had always been obsessed with Jimin, her infatuation apparent in her teenage ramblings. Ahn had asked me to escort her while she shifted, and her incessant daydreams about Jimin were the last thing I wanted to hear. I found myself wanting to be at her side, to lead, and her thoughts of me were less than flattering.

Sol’s heartbreak over Jimin’s lack of interest was palpable. She had desperately sought his affection, willing to overlook her mates. Jimin, though kind and cordial, had rejected her advances. I understood now, and it made sense. He was deeply devoted to another.

Sol’s life took a nosedive into chaos the moment she found herself wrapped in Taehyung’s arms. At first, confusion and disbelief painted her world in shades of gray, but soon, that confusion melted into something pure, almost ethereal. It was as if she had been in love with him all along, as if it was written in the very fabric of her being. For Taehyung, the feeling was a mirror image of hers. Before Sol, his heart had been tethered to a local girl named Minji. But love, it seems, has a way of changing the script.

Still, Sol’s obsession with Jimin was almost automatic, a reflex she couldn’t control. They were closer in age than most of us (except Taehyung), though Jimin was still seven years her senior. He was always kind and thoughtful, qualities that drew her in like a moth to a flame. When she heard he might be in danger, she rushed to his side. What she told him, which I knew only because Jimin couldn’t stop replaying that night in his head, was meant to soothe him. Yet, she shoved her friendship with Bridd aside, put her trust with Taehyung on the chopping block, and risked straining her bond with Jimin himself—all to protect his fragile heart. It would have been admirable if she’d taken a moment to think, rather than barreling into his house like a bat out of hell, spewing melodramatic, and frankly, distorted versions of the truth.

The fallout was catastrophic. Jimin’s argument with Bridd was fueled by Sol’s words. The man was already on edge. His pack of fifteen had dwindled to seven, the newer recruits too green to be of much use. Stress and frustration boiled over the moment Sol’s dramatic tale hit his ears. She painted Bridd as a suicide-bound lunatic, claiming the witch was deceiving everyone about her intentions, determined to atone for her past sins. It was absurd, though not entirely untrue, but it came from a teenage girl who hadn’t truly listened. To Jimin, all he could hear was his mate marching to her death to atone for her silence.

The whole situation with Bridd was surreal. I was irritated by her reluctance to share her visions, but that frustration faded when I realized the depth of her fear and helplessness. We weren’t on good terms. Foxglove had distanced itself, and Ahn had been vocal about his plans to visit her cottage. I couldn’t blame her for hesitating to speak up when the threat was uncertain. Ahn might have had her killed.

“He would have been a fool,” Hyuna mumbled, breaking the silence.

“When wasn’t he?” I shot back, my tone dry.

Everyone shared my sentiment. Bridd was the last person to blame. Her actions, once she understood the gravity of the situation, revealed her true care. Cadoc’s account of waking up to find the little witch, broken and bloodied, but still determined to reach Foxglove, was enough to reduce even the toughest to tears. The second her eyes opened, all she could think about was getting back to Foxglove. Any lingering doubts about her intentions evaporated. Only a few, Ji-Hyun among them, remained wary, but they were making an effort for the pack’s sake.

At the village’s edge, I parted ways with Hyuna. She gave me a brief farewell before I shifted. I was more private than the others, especially Hoseok and Hyuna, and they were accustomed to giving me space during the shift. It was my most vulnerable moment, and I loathed feeling exposed.

Bangtan had various items of clothing stashed away, none of them tailored or particularly stylish, but they were functional. My mother was responsible for keeping the copiae clothed and cared for, a job she took very seriously. It was one of the few things my father felt proud of. He often demeaned her, telling her she needed to do better, be better, spouting the same old demeaning slogans the older men in town were fond of. I could never see the faults in any of the women, especially not my mother, but she never commented on it, and neither did I.

I found a pair of large, baggy pants and shifted. After putting on the cotton garments, I decided to forgo a shirt and made my way to the Temple. Taehyung was waiting for me, and I didn’t want to add to his burdens. I felt I had done enough of that already.

As I walked through the town, I saw Jimin’s mother, Mi-Jeong, helping Jungkook’s father chop wood for his roof. The Parks were an unusual family. Mi-Jeong was outspoken, fierce, and refused to bow to men’s expectations. Her stubbornness was rivaled only by her youngest child. My own family often criticized her ‘atrocious’ behavior, but I had always been fond of Mi-Jeong.

Ji-Hyun, on the other hand, was a quiet boy, favoring his mother with his sharp features and moss-brown eyes. He followed his brother around for years without complaint. That quietude lingered into his teenage years, but when he fell for a human girl, it sparked a fierce possessiveness. He fought for her, both verbally and physically, a devotion that changed him. His attitude was often defensive and quick to judge, but his love and loyalty for his family were unparalleled, even surpassing his older brother.

Jimin had always fascinated me. From the moment he was born, he had the village at his feet. His father had been a formidable figure, embodying the strength our people revered. His choice of bride was unusual, but everyone believed Ji-Won was up to the challenge of handling Mi-Jeong. Jimin, like his father, possessed all the traits of a Park: charm, wit, courage. What set him apart was the hidden sweetness he kept from the world. I saw it. I had always seen it.

The first glimpse I got of that sweetness was when he chased butterflies in his backyard. He was no older than four, but even at that age, boys were expected to show maturity. In public, Jimin was the epitome of a perfect child. Yet, watching him blow bubbles and giggle as he chased a monarch butterfly, I knew his public persona was an act.

Now, that same sweetness was on display once more, though in a far more public and painful manner. Jimin had shut himself off, avoiding conversations and shunning his closest friends, hiding away and waiting for the other piece of his heart to return. It was a strange sight: Park Jimin, usually so strong, now weak and in agony.

As Mi-Jeong’s eyes met mine, I saw the same sadness and worry reflected in her. I hoped her family would pull together, but I doubted it would happen until Bridd returned, if she ever did. The thought of the Park family’s fate if she didn’t come back sent a shiver down my spine. 

I didn’t stop to talk to anyone, as I usually did. My mind was too scattered, and frankly, I was done with conversation. A constant stream of thoughts and voices in your head will do that. Fortunately, no one seemed put off by my silence. We were all grappling with uncertainty since losing one of our strongest fighters.

“Anything new, dog?”

The voice slithered through the air, smooth and grating, a rasp that scraped against my nerves. I clenched my teeth, trying to ignore the familiar sting. With a deep, slow breath, I turned to face the source of my irritation.

Seokjin was there, of course. He had become my personal Dante’s Inferno over the past few days. The man had a grudge that could outlast a vampire’s curse, and he still hadn’t forgiven me for taking a swing at his friend. His face was a storm cloud, eyes dark with disdain. Beside him, Yoongi was a ghost of his former self. He looked worse than ever—thin and ragged, like a paper doll battered by the wind. His hair was a disheveled mess, and his once vibrant blue eyes had dulled further, his pupil barely visible.

“Unfortunately not,” I said, keeping my voice even, though I wanted nothing more than to escape this confrontation. “A few are still out searching, but I was pulled away.”

“Hmft,” Seokjin crossed his arms, a gesture that seemed to tighten the knot of irritation on his face. “Figures.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snapped, irritation bubbling up.

I never did like much about him.

“You don’t give a damn if you find her or not,” Seokjin’s voice was thick with anger, each word dripping venom. “None of you do.”

My patience was fraying, “That’s not true—”

“It’s that bitch’s fault she’s gone,” Seokjin shouted over me, his voice cracking like a whip.

“Stop yelling,” I said, struggling to keep my composure. The scene we were causing was spiraling out of control. My father would lose his mind. “I know what Sol did. None of us are happy about it, but I’m not a god. I can’t rewind time or bring her back. What’s done is done.”

“Yet you still follow her orders like some lapdog.”

“I follow Taehyung,” I corrected, my voice tight with restrained frustration. “By extension, that means I follow his wife. We’re at war, Seokjin. I’m sorry about Bridd, truly, and I hope she’s safe, but my life doesn’t revolve around her. I have a village to protect, a village she isn’t in. I won’t abandon it to chase shadows.”

Seokjin’s face was a furnace of rage now, tears brimming in his eyes. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity for him. Bridd was a close friend of his, and she had abandoned them—harsh words, but accurate in the rawest sense. The others had voiced their disgust when she vanished, their anger directed at our governing bodies. Sol had barred them from the Temple after one of Seokjin’s entourage had lashed out. Since that night, they’d remained cloaked in silence, not a whisper of their departure from the Park house.

“You’re going to let her die,” Seokjin’s accusation was a punch to the gut, raw and brutal.

Yes, if it meant saving my own. Bridd was a distant concern compared to the stakes at hand. I barely knew her; respect didn’t equate to prioritizing her over my sister. In this high-stakes game, I had to trust that she could handle herself and accept it.

“Jin,” Yoongi’s voice cut through the tension, soft yet firm. I had almost forgotten he was there. “Let it be. Namjoon has done what he can. Let’s return to Mi-Jeong’s.”

I was relieved that Yoongi seemed more composed than Seokjin. I sneaked a glance at him and was glad to see his hair growing back, a sign he was getting enough to eat. It was a small comfort, considering the grim reality of his condition. Yoongi’s blindness wasn’t just a loss; it was a nightmare. I remembered how his pain had been described—a brutal assault on his senses, panic attacks ripping through him like storm winds. Samanya had said the spell should have killed him, and his survival, with only his eyesight lost, was a cruel twist of fate.

“But—”

“Drop it,” Yoongi said, his voice a low rumble, stopping Seokjin before he could unleash another tirade. Without turning his head, he addressed me. “I apologize for his callousness. We’re all on edge. I hope you understand.”

This was the most I’d heard Yoongi speak, even during our time at Bridd’s cottage in the Spring. “It’s not an issue. I hope you’re feeling better.”

It was unnerving to talk to someone who couldn’t meet my gaze. Yoongi’s eyes, unseeing and vacant, stared blankly at the village’s edge. His voice was gruff and monotonous, a strange contrast to the depth of the situation.

“I am fine,” he replied. “We’re here because my mother wanted to know how far you believe she could have gone. I’ll tell her that she must have shifted and lost her scent.”

“Thank you,” I said, relieved by his ability to keep Seokjin quiet. “She was on a houseboat for a few hours before she left. Any ideas?”

“Thelma,” Seokjin grunted. “She must have rested and then taken off. Was anything missing?”

I shrugged. “I couldn’t say. Sorry.”

Seokjin shook his head angrily, a futile gesture.

“No need to apologize,” Yoongi said, raising a hand in a dismissive motion. It was unclear what he intended, but I chose not to dwell on it. “We’ll leave you alone now.”

Seokjin opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it. I smirked, feeling a bit of triumph. Yoongi’s presence was a useful deterrent for the annoying one. Scowling, Seokjin wrapped an arm around Yoongi and turned towards the residential district, their figures fading into the distance.

Taehyung was pacing when I finally found him in the Temple library. Books were strewn across the tables like fallen soldiers, pages ripped from their bindings stacked haphazardly at the edge of a massive oak table that had seen better days. His blonde hair was a shaggy mess, the back grazing his neck while the front hung just past his ears. Thick, wavy bangs spilled over his eyebrows, so long they were kept at bay by a headband.

The sight of him worried me. Taehyung was unraveling, a fraying thread in a tapestry of stress. He managed to keep it together during the elder meetings, putting on a brave face to avoid giving Ahn any satisfaction. But anyone could see the cracks beginning to show. Jimin was doing his best to keep Taehyung from falling apart, but he had his own demons to battle.

I had taken it upon myself to pick up the slack where Taehyung faltered. I owed it to both him and Jimin after my role in their exile. Taehyung, ever the forgiving soul, was more generous with grace than Jimin. But I knew I was skating on thin ice. Others might have taken my head for the disrespect I’d shown. Jimin might have if he wasn’t so focused on keeping the peace with his mate.

I needed to focus on the task at hand. Taehyung had summoned me for a reason, and I had to be there for him. His pacing showed no signs of stopping as I entered, a bad omen for the kind of conversation I was about to have. He seemed to find a semblance of calm when we discussed strategy, a fleeting solace in the chaos.

“Sorry for the delay, Tae,” I said, my voice soft and steady, hoping to cut through his distress.

He paused, his eyes bloodshot and glossy, cheeks flushed like someone had poured a pot of boiling water on them. His lower lip quivered despite his best efforts to steady it. Taehyung’s emotional rawness was always a puzzle. He was kind, gentle, a giant child who laughed at his own clumsiness and played with his younger siblings as if he were still a child himself.

He never shied away from tears. When Jimin’s father died, neither he nor Ji-Hyun shed a tear in public, though I knew better than to believe they didn’t grieve privately. Their show of stoicism was celebrated, a mask of bravery they wore for the town. Taehyung struggled to wear that mask as seamlessly as Jimin had.

Taehyung’s father hadn’t died in a blaze of glory. No heroics, just illness. Ahn had called him weak for succumbing to an infected wound, a sentiment not widely shared but unchallenged. My own mother, a loyalist to Ahn, had called him cruel for further tormenting a grieving family.

“I didn’t realize it had been so long,” Taehyung mumbled, resuming his restless pacing.

In that moment, he looked more like his father than ever. Dong-Min had been respected and wise, but he wasn’t the sort to attract crowds. An artist from Viridi Gramine, his works were beautiful, but he remained in the shadows. He’d found his muse in Hana, who had come from an abusive home. They had fled Withertusk together, and their troubles had melted away in Foxglove.

“You’re upset,” I said bluntly. Taehyung preferred directness. “What’s wrong?”

“Have I done something wrong?” His voice cracked, the tremor betraying his tears. “I want your honesty, Namjoon. Have I done anything horrible to her?”

“To who?” I asked, stepping closer to comfort him. His shoulders shook with quiet sobs, an effort to hide his pain from the world. It never occurred to me that he was trying to conceal his suffering so well. I had always misread him. He could only shake his head, eyes squeezed shut as new tears poured forth.

I wrapped him in an embrace, feeling the weight of his grief pressing into me. The last time he had cried on my shoulder was at his father’s funeral, a day when Ahn’s cruel words had cut him to the bone. Taehyung had stumbled out of the building, bleeding and torn, begging me to hold him. My father, showing rare kindness, had taken him home to clean up.

“You could never wrong her,” I said, not great with comfort but hoping my words would help. “Whatever happened between you two is just a wrinkle in time. Sol is angry with herself. She loves you, and she knows how much you love her.”

Tae sniffled, his cries muffled against my shoulder.

“Not Sol,” he sobbed. “Y/N.”

That was a harder pill to swallow. I could spout meaningless platitudes about his mate all day. Their love was a given. Taehyung had been furious with her for talking to Jimin behind his back, but I knew they’d work through it. Their bond was strong. His relationship with Y/N, though, was a different matter. I had never witnessed it firsthand, but I knew it was meaningful. Taehyung saw her as the older sister he never had, but I felt ill-equipped to guide him through this grief.

“You didn’t do anything to her, Tae,” I reasoned. “She made a choice to leave. She didn’t harbor ill will towards you. She even left you a note with your necklace. Doesn’t that say something?”

The red gem from Bridd’s gift pressed against my skin, a bittersweet reminder of her kindness. Taehyung had worn the necklace since reading the note, a gesture he hadn’t truly earned but had been given nonetheless. I had my own connection to Bridd through that journal she gave me, which had turned into a poetry book. I respected her, and that respect guided me in my attempt to console Taehyung.

“I told Sol,” Taehyung whimpered. “I told her after she asked me to keep quiet. It’s all my fault—”

“I’m done with the blame game,” I sighed, gently pushing him back to arm’s length. I gripped his shoulders. “Everyone’s been wallowing in self-pity. Y/N left to find help. No one forced her to do that. You and I both know she’s capable. Stop acting like she’s dead. She’s out there trying to help us. We need to stay focused.”

“What if she…” His voice faltered, unable to utter the word “death.”

“Then we make sure her sacrifice isn’t in vain,” I said, releasing him. “We plan, strategize, and fight tooth and nail against those things. For Bridd.”

I didn’t relish invoking her name this way, but I knew Taehyung would cling to it. Her name was a beacon of hope in this dark time. His eyes ignited with a renewed fire, the heat returning to them.

“For Bridd,” he echoed, as if making a solemn vow.

Inside, I prayed for her safe return. I was unsure how long this newfound fire would last, or what would happen if it burned out of control. Taehyung was obsessive by nature. As a child, he painted like his father, sculpted like our grandmother, and later, dived into gardening. Now, I feared his focus would be consumed by this war. He wasn’t ready for what was coming, but I had to believe in his strength.

“You should go see your mom,” I said sincerely. “I’m sure Jong and Jin miss you.”

I left unsaid my concerns about him being cooped up in the Temple since his return.

He nodded, “I will. Let one of the maids know I’ve left. I don’t want Sol to worry.”

“You’re not telling her you’re leaving?”

He frowned. “We’re not on speaking terms at the moment.”

Oh, Bridd, why did you have to leave? Why did Sol have to stir things up? Seeing Taehyung so defeated was a blow. The fire I had ignited in him didn’t soothe my worries. He was still adrift, and I feared my attempts at comfort had done more harm than good. Maybe it would have been simpler to let him cry it out. Navigating whether I’d said or done the right thing was a far more daunting task.

The day slipped through my fingers like a handful of sand, the minutes eroded by the grind of endless work. After my talk with Taehyung, he had gone off to find his siblings, while I remained buried in the heavy silence of the library. Despite our grim business of war, we still had our East Coast obligations to handle. Hours ticked by as I drafted warnings and travel advisories, scribbling frantically until my hand ached. 

When the time came to face the maps spread across the tables, I hoped the change in scenery would spark a breakthrough. The library was a cavern of paper and ink, and I dived into its depths, searching for something—anything—that might tip the scales in our favor.

But the talk of war had become a cacophony of angry voices. My father and Jimin were at each other’s throats, each stubbornly clutching their own version of strategy. My father wanted to march straight into Northorn, to meet our enemy head-on. Jimin, with his uncanny knack for seeing beyond the obvious, thought it was nothing short of idiocy. He argued that the elves would have the upper hand on unfamiliar ground. Our pack knew the forest better than anyone; it was our home turf, and it should be our advantage. 

Jungkook and I were on the same page, much to my relief. We didn’t want to die, but if the situation demanded it, we would. He leaned towards Jimin’s strategy, favoring a defensive stance in Bangtan. It made the most sense—until the elves found a way to stir up trouble.

The witches from Syrena arrived in the late afternoon, a storm of anger and despair. Their leader had fallen during the attack, leaving them in the care of the swamp witch. I felt a pang of sympathy for them, as they stumbled into our midst. Their rage was palpable, their grief a raw wound that bled into everything they did.

Yoongi was on my mind again. He was adjusting to his blindness, but the idea of him fighting was laughable. He was a fantastic fighter when he could see, but now he was little more than dead weight. It was a shame—he had been a force to be reckoned with, even if a spell had temporarily taken him out. I had no doubt he’d be back, even if it meant defying orders. His death, when it came, would be a dignified one.

Then there was Seokjin. He surprised me in ways I hadn’t anticipated. Despite my dislike for the witch, I had to admit the man could fight. He had defended his girlfriend, taken down countless elves, and even saved his father’s life. I hoped we could set aside our differences and train together. It was crucial that we learned to fight as a unit. I planned to discuss this with Jimin later.

Before I could lose myself further in thought, I caught her scent. The sweet, cloying aroma of Sol was unmistakable, a stark contrast to the damp, cold air of the library. Her bare feet were a whisper against the marble floor, and I braced myself for the encounter. Sol’s attempt to mask her natural scent had always been a losing battle, but I couldn’t fault her for it. Ahn had stripped her of her self-confidence, leaving her to second-guess everything about herself.

She appeared before me, her small figure framed by the ornate grandeur of the library. Her hair, unbound and flowing, was a cascade of dark waves, a sharp contrast to the cold sterility of the surroundings. I couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable with her exposure. Modesty was an old relic, but Sol had been taught its importance, and Ahn had made sure she lived in its shadow.

“Luna,” I greeted, my voice tentative. “Your hair…”

She sighed, as if resigned to my reaction. Her tone was edged with annoyance, but I couldn’t decipher why. Ahn had instilled in her a warped sense of propriety, and the way she wore her hair now seemed to mock it.

“Does it matter?” she murmured, a hint of bitterness in her voice. “We all know I’m no longer virtuous.”

I frowned. “Your virtue isn’t tied to your virginity, Sol.”

I could feel the discomfort between us, the unspoken boundaries crossed. Sol’s presence was like a weight on my chest, and I had to force myself to remain composed. Taehyung would be devastated if he caught us in such an awkward position. I stood up, putting a respectful distance between us, and turned my attention to the doorframe, trying to look anywhere but at her.

“What’s bothering you?” I asked, keeping my voice steady. “Aside from the obvious.”

I leaned against the doorframe, peering into the hall, grateful for the distance it offered. I heard Sol take a seat in the chair I had vacated, the sound of her movements marking her presence more than her words.

“You must think I’m pathetic,” Sol’s voice was a fragile whisper.

“Why would I think that?” I countered, genuinely puzzled.

She laughed, a hollow sound that resonated with self-deprecation. “You’ve been a constant in my life longer than anyone. You were there before Taehyung. You and I were almost betrothed, according to my father.”

The mention of Ahn made my skin crawl. He was no father of hers. The real truth was darker—Ahn had taken her from her real parents, Cho Haneul and Bong Ha-Yun, who had vanished from the village under suspicious circumstances. Whispers hinted at banishment or worse, but I’d always taken my mother’s word that Ahn had been behind it all. 

“I’ve never been fair to you,” Sol continued, her voice trembling. “I was mean, rude, and cold. I wanted Jimin so badly that I mistreated you. I’m sorry for that.”

I listened, indifferent. Sol’s words were a weak balm to old wounds. I knew her well enough to understand her manipulations, her selfishness veiled under layers of false remorse. 

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked, trying to keep my tone neutral.

“You knew me before Taehyung did. I know you didn’t like me, but I trust your opinion. I know I don’t deserve your kindness, but I’m asking for it anyway.”

Her voice was weary, and I found myself disenchanted with her pleas. I reminded myself of her age and the naivety that came with it, but it didn’t soften the irritation I felt. She had made mistakes, breached boundaries, and caused chaos, all while thinking she could remain unscathed.

“Am I a bad person?” she asked, her voice barely more than a breath.

“No,” I said firmly, though it was hard to mask my irritation. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll lie to make you feel better. You’ve caused enough damage, and it’s your responsibility to deal with the consequences.”

Her soft sniffles were a distant echo to my frustration. She had stirred trouble and failed to take responsibility for it. I wasn’t here to placate her. I was here to get through the day.

“I’m not the one to offer you comfort,” I said, turning away. “Seek solace from your maids. They’re trained to dry tears; I’m not.”

With that, I left the library, my mind already set on finding a place to rest. The Temple was no refuge from the turmoil of the day, but it was all I had. Maybe Sam would be around, and her company would be a welcome distraction. Her beauty and confidence had always been a bright spot, even if I wasn’t ready to entertain any advances. Tonight, though, I’d take any semblance of normalcy I could get.

I had no desire to return to my family home. Spending too long around my parents was like slowly going mad. The pretense I maintained with my father was exhausting, and my mother—well, she never had the backbone to stand up to him. My childhood was a grim carousel of beatings, with my mother watching, her own misery forgotten as long as she avoided the brunt of his rage. By the time Mini arrived, those days were behind us, and my father had stopped drinking. Our relationship had improved, but the bitterness lingered, festering like a wound that never fully healed. Sometimes, I wondered if I truly hated them both.

Lately, I had been crashing at Hoseok’s place. But he’d asked for some space, and I was buried in work, too tangled up to find another spot to crash. It was a far cry from the opulent room I had at the Temple, but the Temple had become a place I loathed. I’d have joined Jimin and the rest of the copiae, but the weight of my responsibilities kept me tied down. Stepping down as head council would mean my father or Bo would handle public relations, and the thought of that was enough to make me want to gnaw my own arm off. Taehyung would go berserk if those two were left in charge.

I racked my brain for other friends to stay with. The Parks would welcome me, but their home was overflowing with guests. Yoongi and the swamp witch’s families were still there, Jin’s group was with Taehyung’s family, and the Syrena witches were scattered among the wolf families and humans. They’d planned to stay at the Temple, but Sol had made a mess of that arrangement. Everything had spiraled out of control faster than I could keep up with.

“Lost in thought?” Jimin’s voice cut through my musings. 

I stopped in my tracks, realizing I had wandered into the copiae grounds. Jimin lounged on his porch, a large glass in hand, his face shadowed by a dark expression. The sharp scent of alcohol reached me even from the street. I approached him, trying to ignore the tumultuous thoughts of my father.

“You’re drunk,” I observed, taking the glass from his hand and sniffing it. Mead, probably from Jungkook’s stash. “This isn’t going to help.”

He shrugged, a gesture of defeat. “I know. Just needed a distraction.”

Here I was again, being dragged into someone else’s emotional wreckage. Even if Jimin hadn’t asked outright, I knew I’d end up hauling him inside and making him sleep. At least, I could crash here afterward. Tomorrow, I’d make sure he ate something and then convince him to help me go over documents at the Temple. He was the battle strategist, after all.

“I’m not in the mood for a heart-to-heart,” I said bluntly. “I’ve already dealt with two sob stories today, and my patience is shot. So you’re going to let me help you, and we’ll talk in the morning.”

Jimin leaned back, sweat glistening on his forehead and his hair a tangled mess. He looked uncharacteristically disheveled. I rubbed my face in frustration.

“Fine,” I sighed, “how about this: I need a place to sleep. I can’t stand Taehyung and Sol right now, and you—” I gestured at him, “—look like hell. Obviously, you’re a mess, but the pack needs you to pull yourself together so we can get through this.”

Jimin didn’t move. He remained like a statue, eyes fixed on something distant. “I’ll stay the night. Tomorrow, we’ll talk feelings or whatever. Then, we’ll come up with a plan to get you back in the game. Sound good?”

He rolled his eyes, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. “What’s the point?” His face crumpled in despair. I felt lost at sea, unable to handle his sorrow. Thankfully, he composed himself, though the heaviness lingered. “What’s the point of anything? Without her... it just doesn’t matter.”

I sat down beside him, the cold, rough wood against my legs. I tried to focus on this as a conversation between friends. Jimin had never asked me for anything before. When Taehyung was chosen, Jimin had been the first to urge me to stand firm against Ahn. I had been foolish, ignoring his advice. Now he needed me to be the rock, and I couldn’t let him down.

We couldn’t keep going like this. Jimin wasn’t in the right frame of mind, and I knew the only way to get him back on track was to think of something drastic. My mind was already spinning a plan, one that had seemed hopeless earlier, but now felt like a desperate gamble. Maybe, just maybe, giving him a glimmer of hope might help him pull himself together. Feeling a pang of guilt, I decided to go for it and face the consequences later.

“I know you’re hurting,” I said, trying to soften my tone, unsure if it worked. “I can’t even imagine what you’re going through. When you and Taehyung were gone, the guilt nearly ate me alive. It must be worse for you.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he started to protest, but I brushed it off.

“I think I do. No one else seems to be,” I said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We’re in deep trouble right now, Park. We need you.”

Jimin shook his head. “I wouldn’t be much help right now, Joon.”

“I don’t believe that,” I replied. “Honestly, anything you do would be better than the mess you’ve got going on. And by the way, your girl’s on my side. She’d be furious if she knew how much you’ve been slacking.”

That made him chuckle softly.

“That’s fair,” he said, a wan smile spreading across his flushed face. “She’s such a little firecracker, isn’t she?”

I nodded. “She once tried to set me on fire.”

We shared a laugh, remembering that day. Truth was, she scared the hell out of me. If she had really wanted to hurt me, she could’ve. I’d barely escaped with just a few scratches and bruises. Jimin had beaten me senseless when she got hurt, but I had a lifetime of memories that made me untouchable. Bridd, however, was another story.

“What if I made you a deal?” I asked, catching his attention.

He perked up. “What kind of deal?”

“If we make it through the next wave on top, I’ll help you find her.”

His eyes sharpened, a flicker of hope lighting up. “Really?”

Guilt twisted in my gut. I didn’t truly believe we’d reach that point. The elves were everywhere, their grip tightening on Northorn with each passing day. We were far from ready, and with traitors in our midst, the situation was dire. The alliance with the quietus was fragile, and the witch problem was something only Jimin could fix. It could be weeks or even months before we could search for Bridd. Still, I had to use her as leverage. We needed strong leadership, and the witch was the best motivation I could offer.

“I’ll go with you,” I said, doubling down. “We can take a small group. I’ve got connections with a quietus who knows the lay of the land. Finding her could be straightforward.”

“You’d do that for me?” He looked genuinely surprised.

I nodded. “If we’re in a position to do it, why not?”

I watched as he mulled it over, the distant look in his eyes dissolving into something clear, almost serene. He was on board. Hope unfurled in my chest like a fragile flower reaching for the sun. With Jimin on my side, dealing with Taehyung would be a breeze. The older alpha’s desire for redemption would give us a leverage, and if Jimin and Taehyung could join forces, we’d have Hoseok back in the mix too.

Things were starting to tilt in our favor. Soon, the elementals and witches would be joining our discussions, the elder council would be edged out by a new generation of leaders, and the war would start to feel like something we could actually manage. I might even be able to recruit a fresh wave of warriors to the copiae once the village saw Jimin’s renewed determination.

“Stay here as long as you need,” Jimin finally said, and I was doing a mental victory dance. “You can crash on the couch.”

I sprang up, ready to hit the sack, and gave his head a playful shove. He chuckled, swatting my hand away. We used to mess around like this all the time as kids—Jimin always had a knack for winning our wrestling matches. He was slippery as an eel.

“Let’s go, kid,” I said, stretching my arms above my head. “We’ve got an early start tomorrow. Council meeting.”

He nodded, reaching out for my help to stand. He must have imbibed more than I realized; it took a lot for alcohol to hit us this hard.

“Hopefully, Taehyung will deal with the two ancient relics in the Temple,” he slurred, stumbling inside and mumbling about how his bed felt like it had swallowed him whole.

A/N: So Joon pov??? How do we like? He's not the only pov switch we're going to have, but we will be seeing a lot of our favorite (to hate) alpha joining our main squad. I thought he would be a good outside mind to get inside of since he's not as emotionally connected to Bridd as the others. Any guesses as to who our other switches might be?

p.s. These pov chapters will be a bit shorter than our normal, reader pov ones, but not by much.

Taglist: @greezenini@adventures-in-bookland@kthstrawberryshortcake-main@zae007live@jimin-neverout@nikkiordonez12@canarystwin@yamekomz @chimthicc@michiiedreamer@amorieus@mima795@yunki-yunki-yunki

© chimcess, 2024. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[idkyetxoxo]

Fifteen | Allure | The Last Kingdom

"I'm not protecting you because you're a woman. I'm protecting you because you're my woman,"

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───☆⋅☾⋅☆───

"Danes are charging towards the gates," Finan's urgent voice pierced through the air. With resolve etched upon his features, Uhtred swiftly guided Aethelflaed to safety, his protective instincts aflame, while the rest of us braced ourselves to confront the impending onslaught.

Outside, the relentless pounding against the sturdy monastery doors echoed the fervour of the Danes' assault, their demands resonating with an intensity.

As the pressure mounted, I sought higher ground, ascending to the roof, with Uhtred, Finan, and Sihtric close behind. With the lives of Cnut's sons hanging in the balance, tension coiled tight around us like a serpent poised to strike.

"Do you recognize him?" Uhtred's whispered inquiry drew my attention, and I peered over the edge, my gaze fixing upon the figure below. "I think... maybe his name is Bjorgulf. He's definitely one of Cnut's men," I replied.

"Leave, or else the children will die," Uhtred's demand rang out, a steely edge underscoring his words. Yet, Bjorgulf remained obstinate, his resolve unyielding in the face of our ultimatum.

With a daring ruse, Uhtred orchestrated a desperate gambit, convincing Bjorgulf that he had slain young Cnut by casting the lifeless body of a fallen Mercian child from the rooftop. In the grip of fear, Bjorgulf's resolve wavered his retreat a testament to the power of Uhtred's cunning.

"Now we have to leave, Cnut will hunt us down" I remarked. Uhtred's nod affirmed the gravity of our situation as we readied ourselves to flee the encroaching danger.

As we prepared to depart, the two boys, their purpose served, were set free. Together, we joined Aethelflaed and Aldhelm, embarking on the journey towards Tettenhall.

──☆⋅☾⋅☆──

At Tettenhall, the convergence of Father Pyrlig and King Hywel's army lent a glimmer of hope to our beleaguered cause. Pyrlig revealed that it was Aelswith who dispatched him in search of allies, underscoring the ominous silence that emanated from King Edward's court. Despite our bolstered numbers, Uhtred's lingering apprehension loomed large, doubt gnawing at the edges of our resolve.

Yet, in the face of uncertainty, Aethelflaed remained resolute. With Edward's absence casting a pall over our preparations, Uhtred counselled Aethelflaed to weave tales of hope to sustain her men's spirits in the crucible of impending battle.

As we gathered to devise a strategy to repel the Dane's impending assault, all eyes turned to me, prompting a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "Why are you all looking at me?" I asked. "You're the only one with sense, remember," Finan jested, earning a smack on his arm from me.

"Or I'll be the one blamed when hundreds fall to their deaths," I countered, a hint of self-deprecating humour lacing my words. Uhtred's reproachful tut echoed in response, his unwavering faith in our cause evident as he dispelled the spectre of doubt that threatened to eclipse our resolve.

Yet, amidst the ill-timed banter, a sudden realization struck me like lightning, igniting a spark of inspiration. "Okay, I can't guarantee it will work, but it's the best I've got," I declared, my voice tinged with a mixture of determination and uncertainty as I outlined my impromptu plan to rally our forces.

As I began to instruct everyone, the weight of responsibility settled upon my shoulders.

The arrival of the Dane army, led by Cnut and Brida, cast a shadow of impending conflict over Tettenhall.

"This will work," I murmured, a quiet confidence threading through the uncertainty. Beside me, Sihtric's reassuring words echoed my sentiment, his kiss imbued with a mixture of resolve and determination as he tightened his grip on his axe.

As Cnut barked orders and his men surged forward, they unwittingly stumbled into the trap we had laid. A vast, camouflaged ditch concealed beneath the earth.

With a calculated precision, the Danes found themselves thrown into disarray as they grappled with the unexpected obstacle that lay in their path.

Seizing the moment, the rest of our forces surged forward. With the Welsh reinforcements at our backs, we charged into the fray, our weapons flashing in the dim light of battle, each strike finding its mark.

My daggers, honed to a deadly edge, became extensions of my will, finding their targets with unerring accuracy as they cut through the ranks of men and women. With each person that fell beneath my blade, a surge of adrenaline coursed through my veins, fueling the relentless rhythm of the fight.

A triumphant smirk danced upon my lips as I beheld the arrival of the Mercian army, their presence tipping the scales decisively in our favour. In that pivotal moment, the odds shifted in our favour.

Instinct kicked in as I blocked the attack of a Dane with a swift movement of my legs, pushing back against his onslaught. His smirk of confidence only fueled my determination as I sought to turn the tide of the confrontation in my favour.

Before I could unleash the lethal force of my dagger, an axe whistled through the air, intercepting the threat before it could manifest. My eyes darted to the figure beside me, Sihtric.

"I had that," I declared, a note of defiance colouring my tone as I crossed my arms, the adrenaline coursing through my veins. 

"I don't need your help," I insisted, my voice edged with a fierce independence born of years spent honing my skills on the battlefield. "If you recall, I am arguably the best fighter among all of Uhtred's 'men,' despite being a woman," I emphasized, underscoring the disparity in expectations and reality.

Sihtric's response cut through the din of battle, his words carrying a weight of conviction that resonated within me. 

"I'm not protecting you because you're a woman. I'm protecting you because you're my woman," he asserted, his gaze unwavering as he laid bare the depth of his commitment.

A smirk danced upon my lips as I tutted, a silent challenge in the face of his declaration. "Your woman, huh?" I teased.

"My woman," he affirmed without hesitation, his resolve unshakeable as he echoed the sentiment with firm certainty.

With a shared understanding passing between us, I couldn't suppress the laughter bubbling up from within.

"Well, Sihtric, we may be in the middle of battle, but if you're finished staking your claim, perhaps we should focus on the task at hand," I remarked, a hint of amusement dancing in my eyes as I redirected our attention to the urgent demands of the conflict unfolding around us.

As he turned to resume the fray, a fleeting gesture caught me by surprise, a quick kiss pressed against my lips, a testament to the passion that burned between us, even during the tempest of battle.

Truly, leave it to us to find moments of arguing and flirtation amidst the fury of the battlefield.

As the Danes began to scatter into the dense forest, Uhtred's commanding voice cut through the chaos, issuing orders to prevent their escape.

Spotting Cnut trailing Uhtred into the woods, a rush of determination surged within me. Despite our familial ties, I couldn't allow him to evade the consequences of his actions, especially for Ragnar's death.

Racing into the fray, I arrived just as Brida emerged, her fierce presence matching the intensity of the unfolding confrontation between Uhtred and Cnut.

"Don't," I cautioned, a firm warning as Brida advanced, her intent clear.

"Ragnar was weak. I needed him to die, but my son was innocent," Cnut's words hung heavy in the air. Brida's gasp of disbelief mirrored my own inner turmoil as I nodded in silent confirmation, the truth a bitter pill to swallow.

In the midst of the struggle, Uhtred seized Cnut in a chokehold. Demanding his blade, Cnut's plea was met with Brida's trembling compliance, her anguish etched across her features as she confronted the man who had torn her world asunder.

With a swift motion, Brida plunged the blade into Cnut's chest, the final act of retribution echoing the depth of her sorrow. As he crumpled to his knees, gasping for breath, Uhtred's revelation hung heavy in the air, both of his sons were alive and well, a cruel twist of fate.

Surrounded by the Welsh, Danish prisoners in tow, Brida turned to us with a desperate plea, her eyes pleading for release from the torment of her existence.

"Send me to Valhalla," she beseeched, her voice tinged with the weight of unspoken sorrow. Yet, as she stepped back, I couldn't bear to be the harbinger of her demise, refusing to condemn her to death.

Despite her desperate pleas, Uhtred and I couldn't bring ourselves to grant her wish, instead choosing to let her be taken as a prisoner, a testament to the complexities of forgiveness and the enduring bonds that united us.

As Uhtred and I emerged from the dense canopy of the woods, the din of battle gradually fading into the distance, we rejoined the others. Uhtred and Aethelflaed engaged in earnest conversation, while I sought out Sihtric.

Finding him nestled among Finan and Osferth, their weary forms a testament to the trials of the day, I collapsed beside them, the cool earth embracing my weary body. Lying on my back, I gazed upward, the vast expanse of the sky stretching endlessly above us.

"Cnut?" Finan's voice cut through the quiet, his inquiry echoing the collective curiosity that hung in the air like a heavy mist. With a faint smile, I propped myself up on my elbows, exhaustion mingling with the lingering adrenaline of battle.

"Dead," I affirmed, my voice tinged with a mixture of relief and solemnity.

Turning my attention to the men "And you three?" I inquired, "Almost dead," Osferth quipped, his tone light, eliciting a shared chuckle from our weary band. 

Sihtric's gaze met mine, a silent exchange passing between us.

"I am going to find a river to wash away the grime of battle before my brother leads us into some new battle," I declared, pushing myself to my feet. Beside me, Sihtric rose in silent agreement.

Finan's quip cut through the air like a well-aimed arrow, his voice tinged with a mixture of amusement and incredulity. "You both have just killed countless men and women, and all you can think about now is... humping?" he queried, his brow furrowed in disbelief.

With a roll of my eyes, I brushed off his words. "Don't be jealous, Irishman," I retorted.

With purposeful strides, I set off towards the woods, the canopy of trees stretching out before me like welcoming arms.

The hurried tempo of Sihtric's footsteps echoed behind me, urging me onward through the labyrinth of shadows and light. With every stride, the forest embraced us, a haven amidst the chaos of conflict.

A sudden gasp escaped my lips as Sihtric's strong grip yanked me back, igniting a blaze beneath the surface with his touch. Amidst the towering trees' shelter, he ensnared me in his arms, his voice a seductive murmur against my ear.

"I have waited so long for this moment," he confessed, his words dripping with longing and desire, the echo of anticipation vibrating between us.

A  retort danced upon my lips, teasing and taunting in equal measure. "Did I not warn you that one day, you would find yourself falling into my seductress traps" I teased and a low growl escaped his lips.

With a subtle shift in his demeanour, Sihtric tightened his hold, pulling me closer until his touch sparked a wildfire within. His words, heavy with desire, fanned the flames of longing.

"That is no one's fault but your own," he countered, the thin veil of restraint crumbling under the weight of desire.

As I lightly tugged at his hair, igniting a symphony of sensations, his lips hovered tantalizingly close, the promise of ecstasy hanging in the air between us.

"Get on with it then," I murmured, a whispered challenge hanging on the edge, our shared desire pulsing in the air.

His eyes, twin pools of desire, mirrored the intensity of our passion. With intent, he closed the gap between us, his lips capturing mine in a fervent embrace that set the world ablaze.

In that timeless moment, reality faded into oblivion, leaving only the intoxicating collision of passion and surrender.

───☆⋅☾⋅☆───

my woman 😍😍  also if you couldn't tell I don't exactly write full on 'smut' I don't really know how to tbh and I don't read it either so pretty clueless on the matter (I will try add something in later chapters but we'll see) 😭😭

also this is posted later than i expected cause ive been on a week long trip w my friends and honestly wasnt checking my phone as much sorry 😬

[pearbunny]

the bucket list ✘ [six.5]

series masterlist | prev | next [ ❀ spotify playlist ]

summary: Fly to Korea. Check. Buy a bouquet of flowers for a stranger. Check. Have said stranger come along with you to accomplish your bucket list? Well that wasn’t on the list, but falling in love was. 

pairing: han jisung x afab!reader

genre: 18+ [MDNI] strangers to lovers, non idol au, crack, mostly fluff, later chapters to include: angst, comfort, smut.

general warnings:  tourist!mc, adult themes including but not limited to: suggestive content, nudity, cursing, alcohol consumption, mentions of death in later chapters, overarching theme of mental health, eventual smut.

word count: ~2.2k 

chapter content: lots of dialogue, “girl talk”/talking about sex, o/c calls her dad. 

author's note: SURPRISE (not really). This is chapter 6.5 and it’s only labeled that because no actual bucket list item will be completed, however I do drop the biggest hint that i’ve ever slipped into the previous chapters. If you’ve read a couple of the author’s notes; you’d know. ;) ANYWAY, on to the chapter! As always, thank you for showing interest in TBL!  

You got back to the hotel after your night drive with Jisung at about midnight. It was late and the both of you were hungry, so you ended up just getting some drive-thru fast food and eating it in his car before heading back. 

The moment you walked through the door, Jisung bee-lined over for the couch in the corner of the hotel room and plopped down, groaning loudly. 

You convinced him to go to sleep first, telling him you would probably be awake for awhile since you were able to get some rest in during the car ride over. He agreed with sleepy sentiments and quickly washed up and got in bed. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Now, you were kneeled in front of your suitcase, grabbing some appropriate sleeping clothes and your toiletry bag for your skincare routine. 

A muted vibration sounds from your phone. You look around, trying to remember where you put it. You lift up the lid of your suitcase and snatch it off the floor. It was an incoming video call from your best friend, back home. ‘Robin’ it read, with a picture of a woman your age drinking straight from a mimosa pitcher.

You bring your phone, clothes, and toiletries to the bathroom, closing both the closet door and the bathroom door behind you to dampen the sound. “Hello?” You answer the video call with a whisper.

“Y/N!” Robin’’s high pitched voice echoes with the acoustics of the bathroom and you panic, propping the phone up against the mirror.

“Shhh, it’s like 2am here.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely middle of the day here, my bad. Where are you? You haven’t been answering my texts all day? Are you okay?” Robin is sitting on her laptop in a cafe with her oversized headphones on, the sun shining through the window to her left, casting a golden sheen on her skin. 

“I’m at a hotel.” You turn the faucet on very slightly so you can still hear her over the slow stream of running water. 

“Oh, did you ditch the roommate?” 

“No, I’m at the hotel… with him.” You put your hands under the tap to check the temperature, then bend forward to splash the water onto your face.

“Rewind.” Robin has a pen in her hand that she waves back and forth. 

You pump some cleanser into your hand, lather it with soap, then spread it onto your face. “We decided to do a little road trip to Busan. We’re staying at a hotel by the beach.” 

“In the same room?”

“In the same room.” You pick up your fancy electric face cleansing tool and gently glide it over your skin.

“In the same bed?”

“Well, he’s asleep right now… But yeah, same bed.” You glance towards the door where Jisung is surely asleep, probably even snoring.” I mean it wouldn't be the first time I guess.” You mumble the latter part of your sentence, hoping that Robin wouldn’t catch it.

“WHAT?!” People around Robin in the cafe look towards her sudden outburst.

“KEEP IT DOWN.” You whisper aggressively at her.

“You can’t just tell me you slept with a man and expect me to keep it down.” She mimics your tone, whispering although she has absolutely no need to in the noisy cafe.

“Okay, fair. You’re right; sorry.” You go back to cleansing your face, looking at your reflection in the mirror.

“So, spill.” Dramatically, Robin lifts her large coffee mug to her lips for a loud sip.

“Well, you know how I told you I was staying with Jisung.” You work the soap on your face into a bigger lather, inhaling the very mild herbal scent for your cleanser.

“M’hmmm, last name?” Robin pulls up her phone.

“Han.”

“Thanks.” She’s typing away on her phone, already trying to find him on Instagram. It doesn’t take too long, she just had to parse through all the other profiles that showed up before his. “He doesn’t post much, but he looks cute!”

“Anyway, I told you about how he’s willing to help me do stuff on the bucket list, well one of them was Sing Karaoke in front of people and … well he happens to be a bartender at this bar that was doing Norebang, so he took me to his work place.”

“You don’t even follow him on social media do you?” Robin looks at you through the phone with a deadpan expression.

“No, why?” You rinse the brush of your electric face scrubber and stand it on the sink counter to dry before pooling some of the water in the palm of your hands to wash your face from the soap.

“Why wasn’t that the first thing you looked up about this guy?” Robin clicks on a post on Jisung’s Instagram.

“Honestly… I don’t know.” Your eyes are shut as you blindly reach around for the face towel you remember being  neatly folded in the center of the counter.

“Well, one of the few pictures he has on Instagram is him bartending v it’s tagged at a place called ‘Loudmouth’, which I assume is his workplace. Y/N, you’re supposed to be the smart responsible one.”

“Yeah, well I think I left that part of me back home when I booked a ticket to Korea last second.” You pat yourself dry and place the face towel on the towel rack behind you. 

“Okay, we’re getting away from the good stuff.” Robin sets her phone aside and rests her hand on her chin, batting her eyes at you.

“So, we went to Loudmouth. His co-workers were really nice Minho and Changbin–” 

“Haha, Chang-bin and Ro-bin, I bet we’d be cute together.” 

You roll your eyes at her with a playful smile. "I was drinking because I needed the courage to sing. They all drank with me. I sang. They sent us home and gave him another week off. We went home, we drank more and then… You know.” 

“... Girl of course I know, but I want to know know.” It was Robin’s turn to roll her eyes, but of course, in classic Robin fashion, it had much more of a dramatic flare to it.

“Oh my god.” You cover your face with your hands, applying toner while doing so.

“Was it good?”

“Well, yea.” You gave a casual shrug, patting your toner in.

Robin holds up a not-so-menacing pen at you. “I swear to god, Y/N.” 

“I don’t know! What do you want me to say?!” You laugh quietly, holding your hands up in the air in shrug like gesture.

“Who initiated it?” Robin knew how this was going to work; she had to ask the questions.

“Me?”

“YOU DID?” This time, she whisper-shouted at you, not willing to be scolded by you again. Robin’s jaw drops in disbelief. Her little Y/N  made the first move?!

“Kind of? I mean, I did kiss him first.”

“Tell me more.” She leans forward in her seat again, eyes wide in anticipation.

“Okay, well he was super sweet. Like, too sweet. I kind of wished he just,” You raise your hands up to make sure your friend could see them. Then you dramatically grabbed at air, “You know what I mean?”

“Okay, but that’s cute still.” Robin gives you a smile, “He just wanted to make sure you were okay with it all, I mean the both of you were drunk after all.”

You start to apply your serum in your face, avoiding looking at your phone. “I mean we weren’t drunk enough that I forgot about it.” 

Robin squeals a little, “Okay, okay, back to me trying to get details out of you.” She does a little excited dance in her chair. “How big was he?”

You gawk at the crude question. You look up into the air and shift your weight onto one hip, pursing your lips together as you think of how to answer the question. “Well it was definitely knocking on my cervix.” 

Robin’s jaw dropped, but there was an animated expression on her face, “OKAY HAN JISU–”

You grab the phone, muffling the speaker. “Robbie!” You open the bathroom door that leads into the closet. The sound doesn’t echo like it does off the tile bathroom floors and walls. The carpet and wallpaper helps keep Robin’s voice from sounding so loud. That and you lowered the volume on the phone. You place the phone on the shelf, facing the ceiling and you change into a large tee shirt and some shorts. 

Robin’s attempt at hiding her giggles behind her hands over her mouth is futile. “So was it, like, vanilla?”

You tug the shirt over your head before grabbing the phone from the shelf and sitting in the corner of the closet, holding the phone in your hand. “Oh my god, Robbie. He did this thing,” You pause and lick the bottom of your lip and close your eyes, remembering the way Jisung cradled your jaw in his hand, “He made me look at him and–” You let a high pitched sound come from you as you slid down from the wall to lay with your back on the floor. 

Robin has her chin in her hands, observing you. “Hey, Y/N?”

You looked up at your phone that you held in the air above you. “Yea?”

“You look happy.” Robin’s voice is quiet, not to take away from how genuine she says those words. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes.

You give her a small smile and sit back up, nodding. “Yea. Or– or at least I’ve felt happy lately.” You shrink into yourself, slouching your shoulders as you lean back against the wall again. 

Robin continues on. “I’m glad you decided to go through with the list.”

“Take more risks. Be —a little— reckless… “ You absentmindedly play with your hair as you recall a specific item that seemed to be scribbled on the pages as an afterthought. 

A waiter passes by Robin and offers to take her cup, which she places on their tray. “For real, Y/N. I’m really relieved to see that you got on that plane. It sucked to see you in this monotonous routine. You barely ever wanted to come hang out with us and when you did I felt like you only came out because you felt like you couldn’t keep saying no.” You don’t have to look at Robin through the phone to know she was pouting, you could hear it in her voice. 

“I’m sorry,” You look at a loose thread in the carpet underneath you and start to pick at it. 

Robin shakes her head. “Don’t be. You were doing your best.” 

You nod and stay silent. 

“Anyway, how many more days do you have until you come back?”

You swipe down on your phone screen to check the time and date. “Like a week.”

Robin looks through her phone again, getting back on Instagram and scrolling through her feed. “Would it be so bad if you uploaded on Instagram? All our friends think something happened and I have to reassure them that you’re just in a completely different time zone.”

You chuckle while giving you a guilty nod. “I will, I will.” 

“Also, Y/N,” She looks at you seriously this time. 

“Call your dad. I know he doesn’t say or express it much, but he’s worried about you.” 

You grow quiet again, biting your inner cheek as the guilt grows. “Yeah, I know.” 

“Alright, well I have to get home, text me! Love you bye!”

“Bye, Robbie.” You end the video call with her. 

You look through your contacts and call up your dad. The phone rings three times before he answers. “Y/N?”

“Hey Dad,” Your voice is quiet, but being mindful of Jisung waking up isn’t the only reason for it. 

“Hey,” Your dad sighs on his end, relieved to hear your voice. “Are you okay over there? I can get on the next plane if I need to.”

You shake your head, even though he can’t see you. “I’m fine, I just wanted…” You thought over your next words. “I just wanted to let you know I think I’m going to be okay.” 

There’s silence between you two. A lot of things unsaid; things a bit too heavy to talk about at the moment. But the sentiment is still true; you’re going to be okay. 

“I know you are.” He smiles fondly, eyes soft and teary. 

“Anyway, it’s almost 3:30 in the morning here, Dad.”

“Okay, yea sorry. I’m glad to hear from you.”

“Good to hear your voice, too, Dad.”

“Hey, Peanut?” It had been awhile since you’ve heard that childhood nickname. 

“Yea?”

He pauses and you find yourself holding your breath. “She’d be proud of you, too.” 

A beep sounds off in your ear and it means he ended the call. You drop the phone into your lap and bring your knees to your chest, one arm grasping at your hair on the crown of your head. Your other hand covers your mouth, stifling your sobs as the tears fall from your tightly shut eyes. 

ending author's notes: Hope you enjoyed this one. More will be revealed in due time. I think I'll release the spotify playlist I've made for this soon. :) Reminder that the chapter 7 will not be until after September, possibly the second week. If you have any questions, concerns, or you just wanna talk about the chapter, my inbox is always always open! Small reminder that reblogs and comments are highly encouraged! taglist

@burningchaosdeer @bat-shark-repellant, @jisunglyricist, @captivq, @lixiel0ver, @channieandhisgoonsquad, @dalamjisung, @laylasbunbunny, @beanebabyy, @leyknowsbin, @vixensss, @hyunfilms, @cutiespaghetti, @hanjisunginc

[communist-manifesto-daily]

The Communist Manifesto - Part 16

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It is well known how the monks wrote silly lives of Catholic Saints over the manuscripts on which the classical works of ancient heathendom had been written. The German literati reversed this process with the profane French literature. They wrote their philosophical nonsense beneath the French original. For instance, beneath the French criticism of the economic functions of money, they wrote “Alienation of Humanity”, and beneath the French criticism of the bourgeois state they wrote “Dethronement of the Category of the General”, and so forth.

The introduction of these philosophical phrases at the back of the French historical criticisms, they dubbed “Philosophy of Action”, “True Socialism”, “German Science of Socialism”, “Philosophical Foundation of Socialism”, and so on.

The French Socialist and Communist literature was thus completely emasculated. And, since it ceased in the hands of the German to express the struggle of one class with the other, he felt conscious of having overcome “French one-sidedness” and of representing, not true requirements, but the requirements of Truth; not the interests of the proletariat, but the interests of Human Nature, of Man in general, who belongs to no class, has no reality, who exists only in the misty realm of philosophical fantasy.

This German socialism, which took its schoolboy task so seriously and solemnly, and extolled its poor stock-in-trade in such a mountebank fashion, meanwhile gradually lost its pedantic innocence.

The fight of the Germans, and especially of the Prussian bourgeoisie, against feudal aristocracy and absolute monarchy, in other words, the liberal movement, became more earnest.

By this, the long-wished for opportunity was offered to “True” Socialism of confronting the political movement with the Socialist demands, of hurling the traditional anathemas against liberalism, against representative government, against bourgeois competition, bourgeois freedom of the press, bourgeois legislation, bourgeois liberty and equality, and of preaching to the masses that they had nothing to gain, and everything to lose, by this bourgeois movement. German Socialism forgot, in the nick of time, that the French criticism, whose silly echo it was, presupposed the existence of modern bourgeois society, with its corresponding economic conditions of existence, and the political constitution adapted thereto, the very things those attainment was the object of the pending struggle in Germany.

To the absolute governments, with their following of parsons, professors, country squires, and officials, it served as a welcome scarecrow against the threatening bourgeoisie.

It was a sweet finish, after the bitter pills of flogging and bullets, with which these same governments, just at that time, dosed the German working-class risings.

While this “True” Socialism thus served the government as a weapon for fighting the German bourgeoisie, it, at the same time, directly represented a reactionary interest, the interest of German Philistines. In Germany, the petty-bourgeois class, a relic of the sixteenth century, and since then constantly cropping up again under the various forms, is the real social basis of the existing state of things.

To preserve this class is to preserve the existing state of things in Germany. The industrial and political supremacy of the bourgeoisie threatens it with certain destruction – on the one hand, from the concentration of capital; on the other, from the rise of a revolutionary proletariat. “True” Socialism appeared to kill these two birds with one stone. It spread like an epidemic.

The robe of speculative cobwebs, embroidered with flowers of rhetoric, steeped in the dew of sickly sentiment, this transcendental robe in which the German Socialists wrapped their sorry “eternal truths”, all skin and bone, served to wonderfully increase the sale of their goods amongst such a public.

And on its part German Socialism recognised, more and more, its own calling as the bombastic representative of the petty-bourgeois Philistine.

It proclaimed the German nation to be the model nation, and the German petty Philistine to be the typical man. To every villainous meanness of this model man, it gave a hidden, higher, Socialistic interpretation, the exact contrary of its real character. It went to the extreme length of directly opposing the “brutally destructive” tendency of Communism, and of proclaiming its supreme and impartial contempt of all class struggles. With very few exceptions, all the so-called Socialist and Communist publications that now (1847) circulate in Germany belong to the domain of this foul and enervating literature.*

* The revolutionary storm of 1848 swept away this whole shabby tendency and cured its protagonists of the desire to dabble in socialism. The chief representative and classical type of this tendency is Mr Karl Gruen. [Note by Engels to the German edition of 1890.]

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[gaypiratebrainrot]

Hey, sorry I hope you don’t mind me messaging you again (prev anon) but I can’t stop thinking about wfu after reading earlier in the week.

So on my second read I actually found myself getting quite cross with Stede and the way he is generally the one escalating the situation in terms of physical contact and then placing the blame for that escalation on Ed? yes, i know Ed is the one who waits for him by the trailer after shooting the kissing scene, but it’s Stede who comes back and actually kisses him? And then Ed’s acceptance of that guilt smacks of someone with self esteem issues allowing someone else to place blame on them where it doesn’t belong.

Like, without Stede driving things forward, the physical intimacy would never have happened imho.

Ed clearly wants that intimacy, so I didn’t find myself too troubled by worries about consent, but I do find myself troubled by Stede being the driving force behind things and then Ed being the one left with that guilt. And god, Ed just seemed so lonely, that really got me.

Sorry, I’m not very good at meta analysis stuff, I tend to react to stories through character/emotions so those are my takeaways.

Anyway it’s been a bit of an emotional double whammy reading your fic and then getting cancellation news this week so I’m off to do a bit more crying (jk, except not really)

Thanks again for your story x

thank you so much for this ask!!! i do not mind at all--in fact, i am quite happy to think about this instead of the many other stressful things in my life right now.

your thoughts are so interesting to me, in that you are not the first person to have this perspective on stede's actions in wfu (in a good way!). in fact, my friend @chaotic-neutral-knitter left very similar thoughts in a wfu comment on their recent re-read, and i've seen the sentiment echoed elsewhere in various responses. and it's such a fascinating take to me because it is different from my own perspective, both as i was writing it, and in the year+ since. i am a staunch believer that my interpretation of the text is equally valid as any reader interpretation--that is, i don't think i have any special authority on a "correct" read as the person who wrote it, so big grain of salt with my thoughts.

i think it's interesting how many readers put the responsibility for that parking lot kiss on stede, when i've always maintained that moment as the moment when ed opens the door to what will eventually unfold between them. it's ed who leans in first to kiss stede in the parking lot. in the kissing scene on set, in the moment after the kiss, ed reads so much into the look on stede's face--that "pretend pretend" paragraph, to me, is ed looking at stede and believing that stede understands ed's desire to be genuine and not acting, and that stede, on some level, is accepting/welcoming of that desire. but i think, in that moment, ed reads stede wrong. i think the idea that ed has genuine desire for stede is an impossible idea for stede right up until the moment when ed leans in to kiss him in the parking lot. and then stede doing his little back and forth after initially saying no there, that's stede wrestling with this brand new conception that ed might actually want him, that ed's desire isn't pretend, or a joke.

to consider stede's pov--this is a man twenty years deep in a heterosexual, monogamous marriage, who, for the first time in his entire life, is realizing he might have these extremely repressed sexual desires, for men generally, and for ed specifically. but ed is, and always has been, his hotter, sexier, more successful, more highly regarded friend, inaccessible to stede as an object of desire beyond stede's repressed sexuality. stede has never had to grapple with his desire for ed in large part because never in a million years did stede think ed would be a sexually or romantically attainable person for him. and then, because of the show, stede gets to find out what it would be like for ed to want him, for ed to kiss him like he wants him, but still, still, for stede it's under the guise of pretend. until the moment in the parking lot when ed leans in. and i think that opens a door for stede that he never, ever thought would be open, and so has absolutely no idea how to not walk through it.

there's no question to me that stede is trying to evade responsibility for his actions, especially in the second half, and him showing up at ed's house in the middle of the night and refusing to leave (even while pretending he has the intention of leaving) is pretty blatantly on him. but i also think there's something to his line about "it's not fair for you to want me back"--in the sense that, ed's beauty and sexual charisma and fame and success and status and the fact that he's technically stede's boss and employer does give ed a certain amount of power over stede, a power ed is not responsible with when he goes for the kiss in the parking lot, and when he makes a pass at him a second time after the party at stede's house. ed is offering something to stede in those moments that he should not offer him if he understands and respects the importance of stede's monogamous marriage, which he textually does. ed knows why he should not come on to stede, and he does it anyway, twice. and i think if ed had never come on to stede, stede would never in a million years have even thought it would be possible for ed to want him the way he does, and would never have taken the actions he does once ed opens the door.

all that being said, yeah, i think stede is a real dick about it and tries to place as much of the blame on ed as possible when stede is quite blatantly the aggressor beginning with the moment he decides to walk to ed's house in the middle of the night without his phone or wedding ring. imo, stede is doing some olympic level denial about what he actually wants, and that's making it extremely difficult for him to be accountable for his actions, and to accept responsibility for his choices. whereas ed is at least somewhat consciously aware that he is choosing to do something he shouldn't when he waits outside stede's trailer for the possible opportunity to kiss stede again, instead of going in and talking it thru, and so he's more readily accountable, and it's easier for him to take the blame.

phew, this was a whole essay lol, but i just happened to have been thinking about it a lot still (and am still stuck in covid quarantine). my condolences that you are having wfu feels at the same time as cancellation feels--but at least our fandom is fighting the good fight to not let the show go without a major push back! thank you again for this ask!!! <3 <3 <3

[birues]

Okay y'all I'm gonna sleep but!! What if I talked about Tuana's prev incarnation under the cut first! Ew and Shb spoilers also That Theatre Company raid spoilers i forgot their name

So. The prev reincarnation was a Garlean playwright named Vergilius (...yeah) and he was Solus' favorite playwright. To the point he knows all of his works from the memory. And when he was still legatus, they actually sent each other a couple of letters over their shared love for the theatre but they've never met because Vergilius was a very private and anonymous person. The letters ceased to be once Solus started to turn Garlemald into a despicable invasion force and Vergilius was a critic especially after witnessing the horrors Garlean army has brought on the lands they've conquered. He continued to write but stayed anonymous. But after a while he knew he needed to get out. To leave.

And Solus still wanted to meet him. And Vergilius was about to accept if only to say that he'll leave the empire, but Hydaelyn was like "Hear, Feel, Think... And ABSOLUTELY DON'T MEET HIM. BETTER YET, RUN. LEAVE THIS PLACE." and so he did and wrote a letter to Solus. It was actually a small play but the message was very clear. Vergilius had no intention to live in a paradise forged with blood. Before he left, he gave many of his plays to Raxentales which were friends of his.

Vergilius roamed the world and met many people. One of them was Hamon Holyfist. They became friends and he gifted him several art works he himself drew. Some of them featured their own faces.

Jury is still out if I should make his death a tragedy but he died and Tuana was born.

Tuana who loved theatre and Vergilius' plays more than anything. Tuana who got adopted by Master Hamon eventually. Tuana who recieved one of those sketches that featured Hamon and Vergilius as a bday gift. Tuana who liked the art style because it was kinda like hers but also kinda different.

And of course. Of course i need to mention while Tuana doesn't look like Azem, Vergilius ABSOLUTELY did.

And once a certain two theatre enthusiasts met on the First... It was inevitable they would talk about their favorite playwright. It was inevitable Tuana would show him that sketch. It was inevitable he would recognize the face and the similarities in the art style. To think he has thought Azem's soul was gone all these years until he met Tuana. Because he's searched and searched and searched but could never find her soul. But her reincarnation was right there. Under his nose. They wrote letters to each other. And he didn't know. Then he left just as Azem did because he was not interested in living in a paradise forged with blood.

And now she's echoing that sentiment.

[fakegingerrights]

Walk By Faith (7)

[A/N: We're finally starting to get somewhere with this! TW for mentions of Concussions and physical violence (choking)]

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Crosshair was silent on the ride back to Kamino, not a word to his squad except a muttered thanks when ES-03 gave him a water pouch.

He knew he looked awful, but most of the damage was surface level. His armor took the brunt of it. With his newly fixed helmet, he examined his injuries, noting the faintest outline of dusty handprints under his shoulders and similar dust drag marks on his legs and presumably his back as well. His whole body was covered in what felt like a minor sunburn, with some more scaly bits on his right side that stung and were beginning to itch.

Tech had known he needed his helmet to see. Had known how to fix his helmet. He had also, presumably, dragged him away from the blast of the ion engine or his burns would be way worse.

"An anonymous contact. I... don't think they're too fond of the empire. But they were willing to help you. More than willing."

"My contact was the one who came up with this, one of the first implantless neural networks of this scale."

Tech was the genius. Hunter was the strategist. Kriff, even Wrecker was brilliant when it came to weapons and explosives.

But Crosshair was no slouch either, and right now several pieces were falling into place. Tech was currently on the run from the empire. Tech was stupidly sentimental in his own right when it came to his brothers. Tech helped build Echo's upgraded hardware.

Tech knew enough about neural networks to devise a helmet like his.

Tech loved him enough to do this.

Tech lead him on a wild krayt chase

Tech was looking out for him still.

He didn't need Tech's protection.

Damn it you Cha'kaar, just admit you miss them!

Crosshair shook his head roughly, wincing as his vision glitched and flickered. He was getting a headache. But he had just figured out something more important than his current discomfort. Tech was your contact. You had been working with traitors.

You were a traitor. You had to be. You had to have known.

The white halls of Kamino jittered and glitched as he stalked down them towards the medical bay. He knew he needed to get checked out, but he was looking for you.

Traitor. You were a traitor. Was he a traitor?

Crosshair’s breathing was unnaturally loud in his ears as he staggered and fell to his knees. When had his vision cut out?

He ripped his helmet off. Salt stung his raw, burnt face as he gasped for air. Distant footsteps echoed around his head, muffled words, a familiar voice, was saying something. To him?

“-ss, vod, you’re hyperventilating.”

Echo? Was that Echo’s voice? No. Different reg.

“Bev?” He croaked, turning towards the sound. Hands gripped his shoulders, pulling him to his feet by his breastplate. His balance was strange. Bev was solid beside him, taking most of his weight and helping him to an exam room, shutting the curtain behind him and guiding him to a cot.

“Can I get you out of that armor, Crosshair?” Bev asked, keeping his hand on his shoulder.

Crosshair shook his head, murmuring your name softly as he tried to get his addled brain into focus. Bev kept his hold on Crosshair's shoulder as he paged you discretely. He checked him over for a concussion and started getting bacta on the burns on his cheeks. Crosshair flinched every time the cold gel touched him, still staring vacantly into the distance. Well, even more so than he normally did.

"Crosshair?”

He gave a start. Bev was tapping on his shoulder, against the grey-coated plating. “I really need to examine you.”

Mutely, Crosshair nodded. Bev’s quick fingers caught the catches of his breastplate, making quick work of the plates. A knock on the door startled both of them.

“Maker, what happened to you?” You breathed, stepping into the room and taking in his soot covered and burned face and the littered injuries around his body. You moved to help Bev with your patient’s plates, but as soon as your fingers brushed him he snapped into motion.

His hand wrapped around your throat as he slammed you into the medical bench, cutting off your airway. His eyes were glazed over and his face stony. Even blind, his eyes bored into yours with frightening intensity.

Bev was quick to react, yanking Crosshair off of you and stepping between you two. Crosshair snarled, his face a mask of fury.

“Traitor.” He snarled at you, moving to lunge but Bev held him back.

“Your Doctor is no traitor.” He hissed, holding Crosshair away. Crosshair went limp, all the fight draining away as fast as it had come. His knees buckled and Bev was quick to catch him.

You were sitting up, rubbing your throat and coughing weakly. Dark bruises were forming, but it could definitely be worse.

“What’s going on?” You demand, your voice croaking and hoarse.

“Not sure. He’s been off the whole time.” Bev said sharply, draping him back on the cot and jabbing a port into Crosshair's hand, holding him to the bed with his off hand as he paws through his bag looking for a sedative that wouldn't be too dangerous if his outburst was caused by a concussion. Crosshair didn't fight, just laying limp where he was left, his eyes wide and empty as his chest heaved. Hyperventilating.

Slowly, whatever Bev managed to give him took effect and his eyes slowly drifted closed, his panting slowing into the slow, metronome steady rhythm of sleep.

"Let me see your neck." Bev asked quietly, pulling out a tube of bacta.

"I'm alright." You rasp, but tilt your head to the side and let him apply a thin layer of the stuff, even though it wouldn't do much since there were no open wounds. Still, the pleasant cooling sensation was a relief on the fresh marks. "I'm... more worried about him, honestly."

"I know. I'm... anxious, about letting him back into the field. I was before but this confirms my worries even more. He needs help. Those chips alter your thought patterns and hormone levels to reduce trauma and depression symptoms, as well as any underlying mental illnesses. You saw how much of a mess I was after removing mine, but the special units go through literal hell in training." Bev rambled a bit, pulling out his datapad.

"I'm going to fudge his papers a bit. He needs rest. I'm marking him down as concussed and confused, explaining his violent outburst and get him put up in his current quarters with a 'treatment' plan. How's renovations coming along?" He looked up at you expectantly.

"...Better. I have the bed put together and everything, but I got a little distracted on my latest project." You explained, glancing back at Crosshair's pale form. Even asleep and drugged, there was a tension in him that hadn't quite left. A crease between his brows that never quite smoothed out.

You startled at your name, Bev placing a hand on your shoulder. "I know that look. You can't save them all. Doctor, I'm not even sure you can save him."

"Bev I can't just... I have to do this. This isn't..." You shook your head in frustration. "Where's his helmet. His face is damaged so his helmet must be too."

"He had torn it off in the hall. I left it there in favor of getting it to you. I'll go retrieve it." Bev offered, leaving you alone in the room with Crosshair. You took it upon yourself to get the thin blanket pulled up over him and arranged him in a more comfortable position.

As you went to adjust his thin pillow slightly, his eyes fluttered open, staring right through you. As if sensing your hesitation, he rolled his head towards you, a sigh catching in his rough throat as his temple connected with your hand. Some of the tension left his face.

"I forgive you." You murmur, not sure how aware he was. "We'll talk later, but I forgive you." You stroked his hair gently, fine silver curls soft under your fingertips. And sooty. Grey streaks were left on your fingertips.

"Here's his helmet, Doc." Bev called from the doorway. "Go nuts."

You caught the dirty gray helmet, instantly seeing where part of it had been smashed in and torn away. Wires had obviously been repaired after coming loose.

Tucked under them was a note that made your blood freeze.

"To the doctor in charge of CC 9904, otherwise known as Crosshair. And to me, I call him 'Brother.'....."

Crosshair ached all over. There was a strange weight on the forefront of his face, across his nose and around his eyes. He felt bruised and burned across his entire body. There was the sound of soft snores nearby, higher than a brothers' and feminine.

On instinct, he opened his eyes as he sat up wincing at first from the sharp pain in his ribs and back then blinking in the dim light of his room.

Oh. That was new.

A trembling hand reached up to investigate the weight on his face he couldn't see, fingers bumping against smooth metal and glass an inch from his cheekbones. Glasses? No. Goggles. They felt remarkably like the ones Tech wore.

The ones that pressed into his nose as he pressed his forehead against his brother's, the brother who had taken a shot meant for him

Ones that had often ended up digging into his shoulder as he and Wrecker wrangled Tech from his workbench to sleep

Goggles that-

Crosshair dug the heel of his palm into his forehead in an attempt to stop the haunting memories. He instantly hissed and lightened the contact, flipping his hand over to press the chronically icy backs of his fingers against his too hot face.

At his hiss, the snoring stopped and there was the sound of shifting fabric off to his right. You were curled up in a chair that hadn't been there before, stretching and rubbing your eyes. Now that he could see it, the entire room was different from when he had been here last. His bed had been changed, the mattress soft and thick beneath him. The blankets still smelled like sunshine rather than bleach, but there were more of them.

The closet doors had been pulled off, and now he could see a well stocked with civilian clothes. Male, civilian clothes. The desk by his bed had a lamp on it, off currently. There was also a window that he hadn't noticed, high above his bed. For once, it was sunny out on Kamino, lighting up the room without the need for lights.

"You're awake..." You yawned, stretching your arms over your head and running a hand through your hair, making a face as your fingers caught on a snarl from sleeping in a chair. "How're you feeling?"

"... Tired. Not... I don't know. And sore." He grumbled, wincing at the sound of his own voice. "What time is it?"

"Early morning. You've been asleep for a day and a half or so. Even after whatever Bev hit you with wore off." You explained, popping all your joints you could reach as you stood up, sighing in relief as the cracks sounded in the room.

"... I hurt you." He admitted, glancing at your neck. The bruises were faded thanks to the bacta, but he could still see them. "I... " He fumbled for an explanation, icy fear prickling at his neck. He could be decommissioned for that.

"You're forgiven, Crosshair." You broke him out of his building panic. "I know why you did it. Tech... left a note tucked into your helmet."

"Oh..." Crosshair wasn't sure how to respond to that.

"It... explained a lot of things. I thought I was a loyal citizen of the empire. I was so sure... The jedi had been traitors. That we had done the right thing. But those chips... I saw how it affected Bev. They're horrible. I don't know what to believe now."

Crosshair's hackles rose as he stared at you incredulously.

"I'm... me and Bev had a conversation. Bev and I. Whatever. I'm going to give you a choice."

You held up three fingers.

"One. You stay with the empire. Me and Bev will vanish, marked as traitors to the Empire. Neither us will fault you for that." You ticked off one finger, stepping closer. "Two. We tell the empire you're dead. You're sent back with your brothers. You go home with them." Another finger, another step. You're standing right next to the bed. Crosshair stares at you, pupils wide behind his new goggles. He looked so much like his brother right now. Your eyes traced over his tattoo.

"Three. We go with the plan Tech suggested. You stay here with us. We work to take the empire down from the inside out."

Crosshair starts, eyes going wide. He quickly looks down at his lap, fidgeting aimlessly with his hands.

Tech's plan.

Tech had a plan for him.

His brothers had a plan.

He wasn't alone.

"... I like option three." He muttered down at his lap. He jumped slightly as you put a hand on his shoulder.

"Welcome home, Commander Crosshair."

Crosshair hesitated, then leaned into the touch. "... Glad to be back." And he was. For the first time in a long, long while, Crosshair felt like himself.

Taglist:

@the-hexfiles @moon-wrecked @stunkbiggu @urfriendlyneighbornightfury @followthepurrgil @endo-bunny @renon4224 @tecker @rinwritesfics @pb-jellybeans @merkitty49 @chicknstripz @bambambunny @yeeteth-the-raven

[melrosing]

MBO Robert's Rebellion: Episode 5

[edit: forgot to mention, this is three years on from ep4]

the middle act of 'season 1' lol. would call this the Tywin/Aerys divorce chapter but honestly they were divorced from the first.

on Serala of Myr... perhaps unsurprisingly I don't like the idea that she was this 'snake with tits' whispering terrible ideas in Denys Darklyn's ear: so here she just married some Westerosi lord who was hankering after her and promising her a wealthy life, but is largely uninterested in his affairs. I don't think it's a reach though to assume the people of Duskendale found her helpful subject to project onto when things went awry and they didn't want to blame their noble lord.

Prev: Episode 1, Episode 2, Episode 3, Episode 4

Next: Episode 6

title for this one: Aerys Targaryen Fucks Around

A masked ball at the Red Keep. Everything looks extravagant as hell. Aerys dances with a beautiful woman who smiles at him each time their eyes meet, and that excites him. Rhaella (in the early stages of another pregnancy, and with faint marks on her neck) looks to Ser Bonifer Hasty who stands at the side of the hall. Ser Bonifer Hasty looks abruptly away.

Aerys' dance with his partner concludes; she smiles at him, then quickly departs his side and goes to make eyes at Rhaegar, who is sitting at the side plucking the strings of his harp. Aerys, pissed, gets up to interrupt the next dance and make a speech to the party

The speech is kind of shit. Aerys feels grandiose and charismatic but he's obviously drunk and slurs his words as he talks of the future greatness of the kingdom. After an awkward clap that Aerys doesn't recognise as such, he stands down, and Tywin stands up: the king is obviously enjoying himself, he says, but he as Hand nonetheless echoes those sentiments. Bit of a laugh goes round. Aerys, embarrassed now, sits there stewing

opening creds lol

The King's council. Denys Darklyn has stopped paying his taxes and requests the presence of the King so that he might petition him!!! Tywin says that is absolutely not happening, and he will see to it that Lord Denys does pay his taxes with interest. Aerys begins a protest, maybe he DOES want to go to Duskendale, but Tywin shuts him down a little angrier than usual, and says also, enough with these expensive parties for a minute - they have other things to be focusing on

In the Great Hall, Ser Bonifer Hasty in the presence of the King. He requests the King's blessing to depart King's Landing and begin his Holy Hundred. Aerys like 'sure whatever lol'. Rhaella watching from the sidelines, barely able to conceal her heartbreak

Rhaegar in the ruins at Summerhall, playing another strange Valyrian tune on the harp. Suddenly, he's taken by a vision: a rising sun, a blue rose, a woman's scream, a dragon's roar. Note: whilst I imagine Dany's visions as clear and visceral, Rhaegar's lack the same clarification - they should be more like that fucked up tunnel Willy Wonka takes the kids through in that 1970s movie. Rhaegar looks up to see Arthur Dayne, who we see has been standing at a small distance from the prince, eyes fixed ahead

In Duskendale: Denys Darklyn and his wife Serala of Myr, who sits making a dress for herself in the style of home. He explains to her his grievances with the King, and wonders if Aerys will come to Duskendale. Serala, who speaks the common tongue well enough but perhaps not so well as to follow the intricacies of Westerosi tax systems, humours her husband with a nod

Rhaegar riding back to King's Landing with Arthur Dayne, in the midst of a field. Rhaegar wonders if Arthur knows how Summerhall burned: the story of Egg trying to cook eggs. Rhaegar was born here, and has always felt a connection to the place, he says. Now, he decides to confide in Arthur that he's been having Visions, and Arthur nods, unsurprised: that's why he came to his side, after all. Rhaegar nods: checks out. He now has a cryptic friend to hang out with x

Rhaella's new pregnancy: it's hard to get a moment of privacy from the maesters and midwives Aerys sends around after her. Pushed to her limit, she opens a closet and locks herself in, sliding to the floor in the dark

Aerys decides he wants to be kingly, announces at a new council meeting that he means to build an Enormous Wall a hundred leagues north of the existing wall (wow and to think this was written before 2016). Tywin is like pls be serious, that is not what we need right now. Aerys tries to make his case, but is shut down by Tywin, who suggests he go rest - he looks tired. The council hide smiles

Well now obviously he's going to do it. Aerys rises in the middle of the night. Rhaella rouses beside him and and wonders aloud where he's going. Aerys says he's gong to take a man to task in Duskendale. Rhaella asks if it will come to blows, Aerys (excited) says he does not know. Rhaella says nothing but we can see her manifesting something

Tywin, waking up some hours later. what the FUCK is going on

Aerys hits the road! He's having a grand old time with his guards. He has an apple. He stops at an inn. The smallfolk wave to see him go, and Aerys waves back. He feels like a king

Aerys reaches Duskendale. People don't seem quite so friendly here, but he doesn't take the meaning. Arriving in the castle's courtyard, the gates close behind them. Aerys looks for Lord Denys but does not find him. Instead, archers of Duskendale take out the men around him, and his KG Ser Gwayne Gaunt (you KNOW I've got that wiki open) is killed by the Duskendale master-at-arms. Aerys begins to suspect something is afoot

Serala of Myr watching from the window

Tywin enters the council chamber, where all the men who enabled this latest nonsense sit silent. Tywin goes to his seat, and sits heavily. ffs

[vidawhump]

Library Lockdown 2

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Reese questioned what could be causing the noises. They shoved their books in their bag. They had just finished several assignments they'd been putting off for ages, and whatever nonsense going on upstairs was not allowed to mess with their homework.

They stalked up the stairs, not wanting to be spooked by the source of the bluster. Reese peered into the ground floor of the library. Most of the books and displays had been stowed away in beat-up cardboard boxes. They’d been replaced by tools that Reese couldn’t recognize, along with assorted trash and crumpled plastic wrappers. Flattened boxes stacked up on the front desk, almost obscuring the computer monitors and barcode scanners.

The ground floor was nearly deserted, save for one last staff member packing up to leave. She was Reese’s favorite librarian. There was something about her; the comforting ambiance she had felt as if she understood Reese better than themself. Sadly, Reese could never remember her name. Maybe someday Reese would find their lost glasses so they could actually read her name tag.

The librarian visibly brightened at the sight of Reese peeking out of the stairway.

“Reese! How’d your homework go? Don’t tell me you forgot your calculator in your locker again, ‘ya silly goose.”

Reese gave her two thumbs up and a small smile, unmoving from their spot in the stairway.

The librarian just smiled back at them, not saying anything else. She seemed to notice that Reese wasn’t in much of a talking mood that day. She picked up her bag and walked out the front doors, leaving Reese with a small but genuine smile.

More noises echoed down from the second flight of stairs beside Reese. The sounds came clearer now. They sounded almost… wooden. And people were talking. Not quite loud enough that Reese could make anything out over the clattering wood, but loud enough that it was concerning. They slowly made their way up the next flight of stairs. It felt barren. The decorations and paintings that normally littered the walls were gone. The library almost seemed haunted.

They paused to run their hand across the beige drywall. Only thumbtack holes and Sharpied scribbles remained after the mosaics were removed. They missed the Lego library logo halfway up the stairs. Lifeless. But also… dangerous, in a way that sent shivers down Reese’s spine.

Another wooden clattering rung out accompanied by shouting and laughing. Right. The noises. Reese left their sentiments on the stairway and crept to the second floor.

They briefly considered that the remodelers had arrived early and had been messing around. Maybe that was why there was so much noise. Surely, that was it, and Reese could go home. But Reese couldn't leave without knowing for sure.

Before they could fully peer into the second floor, a hammer flew by, almost hitting Reese in the head.

… Maybe the remodelers just really hated Reese. Or maybe they're using drugs. Or both. Reese should stop trying to rationalize the situation that they hadn't fully uncovered.

Once Reese felt that no more flying hammers were going to attack them, they were able to fully examine the condition of the second floor.

It was in more disarray than the ground floor. The computers were shattered and broken on the floor and shiny glass shards scattered below the desks. The books, mainly informational and reference, were strewn across the floor. Several bookshelves were knocked over and into each other. Large wooden panels were laid all over the torn carpet.

And Reese might have been able to rationalize everything, if not for the people drilling the plywood across the windows and gawking at each other. They couldn’t have been much older Reese, and couldn’t possibly be the remodelers. One of the intruders threw another hammer, thankfully not at Reese again, but at one of the other intruders.

Whatever they were up to couldn't be any good.

Library Lockdown Taglist: @loonybun @rainbowsandwhumperflies @whumpy-wyrms @rainydaywhump

[fayes-fics]

Innocence Pt V

Innocence series masterpost

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Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict teaches his new wife how to ride (not horses).

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, sex education, dirty talk, slight exhibitionism, vaginal sex, woman on top, a smidge of food play.

Word Count: 3.2 k

Author’s Note: Sorry it's taken a while to get this next installment up. Thanks to @makaylan for the read through. I hope you enjoy <3

You wake up to a strange sensation. Something warm and soft on the swell of your bottom as you lay face down. It feels like… lips? …Kissing?

You blink open your eyes and crane your head over your shoulder. There is your new husband of fewer than twelve hours. And yes, indeed, he is kissing your bare bottom, the sheet pulled back around your calves, warmed by a fire already roaring in your martial bedroom.

“Benedict?” you call softly, your voice laden with sleep.

He stops his actions and tilts his head to look up at you, his hazy hooded eyes so beguiling. 

“Good morning, wife,” his tone is husky and pitched low; it makes a tiny shiver run down your spine.

“What are you doing back there?” you question lightheartedly.

“I am enjoying my wife’s bottom. Does she have a problem with that?” he teases, his teeth snagging on your left buttock as he lightly slaps your other cheek.

You squeal and squirm on the mattress. “No,” you admit. 

He chuckles, then pushes up onto all fours clambering over you until his lips capture yours, turning your body slightly to meet him.

“How do you feel today?” he asks, nuzzling your cheek.

“Mmm, wonderful,” you confess, twisting under him so you face up.

Today you do feel different. Like you are finally a woman. You are married now, and while you doubtlessly have many things to learn, you feel nothing but excitement and wonder about what else may come. It makes you feel emboldened, flirtatious, and ready to enjoy new adventures with this wondrous man who is now your husband.

He settles over you, and you moan slightly at the press of his hot rigid cock between your bare thighs.

“Are you ready to learn more things, or does the lady need breakfast first?” he inquires airily, planting kisses on your jaw.

The mere mention of the word breakfast has your stomach growling loudly, and he giggles at the sound. You barely had a chance to eat at the whirlwind that was your wedding reception; you were also a little too excited for your wedding night to bother.

“Well, I think we have our answer,” he sniggers. “Luckily, I asked my staff to return early this morning.” 

“Can we have breakfast in bed, husband?” you ask; that newfound boldness reveals itself in asking for what you want, “together, naked?” 

His eyes flash appreciatively, and his lopsided grin turns deadly. “I definitely married so very, very well,” he growls, echoing his sentiment from the previous night, reaching over to ring a bell on his bedside table.

He is back on you, kissing a hot line down your neck, when there is a brief knock on the door a few moments later.

“Come in,” Benedict calls out, barely lifting his lips from your collarbone.

You squeak as an older man appears in the doorway; he blanches at first, taken aback but quickly schools his face to one of passive indifference. You attempt to grab the sheet and cover yourself to preserve some modesty. Still, Benedict seems utterly unphased by the gentleman seeing him or, indeed, you, completely naked, entwined in bed together.

“Ahh, Mr Smith. Good morning. Please, can you bring breakfast here for myself and my delectable new wife? Something light but filling, toast perhaps?” he asks casually, twisting to look at the man.

“Certainly, sir, will that be all?” the polite voice rings out.

“Could you throw another log on the fire? I fear I did not set it up well earlier.” 

The man bustles to the fireplace as Benedict’s lips close around your nipple.

“Benedict!” you admonish, your body flexing against him on instinct despite your consternation. “Your valet is right there!” you hiss through clenched teeth, nodding at the back of the man re-stoking the fire.

“Oh my love, we are newlyweds; I fully expect our staff to walk in on us fucking all over the house,” he drawls, running his nose over your pebbled nub, “as I suspect, do they. You should not feel ashamed.”

“But…” your protest dies as he surges up and catches your lips in a deep kiss, his fingers teasing that same damp nipple as he does so. You can't help the moan into his mouth as he does it.

“Yes darling, that's it,” he gloats, “in fact, I hope they will still be finding us doing this in forty years,” he smiles against your lips. “I plan to fuck you every day that I can,” he hums as you hear the door to the room click quietly closed with his valet’s departure.

“You are a menace,” you assert, lightly slapping his shoulder in rebuke.

“I’m your menace now, Mrs Bridgerton,” he teases, grabbing your hands and pushing them onto the pillow, glancing pointedly at your wedding rings, “and there is absolutely nothing you can do about that. You, I'm afraid, are stuck with me,” he chuckles, lips once again attacking your neck. You sigh in faux annoyance, settling into his sensual assault, your eyes closing from sheer pleasure.

A few moments later, as you are still exchanging endless sensuous kisses, there is a knock at the door, and Mr Smith re-enters with a tray of food under silver cloches. 

“Excellent,” Benedict exclaims gleefully. “Please leave it on the ottoman at the end of the bed there, Smith.”

His valet does as bidden, and with a brief nod of “Sir, my Lady,” which makes your cheeks redden, he departs.

“Oh god, I’ll never get used to being the lady of the house,” you exclaim.

“You had better, my darling; all the staff will be looking to you for how you wish the house to be run,” Benedict laughs as he crawls down the bed and picks up a cloche.

“It's your house, Benedict,” you frown.

“Not anymore, my love,” he reminds, a warm hand encircling your ankle and tugging gently. “Now get down here and eat some of this food—I need you energised for what comes next.”

As elegantly as you can, you spin around and join Benedict at the foot of the bed. He pulls you flush to his body and feeds you a corner of deliciously buttered, still-warm toast.

“What comes next?” you ask brightly after you chew and swallow the bite.

“You, my darling, are going to learn to ride,” he smirks. “Me, that is.”

“Oh.. is it like riding a horse?” you ask, genuinely curious.

He snorts. “I hope you find it rather more pleasurable. And there is something to keep you mounted nice and squarely,” he leers, pressing his cock to your hip as you shake your head at his innuendo, even as a bemused smile tugs at your lips.

“Do I get a whip to keep you in line, just like a real jockey?” you quip in jest, again that new sense of being a wife and a woman making you say things you never thought you might.

His mouth falls open slightly, and his eyes have an appreciative gleam. “Oh darling, do you want there to be?” his voice dropping to a smokey rumble.

“Depends on if you are going to behave, my good stallion,” you murmur, loving the banter, raising an eyebrow as you take a triangle of toast for yourself.

“What happened to my innocent little thing?” he counters, a warm hand caressing your bottom, “and who is this delightful minx who replaced her?”

“You corrupted her with your wiles Mr Bridgerton,” you volley back, tossing your hair in a way you hope is coquettish. “A good teacher cannot complain when an eager pupil advances under tutelage.”

“I am a good teacher, am I?” he purrs, the hand stroking lazily over your lower spine.

“The very best,” your flattery sincere, “one day, this student wants to learn to talk as her teacher does. Such wonderful filthy things.”

“Well then, that can be your next lesson,” he suggests, nuzzling your hair.

“Excellent,” you enthuse. “Now, am I going to eat that jam there on toast… or from somewhere on your body, dear husband?” you tease, pointing to a pot of preserves.

He groans and grabs you. “You cannot say things like that,” rolling you on top of him, “and expect me to do anything but want to be inside you.”

“You are the one who said we needed to eat,” you giggle, reaching for another bit of toast and jamming it into his mouth rather inelegantly as you lay atop him, his warm skin delightful under your own, his cock persistent, branding against your belly.

He guffaws around the slice and rips it with his teeth, pushing some between your lips. “I can eat and be inside you at the same time, my love,” he utters in a sinful tone.

“Well, then do it,” you challenge, swallowing your bite of food.

He raises an eyebrow and shuffles under you, surging his hips upwards, his rigid cock sliding between your thighs. “I will,” he threatens playfully.

“Please do,” your whisper enchanted, licking an errant toast crumb from your lip.

“Oh, I was going to get that,” he pouts.

With a raised eyebrow, you reach for a spoonful of jam, and he watches as you smear some over your lips.

“Then come and get it, Mr Bridgerton,” you murmur, looking down into his rapidly dilating eyes.

“Oh, Mrs Bridgerton,” he rumbles, his lips chasing yours, his tongue lathing over your lips, sucking and gathering all the jam there, swirling its sweetness into your joined mouth as you kiss. Then you cry into his mouth as he effortlessly thrusts his hips, surging into your body. He feels just as he did last night, so huge and invasive. You stutter a breath as he just holds you there, allowing you to adjust to the feeling of him inside you again.

“Benedict…” you sigh, some of your bravado slipping away with the pure tide of sensation you feel being so viscerally invaded.

“Are you ready, my darling,” he questions, his voice velvet and decadent. “Try sitting up on me,” he adds, his hands grabbing yours to offer leverage.

With him still feeling heavy and so large inside, you slowly slide your knees on either side of his thighs, then draw them up so they are close to his waist, moaning as the sensation of being hunched over him changes the angle of his cock, a pull that is utterly delicious.

“Yes, that's it,” he encourages, “now pull up off me.”

You unfurl your body and sit upright; again, the tug of his cock inside feels almost painfully good, and your clit brushes over his public hair, the tickle so rousing.

“Oh wow,” you gasp, gyrating slightly to feel how good it feels to be speared onto his cock, but you have complete control over the motions.

“You like it, my love?” He knows the answer.

“You feel huge,” you answer honestly, and he groans at the compliment.

“Now try moving, my darling,” he urges. “Push up with your thighs and then sink back down,” he tutors, his hands guiding yours onto his torso as he moves to grasp your hips.

You push up and feel the drag of his cock along your walls, and it feels exhilarating. Then you sink back down, and your eyes go wide, and your lips fall open with a loud moan. It feels exquisite. Something about the angle and the way your swollen clit snags against his body as you rock down is so compelling and powerful.

“Oh my god,” you curl your fingers and scratch along his abs as you rotate your hips just a touch, “this is wondrous.”

He smiles a devastating grin, “I knew you would like it,” he preens. “Now giddyup my love, ride me,” he dares you, and something wild and fiery cracks open in your chest, a smouldering heat that burns. You want to ride his cock until you are both screaming.

Pushing up and sinking, you establish a steady rhythm that works for you, encouraged by his little noises and grip on your hips. He feels divine sliding in and out of you, just the ache you want to feel. Like last night, but somehow better, somehow familiar now. You experiment with pace, enjoying a lingering slow downstroke and a quicker snap-up.

“You are enjoying this, aren't you?” he murmurs, impressed.

“Yessss,” you chant, head thrown back and eyes closed now. His body feels searing between your thighs, under your fingertips and deep inside you.

You lean back a little and move your hands to his thighs, grasping the strong muscle there and open your eyes to look down at him, his mouth slack, his eyes laser focussed on you, on your face and darting down to your breasts as they jiggle with every drop. You lean further back and emit a huge groan as somehow you have found a spot that feels so good; little sparks go off in your head like fireworks. You start to move harder, faster, greedy, so greedy, for more.

“So… fucking… good,” you rasp a word with each downstroke as his fingers band tighter over your hipbones, your knees chafing the bedding, dropping without thought for anything but the feeling coiling tighter and tighter in your gut.

You grab one of his hands and press it to your breast, leaning forward into his hold and changing the angle of your hips, making circular motions, shuddering as he seems to nudge every spot inside as you grind down, selfishly stalking your pleasure. 

“My wanton little wife, look at you,” his voice velvety, clever fingers tweaking your nipples as you groan loudly. 

His body flexes delightfully under you as he reaches behind for the pot of jam, dipping his fingers in and reaching to paint a swirl over your breasts. Without breaking your rhythm, you place a firm hand on his chest and halt his hand. He frowns until you seize his jam-covered fingers and instead bring them to your mouth, lasciviously licking them clean as you rise and fall, lathing the warm, sweet, sticky pads of his fingers over your tongue in time with your movements. The noise he makes is inhuman, and you feel a surge of power through your body as he pushes up into you, desperate for more. You just smirk at him and press him harder into the mattress, allowing his hand to drop away from your mouth.

The power of this position, to have him so vulnerable under you, is a potent toxin, your thighs burning from the exertion, your blood simmering as you spider a hand up the now-damp centre line of his breastbone and grasp his chin between your thumb and fingers.

“Are you enjoying this, husband?” you tease breathily.

His response is a nod and low growl; you love how riled up he is. Shuffling your knees wider, you lean over him, the warmth of his belly rubbing yours as you keep fucking onto his cock, slower now, your lips ghosting over his, still holding his chin tight.

“Tell me in detail, darling,” with a triumphant arched eyebrow; you echo the words he used the first night he stole into your room. 

Awe and surprise are written across his features, pupils blown wide, mouth opening a fraction. 

“I am a good teacher,” he gusts out, and you just twist your mouth into a smirk, awaiting his answer. He licks his lips, and you feel the hot breath from it, his hands sliding over your bottom. “I want you to fuck me hard, wife,” he begins. “Ride me until your body is shaking and screaming. Make yourself come on my cock, milk me, darling,” that silken tone makes a shiver race down your spine and your cunt clench around him.

He grunts at your vice-like pulse, and the need to follow his advice vibrates your very being. You kiss him hungrily, moaning into his mouth as your tongues dance, your hand curling his jaw as you kiss over and over, still rocking gently on him, unable to stop. Sitting up again, grasping his hands in yours, lacing your fingers, you rise and fall in a new quick pattern, starting to pant and fuck yourself roughly. He moans through gritted teeth at your new onslaught.

One of his hands guides yours down your body to the apex of your thighs, where you are roughly fucking onto him. Without words, you know what he is suggesting, and when your joined fingers slide against your clit, you feel hurtling straight towards oblivion, wound so tight. 

A strong pulse runs up your spine, causing you to buck hard over him. He surges up strongly into you, meeting you on your downward thrust, fucking himself so deep it feels like a new ache tugging a line inside, something making you mindless, crushing your fingers between your bodies as they furiously circle your throbbing clit. 

“Don't stop,” he chants as you close your eyes and ride so fiercely the bed squeaks slightly. He groans loudly and stares up at you desperately, a bead of sweat forming on his brow that you ache to lick off. 

Then with a scream that feels like it rips your lungs, you convulse around him, slumping deep, your thighs trembling, blood rushing in your ears, vibrations coursing through your body from a tingle in your scalp to spasms in your toes.

He calls your name and curses long and low as his fingers sink into the meat of your thighs, and as you flutter around him, you feel that same bloom inside, his warm release coating your walls.

You collapse on top of him, exertion and satisfaction making your muscles feel languid and weak. Your head rests on his collarbone as his hands release their grip and sweep gently over your back, mapping the notches of your spine as you recover with deep, ragged breaths.

“Well done, darling,” his voice sounds wrecked and scratchy, his thighs twitching under yours as little aftershocks spasm through your frame. You feel him soften inside your body but don't want to move, and he seems reluctant, too, his arms holding you down onto him in a tight embrace. “I don't want to leave your body,” he admits in a whisper, “that was too good.”

You chuckle, feeling a lightness spread through your body, a mellow fizz under your skin. “Mmmm, then don't, husband,” you buzz quietly. “Just stay inside me until we are ready to go again.”

He laughs softly into your hair, kissing your scalp. “That may be a while, my love,” he confides.

“I have all the time in the world, husband,” you smile, twisting to look at him, landing a kiss on his stubbly jaw.

“Hmm, that is very true,” he concurs, his eyes sparkling with tender mischief as he holds your gaze. “After all, this is only the morning of day one of our honeymoon. There are another nine to go; just imagine all the things we shall get up to,” he murmurs, his tone laced with sensual promise as his fingers trace up your back.

You can hardly wait.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @wysteria-clad @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet

[notasapleasure]

tagged by @ireallyamabear and echoing the sentiment: are you sure you want to know me? Well here goes :)

rules: answer and tag 9 people you want to catch up with/get to know better

favorite color: I'm a sucker for BRG

last song: Das Kapital - Blindsker

currently reading: I read a chapter of Moby Dick! Liked it. Read a couple of poems from a compilation of contemporary women poets from Georgia, mainly got annoyed because That's Not How I'd Translate That. Reading some other poems for work, and a novel which I'm *really* enjoying, and a tome on medieval Irish law has just landed in my intray, which...doesn't sound thrilling, but who knows. But my ability to sit down and just enjoy a book for fun still hasn't returned from the war.

currently watching: two episodes left of s3 of The Expanse to finish, we got delayed thinking we'd carry on watching with my mum when she comes to visit but never got round to it so finally caved and started just watching for ourselves. Now Ed's away for three weeks, so that'll be on hiatus again. I'll be catching up with Doctor Who, finally working up the emotional strength for S2 of In The Flesh and maybe, if Netflix stops being such a whiny bitch about me renewing my subscription, I *will* renew my subscription because I'm curious about Scavengers Reign. And I *really* need to catch up with IWTV.

currently craving: prev's answer was €100000 which I can't really say I'm not craving but, otherwise, the feeling of being deeply mired in progress on part 2 of the saga au rather than being stuck chipping my way through the opening chapters. Oh god, also some actual summer weather. Please. I know this is Ulster, but constant rain, north winds, and highs of 13C in June, really? *sob*

coffee or tea: coffee. black. no sugar.

no pressure tags for nine of you plus anyone else who wants to say I tagged them: @distressednoise, @erinaceina, @boatcats, @stripedroseandsketchpads, @notabuddhist, @kheldara , @batri-jopa , @sailorsally , @jimtheviking

[idkyetxoxo]

Eleven | Vagabond | The Last Kingdom

"You're really laying it on thick, aren't you?"

"Just admiring the view."

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─── ✦⋅ ☆⋅✦ ───

As we ventured onward towards Mercia, Finan couldn't seem to resist throwing me flirty glances. His playful eyes danced with mischief, hinting at secrets shared and unspoken promises.

The rest of the group, keen observers as they were, couldn't help but pick up on the subtle shift in our dynamic. Their knowing glances and suppressed smiles spoke volumes, betraying their awareness of the unspoken connection brewing between Finan and me. Yet, despite their curiosity, they maintained a respectful silence, perhaps recognizing the delicacy.

"Stop eyeing each other like that it's distracting," Sihtric finally quipped, breaking the tension with a hint of amusement in his voice. His words, though light-hearted, carried a hint of acknowledgement, acknowledging the chemistry that crackled between Finan and me.

The echoing sound of approaching horses and men abruptly shattered the tranquillity of our travels. Reacting swiftly, I drew my sword, wincing as I applied pressure to the wound on my leg to quell the sharp pain provoked by the sudden movement.

Dismounting from my horse, I nearly stumbled, struggling to regain my footing. Sihtric's assistance steadied me, for which I silently expressed gratitude.

"Uhtred, far from home," Haestan's voice greeted us, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the predictable encounter. Tuning out his ensuing chatter, I fought the urge to scoff as he extended an invitation to join him and his men.

"Once, I aspired to conquer Mercia and Wessex for myself, but now all I desire is a woman to bed and land to claim," Haestan remarked, prompting an involuntary groan from me. The crude discourse of men regarding women in this era never failed to evoke exasperation.

Haestan's attention shifted to me upon hearing my groan. "Ah, Uhtred's fierce female warrior," he taunted, to which I retorted, "I have a name," under my breath, met with a feeble laugh from him. "Do you object to my pursuit of a woman and land?" he prodded further.

Suppressing a laugh, I met his gaze squarely. "I pity any woman who's ever had to be under you," I spat, eliciting a grunt from him. "She's spirited, this one," he remarked to his men, who chuckled in agreement, evidently pleased with their banter.

However, Haestan's next remark provoked Uhtred's wrath, leading to a confrontation wherein he likened Aethelfled to a squealing pig. Only upon divulging Cnut's involvement in his brother's death did Uhtred spare him.

"Tie the boys up," Uhtred commanded as one of Cnut's sons attempted to escape while the other attacked Finan.

I moved to assist Finan and Sihtric in restraining the resisting youths, enduring a sharp pain as one elbowed me in the stomach, reopening my wound and staining my clothes with blood.

I made a conscious effort to conceal the sensation of pain coursing through me, the crimson splatter staining my clothes serving as a grim reminder. Despite the agony gnawing at my insides, I resolved to press forward, unwilling to burden the group with any further delays.

Our next destination was Aeglesburg, upon arrival, I dismounted clumsily, prompting Finan's immediate concern. As he helped me to a secluded area, I explained how one of Cnut's sons had injured me, though I had chosen not to burden the group with my ailment. 

With careful precision, he gingerly lifted my top, exposing the wound, while deftly tearing a piece of cloth with his teeth. His hands worked skillfully, knotting the fabric around my waist to apply pressure, his fingers inadvertently brushing against the tattoo adorning my ribs.

"Another one?" he inquired, his gaze curious as he noted the inked script. I nodded in affirmation, explaining, "It reads 'grateful.' It's a sentiment I once cherished, a reminder to appreciate all that life offers," I replied, feeling a pang of nostalgia as his fingertips traced the intricate design.

"I have one more tattoo," I revealed, noting his growing curiosity. "Care to share?" he inquired eagerly, only to be met with a shake of my head. "That one remains hidden," I confessed playfully, amused by his reaction. He groaned in mock frustration, jesting, "Don't tease me, woman," as my laughter echoed in response to his feigned exasperation.

Returning to the group, we learned of Uhtred's ruse to intimidate Cnut by 'killing' one of his sons. Despite their father's villainy, I couldn't help but feel sympathy for the distraught children.

Approaching the boys, I offered comforting words, gently brushing their tear-streaked faces. Observing from a distance, Uhtred voiced his concern to Finan about my well-being.

His words spilt forth with a depth of emotion that had long been buried. "I've known her for years," he began, his voice carrying the weight of countless shared experiences. 

"She's endured trials that would break most, yet she's emerged resilient, becoming one of my dearest friends." Uhtred's gaze softened, betraying the vulnerability beneath his stoic exterior. 

"I can't bear to see her suffer any more pain," he confessed, his words carrying the weight of a heartfelt plea to his friend, urging him to tread carefully in whatever endeavour lay ahead.

Across from him, Finan stood with arms folded, his expression a mixture of understanding and silent solidarity, nodding in quiet acknowledgement of his friend's plea.

── ✦⋅ ☆⋅✦ ──

I had been given strict orders to stay at the back of the battle at Tettanhall. The reasoning was that I wasn't yet fully healed or prepared to rejoin the fray, and truth be told, I didn't put up much of a fight against the decision.

The thought of plunging back into the chaos of combat, of taking lives once more, still unsettled me but despite my reservations, I was determined to stand by my only family and offer whatever support I could.

Now, as I sat beside a babbling stream with Uhtred, young Uhtred, Stiorra, Finan, Osferth, Sihtric, Aelfwynn, and Aethelstan, I watched as Finan and Aethelstan attempted to navigate a makeshift boat crafted from tree bark. Witnessing Finan's gentle demeanour towards the child stirred something deep within me, igniting a warmth I hadn't felt in some time.

Overhearing Stiorra and young Uhtred engaged in conversation as she tossed something into the water, I approached them, taking a seat beside Stiorra.

"What are you two up to?" I inquired, a fondness evident in my tone as I wiped a smudge of mud from Stiorra's cheek. She beamed up at me, her smile reminiscent of her mother, Gisela, stirring memories of a friend dearly missed.

"I missed you," she confessed sweetly, prompting a reciprocal admission from me. Catching Finan's eye, I found relief in his smile as Stiorra's gaze flitted between us, her own grin infectious.

"You and Finan?" she probed, her curiosity bubbling forth. I nodded in confirmation, but her next question caught me off guard.

"Have you humped yet?" she blurted out, causing me to hastily cover her mouth, shooting her a warning glance. "If your father catches wind of that kind of talk, he'll have our heads," I chided softly, though Stiorra merely shrugged, a mischievous smirk dancing on her lips.

"No, we haven't," I whispered, meeting her gaze with a sense of vulnerability. "We simply haven't found the time to properly discuss what this... us, means." Stiorra nodded understandingly, her youthful wisdom shining through.

"Well, I'm happy for you, you deserve someone good," she offered sincerely, her words carrying a weight far beyond her years, she had grown to become an incredibly intelligent young woman.

Grateful for her unwavering support, despite her youth, I expressed my gratitude before making my way toward Finan and Aethelstan.

"Are you two enjoying yourselves?" I inquired, catching a quick nod from the boy before tousling his hair affectionately. Meeting Finan's gaze, I noticed his lingering stare, his eyes seemingly fixed on me.

"What?" I asked, curious about his intent as his gaze held steady. "Just admiring the view," he replied with a playful smirk, prompting a lighthearted roll of my eyes in response.

"You've got quite the smile," he remarked, his eyes sparkling with amusement. Caught off guard but charmed by his candour, I felt a blush rise to my cheeks. "Thanks," I replied, a hint of laughter in my voice.

Undeterred, Finan continued, his words casual yet subtly flirtatious "and those eyes of yours can't help but find myself lost in them."

"You're really laying it on thick, aren't you?" I quipped, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips, as he winked playfully and repeated, "Just admiring the view."

Without another word, Finan closed the distance between us, and we shared a quick but profound kiss. 

As we parted, there was a lingering warmth, a shared acknowledgement. A gentle smile played on our lips, and I turned away, heading towards Aelfwynn, leaving Finan behind. 

─── ✦⋅ ☆⋅✦ ───

I kinda wanted her tattoos to have like a more important meaning but then I got lazy 😫

Tag list - @jasontoddorjasongrace

[crownjimin]

☆ ⁄⁄ ★ 065 | an extended family dinner, part two.

coffee — the enemies to lovers social media au where min yoongi refuses to date a cheerleader, but yoon haryun might be able to change that.

( masterlist / prev / next )

tag(s): @secretlycrazyhummingbird @preciouschimine @bubblytaetae @btsarmymochi97 @chogiyeol-utopia @flyxfall @cherrybubblesandvodka

heads up its very long!

☆ ⁄⁄ ★

When the four of them returned to Haryun’s apartment, Haryun began cooking. A few days ago, when she asked everyone what they wanted to eat, luckily for her, a few people suggested the same dishes, so she only had to cook six different dishes. She had no time to waste since she only had four hours until it was three o’clock, and everyone would begin to arrive at her apartment.

Seyoung, Yebin, and Jeongguk took shelter in the living room. The three sprawled across the different pieces of furniture while they watched whatever they had playing on the television. Between cutting all the necessary ingredients, timing each dish so that they would be done around the same time, and making sure she had enough dishes to plate and cook everything--Haryun was stretched thin.

She refused to ask for help from Seyoung, Yebin, and Jeongguk because they were her guests, and Haryun had better hospitality than that. The only other option was Moonhee, but just as Haryun thought to make her way to Moonhee’s room to ask, the girl came into the kitchen dressed as if she were preparing to leave.

“It smells delicious, Yun-ah,” Moonhee muttered as she shuffled around the kitchen purposefully. 

Without looking up from the stove, Haryun reached into the fruit bowl on the counter and grabbed Moonhee’s keys. She threw them over her shoulder, directly into Moonhee’s hands, before she asked, “Where’re you going?”

Moonhee rounded the island and walked to stand beside Haryun. “You know where I’m going.”

And as Haryun stirred the sauce in her pan to prevent it from boiling, she had to think about where Moonhee would be going when she knew it was Family Dinner Sunday. Not just any Family Dinner Sunday, either--Extended Family Dinner Sunday, a special event.

The low murmur of the television in the living room mixed with the sizzling from the pan as Haryun realized where Moonhee was going. She let out a tiny gasp and a small giggle as she took her gaze away from the stove and turned to look at her roommate.

“You’re going on a date?”

Moonhee rolled her eyes playfully as her phone buzzed in her hand. “Yes, I am. After all of the complaining you did, I should at least give it a try.”

“Well, I think that it-”

“And he’s here,” Moonhee interrupted, already knowing Haryun would get sentimental and mushy about the ordeal. She appreciated the support from Haryun, but Moonhee just wanted to get the date out of the way for Haryun’s sake. “I’ll see you later, Yunbun. Save me some food.”

Moonhee was gone before Haryun could tell her to have fun. But with the busyness of the kitchen and Haryun engulfing herself in completing all of the dishes efficiently, she hadn’t realized that time had escaped her. 

The clock on the stovetop read three o’seven as three knocks and a ring from the doorbell echoed throughout the apartment. If Haryun had checked her phone, she would’ve seen the texts from Yoongi and Hoseok letting her know they were on their way. If she had seen the texts, she would’ve gone to change out of her day-old sweatpants and the oversized shirt she had stolen from Moonhee months ago.

But she didn’t, and there was no time to change as Seyoung got up from her place on the loveseat to answer the front door. Haryun could hear Seyoung introduce herself to those on the other side of the door before she instructed them to take off their shoes and join her, Jeongguk, and Yebin in the living room.

“Jeonggukie, I haven’t seen you in years!” Seokjin cried out once he saw the younger boy lying on the floor in front of the television. “Yebinie’s been keeping you all to herself.”

Seokjin took a spot on the floor between Yebin and Jeongguk, falling into conversation with the two, natural and playful. Namjoon walked into the living room right behind Seokjin, but instead of lying on the floor with Yebin and Jeongguk, Namjoon fell into conversation with Seyoung. The two spoke quietly with one another, Seyoung taking her spot back on the loveseat and Namjoon sitting on the couch adjacent to the loveseat. Whatever topic they had fallen upon had them engaged with Namjoon talking animatedly and Seyoung listening actively.

The last two to enter were Hoseok and Yoongi. They walked through the living room, greeting the three already there, but they both had a specific target as they walked through the apartment. They were looking for Haryun, and the two of them walked straight into the kitchen where said girl was facing the stove, none the wiser about the two people who had recently joined her in the kitchen.

But that ignorance was shortlived, seeing as Hoseok let out one of his signature high-pitched noises as he walked behind Haryun and bombarded her with a hug. The action scared Haryun a bit, but as she cast her gaze over her shoulder to see Hoseok, her look of terror morphed into excitement.

“Hobi!”

“Bestie!” After Hoseok squeezed Haryun twice, he moved to her left side, inhaling deeply and taking in all the smells from the pots and pans on the stovetop. “It smells really good, Haryunie.”

“I hope so,” Haryun responded as she reached to turn off each burner on the stove. “I’ve been at it for hours, Hob-ah, hours.”

“Is everything done? Can we eat?” Hoseok was eager as he eyed the food with drool practically dripping from his lips. Haryun squeezed his cheeks with one hand, guiding his eyes to hers.

“Patience, Hobi,” She instructed, patting Hobi’s cheek twice. “Besides, you just got here. Go talk to Seyoungie or something and let me finish in here.”

While Hoseok began whining, his voice high-pitched and cute, Haryun turned to face the direction where she felt a heavy gaze. Yoongi eyes ran along her body, Haryun becoming self-conscious with her current state. The steam and humidity in the kitchen caused her hair to frizz, with a few strands sticking to her greasy face as she stressed. Her shirt was littered with stains in different spots and different shades, a tell-tale sign of how hard she had been working the past few hours.

She looked disgusting.

But Yoongi’s eyes held anything but disgust, and as Haryun skipped over to him with a sweet smile, his eyes only grew fonder. 

Haryun’s voice was soft as she called out to him, “Yoongi,” Her arms wrapped around his waist so naturally as she fell into his arms. She pressed kisses wherever she could before Yoongi turned his face to hers and their lips met sweetly.

The moment the two got lost in one another, Hoseok took that as his sign to leave, muttering, “Yeah, I’m not dealing with this,” as he went.

His departure went unnoticed as Haryun moved her hands to Yoongi’s cheeks to kiss him harder and deeper, showing how much she had missed him within the last day. For the first time since the two had begun dating, Haryun and Yoongi hadn’t seen each other the previous day. With Yoongi having morning practice, Haryun having a later practice, and both being busy in between, they had to rely on text messages to get them through the day without seeing one another.

It held them over for the time being, but it made these kisses sweeter—the way Yoongi gripped her waist was intoxicating and made his plush lips feel softer. Haryun could drown in Yoongi’s presence, warmth and comfort radiating from him in waves.

His touch remained soft as his hand trailed down her back where it rested on Haryun’s waist, pulling her closer to him with a soft sigh. A giggle poured from Haryun’s lips at the sound, but she remained close and pressed one more kiss to his lips. 

For a few moments, there was only Yoongi and his strong hands, soft lips, and husky chuckles at the way Haryun tucked her face in his neck. Sometimes hugs were the only thing Haryun needed to have a good day, most of the time, they came from Moonhee, but recently Yoongi had taken that responsibility. And while Yoongi may not be the fluffiest, most cuddly human out there, he was warm and large enough to engulf Haryun’s five-foot-four-inch frame, and that was all she needed in life.

And it was blissful while it lasted because a few seconds later, a voice screeched from the living room, “Quit suffocating each other and bring the food!” Seyoung had taken to leaning over the back of the loveseat with a grumpy look. “I’m hungry, and Momma needs to eat.”

Begrudgingly, Haryun gave Yoongi’s butt a concise pat before she pulled away from him and yelled over his shoulder, “The three douches aren’t even here yet, so we can’t begin!”

Right on cue, as if God teleported them to the apartment, Haryun’s front door slammed open with a bang. Everyone’s attention turned to the door, interested in the commotion, as three figures shuffled through the threshold, bringing a loud volume amid the chaos.

Luda was first, her tiny body hugged by the jean overalls she sported and the reusable mesh tote she always used for groceries tucked in her arms. The bag alarmed Haryun because no one brought food whenever they had family dinners. It was agreed upon in the beginning that Haryun would cook everything to make planning less chaotic and manageable. But recently, the three idiots had taken to bringing booze to every function, and it was alright to drink a bit. After all, that was the entire purpose of Sunday Family Dinners, to let loose and not care for a moment.

Yet it turned into a catastrophe for Luda, Geummi, and Namie whenever they drank. Case in point, Haryun’s broken coffee table a few months back. Geummi was the worst regarding intoxication, but Namie and Luda weren’t any better. This was why, as Luda skipped into the living room and unloaded the bag of its contents, Haryun braced herself for the night ahead as she pulled out not one, not two, but five bottles of different flavored soju.

Seyoung took it upon herself to scold Luda for the alcohol. “Dude, we agreed with no alcohol this time around.” The oldest of them had stood and placed the bottles in her arms, turning to put them in the kitchen.

Immediately, Luda pouted and was joined by Namie and Geummi, who had taken their time placing their items by the door. 

“Oh, come on, Unnie, don’t ruin the fun,” Geummi complained, following right behind Seyoung into the kitchen while she tried to grab the bottles out of her arms. “We paid good money for these.”

Namie remained in the living room. She greeted Hoseok quietly and introduced herself to Namjoon before she crawled onto the floor to lay on top of Yebin, who welcomed her with open arms. In any of these situations, Namie was often the mastermind but always left Luda and Geummi to do the bidding. So with that information in mind, Haryun called out to the Japanese girl.

“Namie, we know this was your idea.”

Namie attempted to play carefree, but the devious smirk on her lips gave her away. “I would never.”

Seyoung seemed very upset. “And yet, you always do.”

All the soju bottles were on the kitchen island, calling out to the three who had just walked in but taunting Haryun with an ultimatum. The night could take an interesting turn if she let them dig into the alcohol. But if she locked the alcohol away in her special cabinet and left it for another night (one Haryun was sure to come), she could keep the night in control.

Quietly and almost invisible during the heated discussion happening between the three girls in the kitchen, Yoongi reached for the bottle of peach soju and examined it closely. Seyoung began digging into Geummi with that motherly passive voice that only she knew how to use while Haryun cosigned and pointed out that Luda and Namie were also to blame.

Not understanding the intense conversation, Hoseok spoke up from the living room. “Why can’t we drink?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi said as he shook the soju bottle. “It’s just soju.”

Geummi pointed at Yoongi excitedly, her gaze turning to Seyoung and Haryun with a proving expression. “Exactly. Why can’t we get drunk and eat some good food?”

“Because it’s you.” Seyoung’s words were to the point, and Geummi frowned. “And Luda and Namie.”

“Hey!” “What exactly does that mean?” Namie and Luda chimed in from the living room.

Haryun shook her head as she turned back to the stove, remembering that she had to plate all the dishes and still move them to the coffee table in the living room so everyone could eat. This dinner was supposed to be simple, everyone gathered together to get to know each other better and eat good food. The argument between Seyoung and Geummi was not letting up, and Luda had joined them in the kitchen to provide backup to Geummi’s debate.

“Alcohol loosens everyone up,” Luda argued. “It brings our true selves to the surface.”

“Your true selves are toddlers with super strength. You break everything in your path,” Seyoung countered. 

Geummi ironically replied. “Not true.”

Haryun didn’t even think to stop her ministrations as she transferred the Galbi-jjim from its pan onto a serving dish as she interrupted, “What about my coffee table?”

“That was a fluke!” Seyoung let out a scoff and slammed her hands on the island countertop, and even Luda chuckled a bit. They both knew Geummi had broken more than just the coffee table in the past. That was the most recent and significant item she had damaged with her drunken mishaps.

“It was!”

And with the convoluted voices and heated arguments, Haryun realized that this was who her friends were. The three idiots were borderline drunks who wanted the most fun they could in their most malleable years. Sometimes--most times--they were unhinged and behaved like untrained puppies, just happy to be there, but it's what made them fun to be around. Was it sad that alcohol helped them open up? Yes, and it was concerning that they were in their early twenties and so dependent on being inebriated to open up, but Seyoung, Haryun, and Moonhee never let them get too bad.

But it reminded Haryun that if she wanted Yoongi and his friends to get to know her friends, there were going to have to get all the craziness and drunken shenanigans that came with them.

So, Haryun relented. “Just let them drink, Unnie.”

The argument halted so fast that a record scratch would be appropriate as the three of them looked to Haryun; Seyoung confused, and Luda and Geummi excited.

“Really?” Seyoung sounded unsure, her eyes telling Haryun not to let this happen.

But Haryun shrugged and finished plating all of the food. “Let them do what they want. But I will say,” Haryun made sure to level her eyes with Geummi’s. “Remember, we have company.”

Haryun spoke the words in vain because as soon as Geummi was sure that soju was acceptable, she twisted open the green apple flavor and took a swig. Yoongi looked taken aback, shocked at how smoothly it seemed to go down for the girl before she passed it to Luda, who mimicked her actions.

Haryun giggled at her boyfriend’s expression, thinking he was only seeing the tip of the iceberg since the night had barely begun.

“Oh, Yoonie,” Haryun had plated everything on separate dishes and was ready to bring everything into the living room. “This is Luda and Geummi, two-thirds of the annoying leeches I’ve told you about.”

Yoongi nodded as he waved and gave the two girls his adorable smile. Haryun couldn’t help but swoon. “I’ve met her before,” Yoongi pointed at Geummi, who blushed and nodded in agreement. “You’re Coach’s niece.”

“Yeah,” Geummi replied, her cheeks red with a tiny blush. It was funny to see her so shy. 

“And you already know Seyoung-Unnie,” Haryun added, knowing that Seyoung needed little to no introduction, no matter who it was. 

“Y’know, Yoongi, I have a few questions that I think-” Seyoung began as she rounded the island, took him by the arm, and led him into the living room as she spoke.

Haryun watched them leave, a bit nervous and never knowing where Seyoung could go with her questions. Sometimes they were innocent and genuinely curious, and other times they had ulterior motives to scare and intimidate people into submission.

She just hoped Seyoung played nice since she wanted to keep Yoongi for a long time.

As the two of them left the kitchen, Luda and Geummi attempted to follow.

“Nuh-uh,” Haryun moaned, catching both girls' attention. “Where are you guys going? You know the drill,” She gestured down to the plates of food and the empty plates and silverware that everyone would use to eat everything. “And Namie, you too, come on!”

With a few moans and groans, Namie got up from her spot on the ground and joined the rest in the kitchen. Every Sunday Family Dinner, Luda, Geummi, and Namie helped Haryun set the makeshift dinner table. Seyoung was responsible for cleaning the dishes, and Moonhee would put the dishes away. Yebin hadn’t been officially worked into the cleaning-up ritual yet, but she liked to help wherever possible. But seeing as Jeongguk had taken the spot Namie recently abandoned, laid out on top of his girlfriend, Yebin wasn’t going to help set the table.

Everyone crowded around the table as the four girls set the food down. Haryun encouraged everyone to help themselves, Seokjin taking her words for face value as he dove straight in and moaned in delight. With each noise that left his mouth, they grew more sensual, and Geummi looked more entertained.

“Seokjin-ssi, you’re very vocal,” she giggled as she helped herself to a mouthful of japchae. “Keep going.”

Luda and Namie giggled at Geummi’s words, to which Seokjin winked at Geummi and continued to eat. Watching as everyone stuffed their faces, Haryun felt satisfied, but she refused to start eating until she changed. Her clothes felt heavy with grease and food fumes, ruining her appetite.

Noticing Haryun hadn’t taken a seat, Yoongi gestured for her to sit with a pat on the floor, his eyes round and pleading. “Yun-ah, sit down.”

“Give me one second,” She petted his head softly as she turned to make her way toward her room. “I need to go change. I’ll be back.”

No one else batted an eye at Haryun’s temporary departure, all of them being too busy shoveling mouthfuls of delicious foods into their mouths. But Yoongi, who couldn’t help himself, watched as Haryun left, something he did almost every time Haryun left him. It was hard to take his eyes away from her, but he had no choice once she disappeared.

Luda, who had taken to watching Yoongi out of interest, chuckled to herself. “Yoongi-ssi, she’s coming back. She didn’t leave forever.”

Seyoung had placed more food onto Yebin’s plate as she chimed in. “He’s in love, Lulubee. Leave him alone.”

“I was just saying!” Luda defended herself, causing everyone to laugh. “You would think he was a puppy, and she had a treat for him.”

“She is the treat for him,” Geummi joked.

Another giggle came from the three girls, Hoseok and Jeongguk, joining in as they enjoyed the teasing their friend was receiving. The television was still on in the background, providing an amiable noise to tune out the frequent sounds of munching and the occasional grunts of satisfaction from Seokjin, Hoseok, and eventually Namjoon.

Moments passed, and Haryun still hadn’t returned. Yoongi had gotten his fill at this point, his stomach full, his tastebuds satisfied, and a slight buzz from the two shots of soju Geummi had forced into his hand. While sober, Yoongi was attached to Haryun like a parasite; slightly tipsy Yoongi wanted to be molded into her as one, never possible to be separated.

Yoongi peered down the hallway every few minutes, his eyes searching for his girlfriend and his ears ringing out for any sign of her footsteps. He had half a mind to get up and grab her, but before he could push himself off the floor, Haryun skipped down the hallway as if she had only been gone a second.

She had changed, and her hair was much tamer as she smiled and giggled at the sight of everyone practically slumped over with their stomachs full and their hunger satisfied. Before Haryun could make it any further than a few steps past him, Yoongi reached for her wrist and pulled her down into his side, catching her before she could hit the ground too hard from the momentum.

“Geez, hyung, don’t hurt her,” Hoseok grumbled from his spot on the opposite side of Yoongi. “She did just cook you an amazing meal.”

Everyone had abandoned their dishes around them, Haryun maneuvering to reach over and grab food for herself to enjoy as everyone else fell into a comfortable conversation. She noticed light blushes on everyone’s cheeks, showing they had already begun drinking. Everyone else had finished two soju bottles, the empty bottles lying elsewhere as the newest bottle of Peach soju was calling out to Haryun.

While she preoccupied herself with the soju, Yoongi grabbed a bowl for her and placed a scoop of japchae into it. He was careful with his movement, allowing Haryun to drink before gently placing the bowl in her hands, along with a pair of chopsticks.

“Thank you,” Haryun flushed as she took the items from his hands, and he wrapped his arm around her waist. They were squeezed together on the floor, and she was practically in his lap, even though there was more than enough room to stretch out. Haryun didn’t move, though. “Did you eat enough?”

As she took her first bite, she noticed that Geummi had moved across the floor from where she had been earlier. Now, the slightly drunk girl was leaning against the side of the loveseat, with her head receiving rhythmic pats from Seyoung whenever Geummi groaned loud enough. Haryun thought she had only been gone for a brief second, but apparently, there was enough time for everyone to eat and stuff themselves before she returned.

“I just realized where I knew you from, Geum-ah,” Seokjin spoke up, his eyes bright with realization. “You’re the girl who took pictures for the school newspaper last month, right?”

Geummi closed her eyes as she whined for more pats from Seyoung, but she still replied, “Yeah. The pictures came out great.”

“Yeah, I know,” Seokjin said. “I found your Instagram and followed it. The one where you post all the photography.”

“Wait, wha?” Seokjin’s words made Geummi sit up fast, Seyoung’s hand knocking into the side of her face due to the speed. “You did what?”

“Ah, hyung, the one with all the museum pictures and stuff, right?” Namjoon added, utterly unaware of the aneurysm he was causing Geummi to undergo. “I followed it too.”

Hoseok looked around the group, confused. “What Instagram? I want to follow it.”

“My god,” Geummi muttered, turning to make eye contact with Haryun. “Please don’t.”

Through her spoonful of food, Haryun tried not to laugh. Everyone except for Yoongi, Namjoon, Hoseok, and Seokjin knew what Geummi was going through. It was so apparent by how she looked like she was about to cry, and her eyes never left Namjoon, who complimented her on her photography and Instagram account. 

Many of Geummi’s answers to his questions were clipped because she knew if she attempted to speak her true thoughts somewhere in there, she would ask him to bend her over to go at it. Sure, she had a few drinks, which made her lips loose. But she wasn’t gone to the point where her college career-long crush on Namjoon was going to be revealed.

She would die before that ever happened. 

And Namjoon--sweet, innocent, puppy-eyed Namjoon was none the wiser. “We should go to a museum together, Geummi-ssi. It would be fun.”

And in one instance, Geummi’s face fell. Luda snickered so hard that a small amount of water leaked from her nose as she quickly attempted to cover it up but failed miserably. Haryun was thoroughly entertained as she ate, feeling a tap on her waist as Yoongi leaned over and asked what was going on.

“Is she okay?”

Haryun shook her head with a laugh in response. “She’s fine.”

Geummi looked pained as she physically restrained herself from leaping across the coffee table and bombarding Namjoon with her presence and a shit ton of kisses. Seyoung could sense the tension in the younger girl sitting in front of her and reached down to pat her head again.

“She would love to,” Seyoung answered for Geummi. To which Namjoon smiled generously and shrugged his eyebrows in interest. “Geum loves museums.”

“Oh really?” If Namjoon had an issue with Seyoung answering for Geummi, he didn’t show it as he leaned forward, willing to talk all day about one of his passionate hobbies. “Which ones have you been to?”

Their conversation was lost in everything as Hoseok reached for the bottle of soju at the same time as Namie, causing their hands to collide. Hoseok sat to her right, with Luda to her left, and the three talked about dance and the like for most of the dinner.

“Go ahead, Nam,” Hoseok conceded, going as far as to pour the shot for her before he poured his own. “I’ll always let you go first.”

Namie nodded in thanks as she downed the drink, a sigh of relief leaving her as she relaxed a bit more with the alcohol in her veins. She could feel Luda glaring at the side of her face, waiting for her to turn towards her, so she did the exact opposite and looked past Hoseok to Yoongi.

“Yoongi-ah, when are you going back brown?” Namie asked, brushing Luda’s hand from her waist nonchalantly. “I miss the brown.”

Yoongi was caught off guard at the question, too preoccupied with feeding Haryun for the time being. “Oh? I’m not sure. Since it’s already blond, I might dye it a color.”

“I suggest red,” Jeongguk said, his eyes never leaving whatever was playing on the television. “Or like a blue.”

“Blue is terrible,” Namjoon disagreed. “His skin is too pasty.”

“He prefers the term pale,” Seokjin corrected. “But Namjoon-ie is right. Blue would be a bad choice.”

Geummi, with her eyes glazed over, added her opinion. “Do black. Everyone looks sexy with black hair.”

“Yoongi is sexy now,” Namie nodded. “Blond is a good color but boring.”

Luda gasped, causing everyone to look over at her. “Do orange like Jimin’s.”

Yoongi shook his head, appreciating all of the hair color suggestions but not needing them since he didn’t want to change the color anytime soon. “I think I’ll stick with blond.”

“Haryun-ie, bestie,” Hoseok called out, to which the girl looked up from her food. “What do you think?”

“I like him blond. Although I don’t remember him with any other color,” Haryun shrugged as if the conversation was unimportant. “I suggest he grows it long, though.”

“Like a mullet,” Yebin nodded.

“Exactly.” Haryun reached over to comb her fingers through Yoongi’s hair just once, leading him to place his head on her shoulder and hug her closer to his body. “But he’ll be cute either way.”

Namie faked a gag, standing to her feet to move from her spot between Hoseok and Luda over to Seyoung and Geummi. “You guys are gross.”

“They’re worse than Yebi and Jeonggukie,” Luda joked, gesturing to the younger couple, who weren't touching one another for the first time that night. “And that’s saying a lot.”

“Aw,” Hoseok pouted. “I think they’re cute. Seeing as I’m the one who set them up makes perfect sense.”

Seokjin, who had helped himself to another round of food, groaned at Hoseok’s statement with a roll of his eyes. “Stop trying to take credit for their love because it wasn’t you!”

“But who invited Haryun to Hope World the first time?!”

“No, no, but wait,” Luda intervened. “Haryun-ie was going to go anyway. Right?”

Everyone’s gaze turned to Haryun, wanting to know whether or not Hoseok genuinely was why Yoongi and Haryun ended up together. It had been the one thing Hosoek refused to let go of ever since Yoongi told him that Haryun was his girlfriend. Maybe it gave Hoseok a new glow because it was his goal when he invited Haryun to Hope World at the beginning of the year.

But before Haryun could answer and put the suspense to rest, the front door clicked open, followed by a loud grunt and the slam of shoes hitting the ground. Only then did Haryun realize the sun had set a long time ago, and it was dark outside, meaning that hours had passed since the beginning of the dinner began. 

Without thinking about who it could be, Luda, Namie, and Geummi shot up from the ground and ran over to greet Moonhee at the door like excited puppies. They were closer to Moonhee since she was the one who often fed them and hung out with them whenever they whined enough for her to do so. She was also the only person the three actively listened to whenever she instructed them to do something.

And that fact was easily exhibited when Moonhee told them to let her go, and they immediately stopped hugging her and gave her some distance. She took the opportunity to walk into the living room, the three following behind her in a line, and she greeted everyone sitting around the coffee table.

“Hi, guys,” Moonhee sighed, exhaustion evident. “I didn’t miss much, right?”

Jeongguk turned to face Moonhee as he reached up and hugged her around her legs. She patted his head twice before she bent to her knees to hug Yebin and wave to Seokjin.

“Moonhee-yah, I noticed you weren’t here,” he said as she waved to him. “I missed you.”

Everyone laughed as Moonhee rolled her eyes lightly, smiling a bit at his antics as she moved on to Namjoon and where he sat on the couch. Swiftly, she stepped over his long legs, greeting him quietly before she sat next to him, tired as she slumped into the corner of the couch, right behind Yoongi, Hoseok, and Haryun.

“I’m so tired,” she groaned, grabbing the hand Haryun extended out to her and squeezing it. “I just want to eat and lay down and sleep.”

Namie and Luda joined Moonhee on the couch, one on each side of the tired girl as they cuddled up to her side. Haryun watched as her best friend allowed the two girls to hug her for a second before Moonhee dropped Haryun’s hand and stood to make her way to the kitchen.

“What’s left to eat?” Moonhee asked once Haryun had followed her into the kitchen. “I’ll eat anything at this point.”

“Lucky for you,” Haryun squeezed Moonhee’s waist briefly before she made her way to the oven, which had been left on a low temperature to keep what was in it warm. “I got you rotisserie. And I didn’t let anyone touch it, so it’s just for you.”

Moonhee placed her hands over her heart as she cooed, sincerely touched by the gesture. “Thank you, Yun-ie.”

Haryun shrugged. “Think of it as thanks for going on a date. I know you only did it for me,” She pursed her lips as she paused. “So it’s the least I could do.”

While Haryun placed the rotisserie on the kitchen counter, Moonhee went to the fridge to grab the condiments she liked to have with her chicken. Buldak chicken sauce, lemon, and mustard were her sauces of choice, and while all of her friends thought she was disgusting for mixing those three, Moonhee devoured it every time.

Happily, Moonhee coated her chicken with a large helping of the Buldak sauce and mustard, humming to herself as she took a small bite and did a tiny dance due to how delicious her concoction was after her long night.

Without wanting to pry too much, Haryun was curious about the date Moonhee went on. She didn’t know who the date was since Moonhee only mentioned that someone had asked her out and that she was going to go, but Haryun hoped it went well.

So with as much nonchalance as she could fake, Haryun asked, “How was the date?”

Moonhee had broken off a leg from the chicken and was deep into it as Haryun asked the question. It took her off-guard, but she swallowed her bite and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before she replied, “Like all of the others.”

Haryun watched Moonhee put more mustard on her chicken before her friend continued, “He said he thought tattoos were tacky and ruined my skin. Even if he did want to go on another date, I wouldn’t accept. Anyone who can’t accept every part of me isn’t worth it.”

Before Haryun could agree and reassure her best friend that someone out there would appreciate her for all of her, a voice chimed in. The voice startled them both since they were under the impression they were having a private conversation.

“Oh, but your tattoos are cool, Moonhee-yah,” The voice was Seokjin. He had snuck into the kitchen for water but had come in at what seemed like the perfect time. “I like the giraffe the best. It’s just like you.”

He continued to the fridge and grabbed a water bottle as if he didn’t just butt into their conversation. Haryun would’ve politely asked Seokjin to give them some privacy, but Moonhee looked relieved at Seokjin’s words as if they were the right thing she needed to hear.

“Is that rotisserie,” he continued as Moonhee squirted an extra helping of mustard on the next piece she was eating. In the few minutes she had been munching on the chicken, she tackled almost half of it with determination. “With mustard?”

“It’s good,” Moonhee defended.

Uncertainty wavered in Seokjin’s eyes, and wordlessly Moonhee offered him a piece of chicken, one drenched in both Buldak sauce and mustard. It confused Haryun a bit since Moonhee wouldn’t even share chicken with her sometimes, but Seokjin just got offered a piece his first time at their apartment.

Maybe Haryun was a bit jealous, but the feeling passed once Seokjin ate the bite of chicken with hesitance. He took a moment to chew, taste the flavors, and then swallow with a pleasantly surprised expression.

“Not bad, Moonhee-yah,” he complimented. “You gonna eat the whole thing yourself?”

“I always do.”

Why did Haryun feel like she was witnessing something she wasn’t supposed to? Should she look away? Or maybe just go back into the living room? Thankfully, she didn’t have to decide, seeing as Seokjin began to take his leave and head back toward the living room.

But before he left, he turned to Moonhee and said, “If you need someone to take you on a proper date, I’ll always be available.”

The offer shocked Haryun so much that she had to take a step back and lean on the counter. Moonhee simply nodded and turned back to her chicken as if Seokjin hadn’t just suggested that he take her on a date, which sent Haryun spiraling.

“Why didn’t you accept?”

“It’s Seokjin, Yun-ah. He never means it when he asks me on dates.”

That had Haryun’s eyes almost bursting out of their sockets. “He’s asked you out before?!”

With a shrug, Moonhee grabbed her chicken and all the condiments in her hand before she walked into the living room, leaving behind her best friend to come to terms with the newfound information she had discovered. She had been there for a while since Yoongi entered the kitchen to look for her.

“Are you okay?” Yoongi raked his eyes up and down her body before he hugged her, alarmed at Haryun's stillness. “You’ve been in here for a minute.”

The warmth from his hug knocked Haryun from her stupor, and she returned the hug quickly, pressing her body close to his. 

“Did you enjoy the food?” Yoongi shoved his face in her neck while she spoke, his hands trailing down her back slyly as he pushed them further into the kitchen. The movement was distracting to Haryun, but she allowed it nonetheless, wrapping her arms around Yoongi’s neck for balance.

Once Yoongi had successfully crowded them in the far corner, up against the counter and away from prying eyes, he groaned out an answer before he pressed a kiss into Haryun’s neck. 

“Very good, thank you.” His breath was warm, and a shiver ran down Haryun’s spine, which led her to tilt her head close to his and ghost her lips over his. 

There was a slight lilt in their movement, both swaying as they wrapped themselves up in one another’s presence as they would typically do whenever they were together. Yoongi’s hands had dropped further, now brushing on the bare skin of the back of Haryun’s thighs and dangerously close to disappearing beneath her shorts. 

Their noses brushed together as Yoongi breathed. “I just needed some time with you.”

Haryun giggled. “I’m always here to give my time to you.” 

Yoongi hummed low before he finally pressed their lips together. It started sweet but ventured into lewd once Haryun parted her lips and pulled him closer by the back of his neck. Very rarely would she usually participate in such a distinct act of PDA in a place where anyone could witness. Sure, these were people she was comfortable with, and she knew they would never judge her, but it was just something Haryun would rather keep behind closed doors.

Most of those things were private and only between her and the person she chose to do things with, but with Yoongi, it was hard not to fall to her knees and beg him for more. It was not something she was proud of, how vulgar her thoughts about him would get just from hearing him talk about odd things like wainscotting or the benefits of eggs in your ramyeon. Or that tiny tick of his lip when something he wasn’t happy with occurred, but he didn’t want to show that he was upset.

In short, even the little things about Yoongi got Haryun riled up. So imagine the storm of desire raging through her once Yoongi slid his rough hands beneath her shorts and squeezed the flesh he had cupped in his grasp. The moan that escaped Haryun’s mouth would’ve been louder if Yoongi wasn’t kissing her, but the moment the kiss ended, Haryun shoved her hands beneath his shirt, his skin warm to touch.

Their breaths were heavy, but it didn’t stop them from reconnecting and tuning out the increasing volume of their friends in the living room. Even if she tried her hardest to tune them out and focus on kissing her boyfriend, Haryun could always tell when Geummi was veering off into a drunken rage just by the tone of her voice. To Haryun’s utter disappointment, it was happening at that moment.

“You are insane if you think he is a good father, Seokjin-ssi!” Geummi was hiccuping and slurring between words, a tell-tale sign to Haryun that she would have to wrap whatever she had going on with Yoongi up and help her friends in the living room.

But then Yoongi readjusted his grip on her ass and pushed his hips into hers, allowing her to feel just how aroused he was from them fooling around in the kitchen, sucking Haryun back in. Yoongi’s skin was soft but not softer than his kisses, no matter how eager the kisses turned. 

Her fingers gripped his skin as she kissed him with hunger, her hips canting in sync with Yoongi’s, and she moaned whenever she felt like she was about to explode. It was intoxicating, and it was fun, it was-

“Ohh,” A collective gasp echoed from the living room, knocking Haryun and Yoongi apart just as the sound of pattering feet followed the gasps.

Worry etched itself across Haryun’s features as she dropped her hands to her sides and attempted to move around Yoongi and into the living room, but she couldn’t make it far. Yoongi’s arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back to his chest swiftly.

“I just know she broke something, Yoon,” Haryun rushed out, her hands folding over Yoongi’s where they wrapped around his waist. “It’s always something with her-”

“My dick might fall off if you leave me like this,” Yoongi groaned into her ear, frantic and panicked, and Haryun could feel that he wasn’t exaggerating. He could poke someone’s eye out with the erection he was sporting, and it was funny when Haryun thought about it.

“Don’t laugh,” he hissed. “Just don’t move.”

She giggled anyway and shuffled forward with Yoongi draped over her back, using her as a shield to protect him from shame and embarrassment. 

As they had made it into the living room, Seyoung shouted, “Haryun, they broke something else!”

Haryun scanned the living room for any damage. The coffee table was fine, everyone still had all their limbs, and the television was still on the wall. So what broke? Geummi was curled into a ball on the floor with Moonhee laid across her back, seeming to keep Geummi on the ground. If the whines and complaints were anything to go by, Geummi was unhappy that she was being pinned down.

Across the coffee table, strewn across the floor in a starfish position, was Namie, and she was giggling to herself as she kicked her feet, drunkenness written all over her features. If she weren’t held hostage by her boyfriend, Haryun would’ve rushed over and helped Namie catch her bearings, but before she could even think to move, Yoongi squeezed her closer to him in a warning.

“So what broke?”

Slowly, with something cupped in his hands, Namjoon stood from the floor where he was kneeling. Shattered glass was in his hands, and from the design, Haryun knew it was one of the large serving plates she had used to serve the braised ribs earlier in the night. And since Geummi only knew how to break things that Haryun cared about, it was the plate that her parents had gifted her when she moved from Jeju to Seoul, a going away present of sorts.

“You’re shitting me, right?” The anger wavering in Haryun’s voice was scary, and Seyoung stood up to block her view of Geummi to prevent things from escalating further, but it was futile at best. “Why is it always something my parents give me, Geum?”

“I told her not to lunge across the table,” Luda spoke, her tone laced with pride at being proven right. “She didn’t listen.”

“To be fair,” Moonhee grunted as Geummi shoved her extra hard, still attempting to get off the ground. “Seokjin provoked her.”

Seokjin guffawed, his ears red as he was drunker now than he had previously been when Haryun first made her way into the kitchen. “What did I do?!”

“You entertained her bullshit argument,” Moonhee rebutted. “I told you to stop!”

“She did, hyung,” Jeongguk pointed out. “So maybe this is a bit of your fault.”

“It is his fault!” Geummi shouted. “Blame him, Unnie, not me!”

Haryun was getting a migraine at all the back and forth, pointing the blame at one another. Maybe she should’ve stayed in the kitchen with Yoongi. At least then, she was feeling good and not about to have a conniption.

“Just,” Haryun breathed as she glanced at the digital clock beside the couch. It was a quarter to midnight and time for the dinner to be over. “Let’s clean up, sober up, and we’ll reconvene. Okay?”

No one moved an inch or spoke a word, which led Haryun to repeat herself. “Okay?!”

“Yes!” “Okay!” “Mhm.” “Heard.” They all murmured as they rushed to pick up anything off the floor, and everyone began shuffling around. However, Namie remained on the floor, though too far gone to move a muscle. Taking notice of her state, Hobi rushed to Namie and helped her sit up with a bottle of water in his hands. He guided it to her lips and helped her drink, which Namie graciously accepted as she downed half the bottle in one go.

Seokjin, Seyoung, and Namjoon crowded around the sink as they alternated washing dishes, drying them, and putting them away in a fashion that seemed rehearsed. Moonhee had taken Geummi to her room, knowing that the end of Geummi’s night had already arrived and she wouldn’t be able to make it past this little mishap no matter how much Geummi wanted to stay with everyone else.

Jeongguk, Yebin, and Luda took to cleaning up the living room. Jeongguk swept the floors while Yebin picked up random pieces of trash, including the five empty soju bottles scattered around the living room. Luda was pretending to oversee the clean-up, but she was watching Hobi take care of Namie with a weird look on her face, one that Haryun noticed, to which she snapped her fingers and called Luda over to where she and Yoongi had been standing the entire time.

“What’re you doing?” Haryun asked, her arms crossed and eyes glaring. “You look suspicious.”

“Oh, I look suspicious?” Luda sounded accusing as she gestured to Haryun and Yoongi and the way Haryun hadn’t moved from in front of him the entire time. “You and your boyfriend look like statues over here, all freakishly still and whatnot.”

Yoongi cleared his throat, not at all quiet or inconspicuous about it. 

“That’s none of your business.”

“Oh my god, he has a bo-” Luda was too smart for her own good sometimes, which was why Haryun pinched her in the neck, shutting the younger girl up in an instant.

“Be quiet.”

With a whine, Luda pouted and conceded. “Fine, but when you settle it later, can you keep it down? I need a full eight hours.”

“First of all, I’m always quiet,” Haryun whispered, attempting to keep it from Yoongi, but of course, he heard and poked Haryun’s side to let her know. Luda snickered, entertained with it all. “And second, where are you planning on sleeping? You know Geum is already in Moonhee’s bed.”

“I’ll just join you once you finish with whatever,” Luda waved off, not at all concerned with her sleeping arrangements, knowing that whenever she did fall asleep, it would be in someone’s bed. “Just don’t be naked and change the sheets.”

And with that, Luda walked into the kitchen to join the miniature assembly line that Seyoung, Namjoon, and Seokjin had begun. For a moment, Haryun and Yoongi still recalled what Luda had suggested.

“Is she serious?” Yoongi asked, a bit petrified at the calmness Luda held when mentioning that she was going to share a bed with them. “Or is she joking?”

“I do not think she is joking, but if you don’t want to share a bed with her, Yoonie, I can tell her,” Haryun turned to face Yoongi as she spoke, not at all shocked at Luda and her antics. “We’ve done it before, but if you do-”

“With who?”

A shy smile appeared on Haryun’s lips, and she pressed a soft kiss to Yoongi’s cheek. “No one important. But it was just once. Luda doesn’t mind any of that.”

“Well, I don’t mind sharing a bed with Luda,” He responded, his tone low and even. “But, if so, we aren’t having sex. I don’t feel comfortable doing that and then letting someone lay in bed with us.”

So then maybe Luda would have to sleep somewhere else because Haryun was looking forward to that part of the night. And she wasn’t so sure that she was going to give it up.

“Uh, why?”

“That is very awkward, and our first time cannot be rushed or shared with someone else.”

“We aren’t sharing per se. Luda’s just joining us afterward.” Was she wrong to try and sell this to Yoongi? Maybe he made a good point that their first time shouldn’t be this way, but Haryun was not sure she could wait.

“Still no.”

“Just the tip?”

Yoongi looked incredulous at his girlfriend. “What is- No!”

“Oh my god, please,” Haryun hugged him tighter, showing her desperation. “Just a little.”

“There is no such thing as a little sex, Yun-ah.”

“Then just let me blow you.” It was something.

“No,” He paused to think about it, and his eyebrows raised in interest as he thought about it. “Wait, seriously?”

Haryun perked up at his consideration. “Yes.”

“Well,” There was a shout from Seokjin behind Yoongi that they both ignored, Yoongi tucking Haryun’s hair behind her ear gently. “We can do that.”

“Okay, good,” she smiled wide and uncontrollably. “Let’s do it now!”

With too much excitement and anticipation, Haryun began dragging Yoongi toward her room, completely forgetting that she still had all of their friends in her apartment and that, officially, dinner hadn’t ended. And Yoongi reminded her of that fact.

As Haryun slowed her footsteps, a pout on her lips, Moonhee walked out of her bedroom in a new set of clothes without Geummi. At the sight of her best friend, Haryun gasped, catching Moonhee’s attention.

“Oh, Moonie, let everyone out and tell them we’ll see them later. I’m going to blow Yoonie.” Haryun rushed out, bouncing on her feet with genuine excitement and a tad too much innocence in her words. 

Yoongi blanched at the bluntness of Haryun’s words, turning to explain to Moonhee a lie that he was preparing, but Moonhee said, “Okay, have fun,” and continued down the hallway. There was no time for Yoongi to mull over any of the conversations in the hallway because, in a millisecond, Haryun had him inside her room and forced him to sit on the edge of her bed. The door closed and locked.

“Okay,” Haryun breathed as she kneeled on the floor and tied her hair into a bun, her eyes glued to the erection poking through Yoongi’s sweatpants. “Time for a blowie.”

Yoongi groaned at her choice of words, but he still let Haryun pull down his pants. “Don’t call it that.”

And even though Haryun had told Luda that she was always quiet, she never said anything about Yoongi.

☆ ⁄⁄ ★

( masterlist / prev / next )

A/N: we've reached the end :((( of course i had to end it on a yoonyun blowjob but whatever. the epilogue will be up in a little bit. also DONT FORGET TO VOTE IN THE POLL !!! its in the masterlist

[edupunkn00b]

Echoes of Our Future, Ch. 5: Human Rule

Prev - Human Rule - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ] "The World outside had its own rules, and those rules were not human." — Michel Houellebecq, The Elementary Particles

Day 5 of @tsshipmonth2020's Echoes of the Past October Creative Writing event. ---

“So… whaddya think, Pocket Protector?” Logan narrowed his eyes at Remus and started to loosen his grip on the Creative Side’s hand.

“Must you call me that?” Some of the fear from their close call in the library bled into anger in his tone. He stared down at his hand when Remus wouldn’t let go.

“You’re a protector.” He shrugged with a little smirk. “Jannie may be Self Preservation, but you sure make sure we don’t get our asses handed to us on a regular basis.”

Logan scoffed. “If anything you and Roman are our protectors. Especially out here in the Imagination.”

“Flu shots. Dental hygiene. Exercise regimens…” He started counting off with his fingers, raising one at a time. “Healthy groceries. Yech, taxes…” He shrugged again. “If you need me to go on I’ll hafta let go of your hand and I’d really rather not.”

Logan looked away and adjusted his glasses, failing to disguise his blush. “I shall attempt to recontextualize that nickname with the sentiment with which it is intended.”

Grinning madly, Remus squeezed his hand. “Good. So… What’s the plan?”

“Right. Well,” Logan cleared his throat and looked around. “Foreboding message aside, this does appear to be the Imagination. Are you able to tell if we have successfully made it to Roman’s realm?”

“Yeah, this has gotta be Ro Bro’s realm.” Remus kicked up a clump of grass only to reveal a patch of more pristine, bright green grass below it. "Stinks of sunshine and lollipops.” Head tilted unnaturally to one side, he crouched down and peered closely at it. “Definitely his. But…” Rising, he sighed, tapping his chin as though trying to solve a puzzle.

“But what?” Logan asked, stiffening at the uncommon hesitation behind Remus’ words.

He scowled, stomping down on the grass. “Something… somebody should’ve come barrelling out and yelled at me for breaking the rules. Where the fuck are his guards? Where are the horses?” He waved his arm out toward the edge of the forest. “There aren’t even any elk out there to give me a dirty look.”

Remus shook his head and rubbed swirls over the back of Logan’s hand with his thumb. “Something feels wrong.”

“Perhaps we could find his castle? He might be there.” He adjusted his eyeglasses, peering into the woods. The contrast of the bright sunlight streaming down over the meadow and the shadows of the tall trees made it difficult to discern what was actual movement and what was merely an illusion. “Roman always says it’s the most secure location in all his realm.”

Following his gaze, Remus watched the same dark spot between two trees. “Yeah… Yeah, he does.”

Both Sides stared quietly at the forest. “Roman’s castle is through there, isn’t it?”

“Yep.”

Nodding, Logan squeezed Remus’ hand and together they walked toward the woods.

The meadow was only a few hundred yards in either direction, but after the pair had walked for over an hour, they seemed no closer to the forest. “This is wrong,” Logan murmured, stopping and turning to look behind them. He could still see the little clod of grass and dirt Remus had kicked up, no more than three or four feet away from them. “It’s as if the Imagination itself doesn’t want us to get there. Wait—” He turned toward Remus, replaying their earlier conversation in his mind. “What did you say about guards who would chastise you for damaging the grass?”

He shrugged, looking back out toward the forest. “Roman has guards and… creatures… that protect this part of his realm. Enforce the rules.” Remus grinned with a little shoulder shimmy. “He siccs them on me when I cause trouble over here. A lot of them will just automatically come out and drag me to the castle in irons if I fuck up enough of his shit.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Well, perhaps the way to the castle is to ‘fuck up his shit’ to a sufficient degree to attract their attention.” He smiled at Remus. “Do you have any ideas for something destructive we could do?”

“Do you really need to ask?” Remus threw his head back and laughed. “Alright, this is Ro Bro’s realm so I’ll need a little help. Are you up for a little trouble?”

Eyes narrowed, Logan frowned. “I hesitate to say yes, but if it will help us find the others faster…” He reached for Remus’ other outstretched hand.

“I need Lucie for this. If we both work together—” Remus grinned, eyes wide and he stared at Logan as his Morningstar suddenly appeared in their shared grip. “Well done, Professor!”

He pressed the weapon into Logan’s hand and let go. “Ready to go apeshit?”

It took less than ten minutes of Logan bashing and tearing at the meadow before they were both covered in bits of grass and dirt and shredded wildflowers. He’d just started on a fresh batch, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, cheeks flushed, and the start of a grin on his face when the ground shook under their feet.

“Hold on to your knickers, here they come!” Remus shouted over the rumbling roar of hundreds of hooves stomping on the ground. In moments, the pair was surrounded by a herd of centaurs, huffing and glaring down at them.

“You have made the last mistake of your pathetic lives,” the tallest of the centaurs roared, eyes red, mouth turned down in a scowl, spittle at the corners of his lips. “Hand over the weapon—”

“Fuck that,” Remus spat, putting himself between the leader and Logan. They stood back-to-back and he kept both hands over his, both shielding and keeping Logan still behind him. “You’re not touching Lucie and living to tell the tale.” He stood to his full height—a little taller, Logan thought—and stared the centaur in the eye. “I demand you take us to Roman. Take us to my brother!”

A chorus of whinnies and human-like voices rang out over the herd and the leader silenced them all with a single raised hand. “What sorcery is this meant to be?” He towered over Remus and lifted his chin, turning his face from side to side. “You cannot be the King’s brother.”

“King?” Remus rolled his eyes and laughed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. My brother is Prince Roman. He wishes he could be a king.”

Logan turned and hissed in his ear. “Are you quite certain it is wise to antagonize the massive herd of eight foot tall centaurs?”

“Sir!” Logan felt an inhumanly hot breath at his neck and a tug at his back. He quickly pivoted, hand outstretched but he wasn’t fast enough to stop a slightly shorter centaur from plucking the book and map from where he’d secured it in his belt. He reached over them and handed it to the centaur leader without opening it. “The strange one was hiding this.”

The centaur glowered at them, then opened the book, slowly turning each page. His eyes widened as he read each page before he finally snorted and threw the book to the ground.

“Rules?” He reared up on his hind legs, forelegs kicking, then finally slammed back down on the grass, kicking up his own clumps of grass and soil. “You’re worried about human rules when you defile the King’s meadow?” He signaled two broad centaurs on either side of him. They each held coils of rope which they wrapped around each of their wrists, binding them uncomfortably tight.

“Oh, kinky,” Remus said, a smirk on his face that couldn’t hide the way he looked back at Logan’s hands with concern. “Don’t you need our safe words?” The centaur swung his hand back, striking Remus across the face and he dropped to the ground.

“Remus!” Logan cried out, rushing to his side but was yanked back up by the greyish centaur holding his rope.

The leader sneered, kneeling down to wipe Remus’ blood from the back of his hand in the grass. “We’ll teach you all about the rules.” He jerked his head toward the woods and the rope-bearing centaurs dragged them along. Remus struggled to his feet and when he got up, the book was gone from where it had lain in the grass.

He made a kissing face at Logan and glanced down at his own chest. Logan could just make out the straight edge of the book’s binding hidden in the Creative Side’s sash. Before he could say anything, the centaurs snapped their ropes, yanking them forward and on to the long march through the woods and to King Roman’s castle.