#freedom and whisky

[frasers-of-my-heart]

Wednesday 100: Whisky and Pearls

Claire felt the weight of Ellen Mackenzie’s pearls in her fingers. They had been all that Jamie had left of his mother, now they were almost all that Claire had left of him. Just them and Brianna. She could be happy with that couldn’t she? If she went back, who was to say that she would indeed find him? That he would want her to? But Bree was here and she needed her mother. Didn’t she? Claire ran the beads around her hands, gripping so tightly she could feel them marking her skin, making the scar under her thumb tingle.

[theoutlanderevangelist]

3x05 “Freedom & Whisky” | 002

[eyra]

[samsheughan]

"Nobody thought you and Frank were Ozzie and Harriet. I've watched you live a half life for 15 years. If you have a second chance at love, you should take it."

[brian-in-finance]

Video 📹 from Instagram

Remember… I found him. Well... I found an article, written in 1765, in a journal called Forrester’s. It advocates the repeal of the restrictions on the import of spirits to the Scottish Highlands. — Roger MacKenzie, S03E05 Freedom & Whisky

[redvexillum]

Laughter and the warm, heady aroma of rich Cajun spices twirled in the air, wrapping around your senses like a comforting blanket on a crisp Louisiana evening. The slight dip in temperature heralded the arrival of autumn, a season that changed the vibrant landscape into a tapestry of oranges and red. Through the dusty window of Alastor’s cottage, a stark red light from the setting sun streamed in, illuminating the man himself: tall and lanky, with slightly curled brown hair that danced around his ears, and warm brown eyes that sparkled with mischief.  

“My love,” he said, stepping closer, his voice thick as honey and just as sweet. “I must say, I am absolutely ecstatic that you finally decided to join me this time.” 

His proximity stirred a mix of emotion within you, and you wrinkled your nose as a heavy metallic tang pierced the air – a scent so out of place amidst the inviting spices and laughter.  

With a playful smile mirroring his, you leaned in, feigning innocence as you whispered, “You know, it’s a bit challenging to ignore that…unusual bouquet you’ve got going on. What’s that, a new cologne?” 

Alastor chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that never failed to send a shiver down your spine. “Ah, that would be my secret ingredient,” he teased, the corners of his mouth curling into a sly grin. “I’ve always had a penchant for the hunting arts, you see. A little blood adds flavour, don’t you think?” 

You pushed aside the insidious whisper in your mind that noted how this man always seemed to carry an undercurrent of something dark and unsettling beneath his expensive cologne. You glanced over the pile of vibrant, red, raw meat on the counter – a testament to his hunting prowess.  

The meat gleamed under the soft glow of the cottage’s flickering light, an odd sight during these trying times of the Great Depression. But then again, Alastor was a popular radio host, and with fame came a certain indulgence in life’s luxuries.  

“Luxuries indeed,” you murmured under your breath.  

Suddenly, warm hands framed your face, pulling your gaze into the depths of Alastor’s whisky-brown eyes. His devilish, charming smile ignited a warmth in your heart that spread like a wildfire. At that moment, you were captivated by a man you knew you were forbidden to love.  

He was a man whose world was miles apart from your own.  

Yet… 

Yet, here you were, hidden among the thick, twisting trees of the bayou, far from prying eyes. Here, perhaps, the love that others labelled as deranged might find a place to breathe freely.  

Looking at him, a weight of guilt squeezed your heart. "I’m sorry I kept cancelling at the last minute, Alastor, I –" you began, your voice trembling with the heavy, suffocating shroud of unspoken truths. But before you could finish, his gentle finger pressed against your lips, absolving of your crime of almost abandoning him.  

“It’s quite alright, my dear,” he replied, his voice smooth like dark chocolate, rich, thick, and silky.  

Your words of further apologies were lodged inside your throat. No matter what you said to him next, it wouldn’t change the truth of your current situation.  

You and him had different social standings, but moreover, there was the looming shadow of your engagement to another man, the one your parents had chosen for you. The one who was, by all appearances, a good match, a respectable future governor.  

“Let’s just enjoy this moment, just the two of us, darling,” he said, his voice resonating like the warmest notes of a jazz melody. He was truly born to be a radio host, whose words could make even the most stoic hearts flutter – if only they could overlook the darker undertone of his physical attributes.  

Reaching up, you clasped your hand around his, pressing your cheek against the warmth of his inviting palm. It felt like a small rebelling against the world, against your parents, a taste of freedom, a taste of love you longed for – hungeredfor.  

“Okay,” you murmured, inhaling deeply, the earthy scent of the bayou mingling with the intoxicating scent of the sharpness of his cologne. You exhaled slowly, releasing the anxiety and guilt that once clung heavily to your heart.  

Just for this moment, you wished to forget about propriety and the expectations of being the perfect wife-to-be. Just for this moment, you wanted nothing more than to be with Alastor, the man who adored you with all his heart, just as you adored him in return.  

“Now,” he said, slipping his hand away from your face and spinning back to the pile of bleeding, red meat. “I’ll handle this, and if you could be so kind as to peel the potatoes, my darling!” His voice was chipper and jovial, a perfect contrast to the weighty atmosphere that usually surrounded you. You watched in admiration as he wielded the knife with a master that only came from years of experience – his fingers moved with precision and confidence.  

Humming in agreement, you reluctantly turned your attention to the bowl of potatoes. Picking one up, you grasped a small knife, its blade glinting under the softer light. You began to peel the rough skin away while suppressing a giggle as you recalled telling Alastor that you’d never been taught how to cook. Alastor had looked at you as if you grew a second head back then.  

But, you had never told Alastor why you weren’t taught how to cook like other proper homemakers. After all, your sole purpose was to be given away like a prized horse to an affluent man. Your only duties were to remain beautiful in his arms and bear his children.  

You quickly pushed away the bitter feelings that crept up your throat and stung your nose. Instead, you focused on the memory of Alastor being shocked at your admission. “We simply cannot have that! I shall schedule us a date where I can track you my favourite recipe – my mother’s jambalaya!” He had said with his eyes twinkling with glee.  

The soft humming of a tune brought you back to the present moment, the sweet melody from Alastor floated through the air. You lost yourself in the rhythmic task of peeling the potatoes, focused on the repetitive motion of the knife gliding through the skin.  

But then, in a moment of distraction, your clumsy fingers slipped. The sharp edge of the knife sliced through your delicate skin with a sudden sting. “Ah!” You yelped, instinctively pulling your hand away as searing pain bloomed from the cut.  

Crimson rivulets flowed quickly down your fingers, staining the pristine white flesh of the potato. Food was a scarce luxury in these times, and you hated the thought of wasting it so carelessly. "I’m so-" you began, but the words faltered as you felt a wave of dizziness washed over you. Seeing blood had always made you feel a bit queasy.  

Alastor turned sharply, concern etching itself into his features. “What happened?” He asked, rushing to your side, the joviality of moments before replaced by urgency.  

“It’s nothing,” you assured him, though the pain pushed with every heartbeat. “Just a little cut.” 

He took your hand gently in his, his warmth enveloping you like a balm against the pain. “Let me see,” he said softly, his voice dropping to a soothing tone, lulling you into a state of momentarily calm.  

“Oh, my!” Alastor’s voice purred, his grin wide, yet his brow furrowed in playful concern. “My little clumsy girl, whatever will I do with you?” He sighed in an exaggerated tone, a mix of teasing and amusement lacing his words.  

You rolled your eyes, exasperated but endeared by his over-the-top theatrics. "Yes, yes, Alastor. I’m quite clumsy. As I’ve told you many times, I’m not exactly well-versed in the art of cooking–" 

Your sentence was cut short by a sharp intake of breath as his hand closed around your wrist, his grip firm but tender. He pulled your injured finger closer to his face. The suddenness of the touch sent a spark of warmth coursing through you, igniting a flush that spread across your skin.  

His eyes darkened, pupils dilated, as he inspected the cut with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. “Quite a deep cut, indeed,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, as though the sight of your blood stirred something primal within him. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and the heat of the moment hung thickly in the air between you.   

“Alastor?” You whispered, your voice barely audible, the weight of his attention making it difficult to speak. He had never touched you like this before; usually, it was your hand that sought him, your fingertips that brushed his arm with hesitant affection. This shift in dynamic left you breathless.  

With a slow, deliberate exhale, he pressed your injured finger against his lips. The warmth of his mouth ignited a dizzying mix of sensations. The pain from the cut flared briefly, but was soon overshadowed by the soft pressure of his lips, the tender heat of his breath against your skin. His lips moved, painting themselves crimson with your blood, and your heart raced, overwhelmed by the strange intimacy of it.  

His eyes never left yours as he hummed softly, the vibration of his voice sending a shiver through you. His tongue, warm and wet, traced the length of your finger, slow and deliberate, as though savouring every inch of your skin. The soft sounds of his mouth moving over your finger filled the small kitchen, a rhythm that seemed to match the rapid pounding of your heart.  

You gasped when he gently took your finger into his mouth, his tongue curling wickedly around it with a slow, languid grace. The mixture of pain and pleasure was dizzying, and you found yourself unable to tear your gaze away from the sigh of him – devouring your finger, alternating between soft, gentle sucks and firmer, more insistent strokes. The sensation was maddening, leaving you teetering between the sharp edge of discomfort and the intoxicating allure of his touch.  

Every flick of his tongue, every caress of his lips, seemed designed to unravel you, to make you surrender to the moment. The air between you crackled with unspoken desire, the heat of it enveloping you both, drawing you into a world where status, propriety, expectations all dissolved into nothingness.  

Nothing mattered but the press of his lips, the warmth of his breath, and the undeniable pull that connected you.  

Heat rushed to your cheeks, an overwhelming warmth that left your skin tingling as you watched the once-proper man before you indulged in something so…raw. His moans, barely audible, danced with the soft, wet sounds of his mouth working over your finger. His thick dark lashes brushed against his tanned skin, his expression serene, almost lost in the act. 

“Alastor…” Your voice cracked, surprise and something else – something unfamiliar – swirling low in your stomach, tightening with each passing second. You shouldn’t be feeling this. The intimacy of it was unexpected, almost forbidden, and yet…you couldn’t pull away.  

His eyes snapped open upon hearing your voice, piercing through the haze that had settled over your thoughts. Your finger was still between his lips, slick with warmth. His eyes arrested you as he let your finger slowly slide out of him, agonizingly slow, the wet trail glistening under the flickering amber lights in the kitchen. His hand lingered on your wrist, gentle but firm, holding you there as his gaze traced every detail of your face.  

The familiar grin curled at the corners of his mouth, the same charming showman’s smile you had fallen for, back when you were just another listener entranced by his voice on the radio. But here, now, something was different – darker, more…animalistic. A sense of danger, maybe, or hunger.  

You swallowed, your thoughts in disarray, but you forced yourself to speak, breaking the tension. “I thought we were supposed to be cooking, but…” you paused, feeling the heavy weight of his stare, the heat of his presence. “It looks like you’re ready to devour me instead,” you chuckled, the sound weak, betraying the nervous energy thrumming through you. 

Alastor remained silent, his grin frozen in place as his eyes darkened to near black, absorbing every flicker of light in the room. There was something unsettling about his stillness, the way his expression didn’t quite match the energy that pulsed between you.  

And then, in a voice that barely rose above a whisper – smooth, low, and stripped of the transatlantic accent you were used to – he answered.  

“Perhaps I will.”   

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

[artsninspo]

RIO (GOOD GIRLS) MASTERLIST

Well, in an unexpected turn of events theres now enough Rio fics by me to create a separate masterlist for them. All things Rio X @artsninspo below.

LEGEND:

🧸 - FLUFFY (wholesome lovey-dovey feels)

🌶️ - SPICY (adult content, 18+, NSFW)

🌪️ - MESSY (This one's a wild ride)

❤️‍🩹 - ANGSTY (Moody and/or emotional roller coaster)

DRINKS MINI - SERIES (COMPLETE)

I will no longer be adding to this series

An unintentional mini-series about Rio's escapades after meeting the sister-in-law of Ruby. Rio wants what he wants and pushes hard for the aloof but receptive reader. This series is witty, spicy 🌶️ and a wild ride with a realistic and ambiguous ending.

I - “Baby-Girl”

II - “Whisky, neat”

III - “Jealous type” - 🌶️ 🌪️

IV - “Cheers” - 🌶️ 🌪️

FORGIVELESS (COMPLETE)

On the night of her wedding anniversary, the reader discovers her husband’s betrayal. Heartbroken but resolute, she finds herself crossing paths with Rio—a magnetic stranger who radiates charm and a touch of danger. Inspired by SZA's hit Forgiveless, this story dives headfirst into her journey of rediscovery and revenge, navigating heartbreak, passion, and a much-needed sense of freedom. Packed with steamy encounters, heartfelt moments, and just the right dose of angst, Forgiveless promises all the fluffy highs and messy lows of a romance that will keep you hooked. Readers can expect a wild ride and a hard-earned happy ending that’s as satisfying as it is sweet.

I - NOT IN THE DARK ANYMORE 🌒 -🌪️

II - I DON'T CARE 'BOUT CONSEQUENCES, I WANT MY LICK BACK - 🌶️

III - GIVE A FUCK 'BOUT WHAT YOU PREFER🥀 - 🌶️

IV - YOU DON'T MIND SECOND FIDDLE, THAT'S WHY YOU A BITCH 🎻 - 🌪️

V - BACK AND FORTH IT GO, IT'S HARD, I KNOW 🔄 - ❤️‍🩹

VI - I'M TOO PROFOUND TO GO BACK AND FORTH, WITH NO AVERAGE DORK 📱

VII - I DON'T MIND WHO'S WATCHIN' 👀 - 🌶️ 🌶️🌶️ 🧸

VIII - I DON'T MIND COMPETITION, IT IS WHAT IT IS 📸 - 🧸 🌪️

IX - BETTER WATCH HOW YOU THINK OUT LOUD, IF IT'S 'BOUT ME THOUGH 📜 - 🌪️ 🧸

X - GOT A COUPLE THAT'S OUTSIDE, THEY KILL ABOUT ME THOUGH 🪦 - 🌪️🌪️🌪️

XI - I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU BEFORE, IT'S NOT GON’ END HOW YOU WANT 🥀 - 🌶️ 🌶️🌶️ 🧸

EPILOGUE - IT'S ALL LOVE 🩵 - 🧸 🧸 🧸

REQUESTS

ANON Requested that Rio snatches the reader up:

"FLAGS? CRIMSON 🚩" - RIO X READER - 🌶️ 🌶️ 🌶️

ANON Requested ‘nice Rio’

"CINDERELLA 🛍️" - RIO X READER - 🧸

Young Rio

"FIRST LOVE💗 " - RIO X READER - 🧸

DRABBLE(S)

Rio meeting readers bsf from out of town n she is like gossiping w him about the WILD shit she used to get up to and hes just laughing his ass off cause he thought she was all innocent.

[gyutopia]

world of sinners i | sim jaeyun

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: your parents are the head of one of the nation’s most lucrative syndicates and your older brother is heir to the throne which leaves you free to leave this world of evil behind. you’ve been waiting for this day for twenty years of your life, you can practically taste the freedom. what will you do, however, when your parents arrange a marriage for you to bind together their empire with the Lee’s to stop a full on gang war?

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: sim jaeyun x f!reader ft brother!sungchan

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟����: mafia!au, arranged marriage!au

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 9.0k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: dark themes, mentions of prostitution, drugs, mentions of violence, mentions of guns, vulgar language, mentions of death, forced marriage, corruption, consumption of alcohol.

— T E R M I N O L O G Y: abeonim ; father

➵ 𝑎/𝑛: this is the revamped version of my fic! the original can be found on @vintagejaemin, this was originally meant to be for ateez but i’ve decided to turn it into an enha fic ! :)

masterlist | next

“I’m stepping down.”

The dining room is silent. You stop cutting your steak to look up from your plate into your father's eyes. He returns your gaze and waits for you to question him, but you don’t. Instead, you turn your attention to your glass of Sauvignon blanc.

You hear your older brother clear his throat before placing down his utensils and addresses your father. “If you don’t mind me asking, what brought this about?”

You pick up your wine glass and swirl it around before bringing it up to your lips to finish it off. Your father's eyes flicker to you but you’re too busy trying to get drunk to notice.

Dinner with your family is something you’ve always dreaded. The atmosphere was always stuffy: elbows off the table, sit up straight, chew with your mouth shut, take small bites, make pleasant conversation, don't talk with your mouth full, finish your plate, use your napkin, ask for permission to leave the table. It felt like a chore rather than a meal.

Often, you could get out of family dinners by giving your father some bullshit excuse but tonight he wasn’t buying any of them. He claimed he and your mother needed to discuss something important with you and your brother. You guess this is pretty important news.

Your father clears his throat and swirls the whisky in his glass, the sound of ice clinking against the glass reverberates within the room.

“Well, Sungchan, I figured it was time you took over. The transition might be a long one, I have things I need to take care of but once everything is settled, the throne is yours.”

You place your glass back onto the table and sit straighter in your seat. You look at your mother but she makes a point to avoid your eyes. You pull your gaze away from her and turn to look at Sungchan who’s sat by your side, “congratulations.”

You knew this day would come, you just didn’t think it would come so soon. To your knowledge, your father’s in perfect health and things within the Empire have been running smoothly; you don’t see the need for Sungchan to take over just yet. Sungchan spares you a smile and a small nod of his head.

“As you two know, things are getting tense with the Lee’s,” the situation your father is referring to is the gang war that’s on the verge of starting with the Lee family, another mafia that rules the other half of town. Things are starting to heat up at the border, your dealers keep roaming into the Lee’s territory and their dealers are doing the same to you.

It’s causing you both to lose money and it’s led to a rise in gun violence. Men are dropping dead left and right in the streets, you tried telling your father to redraw the borders and give some land to the Lee’s but he quickly dismissed you saying you didn’t know what you were talking about.

“Your mother and I sat down with Lee Jaehee and his wife, and after much discussion we came to an agreement.”

“What are the terms of your agreement, Father?” You ask, your interest peaked.

Your father glances at you but doesn’t answer, refusing to fully meet your eyes and so your mother does. “We’ve arranged a marriage between you and their heir.”

Your parents register the shock on your face before you can hide it. You do your best to reel in your emotions before an argument breaks out though. Sungchan, sensing your shock that’s slowly beginning to morph into anger, reaches a hand out to place it on top of yours under the table to help calm you down.

“What about our agreement, Father?” You ask, steadying your tone so he doesn’t scold you for being disrespectful. The agreement you’re referring to is the one you made with your parents months ago. Seeing as Sungchan is heir to your father’s Empire, you saw no need to stay in this world you’ve come to despise and convinced your father to allow you to walk away once you graduate college.

You’ve always ranked number one at school, never once have you gotten a mark below a 90 in any of your classes. With perseverance and determination, fueled by your desire to leave this lifestyle behind, you graduated early and began taking classes at Sungkyunkwan University your junior year.

You major in both fine arts and business administration. You’re in your final year and college life has been a dream. You’re now twenty years old and set to graduate within four months. You have plans to leave South Korea and migrate to Paris with Haru and Anton, your two best friends and college roommate, following your graduation.

“You’re allowed to continue your studies but following your graduation, you’ll be getting married.”

Every word stings, only fueling the fire that burns inside of you. Your fists begin to clench and your jaw roots. Knuckles hurting from clenching your fists too hard, and gritted teeth from an effort to remain silent, your now hunched form exudes an animosity that’s like acid.

“No.” You say, leaving no room for discussion.

Your father looks at you in surprise, you’ve never talked back before. “No?”

You stand abruptly, the force knocking over your chair. “No. I won’t be a pawn in your ridiculous scheme. You know how I feel about your line of work, I played my part for the last twenty years and paid my dues. I refuse to enter a marriage agreement and get roped back into this mess!”

“____���” Sungchan gives a warning call of your name only to be cut off by your father who raises a hand in his direction.

“In case you’ve forgotten who I am and your place in this family, let me remind you. I am your father and as my daughter you’re to do as I say. As long as you have my blood running through your veins, you will never be able to leave.”

That is the breaking point of your patience. At that moment, your rage is so intense that it leaves you seething and with a bitter taste in your mouth.

“The Lee family will be here on Sunday for you to meet their son. Don’t be late.”

You glare at your father, “go to hell.”

He smirks and raises his whiskey glass in your direction, “Sweetheart, I’m the king.”

“I’m sure you’re both wondering why I’ve called you here.” Jake and Heeseung take their respective seats in front of their fathers desk, anticipating his next words.

For the past year, their father and his men have been keeping a close eye on the two brothers to see who is more fit to take on the role as head of the Lee Empire. At first, Heeseung was set to take over due to being the oldest and legitimate son. Knowing this, Heeseung took advantage of his position and began abusing the power he had yet to inherit.

He became a wild child. He spent his nights in Hongdae strip clubs and would often blow all his money on prostitutes. It was pathetic really, it also wasn’t a good image for the Lee’s, so their father stepped in and declared the throne was up for grabs.

Jake was never really interested in taking over, he grew up knowing that no matter what, Heeseung would ultimately rule over the underworld. Being the bastard child born from the product of his fathers affair, he was often kept hidden in the shadows. The sudden declaration came as a total shock to him and although he hadn’t been keen on taking over before, he knew he would be a fool to pass this up.

A rivalry sparked between the two brothers as they went head to head vying for the same position. While Heeseung was out getting high and drunk off of their father’s riches, Jake was at home studying his father's tactics and memorizing the names and faces of every associate of the Lee Ring.

Because Heeseung had been unfocused for so long, it had taken him longer to submerge himself back into the game. Once he had gotten his groove back, however, it was clear he would make a ruthless and good leader. Although he had his moments where he would slip up, who their father would choose was really up in the air.

“After careful evaluation I’ve decided to hand over the empire to Jaeyun.”

Jake lets out a relieved sigh and bows his head respectfully. “Thank you, Abeonim. It’s an honor to be given this ti⏤”

“You can’t be serious?” A low growl escapes Heeseung’s parted lips as he cuts off Jake and looks at his father in shock, “I deserve that title! It’s my birthright!”

Their father sends a sharp glare his way, “you lost that right when you chose to focus your attention on booze and hookers.”

Heeseung scoffs, “I can rule better than he can and you know it! You’re choosing to punish me because your ego is in the way!”

The two brothers watch as the whites of their father's eyes turn to pure black, his icy stare lethal and piercing. In that moment, Jake feels grateful that he isn't the one on the receiving end of their father's anger.

“Watch your tone, Heeseung. And must you know, this has nothing to do with my ego. You’re simply not fit to take over.”

Although Heeseung knows this could end very badly for him, it doesn’t stop him from continuing. “Everything you’ve built will turn to ash if you hand it over to Jaeyun. Be smart for once and give me the rights to the Lee Empire!”

Jaehee slams his fist on the desk, vexed at his oldest son's actions. “Enough! I will not be made a fool by my own son. You say you would make a better leader and yet your actions fail to line up with your words. Over the past year Jaeyun has proved himself to be the better man,” he pauses to take a breath, “he’s kept up with his studies while simultaneously helping me run the empire while you were too busy being pussy whipped.”

Heeseung’s cheeks heat up in both shame and embarrassment but his father doesn’t stop just yet, “tell me Heeseung, do you know why we had to switch suppliers? Do you know what’s going on with the Feds? Most of all do you even know what’s happening at the border?”

The room falls silent as Heeseung fails to answer. When it’s obvious he won’t be giving an answer anytime soon Jaehee turns to Jake and sighs, “inform your incompetent brother of what’s been going on while he was off getting head.”

Jake clears his throat and sits up in his seat, “we had to switch suppliers because some of the men were stealing baggies and selling them for their own profit. As for the Feds, they’ve caught wind of the donation of thirty million won to the Korean government, they suspect corruption and launched an official investigation two days ago. And regarding the border, we’re on the verge of a gang war with the Jung’s.”

Taken aback by the sudden onslaught of new information, Heeseung briefly forgets why he was mad in the first place. “The Feds launched an investigation? What are we going to do?”

Jaehee scoffs, “what do you think? We’re going to comply with their requests. The president is on our payroll, we’ll be cleared of all charges in no time. Until then, I’m going to need you both to lay low.”

The two brothers nod their head in understanding, “yes sir.”

Jaehee nods in satisfaction. “Good, now onto the last thing I would like to discuss with you. As you now know Heeseung, we’re on the verge of war. Any good leader will do everything in their power to avoid war which is why your mother and I sat down with the Jung’s to try and come to an agreement.”

“In order to secure things at the border, we came to the agreement that Jaeyun shall enter a marriage with their youngest daughter, that way we can bind together our families and show that we’re a united front to the public. Having them as allies will help us greatly, we’ll be having dinner with them on Sunday so you two can meet. Any objections?”

Jake has millions of objections, an arranged marriage? He knew if he obtained the position of head of Lee Empire this day would come but it feels too sudden. He hasn’t even fully assimilated to his new role and he’s now being thrust into a marriage with a girl he doesn’t even know.

Although he has his objections he doesn’t voice them, he knows better. With a small shake of his head he says, “no sir.”

His father smiles, looking proud of his youngest while Heeseung only glares at the hourglass sat on a glass shelf above his father's head.

“Good, you’re dismissed.”

It’s Sunday afternoon and in a last attempt to get yourself out of this outrageous marriage agreement, you’ve woken up early and dressed yourself in Jung Empire colors. Your body is adorned in an extravagant emerald green v-neck tie blouse with skin tight black jeans.

Your hair is tied up in a ponytail and your feet are encased in a pair of six inch red soled Louboutins that Sungchan had gifted you for your birthday. The Rolls Royce that you're riding in pulls up in front of your fathers warehouse for bagging, you thank the driver before exiting. You stare up at the daunting building and tuck your Bottega Veneta clutch under your arm, although your relationship with your father is rocky, you were once close and a daddy’s girl. You never had to ask twice for something, he was always willing to do anything for you. You can only pray he’s willing to do the same now. If he doesn’t budge however, begging isn’t beneath you, you’ll get on your knees if you have to.

You enter the building and find your father smoking while circling around the tables where his men are bagging a new batch of cocaine. You slide your eyes over to Sungchan who’s standing in the corner of the room talking to his security detail. You take a deep breath before marching over to your father.

“Can I steal you for a moment?”

Some workers look up to stare at you in confusion momentarily forgetting the task at hand but the man you called for doesn’t even spare you a glance. He stops to slap the side of a man’s head to pull his attention away from you, “careful. She’s an engaged woman.”

You scoff at your father's words, “Father, can we please speak?”

He continues to ignore you and moves down the row of tables filled with men weighing out the bags. “I’m listening, darling.”

You don’t want to have this conversation this way but you know that once your father is focused on his Empire, nothing else matters until he’s done. “I don’t want to marry him, please don’t do this.”

Your father slowly inhales his cigarette, still not looking at you. “I thought I was clear when I said no the first time you asked me this, ____.”

You sigh, “I won’t be happy if you make me do this!” You stop walking but he continues, your frustration builds and you stomp your foot, “will you pay attention to me for once damnit!”

He stops in his steps and takes one last drag of his cigarette before dropping it on the floor and snubbing it out with his shoe. He carefully turns to look at you and shoves his hands into the pocket of his suit pants. “Tell me, ____, how are things looking for the Empire, business wise?”

You frown, what does that have to do with dissolving your arranged marriage? “Sales are up ten percent from quarter one due to expanding on the south side and spending has decreased by fifteen percent after cutting ties with the Byun’s. I went to meet with the Chief of Police and made a settlement of two billion won, you now have complete jurisdiction over the Gwangju district. Business is running smoothly, you should expect an increase of twelve percent revenue wise by the end of the new quarter.”

Your father smiles and steps closer to you to take your face into his hands. “You’ve always been a bright girl, ____. It would be wasted potential to let you walk away from this lifestyle. While your brother makes for a great leader, you make one hell of a business woman. Such a shame I can’t keep you here to continue working for our Empire.”

You remove his hands from your face and clutch them desperately in your hands before shaking your head, “you know I hate everything about business management and this lifestyle. Whether I stay here with you or get married to the Lee heir, I will always be unhappy and you know that!”

Your father sighs and turns on his heel, “happiness is an illusion, my dear. Now, I believe you have an engagement dinner to go prepare for.”

He walks away and orders for one of his men to drive you back home to get ready for tonight. You dejectedly stare at your father’s retreating back, completely at a loss. What now? Do you go through with this unwanted marriage or do you make a run for it after you walk the stage for your graduation? You follow the buff man ordered to take you home and get in the back of the all black SUV parked out front. He drives you home in silence, leaving you to drown in your thoughts.

It doesn't take long for you to arrive, you’re home in under thirty minutes leaving you with plenty of time to get yourself ready for tonight.

You exit the vehicle and trudge up the polished steps of your two story mansion. You breeze past the kitchen, where your mother is informing the chef of tonight's menu. You head to your room and gently close your bedroom door moving on auto pilot. Sitting on your bed, you allow the news to fully sink in. Your fate has been decided and there’s no way out.

Left with no choice, you begin assembling an outfit for tonight. You skim your closet in search of your dusty blue frill hem lace dress you had gotten from Chanel. Once you find the dress you move to place it on your king sized bed and move back to your walk in closet to get your crystal open toed Jimmy Choo pumps that you gifted yourself during finals week sophomore year.

You walk leisurely to your bathroom, strip down, then step into the shower. You turn the water on high; the steam thickens and warms, rising up to your face. You bathe your skin lightly, taking care to not rub yourself raw. You make sure to wash your face and hair thoroughly before getting out of the shower. You then dry off and head back to your room to get ready.

You hydrate your body and slip into your undergarments before getting to work on your makeup. You shape and draw your brows before working on your eyeshadow—you go for a neutral eye look with an undertone of baby blue to go with your dress. Once satisfied, you go in with your mascara and apply one layer for both eyelashes.

Now that your makeup is finished, you move to your bed and pick up your outfit for the night and give it one last glance before slipping on the dress. The mini length dress has an a-line neckline, short sleeves, and a trumpet skirt. The bodice is fitted and fits your figure easily. You look stunning, if it weren’t for what awaits you downstairs, you would be excited but you know better.

There’s a light knock on your door that pulls you out of your trance. You sadly turn to look at your door just as Sungchan walks in. He offers you a smile and gently shuts the door behind him. “You look beautiful.”

You play with the lace of your dress, “thanks.”

A heavy silence soon settles over the two of you, thicker than the uneasy tension you’re sure sits in the dining room where your guests await you. You glance around your room to try to avoid catching your brother's gaze. Things have never been this tense between the two of you, the atmosphere is usually light and fun.

Sungchan has always looked out for you and made sure you’re comfortable. You have no doubt that he tried to talk your father out of signing away your freedom. It’s what Sungchan does. He always looks out for you.

“We should probably go greet our guests.”

Sungchan turns to walk away but you reach a hand out and grab onto the back of his suit jacket, “W-wait.”

He turns to look at you. He takes one good look at you and his shoulders drop. He envelopes you in a hug and soothingly rubs your back.

You bite down on your lip to prevent yourself from crying. You refuse to shed any tears over this situation, you need to be strong. “I know this isn’t what you wanted and it’s not fair that it’s happened to you but please continue to be the strong woman I know you are.” Sungchan whispers into your hair.

You sigh, “it’s not fair! I don’t want to marry him. Why do I always get the short end of the stick? Hm? Why is it always me?”

Sungchan chokes back a sob, it physically hurts him seeing you so sad, it’s a contrast from your usual behavior. You’re always a bright and bubbly person who tries to be optimistic no matter what.

“I know, don’t worry. I’ll fix things, just be patient for now. I’ll fix it.” He then whispers under his breath, “I promise,” but it’s too low for you to pick up on what he said.

You two spend a few more minutes enjoying the embrace before Sungchan reluctantly pulls back. “We should attend to our guests. I’ll head down first, you should fix your makeup before coming down.”

You nod and let him exit your room before making quick work of reapplying your mascara and fixing your eyeshadow that had smudged.

You apply a neutral tone lipstick from your fifty piece Tom Ford Boys and Girls II collection and go over it with a clear lip gloss to make your lips shine.

When you’re done you take a deep breath to calm your nerves before exiting your room. You walk down the hallway and stop at the top of the stairs to collect yourself one last time. Once you feel ready, you descend the large staircase and walk towards the dining hall where you hear chatter and laughter floating through the area.

You stop in the doorway and scan the table. Your father is sat at the head with your mother to his left and Sungchan to his right. Next to Sungchan is a red haired male with multiple piercings, from months of studying books filled with all Jung Empire’s associates, you know he’s Lee Heeseung, the eldest Lee son. A lady is seated beside him, you assume that’s his mother. At the end of the table sits Lee Jaehee and to his right sits a buff black haired male who’s engaged in a conversation with your father. The seat beside him is empty, you presume it’s meant for you. He must be your suitor, the bastard child⏤ Sim Jaeyun or Jake.

You continue to stare at the long black haired male and make an assessment. He’s a sight to behold, no doubt about that. But looks aren’t everything, what if he’s a monster? Was he the type to get violent if he didn’t get his way? Would you fear for your life once you signed the marriage license?

As if he can feel your stare, he looks up and locks eyes with you. A forced smile takes over his lips as he raises his glass in your direction, all parties present at the table turn to the doorway to stare at you as well. You fidget under their stares but you don’t cower away.

You walk over to the seat beside Jaeyun with your head held high, you greet everyone before taking a seat. “It’s about time you joined us.” Your father jokes.

You give him a forced smile and bow your head, “forgive me, I wanted to take extra care to make sure my looks were above par.”

Jaehee chuckles, “it’s alright dear,” he picks up his glass of whiskey and raises it, “shall we make a toast?”

Your father hums and raises his glass as well. Everyone soon follows. A server, noticing you don’t have any alcohol to toast with, quickly steps up and fills your flute glass with champagne.

You raise the flute and clink it against the other seven glasses, “to the engagement of Jaeyun and ____ and the binding of two powerful families!”

You mumble a small cheers under your breath before peeling back the glass and taking a small sip. It goes down easily and slightly burns your throat, there’s a bitter taste at the end that has you shivering in your seat. You take a few more sips before placing it back down. While it’s not strong enough to get you drunk, it could still give you a pleasant buzz and you need to be fully sober for tonight.

You look across the table to find Heeseung throwing back his glass of whiskey. He gulps it down and raises the empty glass in the air for a server to take and refill. You study the older male and notice there’s something off about him. By the way he’s sitting you can tell he has no interest in being here and with the way he’s throwing back alcohol without a care in the world, completely disregarding the glares his father sends his way you just know he’s the problem child.

He has a certain air about him, he almost seems angry. You cock a brow as you continue to study his actions, he swaps out his whiskey for a glass of champagne. He downs it in one go and huffs in annoyance when the server is a beat late in refilling his glass.

As he’s waiting for his fix, he looks up and sends a harsh glare in Jaeyun’s direction. You frown and follow his line of vision to find your soon to be fiancé smiling brightly at Sungchan while they converse about stocks.

You drum your fingers against your flute of champagne as you silently hum in understanding. There seems to be some sort of animosity between the two brothers. You wonder what happened.

Before you get to dwell on the situation, more servers file into the dining hall with your meals. You’re first served a bowl of soup but you only get three spoonfuls before it’s being taken away and replaced with a butternut squash ravioli topped with rosemary browned butter.

You’re able to get in a few more bites before it’s taken. You don’t mind it though, the taste of the squash was too strong for you. A kale salad with Asian grapes, candied walnuts, gorgonzola cheese, honey and vinaigrette is what’s next on the menu.

You push your food around, not at all interested in eating the salad. You would have preferred a Cesar instead. Not much is said, your parents discuss business but the four of you (Heeseung, Jaeyun, Sungchan, and you) stay silent, not bothering to get to know each other.

The main course comes soon and you’re glad it’s a bit bigger than the last three meals you’ve been served. It’s balsamic covered lamb chops drizzled with a white bean purée. Once the main course is served, conversation begins to flow between Jaeyun and you.

“Your father tells me you’re a student? What do you study?”

You finish chewing your lamb and clear your throat, “I study business management and fine arts.”

Jaeyun nods, impressed, “fine arts? Is that a passion of yours?”

You smile and nod eagerly. Talking about anything art related always fills you with joy. Art has always been your escape, you had hoped to become an art director once you had graduated and migrated to France with Haru and Anton. Your mood slightly crumples, just a week ago that dream was plausible but now it’ll remain nothing more than a dream.

“It is, art is a very beautiful form of communication and expression. It’s helped me through some dark times”

Jaeyun smiles at your words and looks at you thoughtfully. He had his own doubts coming into this dinner but you’re not as bad as he had assumed.

Dessert is soon served, it’s a pear tart with almond cream. You take your time enjoying the sweet treat but it’s gone too fast for your liking. The adults soon wrap up eating and conclude their business talk.

You think the dinners over and get ready to excuse yourself but your mother starts a new conversation. The topic being your wedding.

“Oh I can’t wait to see you in a wedding gown, ____! I just know you’ll look lovely.”

You inwardly cringe at her comment but don’t speak on it.

“Why don’t you two go for a walk in the garden? Take some time to converse and get to know each other, you barely talked during dinner and the whole point was for you two to get to know each other.” Your father suggests.

You're ready to claim you’re too tired to go walking around the garden so late at night but Jaeyun stands before you get the chance. “That sounds lovely. Care to join me, ____?”

He holds a hand out for you to take. You stare at it wearily but take his hand regardless and allow him to help you up. You both excuse yourselves and head for the back door that leads to the garden in your backyard.

The air is pungent with the fragrance of jasmine. The two of you walk along the path lined with fallen petals from the bonsai trees that line the perfect lawn in their wooden boxes. In the center of the garden sits a pond as large as a small lake with flowering lily pads and a wooden bridge that crosses the middle so you can look down at the koi. The flower beds are a riot of spring colors and under close inspection you would be able to see they’re weed-free.

“How old are you, Jaeyun?” You ask.

He crosses his arms behind him, “twenty-two. And you?”

“Twenty.”

A semi-awkward silence soon settles over the two of you as you take a stroll around the extravagant garden. “Let’s not beat around the bush, ____.” Jaeyun says as he comes to a stop. You stop walking as well and turn to face him, “I’m well aware this marriage isn’t something you want, it’s not something I wanted either but there’s no way out of it.”

You cross your arms and nod allowing him to continue. “While I may not be the man you intended to marry, I want you to know I have no ill intentions. I won’t force myself on you and I won’t stop you from pursuing other men. This is a marriage of convenience and I don’t want you to feel obliged to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“Are you mad?” You ask, he cocks his head to the side in confusion, not quite understanding your question. “Are you mad about this arrangement? You seem too calm about this, doesn’t it make you feel enraged to know your parents signed away your freedom?”

He shrugs, “it’s the price we have to pay for being their children.”

You scoff, “it’s a pretty crappy exchange.”

Jaeyun chuckles at your response, “I take it you feel wronged?”

You scowl, what type of question is that? Of course you feel wronged. “Of course I do. This isn’t the life I pictured for myself.”

“What was the life you pictured for yourself then?”

You take a deep breath and turn to continue walking. Jaeyun follows closely behind you as you both climb the bridge. “I wanted to leave Korea with my best friends and move to France, I’ve always had the dream of becoming an art director. I would probably fall in love and have a romance you only find in movies, have a lowkey beach wedding and try for kids later on down the line.”

You don’t know why you’re spilling your wants and dreams to Jaeyun, it’s not like he can give you the life you desire. Telling him this won’t change a thing but you suppose it’s nice to express your wants to another person who could possibly relate.

“I can’t give you the whirlwind romance you want but I can open a creative department and make you head of all creative art projects. I know it’s a longshot from the life you want but it’s a start.” He offers while gazing into your eyes.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” You curiously wonder out loud. Jaeyun softly chuckles at your question and comes to a halt in the middle of the bridge.

“Would you rather me be rude?”

You shake your head, “it’s not that. It’s just,” you pause to try and find the right words, “you've made it clear you don’t want to marry me either so why are you going out of your way to make sure I’m comfortable? Shouldn’t you hate me for ruining your life?”

“But you didn’t ruin my life? This marriage wasn’t your idea and I won’t take my anger out on you. You’re just as much of a victim as I am.”

You stay silent and just study Jaeyun. Your biggest fear entering this dinner was that he would be a complete jerk but he’s the absolute opposite. Conversation seems to flow easily between the two of you and he’s made it clear there’s no animosity between the two of you. You wish you could be as open to this as he is but a part of you will always despise him for taking away your freedom. He may have not done it directly and it may not be fair to him but you can’t help the way you feel.

“I understand.”

He nods and takes a few steps ahead of you and turns back to face you. “I had always hoped that when I proposed it was to a woman I knew and loved but as we both know, that isn’t the case. While this isn’t ideal, I still want to do it properly.” You watch as he gets down on one knee and pulls a ring box out of his back pocket. “Will you marry me, Jung ____?”

You try to smile at the sweet gesture but you’re sure it comes out more like a grimace. You slowly nod your head and give him your left hand. “Yes.” He smiles up at you and gingerly slips a 14k white gold engagement ring with a cushion cut diamond that illuminates the center of the sophisticated design with sparkling round diamonds in a halo motif on your ring finger. It fits snuggly, shimmering in the moonlight and mocking you as you rotate your hand.

Jaeyun gets up and dusts off his knees. “Let’s go back inside?”

Two weeks have passed since your formal engagement to Jaeyun and the press has been going crazy. The night after the dinner, your parents had the two of you go on a date for publicity and leaked the news of your engagement to the press. Pictures soon spread like wildfire and your name has been in the news ever since.

You didn’t expect anything less, while your family is notoriously known for ruling over the underworld, it’s not all you do. To avoid the law and jail time, your father owns his own conglomerate to stand as a front for the illegal acts that go on behind closed doors. Your father has done a fantastic job of separating the empire from the conglomerate. He’s thorough with his work and makes sure nothing can be traced back to the empire. To the public, Nexa-Corp has made great accomplishments within Korea and has been a global leader bringing innovation for a happier future. No one would expect that your family owns and runs its own mafia.

Because you’re the only daughter of such a prominent figure in Korean society, as well as Jaeyun who’s the youngest son of the CEO of Veridian Global, you’re sure the news of your engagement will continue to circulate for months and you have no doubt that the wedding itself will be broadcasted for all of Korea to see.

Tonight is your engagement party. You didn’t want one but it wasn’t up to you. Both your parents and Jaeyun’s claim it’s important your relationship seem as real as can be and that you show the public you’re a united front.

“____? Are you dressed?”

You pull your gaze away from the mirror to the door just as your mother walks in. She gasps and closes the door behind her. “Oh sweetheart, you look stunning!”

Your hair is slicked back and your makeup was done by a makeup artist. She went for a bold look to match your dress, your lips are painted a bright red and you have a smokey eyeshadow look. You’re dressed in a burgundy lace sweetheart ball gown that has a v-shaped bust. The dress glimmers and fits your waist tightly. The bodice is hand-beaded and also forms a sequined layer beneath the airy tulle ball gown skirt. You feel like an absolute princess, while it wasn’t the dress you had in mind you still feel beautiful.

“I’ve gotten so used to seeing you wearing green but red is a nice fit for you.” Your mother says.

You smooth out the lace of your dress and shrug, “green will always be my color.” To a normal person, it may seem as if you’re simply discussing colors with your mother but there’s a double meaning. Emerald green is the Jung Empire’s color and Burgundy is the Lee Empire’s color. While you may be marrying a Lee and will now have to rep the color red, you will forever be a Jung at heart.

Your mother gingerly smiles at you and reaches a hand out to grasp yours. “I know this isn’t what you wanted but I hope you can find the happiness you’ve always wanted with Jaeyun. He seems like a lovely boy.”

You inhale deeply and shake your head. You give your mother a small smile and pull your hands out of her grasp. “Happiness is an illusion.” You don’t give her time to refute your claim and step aside. “I believe we have guests to attend to?”

┕━━━━━━━✿━━━━━━━┙

The Ballroom is 7,600 square feet with a dramatic ceiling. It’s beautifully appointed with crystal chandeliers and decked out in silver and burgundy decor. The hall is filled with cocktail tables and waiters who are stationed around the room waiting to be called upon. You’ve made your rounds and you’re now settled in the back of the hall nursing a glass of champagne while Jaeyun is currently having a conversation with his buddies who you briefly met.

“Jung ____?”

You try to reel in your annoyance at being called upon yet again. You down your champagne in one go and place it on the tray of a waiter who skims past you before whirling around to come face to face with a man dressed in an all black suit. You try and wrack your mind to see if you can recognize him, but you come up empty handed.

“I’m sorry, have we met before?” You ask.

He shakes his head and reaches into the inside of his suit pocket to pull out a wallet, he opens it up and allows you to see the contents. He’s from the FBI. You feel your heart rate pick up but you manage to keep a poker face.

You stare into the detective's eyes, determined not to look away first. You contort your lips into a toothy saccharine smile relaxing your face. You had mastered your fake smile, right down to the wrinkles around your eyes at the young age of six. It’s key to have complete control over your facial features in your line of work. One wrong look and you could end up dead or in prison. “May I help you?”

He folds up his wallet and places it back into his pocket. “Congratulations on your engagement, Ms. Jung. While I hate to put a damper on the mood, I have a few questions regarding the ongoing case we have against your fiancé.”

You clutch your dress as the sentence leaves the male's mouth. The FBI has an ongoing case against the Lee’s? You wonder why it wasn’t mentioned to your family during the arrangement of your engagement.

You want to know the details of the charges but you know you can’t entertain this conversation. If any of your father's associates or allies of the Lee’s see you it could be disastrous. “Korean Civil Code, Article 826, The duties of Husband and Wife⏤ the confidential marital communications privilege allows a spouse to refuse to testify about, or produce documents evidencing, any confidential communication made during a marriage and allows the other spouse to prevent that testimony or document production. I have nothing to say to you, detective.”

He scoffs and picks up a champagne glass from the tray of a waiter who walks past you. “In case you’ve forgotten, you haven’t married him yet Ms. Jung. Don’t make me subpoena you.”

You cross your arms against your chest and nod, “am I a suspect, detective?” He shakes his head, “a person of interest then?”

“Not at the moment but if you continue on I will charge you with obstruction of justice.”

You scoff, “you can’t charge me for a crime I didn’t commit.”

“Don’t make this difficult. When we convict your fiancé we can have you arrested as well for aiding and abetting. You wouldn’t want to go to prison for your fiancé’s mistakes would you?”

You cluck your tongue, “article 200, South Korean Constitution⏤ I have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer questions. I am now invoking that right.”

“You seem to be well versed with the law, I guess it’s good to know your rights if you’re running a syndicate.”

You roll your eyes, “if you have any further questions or concerns feel free to contact my lawyer.”

He chuckles, “why lawyer up if you have nothing to hide?”

You pluck the champagne glass from his hand and point it in the direction of the exit. “Please see yourself out before I have security escort you out.”

He smirks at you. “The next time we meet I’ll have a warrant for your arrest.”

You smile and raise the glass up to your lips before knocking it back and chugging down the champagne. “It was nice meeting you, detective.” You place the glass down on a cocktail table before you turn to walk away and find Jaeyun.

You spot him easily, he’s still conversing with Park Jonseong, his long time best friend. You slide up to Jaeyun and lean into his ear. “Behind me, near the back of the hall is a man in an all black suit. He’s with the FBI.”

You pull back but Jaeyun places a hand on your waist and pulls you closer into his side. People near you coo at the affection but the two of you pay no attention to them. Jaeyun picks up a flute glass and raises it in the direction of the detective, a smug look on his face. The male scowls and shakes his head before making a b-line for the exit.

Your heart has been pounding all morning.

The four months came way too soon for your liking. Following the engagement party, you chose to submerge yourself in your school work and spend as much time as possible with Anton and Haru. You absolutely refused to have a say in the wedding itself, it wasn’t something you wanted and would always send you into a panicked state just thinking about it.

A week after announcing your engagement, you went wedding dress shopping with both your mother and Jaeyun’s. Your dress was the one thing you absolutely refused to compromise on. A month before your graduation a date plus venue was picked and invitations were sent out.

An hour has passed since lunch and you feel as if you’re going to vomit all the contents of your stomach. Preparations for the wedding have already started and you’re currently getting your hair and makeup done while Haru runs around making sure your other bridesmaids are dressed and ready to go.

Your bridal court is made up of the daughters of other powerful mafia heads to show that you’re a united front. You’ve never spoken a word to the six females and yet they’re the ones who’ll be standing by you on one of the biggest days of your life. Haru was made your maid of honor due to the relationship you two have and her father being Kim Dongwook, a good associate of your father.

“I’m done with your makeup dear, let’s get you in that dress.”

You nod and stand on shaky legs. You usually pride yourself on always being confident but you seem to be lacking it today. Haru ushers the other girls into the hallway so you can get dressed in peace. You slip off your robe and slide into your hand sewn custom made fit and flare gown. You shimmy into the form fitting dress taking care to not force it on and rip it.

The skirt of your dress has geometrical lace to match the bodice. When designing your dress, you wanted something simple yet dramatic and sophisticated⏤you wanted it to represent you. The train just might be your favorite part of the dress, it’s a cathedral length train that flows behind you. Your makeup artist holds back your hair while you slip your hands into the quarter length sleeves and Haru buttons you into the dress.

Once Haru fixes the last button, your makeup artist lets your hair down and steps away. You move to stand in front of the floor length mirror and examine yourself. You’re absolutely stunning. You wish you were marrying a man you actually loved so you could feel the joy every bride describes when talking about their wedding day.

Haru brings over your veil and attempts to secure it in your hair with various pins. Once it’s situated she steps aside and lets you see the final product. You twiddle your fingers as you daze off thinking back to simpler times. A knock pulls you out of your trance however. “Come in.” You say

The door opens and in waltzes your mother and your soon to be mother-in-law. They coo at your dress and make a fuss about how Jaeyun’s going to love it but you don’t have it in you to pretend to be happy. You’re too tired and having to act as if you’re okay with what’s about to happen is too draining.

Before you know it, you’re being transported to the La Luce Myeong-dong Wedding Hall in an all white Rolls Royce with your father and Haru. Everything goes by in a blurr, your mind doesn’t even register pulling up. Just as you had predicted, your wedding is being broadcasted for all of Korea to see. There are multiple cameramen stationed outside the hall live streaming your entrance and some are taking pictures. Along with paparazzi, there's a crowd of spectators surrounding the building being held off by the police.

Your father steps out first before turning to offer you his hand. You take it and allow him to help you out of the car. Haru quickly comes to your aid to fix your train before swiftly entering the building to start the procession. Your bridesmaids follow behind Haru and gracefully walk up the steps and into the main hall where your guest and groom await.

Your father fixes your veil and allows you to hook your arm with his. You tightly grip onto your bouquet and count down the seconds. The spectators who’ve gathered for your wedding begin cheering as the doors to the hall open and the sound of canon in d arranged by the Stuttgart Orchestra wafts down into the streets of Seoul.

Your guest turn their attention to the door as you walk in and down the aisle on your father's arm. You force a smile on your face and try to play your role of the blushing bride. The aisle is lined with a white carpet and babies breath flowers fill the empty spaces on the ground with candles. Jaeyun is stood at the front of the altar with his groomsmen right behind him.

You look into his eyes and for the first time since you’ve met him you can see the fear that’s clearly in his eyes. Just like you, Jaeyun has been good at concealing his true emotions but you guess he doesn’t have it in him to pretend today either.

Walking down the aisle with your father is just as terrifying as you thought it would be. All eyes are on you, not only are you being scrutinized by the two hundred guests in the hall but you’re also being watched by the thousands tuning in live.

The remaining steps to get to the altar seem to take an eternity. When your father finally hands you over to Jaeyun and takes his seat at the table reserved for your family, Haru steps up to take your bouquet so you can give Jaeyun your hands. A cold terror washes over your body as you stare into your groom's eyes.

Before, you thought Jaeyun was put together, the more mature one out of the two of you but you now realize he’s just one hell of an actor. He’s not put together nor is he mature. He’s a small boy playing dress up. Your hands tremble under his own and despite your fear, you don’t look away, you continue to stare into his panic filled eyes and try to find comfort in the fact that you’re not in this alone. He shares your fear.

You hear words being spoken to you, the voice echoes through your eardrums but you refuse to focus your attention on anyone else. You don’t register anything in your mind beside Jaeyun’s “I do” and the feeling of him slipping your wedding band onto your ring finger. You exhale at the weight that now sits on your hand. This ring will forever bind you to Sim Jaeyun.

You hear the priest say a few words before turning to you to ask, “do you Jung ____ take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Sucking in a shaky breath you whisper the two words that seal your fate. “I do.” Your hand trembles as you reach out for Jaeyun’s ring from your ring bearer. Your throat constricts making it hard to breathe. You slide the silver band onto his fourth finger, it’s a simple band yet still eye catching.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss your bride.”

A round of applause fills the hall but it falls upon deaf ears as Jaeyun lifts your veil and slowly leans in, bringing one hand up to gently caress the apple of your cheek. You feel your chest rise in panic as he comes closer to your face. His eyes sliding shut is the last thing you see before your own flutter close.

Jaeyun’s lips are soft and warm. The kiss is gentle, no malice behind it but it’s lacking in emotion and passion. All the panic that has built up within you then bursts and tears begin to roll down your cheeks. As much as you tried to hold it in, the pain came out. The beads of water start falling down one after another, without a sign of stopping. To anyone watching, it may seem like you’re crying tears of joy but in reality you’re nowhere near being happy or content with the direction your life is going.

Your life has just ended.

taglist: @dreamiestay

[alexandria-thornton]

Oh, hand sanitizer, how you fill the void whisky left in my heart, that which passes passes like clouds and yet you remain steadfast and true. Sing, O gel of the angels' distillery, that I might hear thy voice and join you, voices entwined in the jubilee of freedom. I reach through the shadows with you at my side, unafraid.

[theoutlanderevangelist]

3x05 “FREEDOM & WHISKY” | 001

More of my edits:

http://instagra.com/theoutlanderevangelist

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN ||SEASON 3 EPISODE 05|| FREEDOM & WHISKY ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

I took a deep breath, pushed back my hair, and marched into the shadows of Carfax Close.It was a longish, winding close, and the printshop was at the foot. There were thriving businesses and tenements on either side, but I had no attention to spare for anything beyond the neat white sign that hung by the door. A. MALCOLMPRINTER AND BOOKSELLER it said, and beneath this, Books, calling cards, pamphlets, broadsheets, letters, etc. I stretched out my hand and touched the black letters of the name. A. Malcolm. Alexander Malcolm. James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser. Perhaps.

Another minute, and I would lose my nerve. I shoved open the door and walked in.

Cap 24~Voyager

[eyra]

will you ever write the 3rd part to statten park/sunshine on leith? pleeeease I don't mean to nag at you but please I would love it so much!

look I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I will do freedom & whisky 3 when Nicolas Cage does national treasure 3.

the ball’s in his court. x

[oneforthemunny]

love drunk |bouncer!eddie munson x bartender!reader|

​​prompt: you and eddie work valentine's day at the hideout.

contains: 18+. alcohol, creepy old guys at the bar, mentions of road head, jealous!eddie, dacrphilia, mean!eddie, oral fem rec, spanking, hair pulling, degrading, p in v sex, aftercare. minors dni.

The Hideout was buzzing, filled with an unusual crowd of unlikely people, but what else did you expect on Valentine's Day?

Broken hearted men washing away their bitterness with beer and whisky, next to galentines celebrating their own freedom and singleness with shots and bad karaoke. The usual boys who were prowling the crowds for women desperate enough to go home with them, spewing horrible pick up lines that usually left the girls cringing and retreating the other way. Then there were the couples, some regulars and some not. They came to celebrate at the high top tables, people watch and enjoy their time together.

You'd been busy since you clocked in a little after four. You knew you'd be here well past last call, but that was alright, because Eddie was here. He was working the door with Tony, both in all black, leaned up at the entrance checking IDs and taking covers. Before your shift, Eddie had picked you up in his van, a dozen roses in the passenger seat.

You'd blushed, gushing to him about how sweet the gesture was. Eddie was sweet, so sweet. You'd never met a guy sweeter. He'd shrugged when you kissed him, smiley and gooey insides. "Anything for my best girl."

The two of you had only been together a few weeks, barely breaking the title of being official. You hadn't expected the gesture really, especially because you both worked. You figured you'd fuck after you got back to his place, you had wore your matching pink set for that reason, but the flowers were an extra effort that had your head swirling.

You sucked him off while he drove you to work as a thank you.

Now, you were pouring shots, mixing drinks, opening beers, collecting tips, slipping the wadded fives even some bigger bills into your bra with a wink and a dazzling smile. You knew the crowd would be big, and the tippers even bigger- the holidays always made people more generous when you were pouring drinks down their throats- so you wore your tightest, lowest top.

Eddie had noticed.

His eyes would catch yours from the door, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth when you bent over, shorts riding up over the nylon stockings you had underneath.

"C'mon, man." Tony laughed, shoving Eddie's shoulder.

Eddie smirked, nodding to the desperate girl at the door, who batted her eyes at him, eyes attempting at what he could only guess was sultry or sexy. He didn't care. They never worked on him anymore.

You poured another shot of whisky, sliding the glasses to the men in front of you. "Hey, sweetheart, take a shot with us." The old man slurred, tie loose and around his neck.

You smirked, adding their drinks to his tab. "Sorry, I'm on the clock." You said with an exaggerated pout. "My manager will get real mad at me."

The men sounded off their displeasure, smacking the bar with open palms so their glasses rattled. "Who, Mickey? I know Mickey, baby, he-he won't get ya in trouble. Not a pretty thing like you."

You knew these guys were big tippers which is the only reason you hadn't had them cut off and removed. They had been whistling, cat calling, and spewing every lewd, vulgar thing that came to their drunken, filthy minds and you and Tasha all night. You both would just look at each other, roll your eyes, and go back to the middle-aged women divorcees who were much nicer and sweeter to you.

"Just one little shot, baby. Hell, I'll pay for it." Jack Harrington, Steve's dad, slurred, grinning at you with a predatory smile. No wonder Steve hated the guy so much.

"I'll do you one better," They guy next to him, Marco- you think, boasted, pulling out his wallet. He slid a crisp one hundred dollar bill out, slapping it on the table. "One hundred dollars and I'll buy the shot. Make it top shelf, sweetheart." He winked, the other guys whooping and hollering with him.

Eddie had looked over at the commotion, dark eyes narrowed on the rowdy group of men. He despised when they came in. Regulars and assholes at that, always hurling objectifying, nasty comments to the bartenders there. Getting so drunk they could barely drive home. They were especially rowdy tonight after dinner with their wives and mistresses, who they hated, before coming here.

Eddie was waiting, just waiting for you or Tasha to give him the sign. Give him the signal that they needed to be gone. He'd take complete joy in tossing them out, making sure they hit the pavement on their way out.

"I tell you what," You started, placing your hands on your hips. You nudged Tasha who watched you carefully, pouring her ale into a glass. "Make it a hundred a piece for me and Tasha, I'll pick the shot, and," You paused, smirking at the way their eyes lit up. "You gotta go sing me a song." You nodded towards the stage.

The men howled in laughter as Marco pulled out another hundred, sliding it next to yours. "Deal, angel." He said smugly. "Any requests?"

You grabbed the money, sliding Tasha her's then sliding yours in your bra. You pulled out a shot glasses, lining them up Patron and a bowl of limes. "Something romantic." You smiled. "It's Valentine's Day after all." 

You pressed your glass against theirs, downing the harsh liquid with a grimace while they cheered you on, celebrating each other obnoxiously. Eddie's jaw clenched from the door, yanking the cover cash from a college aged kid a little too harshly. He knew it was your job, you were just trying to make enough money to pay your rent just like he was, but it didn't make it any less hard when you'd flirt like this.

You made your rounds, pouring, swiping, smiling, and maneuvering expertly around the bar. Stacking glasses, cutting limes and oranges, wiping away spills, chatting with patrons. You even filled up two glasses of water, light ice and extra lemon- the way Eddie liked it- bringing them to the door for Tony and him.

Eddie smiled when you brought it over, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Thanks, baby," Eddie muttered, stabbing his straw on the table in front of him, wadding up the wrapper.

"You need anything else?" You asked, looking at Tony then Eddie.

"Nah, do you? Those guys still bothering you and Tasha?" Tony asked, nodding to the group of men from before.

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. "No, they're jackasses. Total dicks, but we're fine." You smiled, placing a hand on Eddie's shoulder, squeezing it gently. You didn't miss the way he was tight, tense against your touch.

He tensed even more when Marco got up on stage, sloppily serenading you to ACDC's 'Shook Me All Night Long' with added vulgar dance moves while he pointed at you, adding your name into the chorus lyrics. Eddie was fuming.

Closing time couldn't come soon enough. The love birds and broken hearted left as easily as they came, the miracle of holidays. You and Tasha finished your closing duties, laughing and scoffing while you exchanged stories from the night. Eddie and Tony helped you, tidying up the place, but Eddie didn't have his usual charm. He wasn't cracking jokes, flexing his muscles and exaggeratedly saying 'what he woulda done if he wasn't on the clock'. He was distant, quiet, even with you.

By the time the two of you walked out, your arms looped around his leather clad arm, his mind was reeling. "...I made a lot of tips tonight." You grinned excitedly to him. "It was a pretty good night actually. I thought we'd be dead on Valentine's Day, but I've got enough in tips tonight to pay my rent for the month!"

Eddie huffed, furiously starting the engine to the van. "Yeah, that's great." He muttered. "With how you were actin' tonight, 'm not surprised."

You faltered, eyes furrowing a bit. "Ed, what're you talking about?" You asked. He shook you off, peeling out of the parking lot furiously. "Hey, look at me, are you," You squinted, studying his features. "Are you jealous?"

You couldn't help the little grin that formed on your lips when you asked, eyes lighting up mischievously. Eddie huffed. "'M not jealous." He snapped. "Just fuckin' hate it when you entertain those douchebag guys." He snarled.

You snorted, smugly crossing your arms. "You're jealous." You declared. "Honestly, Eddie, do you really think I give a shit about those guys?"

"You sure act like you do." Eddie bit, eyes flashing over to you. "Takin' shots and talkin' all sweet to 'em. No wonder he sang that shit to you, and you were laughing-"

"-Because he looked like an idiot." You laughed. "Tasha and I we're making fun of him. Everyone was laughing at him." Eddie huffed, a pouty, childish huff that left you grinning.

"They're complete and utter assholes that are good tippers, Eddie. I am repulsed by them, honestly. They're so gross and creepy, and I'm actually a little insulted that you would think they're my type." You snipped, eyeing him carefully.

Eddie's lips pressed together, not necessarily mad but thinking. You leaned closer to him, arms wrapping around his torso, pressing kisses to the exposed, ink skin of his biceps. "Baby, please, you can't seriously think I'd be into them." You said, looking up at him with rounded eyes.

"Just don't like it 's all." Eddie muttered. "Don't like it when they say that kinda shit to you." His fists clenched on the wheel, knuckles whitening. Your heart fluttered.

You hummed, pushing a stray hair behind his ear, tucking it and trailing your finger lightly down his jaw. "Don't be upset, please?" You asked. "It's Valentine's Day."

"That was technically yesterday." Eddie grumbled looking at the clock on his dash, the time read 3:02 a.m.

You sighed dramatically, pulling back so you sat in your seat. "Oh, guess I wore this for nothing then." You said, with a small shrug, looking out the window.

You felt Eddie's eyes on you. "Wore your work uniform?" Eddie snorted.

Your eyes flashed at him, biting back a smile. "No-o," You sing-song, batting your eyes at him. "What's under it, silly." You teased.

You'd been more than happy to show Eddie once you got back to his trailer, his mood lightening severely with the reveal. You'd kneeled on the edge of his bed, pink hearts smattering the see through material of the bra and panties, leaving very little the imagination.

Eddie dropped to his knees when he saw you, hands roaming all over your waist, legs, hips, squeezing and grabbing at anything he could, eyes wide and mouth watering. You looked like an angel, an angel he was about to ruin.

He didn't taken your panties off the whole night. He licked you right through the thin material until they were completely soaked from you and him. He'd pulled your bra down under your tits, so they were pushed up and presented for him while he sucked bruises into the delicate skin, marking you completely.

When he did fuck you, after you were writing and begging under his touch, he was relentless. Pounding you into the sheets until you couldn't even utter a sound, moans and gasps caught in your throat, tears streaming down your face.

"Yeah? You like that, don't you?" Eddie asked, hand cracking down on your upturned ass, gripping the skin as he pounded into you. "Like being fucked like the little slut you are, don't you?"

You drooled into the sheets, tears and saliva mixing into the pool beneath you. Eddie was fucking you with vigor, much more than you expected after a late night, busy shift. Your legs shook, clamping around him again with a small whine.

"Aw, you gonna cum, baby? Gonna cum all over my cock, huh?" Eddie cooed mockingly towards you.

Your eyes rolled back, crying when you came, then gasping when he yanked your hair back, pulling you up so you were flush against him, one arm around your torso, the other tweaking your sensitive nipples.

"God, I've wanted to fuck you all night." Eddie growled in your ear. "You wore those short little shorts didn't you? Had to wear them tonight, didn't you, you little slut?"

You cried, tears leaking down your cheeks, gripping onto his wrist. You were so sensitive, every thrust of his cock felt like a jab into your belly, a blow that sent you spiraling into your white hot abyss.

"Fuck, look at you, so pathetic." Eddie sneered, gripping your jaw harshly. "Wish those guys could see you now, huh? See you crying' like this. And over what, huh? Over my dick?"

You whimpered, lip wobbling as you clenched around him. Eddie groaned, tilting his own head back. You loved it when he was mean, when he fucked you like he owned you. Eddie let you fall forward into the mattress face first, gripping your hips as he snapped his hips into yours rough and purposeful.

You gripped the sheets, clenching hard around him as he muttered behind you, bringing his hand down twice on your cheeks before cumming, buried deep into your sopping pussy.

Eddie bent at the waist, falling on top of you gently, sweaty bangs pressed to your back, pressing kisses up and down your spine. "Holy shit," Eddie breathed out, deep and slow, eyes still closed.

You whimpered when he pulled out of you, leaving you aching and empty. You cheeks were sticky with tears and smeared makeup, legs still shaking even as Eddie went to the bathroom to grab a rag and clean you.

He took his time with you after, cleaning you up slowly, pressing kisses into you cheeks, neck, down your sternum, on your legs. He wiped himself off before throwing the rag into the hamper, climbing into the bed next to you. You were pressed up into his sheets, legs over his torso, arms tangled together, sharing the assorted chocolate that Mickey had given everyone- a thank you for working the holiday.

"You like the fruit ones?" You asked, nose twisting up in disgust.

Eddie shrugged, popping the orange cream filled chocolate into his mouth. "Yeah, 's pretty good. You don't?"

You shook your head, burying yourself into his inked skin, lids heavy as he stroked your hair. "I liked the caramel ones, or the toffee."

Eddie scoffed. "Lame. Everybody likes those."

You giggled, vibrations rocking from your chest to his making him smile. Eddie looked down at you, your fingers wrapped around his sheets, lashes fluttering to fight against the sleep tugging at your eyes.

"Thank you for the roses." You yawned, looking up at him. "No ones ever got those for me before." You admitted.

"Really?" Eddie asked, you shook your head. "That's a damn shame. Glad I'm the first." He grinned, pressing a kiss to your head.

"Happy Valentine's Day, baby."  He whispered, feeling your body sink into his, heavy on his chest. "Maybe next year we'll get the night off, hm?"

[brian-in-finance]

Gif: @clairelizfraser

S03E05 Freedom & Whisky • 8 October 2017 Official Script

Outlander Rewatch 2023 Countdown To Season 7

Favourite Word

This is it. My bat-suit. — Claire

Favourite Line

Fuck fate. — Joe

Favourite Image

Scottish pearls. Jamie gave them to me on our wedding day. They belonged to his mother, Ellen, your grandmother. Wear them on your wedding day... if you’d like. — Claire

Remember… Claire sees a neat white sign: “A. Malcolm, Printer and Bookseller.” Her heart beats hard enough to be heard by anyone listening. Another minute and she will lose her nerve. — Outlander script, S03E05 Freedom & Whisky

34th of 75 • Saturday, 6 May 2023

[delta-pavonis]

Ooh, from the wip game: former mafia hob :D

I know I have posted bits and pieces of this in various places on Tumblr and Discord, but below is probably the largest segment of the WIP I have ever posted at once. And this is maybe about a quarter of it? It features an OC that I made up and then it turned out I was prescient because in my head Sandro looks pretty much exactly like Ethan from Maneskin. Also, to no one's surprise, this gets NSFW at the end. (WHAT?!? SMUT?!?!?! FROM MEEEE?!?!?!)

"And this guy, this Burgess, just had him locked in a giant glass sphere in his basement!"

"A human? Wouldn't he need air?"

Hob was in an ex-pat bar on the south end of Okinawa, doing a very good job of continuing to live completely off the grid just as he had for the past eight years.

The old man started up again and Hob strained to hear him across the length of the bar. "He just looked like a human. I worked there sixteen years and he didn't age a minute, hell he barely moved. I heard Burgess bragging once about how it was the God of Dreams that he caught! All I know for sure is what I heard directly, which is that Burgess kept asking him for things – magic, money, immortality – and the pale fucker just kept glaring at him. Never spoke a word. Just stared daggers with those unearthly blue eyes. I am telling you, if looks could kill, that old bastard would be dead thirty times over. Whenever that fairy King or whatever the fuck that shaved panther of a human-looking thing is gets out…" The guy whistled, leaning back from the bar and shaking his head. "The entire Burgess family tree is going to burn."

This man had Hob’s full attention now. He grabbed his drink and moved around to sit on the barstool next to him. 

"I am sorry, where did you say you are from?" Hob asked, trying for casual, sizing up the ex-military guy. He had a muddled accent, but with a heavy dose of south London. His salt-and-pepper hair had been kept buzzed even though he had clearly been out of the service for a long time. 

"What's it to you?" The man was immediately bristly, crossed his arms over his chest. He was defensive and closed off and Hob was going to need to work to get more information. Hob sighed. Or take the easy way out… just pay him for the information.

The Okinawan summer was too hot for this. Hob would give it one shot, try to explain, but if that didn't work it was Plan E for Easy. "I have an interest in the supernatural. And you certainly seem to have seen something. Could I ask you a few more questions?" The old-timer just stared at him, completely deadpan, unblinking. It made Hob take a sip of his whisky with its melted ice and then press the glass to his temple. "I can pay you for your time."

He perked up immediately after that.

> > > > > | | < < < < <

Two days later – and after an exchange of enough money to set that old-timer’s family up for generational wealth – Hob was settling into his Business Class seat on the long haul from Tokyo Haneda to Rome Fiumicino. He tapped out an email telling Gio his flight to Palermo was going to get in at 08:20 and would he be so kind as to send around a car? He needed to stop and see il Barone first (because his knee was bad enough as it was without getting kneecapped for failing to pay his respects) and then straight to the grotta. And make sure the shovel is in the car? Grazii.

It was his Stranger. It had to be. The description was uncanny. And the quick sketch Hob had drawn on a bar napkin had resulted in a rather emphatic positive identification.

And even if it wasn’t his Stranger, there was something being kept in that basement that probably needed rescue. There were paltry few things in the world, as Hob had learned over the centuries, that deserved to have their freedom completely taken from them.

Almost 22 hours after sending that email to Gio, Hob stepped out into the salty Mediterranean air of Palermo and sighed. His white linen three-piece suit with light blue shirt fit the aesthetic of the region as much as the weather. The smells, the breeze, the sounds – yeah, okay, Hob had missed it. But this was no time to linger. Focus, Hob! First, he had to give his regards to Salvatore and then he could go dig up his stash from his time in the Family Business. He put on his hat and dark sunglasses and walked out into the sunlight.

In the aftermath of 1889 Hob had, unsurprisingly, a lot of anger and frustration to work out. He ended up falling back on a reliable skill set he hadn't tapped in awhile: violence. 

It was bare knuckle boxing first, which earned him enough money to leave for the States without disturbing his securities in the UK. He continued with underground boxing for a bit, because he was fucking good at it, until he got noticed. 

Hob got picked up by Giuseppe “the Clutch Hand” Morello and Ignazio “the Wolf” Lupo and the rest was history. 

First they took him in as a base-level associate, just another meatheaded guy who could fuck people up for them. And he made it to the Castellammarese War, which was as good a time as any to fake his own death. 

But, by pure happenstance and a whole lot of luck, Salvatore D’Aquila caught him in the act, pig's blood everywhere, mutilated body that clearly wasn't Hob at his feet and well. That had required a bit of explaining. Explaining lead to talking, talking lead to negotiating, and suddenly Hob was heading upstate to train with the best.

And so it was, with some excellent mentorship on handling firearms and his innate knack for getting himself out of trouble, Hob became one of the most feared associates in Cosa Nostra. 

In fact, he became The Associate. 

See, he was never going to be a made man; he didn't have the proof of a Sicilian, or even Italian, heritage that he needed to be a ranking Family member. But any capo worth his salt wasn't going to turn away this level of skill and finesse. 

And in return they had kept his secret. Mostly because they knew they had given him the means to kill them all if it was otherwise.

Well, it wasn’t like the entire Family knew. Just Salvatore and his immediate blood relations. Who he needed to stop and say hello to first, then to business.

Once the meeting was done, he headed to the coast. 

When Hob left the Family Business he had literally put all of his gear into an air-tight oak box and buried it. One of the things Hob had learned over the centuries was that, more often than not, symbolism mattered. So it wasn't a surprise to find that when Hob opened the wooden box with a crowbar it was like seeing good friends come back from the dead. His shotgun. His sabre. His pistols. 

He buried these along with his career in Cosa Nostra in 1998. It should have been earlier, but the six or so years after 1989 were a bit of an alcohol and cocaine tinted haze and it took him another three years after getting sober to work on his exit strategy. But once he was out he had abandoned it all and never looked back.

In fact, it was only in the past few months that Hob had let himself pick up a gun again to do some target shooting. Suddenly he was very glad of that coincidence.

After filling his duffle Hob stared down into the empty casket of his former life. He had never, ever expected to be in this position again, most certainly not less than a decade after abandoning it. 

Crouched amongst the sand and the rocks of the beachfront cave, he ran a hand through his sweaty hair and sighed. "The things I do for you, Stranger." He closed the lid. 

"Ti Umbra?" Sandro had been watching Hob silently up until now. Even as a little kid, Alessandro had called the thing that haunted Hob his Shadow. He was an eerily perceptive child, often ostracized from his peers because of it – which of course meant that when Hob had arrived in Sicily in the early 1980s they had become easy friends. Now in his early 30s, Sandro was mostly a driver, but knew his way around a weapon, as any son of a Don should. Hob had hoped he would leave, go to college, get out, but Hob never did convince him to. He was a good kid, he didn't deserve this kind of life. 

"Si." Hob put his hands on his knees and levered himself up. "I think that he needs my help." A sigh as he kept staring at the box. "Am I that obvious?"

"Only to me, Bettino." The nickname had come from the diminutive of the diminutive of Roberto, which Sandro’s family knew Hob as. It was an endearment used only between them. "Only He could bring you back to this, to the Family." Hob felt the other man's hand on his shoulder and laid his own over it. The feel of those fingers was achingly familiar. "Let me come with you. You should not go on the rampage you are about to embark on alone, my friend."

Hob picked up Sandro's hand, placed a kiss on the knuckles. "Not a chance. I won't put you in such danger. And I won't let you see me like that." Alessandro hadn’t even been born yet when the Associate was working hardest, in the heydays of Murder, Inc., and all that entailed, when Hob rarely had a night when he wasn’t washing the gunpowder from his hands.

Sandro laughed. "I have seen you every other way, why not this one?" His arms went around Hob's shoulders from behind and he moved his lips to the shell of Hob's ear before dropping into Sicilian. "One more go at it? For old time's sake? Last chance to use me as His stand-in." He laughed even more at Hob's sharp inhale. "You think I didn't know? Oh, Bettino." He nuzzled into the hair at Hob’s nape. "That's how I was able to pretend you really loved me."

"Sandro!" Hob pushed away and whirled around, looking over his former lover’s dark hair and olive-bronze skin, high cheekbones and pouting pink lips, wiry build and black-brown eyes. Not wanting to misspeak, he answered back in English. "I did – and still do – really love you, you know that."

"Yes, but not as you love Him." Sandro shook his head as he moved in to press their foreheads together, arms back around Hob's shoulders. "You would not come back to the Family for me. You would not go to war for me. And that is okay. I know my place. I made my peace with that years ago, when you left." He leaned in to speak against Hob's lips. "But I would ask if you would have me one last time." 

Hob let Sandro pull him to the ground amongst the rocks inside the small cave. Hob's shirt and vest were already discarded, his sleeves rolled up and his collar unbuttoned. He unbuttoned Sandro's shirt and pulled it down so it caught in his elbows, draped down his back low enough for Hob to run his lips over the huge tattoo of Santa Rusulia – Patron Saint of Palermo, invoked for protection in times of plague – wearing a crown of roses and standing amidst a copse of lilies outside a cave not so different from the one they are currently in, looking out to the sun setting over the sea, that covered his entire back. Hob drew that image, originally charcoal on paper, while they were sitting on the beach watching the sun set on Sandro's 19th birthday in the early ‘90s. He didn't know that Sandro had even saved the picture until a shootout a year later had Hob ripping off the young man’s shirt to stop the bleeding and found the image permanently inked into his skin. 

Sandro knew more about Hob than anyone living. They had spent four years as lovers in the mid-'90s. Hob had gotten sober for Sandro. He had left Cosa Nostra for Sandro, had begged for Sandro to come with him. But he was too scared of his father, Salvatore “the Baron,” to leave. He was worried about the fate of his mother, his sisters. Hob couldn’t begrudge him that. It still stung.

Hob shucked Sandro's pants down his thighs and moved his hand around to his ass, thinking that he would tease him dry before trying to find something slick back in the car. Instead, Hob's fingers found warm, flat silicone. He slumped forward with a moan and his forehead hit between Sandro's shoulder blades. "Oh fuck, Sandro. You have been full with this the entire time?"

"Ready for you, Bettino." He sighed, soft and sweet as candy. He let out a high-pitched cry as Hob slowly pulled the plug out and Christ it was huge Hob would be able to just…

There was a thmpt as the silicone object hit the dense sand a few feet away, flung aside as Hob frantically tried to get his slacks down as quickly as possible. As soon as his cock was free Sandro's hands were reaching back to grab it, lubricant that the horny little weasel must have been carrying in his bloody pocket smeared all over his fingers, readying Hob to just…

Sandro sat back and Hob slid into him to the hilt, all in one stroke, easy as breathing, smooth and perfect. 

They stayed that way for a long moment, readjusting to each other. The first movement was Hob's hands stroking from Sandro's thighs up to his chest then pressing them together. When they started rocking Sandro let his head fall back with a sob. 

"Did you keep your hair long for me, too?" Hob wrapped the waist-length ponytail around his fist and tugged. It made Sandro moan just as sweetly as it had all those years ago. "That's it, sing for me, bell'uccellino." He snapped his hips up and Sandro wailed; he always was such a vocal lover, his pretty bird.

[margareth-lv]

Mi piacciono molto i tuoi post così ironici, intelligenti ed esplicativi. Non stancarti. Anche da me , che ti conosco solo qui, in questo angolo meraviglioso del fandom, tantissimi auguri di un sereno e gioioso Compleanno.

Cara mia, non avrei mai pensato che i miei post fossero ironici 😉! Grazie per le tante belle parole che hai scritto. E grazie mille di cuore per gli auguri!

Ora, se vuoi scusarmi, continuerò in Inglese. Quello che funziona meglio per me in italiano è ordinare l'Aperol Spritz.

*** *** *** And now for the translation:

@findanserwers : I really enjoy your posts, so ironic, intelligent and explanatory. Don't tire yourself out. Also from me, who only know you here, in this wonderful corner of fandom, many happy and joyful birthday wishes.

@me : My dear, I never thought my posts were ironic. Thank you for the many kind words you have written. And thank you for the birthday wishes!

Now, if you don't mind, I'll continue in English. What works best for me in Italian is ordering the Aperol Spritz. *** *** *** ... and let me go on. In the unfunny circus show our two lovebirds are putting on for us once again, only deeper reflection can save us from the madness. The community we are creating here is of real value. Love, the deep feeling between two people, is the foundation of this community. And we know this feeling is real! The feelings that unite us are also real, even though we are separated by space, languages, habits and mentalities. Sisters, let's keep our faith in the sincerity and purity of what we've seen for so many years! Even if we're shown once again a succession of muscular blondes and still the same Ghost Rider from Transylvania with a grim face, we must believe in the goodness of love!

I propose a toast to all of us: Freedom and whisky, could be Sassenach.

Dear Shippers, slàinte mhath to us all!

Have a great weekend!

[10 May, 2024]