#here's where i would put my god of the tides... IF I HAD HIM

[n109hunter]

in another life with You -

[supertrxshwrites]

Hey!! I hope you are doing great<3

If it's okay could you make a fic/ hcs of deadpool × kind f!reader + friends to lovers

Thank you in advance ♡♡♡

Everything She Wants

Pairing: Deadpool x kind f!reader + friends to lovers

Tags: Deadpool, fluff, one shot, friends to lovers, anon ask

here ya go anon I hope you like it <3

You had finally made it home after a long day, you decided to check your mail before heading up to your place.

"Nothing." you rolled your eyes as you slammed your mailbox closed. you made your way up and changed into some PJs then gathered your laundry and made your way to the laundry mat around the corner. you always enjoyed washing clothes at night because fewer people were out and you could sit and wait for your clothes since it wasn't crowded and there were seats.

You sighed softly as you took your purple laundry basket to one of the washing machines, throwing a Tide pod in your load. You put an earbud in one ear as you closed the door to the washer and made your way to some of the black chairs in the corner. The bell chimes signaling that the door opening, you glance up and are greeted with the view of red spandex and what looked like katanas on his back.

"oh great a weirdo" You cursed yourself for coming to the laundry room so late. you were not huge on socializing after a certain time of day, especially after being at work all day. You just wanted to relax as you waited on your laundry.

"weirdo? you ain't see nothing yet" he chirps as he struts across the room to you and sits a few seats away.

"so what brings you here?" he asks a smile clearly behind the mask as he bugs you. now that he was closer you got a better look at his suit. he was decked out in guns and knives and what smelled like dried blood. You could feel him staring as he waited for your response.

"Late-night laundry... fewer weirdos around this time," you said as you continued to inspect him.

"Ah fresh laundry my second favorite kind of load which has my second favorite kind of ball...the dryer ball" he laughs a bit as he sits back with his hands under his head.

you couldn't help but snort at his joke in response.

"Look at me talking about balls and loads when a lady is present, excuse me where are my manners," he says standing up and bowing one hand over his stomach while the other behind his back.

"Pool. Deadpool...and what's your name peanut?" he asked as he quickly sat and scooched next to you taking your earbud from your ear and holding it up to his ear.

"hmm...Everything She Wants by WHAM!" he says emphasizing wham as he bops his head a bit.

"Oh, my name is Y/n...I live in the duplex up the street" you said with a smile not sure why you were telling a stranger where you lived, but it felt like he was safe.

His eyes widened from behind the mask.

"No way! me too!" he said squealing a bit

"Oh my god you should come over we could watch movies, talk about boys..have a sleepover," he says nudging you a bit at that last part.

was he flirting with you? 

Deadpool wasted no time talking your ear off, you both talk so much that you forgot about your laundry. This eventually became a routine the both of you and doing laundry late at night. You and Wade became friends after that night and he told you about his job and what happened to him. He was a great storyteller so it didn't bother you when he would go off on tangents or stop a story to make a dirty joke.

***

Since Wade lived next door you gave him a key in case of an emergency or if he just wanted to sleep over and hang out. He wasted no time stashing guns at your place in case of an intruder, you thought it was unnecessary but Wade seemed adamant that they be there.

“Wade, a gun by the toilet is ridiculous,” you said standing at the door of the bathroom as he taped a gun on the side of the toilet bowl

“Y/N the bathroom is where one is most vulnerable you never know when someone is gonna come in here you have to be ready even when you’re taking shit,” he says as he stands up with his duffle full of guns.

he walked over to the couch to stuff a few in between the cushions and taped one under each side table.

“whew I tell ya what.. all good in a day’s work,” he says in a country accent standing back with his hands on his hips

“Thank you, Wade,” you say turning to him with a smile as your hand touches his arm you feel a warmth go through your body as he looks at you. You feel your face flush as he looks at you with his brown eyes. his eyes flicker to lips and then back into your e/c eyes. You reach out to touch his face and that’s when he clears his throat and zips his duffle.

“uuh..No Prob Bob. Hey, I gotta head out I have to go tag and bag a couple of knuckleheads but I’ll be back later. “ he says with a smile before leaving. you felt a bit embarrassed, you knew Wade felt a type of way about the scarring on his body and face but you didn’t care about his looks, he’s always there when you need it. He knows all of your favorite foods and he even took time to take care of you when you were sick not too long ago. You felt your mind race as you stood in the middle of the living room your heart racing. 

“Do I like Wade?” You asked yourself as you looked down at your hands before you heard the door open again.

“Oh, Wade I thought you were heading out “You sounded so flustered you’d curse yourself for that later. Wade stood in the door in his suit.

“Right um I forgot something" he said a smile clear from his voice 

“Wh-“Before you can even ask he’s quick on his feet as he strides over to you lifting his mask above his nose and kissing you.

the kiss is soft and it makes your heart flutter you were almost worried it skipped a beat but that didn’t matter, you were kissing Wade your best friend and he was kissing you back? you pulled away to breathe and when you looked up he had pulled his mask back down.

“Damn, girl if I had known you were so sweet on me I would’ve kissed you a long time ago” He laughs as he stares at you.

“Y/N do you really wanna do this? I mean I get it ladies love a man in uniform, but I mean when I’m not cracking skulls will you still want me as Wade?” he asks he sounds almost worried your answer will be anything but yes.

“Wade of course! I love you for you not because you’re Deadpool” You smile

“oooo you loooove meeee” he teases as he boops your nose

“I love you too Y/N,” he says as he makes his way to the door

“see ya later Wade” you wave 

he gives you a wink and blows you a kiss before leaving and you take a seat on your now lumpy gun-filled couch.

[luimagines]

Can I ask for FD Warriors or Sky post battle making sure Reader is ok?

Why not both?! :D

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

Warrior

He was furious.

The power coursing through his veins was intoxicating and compelling in the mortal sense of divinity.

This was a drug and the purest sense of invincibility.

Rage and fierce devotion were his only companions as it stands. They fought in the confines of his mind for control. He could keep fighting. He could continue to end the enemies that stood between his loved ones and their safety.

But the threat was no more.

Gingerly, he puts his sword away. He feels as if he is shaking.

The boys all come to him, asking his questions and attempting to get his attention to dullness of their reality. But that's currently none of his concern.

Warrior takes a deep breath, patting his brothers on the shoulders before he stalks his way through the camp.

He stops right in front of you and puts his hands on his hips. You were injured and bleeding. "you're hurt."

"I'm fine." You gasp as you attempt to shift out of your position.

Warrior shakes his head. Without prompting and without warning, he begins to tend to the gash on your arm.

"Warrior please-"

"silence."

You shut up.

Warrior takes the bandage and wraps it tightly around your bicep, not wanting it to get worse. He grits his teeth and clenches his jaw, willing himself with sheer force of will alone to keep his hands gentle.

The others wait on baited breath to see what he will do next. They are also paying extra attention to your own reactions, wanting to see how you fare dealing with the one who had donned the mask.

He finished fairly quickly and scowls at the bandage.

"It didn't insult your heritage." You say softly, taking your arm away. "Stop it."

Warrior raises an eyebrow, taking off the mask with little fan fare. He seems unbothered by the power that is sucked away from him and sealed with the wooden mask once more.

"You got hurt."

"It'll heal."

"I told you to stick to the plan."

"I'm aware that the group had elected a decision, but given that it was a stupid decision, I've elected to ignore it." You snarl back, turning away form him. You stand up in indignation and begin to storm away.

You pause and sigh in defeat before you could even take the first step.

"Thank you.... for saving my life."

"Always."

Sky

That was it. It was over. The power of gods was no longer needed.

He sighs and puts the familiar (?) weight of his sword on his back. This power was strange but not entirely foreign. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew how to use it and how to call it forth to use for his own benefit.

How fortunate, he thinks to himself for a moment, that he is not a god, nor is he on a rampage for vengence.

He feels invincible.

He looks over the carnage and walks through the fallen bodies with the same casualness as if he was on a mere Sunday stroll.

The others stare at him with varying degrees of shock and awe as he gets closer to them. They are not who he's after though. There's a specific person that eh wants to check up on and there currently no where to be found.

If he was a lesser man, he would have panicked, but with this form, he knew better. There was no voice telling him here to go. Sky has no idea why he seemed to know where he was going, but he wasn't about to question the force behind his actions.

He had saved the day by listening to them, hadn't he?

"Oh for the love of-! Sweet blueberry pie." You shout and fall silent suddenly at the sight of him. You step back, putting a hand over your fragile heart.

Sky takes a knee, putting his sword in front of him with his opposite hand. "Are you harmed, Beloved?"

You push yourself against a tree. You had attempted to create more space between you and his other worldly figure, but had only figuratively trapped yourself. You're silent. Jaw dropped and eyes widen, you find it in yourself to shake your head.

You're unharmed.

Good, Sky takes in a breath. His rather drastic attempt of turning the tides on the battle field had not been in vain.

He stands.

You slide down the bark of the tree, staring at him with an unreadable expression on your face. Sky doesn't think it's fear, but you've certainly reverted to a primitive sort of reaction.

Sky shakes his head. The call to the power is alluring and smooth. Soft and inviting.

A softer, almost imperceptivity softer curse leaves your lips.

Sky takes off the mask and wobbles on his legs for a moment. He takes a knee again, but not out of a sign of respect this time.

He's heaving.

"...Ow..." He raises his head, panting harshly. "...I'm not doing that again."

[witchywomanrunningupthathill]

Confessions

Summary: On the final night before he’s set to ride to King’s Landing to join the Greens, Gwayne Hightower and his forbidden lover are forced to face the reality of their relationship and of war.

Pairing: Gwayne Hightower x Velaryon!Reader

Warnings: the tiniest suggestion of smut, familial angst, religious trauma

A/N: God, I haven’t written anything here in ages. Gwayne caught my fancy so i just had to indulge myself a little and this is the result. Just a little blurb. Any and all thoughts and feedback are welcomed and much appreciated!

Word Count: 1.5k

GIF by ohmovie

Oldtown was a far cry from Driftmark. Nevertheless, this was your life now. It had been for the better part of seven years. As the third child of Corlys Velaryon and Rhaenys Targaryen, you’d left behind your noble name for the Holy Faith. It was at the humble age of six-and-ten that you set off from High Tide for the Reach where the Hightower beacon burned day and night. This had in turn made you somewhat of a pariah among your family members. No longer would you be attending the feasts and balls and tourneys. You embraced a life of solitude, of order and devotion.

Now in your final year of training as a novice, you had begun taking confession from small folk and noblemen alike. And though you indulged in the gossip, hearing about the dalliances with servant girls and the many lies spread back and forth across the city, the work was still the work. You often found herself feeling detached from the folk, granted this was the life you had chosen. Though you couldn’t help but feel at times that the massive stone walls surrounding the city were like a cell, locking you inside a prison of faith and the constant quest for knowledge in the Citadel.

You were used to the pompous, almost self-righteous way the few nobles spoke to you of their sins. It was the same way the man across from you spoke, only his ramblings were tainted with too much care. Ser Gwayne Hightower was too well-witted for his station. This you had learned. 

Truthfully, you were surprised at his presence in the dark confessional at all. He had more important matters to attend to, surely, like the City Watch, policing Oldtown’s labyrinthine streets and alleys. But this was the only place Gwayne could go where he would truly be listened to. It wasn’t the same as having his squire follow his orders to ready his horse or help him with his armor, nor was it having the Hightower soldiers and banners follow his commands as they prepared to march to the capital. It was a comfort, really. Talking with her where his every word wouldn’t be judged or he didn’t have to think up pithy witticisms for the politics of the realm, like he’d have to if he were speaking with his father, which he was loathe to do anyway. 

But now he spoke with a solemn lilt in his voice as his hand grazed the curve of your jaw. The room was warm and candlelight flickered across the light toned stone that made up his rooms. Your limbs tangled together in the sheets as you moved closer into him. Your fingers grazed the smooth skin of his chest. His hand ran through your silver locks of hair with a practiced rhythm. 

“I cannot gainsay that I worry for my sister,” he told you.

Being privy to the goings-on at court, she knew that the Dowager Queen had been losing the last vestiges of influence she retained. And with Otto Hightower put out as Hand of the king, that the rule of the realm teetered on the inconstant whims of one silver-haired boy.

“There is still time,” you said, trailing off. 

Gwayne toyed with the ring on your finger before removing it completely. “I will take this piece of you with me,” he said, his eyes moving from the ring to your lips. You closed the gap between you. The kiss was slow and longing, hungry, as the both of you tried in earnest for make each moment last. 

It was then that you could hear her voice echo through your mind. It was silly, really. The long-held paranoia from when you were just a young maiden. 

“No, she’ll notice,” you cautioned. 

No matter how many times Septa Elspith preached about piety and proper deportment, it didn’t stop your thoughts from wandering to the tawny-haired, comely young knight with whom you now shared a bed.

“Then she can answer to my sword,” he said, his serious gaze morphing into a grin. 

You chuckled before settling back into sweet silence and the afterglow. Your indiscretions with the eldest Hightower son had begun quite unceremoniously at the altar to the Mother late one evening. Gwayne had been praying, at least it had looked that way. Really, though, he’d been talking to his own late mother. Inside the sept was the only place you’d known Gwayne to shed the haughty, rational front he sported outside of those seven walls. Here he had someone he could confide in. You had gotten down on your knees beside him to pray yourself. You had felt his eyes on you and you slowly opened your own to look over at him, your violet eyes shining in the candlelight from the altar below. The look he gave you was one of knowing and of desire.

Confession wasn’t the only place in which Gwayne confided in you. It was in the stolen moments alone in the cold, forgotten corners of the sept where your lips met and your hands fondled and searched one another’s bodies. You felt free in those moments as if this were what true salvation felt like. You imagined this was how it must have felt for your siblings to soar through the sky on their dragons, though you would never know in truth. And as your naked bodies moved together in the scant light of his chambers, you felt free as the open sea and the open air. Perhaps this was what it meant to be alive.

But when these moments were over, the guilt and the worry returned with a vengeance. Were another to find the two of you, surely your head would end up on a spike, your soul damned for eternity.

Your hand fiddled with the star around your neck. “And to think confessional would lead to this,” you said. 

He hummed in agreement. “You’re a long way from Driftmark, princess.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“What? Do you think hiding that silver mane of hair behind a habit is all it takes? Besides, you never did say why you left.”

You sighed. Frustration working at your brow at the thought of revisiting your past. “I never took to the seafarer’s life. Even after the brother and sister died.”

“But the blood of the dragon runs through your veins.”

“And yet I never claimed one,” you said looking at him intently. “Queen Alysanne landed Silverwing atop this very tower and here I am practicing the very faith my ancestors rejected.” Gwayne didn’t say anything. He simply took to lazily twirling your ring between his fingers. “I do not wish for you to go.”

“You and I both know we have nobler causes.” He put the rings aside then turned back to you. “I hate the capital.”

“Hm. Too many tyrants in the Small Council for your liking?” you quipped.

“Heh. And a Dornishman to contend with.”

“Careful, that’s your Lord Hand you’re talking about.”

He rolled his eyes and made a dismissive sound. “Please. Cole doesn’t know his arse from his elbow.”

You gazed at him uneasily as he got up from the bed, walking over to the basin of fresh water that had been left for him. Your hand moved to your belly as he splashed his face with water. “Indeed,” you answered as he slid on his breeches.

His eyes followed your hand that now moved along your stomach. He was frozen there.

The look he gave you broke your heart and was enough to make you want to burn down the Starry Sept yourself. Tears welled up in both of your eyes. There were now words spoken, nothing to fill the silence of what was perhaps your final night together. Your final chance to see each other alive. This was your confession. 

Then Gwayne spoke up. “How long have you known?”

“Not two moons,” you said.

Gwayne was again at a loss for words. He was just about to set off for battle. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Sure, he wanted this, but it wasn’t the time. He shook his head, angry at the Seven, at himself. “Seven hells.”

“I’m going to get rid of it.” Concern crossed Gwayne’s features. “I’m a septa,” you said, breaking his gaze. “Plus, this is no world to raise a child. We all know what’s coming. The dragons will dance and all we know will come crashing down in fire and ash. Those are the real gods. The great beasts my family lords over.”

“So this is over?” he asked quietly. 

“I can’t do this, Gwayne.”

“No, no. I can make this right. I could get you safe passage out of the Reach—”

“It’s no use. This war is coming.”

In that moment he was powerless. And he hated it with every fiber of his being. He knew you were right. The war was here and there was nothing he could do about it except face certain death. He moved back to the bed and sat down heavily on the edge, bereft of all other thoughts.

Your moved over to him and wrapped yourself around his back, your arms enveloping his torso. You rested your head in the crook of his neck. He brought a hand up to your arm, settling there. The both of you sat there in silence, gazing out of the window overlooking a glowing Oldtown, knowing what was to come.

[winniethewife]

For your seasonal event: somebody plays 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen' at the Ministry with Papa IV (you told me to cheat here so I am picking my fave Papa) or Swiss Army Ghoul reacting 💋

I did Say you could cheat, and this was a ton of fun so I'm pleased.

Oh tidings of comfort and joy

(Papa IV x Reader & Swiss)

Prompt: “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” (Pentatonix) - Papa IV & Swiss

Words: 635

“HELP! HELP! THE WORLD IS ENDING HELP!!!” Swiss was screaming as he ran through the halls. You look up from your work with an eyebrow raised as you hear this. You turn to Copia who was lounging on the couch in your office space, where he so frequently retreated when he needed a break from whatever he was expected to do as Papa.

“What do you think that’s about?” You ask with an amused look on your face. Copia shrugs

“Sounds like the world is ending, which is too bad but honestly, Armageddon can’t be as bad as they make it out to be.” He replied, before you can react the ghoul in question rushes into the room, upset with his tail between his legs, He looked particularly pathetic as he fell to his knees in front of you laying his head in your lap.

“The world is ending” He whimpers looking up at you from his resting place. You gently run your hand over his unruly locks of hair with a hint of a smile on your lips as you turn your attention from your paramour to your ghoulish friend.

“So I heard, what exactly caused the end of everything this time dear Swiss?” You ask trying your best to not let your amusement show in your voice. Swiss sighed deeply and stuck out his lip in a small pout.

“Someone started playing the bad music.” He explained, well, he tried to explain, the explanation didn’t make all too much sense. You tilted your head at him, then looked over to Copia in hope for an answer, but he looked just as clueless as you felt.

“What does that mean exactly?” You try to pry further but you are met by only distressed ghoul noises, which are particularly hard to describe but are most definitely not the desired outcome, so you continue to soothe the poor thing with gentle head pats. Copia stands up, brushing his hands over his clothes in an attempt to look more put together.

“I’ll go see what the bad music is, and why this is the bringing of the end times.” Copia declares, somewhat like he’s going on a quest to slay a dragon. You nod and watch as he strode out of the room with an amount of confidence you couldn’t help but find attractive.

“See, Papa will fix it.” You tried to reassure the ghoul who was practically weeping in your lap. Less than ten minute later however, you were eating your words as a rather disheveled Emeritus walked back into the room. A look in his eyes you could only assume meant the world was in fact ending. You felt a worry creeping up in your chest as you watch him drag his feet into the room.

“It was worse than I thought…” he muttered sitting next to Swiss and resting his head on your side. “They’re playing…Christmas music.” He said dismayed, horrified even. Your brow furrowed, Christmas music? That’s why the world was ending? You were about to ask more questions, who would do that? Why? Isn’t it a little early? Along with some other questions, but you didn’t have the time, as you heard the all too familiar tune start to play in the distance.

“Was born on Christmas Day, To save us all from Satan's pow'r, When we were gone astray. Oh tidings of comfort- SKKKRT”

As a terrible noise emitted from the direction the music once played you looked up even more curiously as a particular fire ghoul walked passed your office looking particularly pleased with himself. Maybe the world wasn’t ending today, So long as Sodo had a particular penchant for destruction. You smiled at the situation before returning your focus to comforting the two distressed creatures in front of you.  

~

Masterlist

A/n: there are still slots open for this event!

Taglist: : @silvernight-m

[batmanlovesnirvana]

Chapter two | Under Gotham’s Shadow.

masterlist

pairing : battinson!bruce wayne x fem!oc.

words : +7k.

author’s note : The second chapter is here! Just a reminder that English isn't my first language, so if there are any mistakes, I apologize in advance. We're meeting a lot of new characters in this chapter, so I hope everything makes sense. If anything is unclear, feel free to ask questions!

cw : bruce being a dick as usual, 18+, thriller, medical procedures, angst, mental health issues, noire, canon-typical violence, POV alternating, gritty, horror, illness, slow burn, action, fluff, mutual pining, forced proximity, crime families, comedy, crime, fighting ect… read at your own risk !

   AFTER LEAVING the mayor's house, Maryam reluctantly approached her car. 

Sliding into the driver's seat, she finally allowed herself a moment to breathe. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against the steering wheel, shutting out the chaotic world outside. The muffled sounds of journalists shouting questions and the wail of police sirens barely registered as she tried to process the night's events.

Her mind replayed the grim scenes in a loop— the mayor’s lifeless body, the blood, the devastation in young George’s eyes. It was a deliberate murder, no doubt about it, and something deep inside told her this wouldn't be the last. A shiver ran down her spine as she pondered the motives behind the killing. Why target the mayor? She didn't know him personally and, to be honest, barely cared about the man. His face was familiar, but only in the way that all politicians’ faces are—seen, not truly known. Despite keeping up with politics, she could hardly recall anything of substance that he'd done for Gotham.

Sure, he’d put Salvatore Maroni behind bars, but Maryam suspected he was just another cog in the Falcone family's machine. Who in Gotham wasn’t at this point? The city was still in shambles, with criminals running rampant, homelessness skyrocketing, and the gap between the rich and poor only growing wider. Every promise the mayor made during his campaign had turned out to be empty words, nothing but lies wrapped in false hope.

Everything was a mess.

Yet, despite her cynicism, she found herself more worried about George than the murdered politician. The boy was innocent, a child who had nothing to do with the murky underworld of Gotham.

Her aunt had been babysitting him for three years now, and Maryam had often found herself at her aunt’s house, playing with the boy, listening to his innocent laughter. She couldn't help but feel a pang of protectiveness for him.

But what really freaked her out was the vigilante. She had quite literally stumbled upon him, and the memory sent a shiver down her spine.

He was taller than she imagined, his form imposing in a way that felt almost otherworldly. But it was his eyes that haunted her the most—those piercing blue eyes, the bluest she had ever seen. They weren’t just blue; they were the kind of blue that poets of the Renaissance would have wept over, likening them to the tragic skies painted by God himself, sorrowful and burdened with the weight of the world.

His eyes were like a sea under a storm, blue but ringed with red, the color of exhaustion, the remnants of battles fought, and the silent scream of hopelessness written in every shadow. They were the kind of eyes that held the world’s tragedies within them, where hope was a distant, dying light, struggling against the overwhelming tide of despair.

And the way he gripped her—firmly but not forcibly—sent a jolt through her, like a live wire connecting them. It was as if he was afraid of breaking her, as if she were a delicate flower and he was the brutal wind, dangerous and unpredictable, but somehow hesitant to cause harm. It was electrifying. No, it was more than that. It was mortifying. Yes, that was the right word.

The sensation of being held so carefully by something so dangerous—it terrified her.

Another sigh escaped her lips. She had to stop daydreaming, a habit that both gnawed at her and offered comfort in equal measure. But no matter how hard she tried, those blue eyes, full of a sadness she couldn’t comprehend, kept pulling her back into the memory.

Raising her head, Maryam stretched her neck and glanced at the clock in her car. The night had dragged on longer than she realized. She fished her phone from her back pocket, the screen lighting up to reveal a picture of her younger self with her parents and siblings, a bittersweet memory frozen in time. She quickly typed in her password, intending to call her aunt Meysa, but the screen flooded with notifications—several missed calls from her aunt and her siblings. By now, the news must have spread, and they would be worried.

She pressed the call button for her aunt and placed the phone on the dashboard, putting it on speaker. The ringing echoed through the car, the foggy windows a testament to the cold outside. She undid her updo, letting her hair fall, and massaged her scalp as she waited for her aunt to pick up. Finally, the call connected.

“Allo? Maryam, I have been calling you for two hours! You don’t respond to me or your sisters!” Meysa’s voice was thick with worry, not giving Maryam a chance to speak.

“No, I’m fine, Aunt Meysa. I was working—” Maryam started to explain but was cut off again.

“Like always,” Meysa said in Arabic, a tone of gentle reprimand in her voice.

Maryam sighed. “Look, I wanted to call you to ask if you’ve seen the news?”

“Not to ask how your old aunt has been doing?” Meysa teased.

“I literally saw you this morning!” Maryam replied in Arabic, exasperated.

“I know, I know... But yes, I’ve seen the news, although I received it before.”

Maryam furrowed her brows at this. “What do you mean?”

“Rebecca, the Mayor’s wife, called me in tears! I was getting ready for bed when my phone rang,” Meysa explained, then quickly added with a tsk, “She told me her husband was dead! Killed! Can you believe that, yah Maryam?”

Maryam listened, nibbling on her nails and massaging her scalp with her other hand. “Not really, it’s Gotham, have you forgotten?”

“I can’t believe they did that. Killing the Mayor. I never liked him anyway, but the boy? Miskeen, Wallah. I told her to bring him to me so I could take care of him, but she refused. She’s right; it’s better he stays with his mother and family. He must be traumatized.” Meysa continued, brushing off Maryam’s comment.

“I saw him and talked to him—” Maryam began, only to be interrupted again.

“You were there?” Meysa asked, surprised.

“Yep,” Maryam confirmed. “It was a horrible sight. And like I was saying, the boy was really traumatized. I tried to comfort him, but...” She grimaced, shaking her head. “Seeing that kind of thing really messes with your head.”

A heavy silence hung between them.

“You’re right,” Meysa agreed quietly. “I’ll talk to his mother when I can. I don’t want to bother her—God knows how things must be for her right now.”

Maryam only hummed in response, her gaze drifting to the chaos of journalists outside her car.

“What else did you see there?” Meysa asked, hopeful for more information.

“You know I can’t tell you, teta. It’s confidential,” Maryam replied, taking her phone in her hand.

Meysa huffed. “Fine, fine. I suppose I’ll see it in the papers tomorrow.” Then, as if remembering something, she added, “By the way, I made dinner—couscous.”

“Noted. I’m coming to sleep at your apartment then. I’m not working tomorrow morning anyway. I’ll see you later.”

“Okay. Salam, and be careful—or you might run into that satanic devil.” Meysa warned, her tone half-joking.

Maryam laughed, her thoughts flickering briefly to the vigilante. Oh, if only you knew. “Yeah, okay. Bye.”

She ended the call and started the car engine, the rumble breaking the quiet of the early morning. Without another thought, she sped through the empty streets, heading towards her aunt’s apartment.

────୨ৎ────

           Bruce removed his helmet with a quiet exhale, the motion slow and deliberate. 

The cool air of the cave brushed against his sweat-dampened skin, a stark contrast to the warmth trapped beneath the black armor. As he pulled the helmet free, the shadows lifted from his face, revealing a man who carried the weight of a city’s sins in his eyes. His blackened gaze swept the cavernous space around him, the dim light catching the maining streaks of dark camo that clung to the edges of his eyelids, a haunting reminder of the night he’d just endured.

He reached up, his fingers deftly removing the contact lenses, the tiny sensor bands embedded within reflecting the harsh glow of the monitors around him. The lenses were more than just a tool—they were a gateway to his world, a lens through which he witnessed the darkness that engulfed Gotham. He placed them on the workbench, their curved surfaces still warm from his eyes, before shifting his attention to the grainy video footage playing on the screen.

Nirvana playing on the background; the scene replayed in stark black and white, the distorted image of a gang member convulsing as he was tased in the neck. Bruce’s eyes lingered on the man’s face, reading the fear etched in every twitch of his muscles. He knew that fear well; it was the same fear that had once gripped him as a child, staring into the eyes of the man who had taken everything from him.

He stood, his eyes scanning the vast space of the cave, the eerie silence of early morning settling around him. The remnants of a bygone era surrounded him—an unfinished black muscle car sat hulking in one corner. Monitors lined the walls, their screens flickering with the latest news. The headline that caught his eye made his stomach tighten: 

"MAYOR MITCHELL MURDERED."

The newscaster’s voice droned on, filling the cave with words that felt like distant echoes: "...this certainly isn't the first time Gotham has been rocked by the murder of a political figure. In fact, in an eerie coincidence, it was twenty years ago this month that celebrated billionaire philanthropist, Dr. Thomas Wayne, and his wife Martha were slain during Wayne's own mayoral campaign in a shocking crime that remains unsolved to this day..."

Bruce’s gaze hardened, his jaw tightening as the familiar pang of loss surged through him. The past had a cruel way of resurfacing, no matter how deep he buried it.

He sat back, his eyes scanning the footage on the monitor. He paused as the camera caught a glimpse of her—Dr. Maryam Halimi. 

Even in the grainy, night-vision footage, she stood out, her presence both captivating and unsettling. Her expressive hazel eyes had been wide with shock when she stumbled upon him, her hair meticulously styled in a French twist updo, a stark contrast to the chaos around her. 

There was something about the way she held herself, a blend of poise and vulnerability, that gnawed at him.

Her presence was an unexpected calm amidst the storm of violence and despair. 

Bruce leaned in, his gaze sharpening as he studied her features. She had looked at him with those eyes—greenish-yellow, filled with tragedy, hauntingly beautiful, and framed by the weariness of someone who had witnessed far too much yet clung to a fragile hope. A sudden comparison flashed through his mind, almost disorienting: her eyes were like the sky at dusk, desperately holding on to the last traces of daylight before succumbing to the darkness. They were eyes that bore the weight of the world.

He shook his head, trying to dismiss the thought, but it clung to him stubbornly. For a brief moment, he had seen his own torment reflected in her gaze. The deep blue of his eyes, like a painting etched in sorrow, had found a mirror in hers. It was a gaze that spoke of shared suffering, even if she was unaware of it.

Bruce replayed the scene, his heart rate subtly rising as he relived the moment she had stumbled upon him. He hadn’t expected her to be there, and the way she had frozen, her eyes widening in shock, had left an indelible mark on him.

He captured her image on one of his computer screens, letting it linger there before switching to another monitor to continue reviewing the footage.

A metallic clank echoed through the cave, pulling Bruce’s attention away from the screen. He looked up to see Alfred stepping out of the freight elevator, his figure cast in the half-light. The older man’s face, etched with years of wear and scars of a different kind, was a picture of quiet concern. 

Bruce turned back to his work, avoiding Alfred’s gaze, but the tension between them lingered in the air like a ghost.

“I assume you heard about this...?” Alfred’s voice was low, tinged with the weary resignation of a man who had seen too much.

“Yeah,” Bruce replied, his tone clipped, eyes fixed on the footage he was fast-forwarding through—frame by frame, dissecting every moment of the crime scene.

Alfred moved closer, his steps echoing softly on the stone floor. He glanced at the screen, his eyes widening at the sight of Mayor Mitchell’s body. “Oh. I see...” His voice faltered as he took in the gruesome scene. “...dear God...”

As the image of the cipher filled the screen, Bruce froze the frame, his hand reaching to print the image. The lines of the eerie symbols etched into the Halloween card were now stark on the paper. Alfred’s breath hitched as he took in the sight, the chill of the moment settling deep into his bones.

“The killer left this for Batman?” Alfred’s voice trembled slightly, betraying the fear he kept carefully masked.

“Apparently.” Bruce’s reply was curt, as if discussing a minor inconvenience rather than a message from a murderer.

Alfred’s eyes narrowed with concern. “You’re becoming quite a celebrity... why is he writing to you?”

“I don’t know yet.” Bruce’s voice was flat, betraying nothing of the storm brewing inside him.

"And her?" Alfred gestured toward the computer screen where Maryam’s face was paused, captured in the moment their eyes had locked. Bruce hesitated, his gaze briefly shifting to the screen as Alfred studied the image.

"Does she have any link to what happened—"

"No," Bruce cut him off sharply, his tone leaving no room for further questioning.

"She’s pretty," Alfred murmured, his voice softening as a small smile tugged at his lips. "Quite a striking woman, if I may add. Or was it the way you scared her?"

Bruce's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing. "She seemed familiar."

Alfred glanced at him, curiosity piqued. "Do you know her?"

Bruce shook his head, his voice distant, as though reaching back into a memory just out of grasp. "I asked Gordon about her. He said she's a pathologist. Medical examiner. Her name is Dr. Maryam Halimi." His gaze lingered on her face for a moment before he returned to the other screen, burying himself in the work that never seemed to end.

A heavy silence settled between them, the only sound the hum of machinery in the background. Alfred sighed, running a hand through his hair, trying to weigh the gravity of the situation against Bruce's relentless pursuit of justice.

"Have a shower," Alfred finally said, his voice carrying a hint of weariness. "The accounting boys from Wayne Enterprises are coming for breakfast."

"Here—why?" Bruce asked, irritation flickering in his eyes, a reminder of the ever-present tension between his two worlds.

"Because I couldn’t get you to go there!" Alfred retorted, frustration seeping into his voice as he met Bruce's gaze, the unspoken concern between them thickening the air.

“I don’t have time for this,” Bruce muttered, his own patience wearing thin.

Alfred’s voice softened, a plea underlying his words. “It’s getting serious, Bruce. If this continues, it won’t be long before you’ve nothing left—”

“I don’t care about that. Any of that.” Bruce’s words were sharp, final, cutting through the space between them like a knife.

Alfred’s eyes flickered with a pain that he quickly masked. “You don’t care about your family’s legacy?”

“What I’m doing is my family’s legacy,” Bruce countered, his voice low, edged with a conviction that left no room for doubt. “And if I can’t change things here, if I can’t have an effect, then I don’t care what happens to me.”

Alfred swallowed hard, his throat tight with unshed emotions. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Bruce's eyes darkened, his voice dropping to a warning. “Alfred, stop.” The words hung in the air, sharp and final. Then, without missing a beat, he added, “You’re not my father.”

The statement was cold, a barrier thrown up between them, meant to shut down the conversation. The silence that followed was heavy, charged with the weight of everything unsaid. Alfred’s expression faltered, the faintest trace of hurt flashing across his face before he masked it with a resigned nod.

But the words lingered, echoing in the cavernous space of the Batcave, a reminder of the chasm that sometimes seemed too wide to bridge between them.

A thin, pained smile touched Alfred’s lips, barely masking the hurt behind his eyes. “I’m... well aware,” he replied quietly, his voice tinged with a sadness that Bruce chose to ignore.

Alfred’s eyes lingered on Bruce for a moment longer, searching for something—some sign of acknowledgment, a crack in the armor. But Bruce remained impassive, his gaze already drifting back to the screens, to the work that consumed him.

Bruce rose from his seat, the movement deliberate and final, signaling the end of the conversation. Alfred watched him go, a deep pain etched in his expression, the kind that comes from years of unspoken worries and unresolved conflicts. 

The distance between them felt wider than ever, a gulf that no words could bridge.

As Bruce disappeared into the elevator, Alfred turned back to the computer, his gaze lingering on the screens Bruce had been working on. His eyes scanned the thumbnails from the lens footage, pausing on one that showed the boy in the ninja costume with Maryam crouched in front of him, trying to comfort the little boy. His heart clenched at the sight; the tenderness in her gesture stood out sharply against the brutality surrounding them, a small but significant act of humanity in a city drowning in darkness.

His gaze then drifted to the printed cipher lying on the desk, the eerie symbols from the Halloween card glaring up at him. Above them, in Bruce's sharp handwriting, were the words: "HE LIES STILL."

Alfred frowned, the weight of those words pressing down on him like a heavy shroud. He knew the dangers Bruce was courting, the dark path he was walking. But seeing those words, seeing the connection between the message and Bruce’s relentless pursuit of justice, filled him with a deep sense of dread. It was as if the very essence of Bruce's mission was encapsulated in that ominous phrase—a mission that seemed to be consuming him more each day.

Alfred let out a weary sigh and closed his eyes, the heaviness of the situation settling over him. The fear of what it might do to Bruce weighed heavily on his heart.

────୨ৎ────

      Maryam stirred awake, the faint sound of voices and the clattering of dishes drawing her from sleep.

The room she found herself in was familiar, though now it bore the quiet solitude of the morning. This was the place she once shared with her younger sister Sherine during their teenage years—a space that had seen countless late-night conversations, whispered secrets and shared dreams. It wasn’t vast, just big enough to comfortably house two people. 

The furniture was modest, with a couple of beds positioned against the walls, each adorned with mismatched bedsheets that reflected the distinct personalities of the two sisters.

A shared wooden dresser stood between them, and a small desk, once a place for late-night study sessions or scribbled notes passed between them, sat against the wall, bearing the marks of years gone by.

The room had a comforting, lived-in feel, with soft, warm colors that reflected the coziness of their aunt's home. The sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting gentle rays that danced on the patterned rug. A few framed pictures adorned the walls—memories of family gatherings and happier times.

Maryam rubbed her eyes, still groggy, and reached for her phone on the nightstand. The screen flashed to life, showing the time: 10:36 a.m.

She sighed, stretching her arms above her head, and then rolled out of bed. Her face was slightly puffy from sleep, and her hair, which had been washed the night before, had settled into bouncy curls that framed her bare face.

Yawning, she reached for her red robe, slipping it on and tying it snugly at the waist. The soft fabric provided a small comfort against the coolness of the morning. Shielding her eyes from the sunlight that streamed through the window, she made her way to the door.

As she entered the hallway, the sounds of life became more pronounced—familiar voices mingled with the clinking of dishes, the occasional clatter of cutlery, and the unmistakable melody of Um Kulthum filling the apartment.

The closer she got to the kitchen, the stronger the scent of coffee became, warm and inviting. It was a smell that always made her feel at home, no matter what else was happening in the world outside.

In the kitchen, her Aunt Meysa was on the phone, a foulard wrapped like a turban on her head and her usual apron draped over her jelaba. She was speaking loudly, gesturing with such vigor that it was as if the person on the other end could actually see her. The mix of broken English and Arabic in her voice was unmistakable.

"No, no, we take no more kids tonight! Already full!" She rolled her eyes with dramatic flair, as if the person she was speaking to was as thick-headed as the fog that sometimes rolled in from Gotham Bay.

At the small table, Aunt Jamila sat, the embodiment of calm despite the tumultuous life she’d endured. A cigarette was nestled between her fingers, a cup of coffee steaming in front of her. Her black hair was tied back, and her sharp yet warm brown eyes were fixated on the newspaper spread out before her.

Maryam paused, blinking in surprise. Aunt Mila never read the paper. The last time she’d seen her aunt with a newspaper, it had been crumpled up to light the fireplace.

Strange, she thought.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to grace us with her presence,” teased Moncef, her cousin, a few years younger and always up to something. 

He was Aunt Meysa and Uncle Fawzi's only son, a boxer who owned a gym in Gotham, both training and fighting in the ring.

Maryam, unfazed by his usual teasing, just rolled her eyes and ignored him.

Rania, the fourth Halimi sister, was hunched over her laptop at the table. Her dirty blonde curls were pulled into a messy bun, held together by a pencil, and an earpiece was tucked into one ear. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, completely immersed in work for Bella Reál’s mayoral campaign.

Yesterday's fiasco had thrown her into overdrive, and she barely noticed the world around her.

At the far end of the table sat Warda, the second-born daughter. An engineer at Wayne Enterprises currently on maternity leave, had one hand resting gently on her rounded belly.

She was the only married sister out of the five, wed to a man named Ryan, a dentist. Despite the exhaustion that often accompanied pregnancy, Warda looked as radiant as ever.

Her dark hair, straightened and perfectly styled, brushed her shoulders as she leaned in to spread marmalade on her toast.

When Moncef made his remark, she glanced up, a warm smile spreading across her lips. “Sbah al khir, sbah al noor yah Milou,” she greeted, using one of Maryam’s many nicknames.

Maryam, stretching again to shake off the morning sluggishness, walked over and planted a small kiss on Warda’s head. Warda returned the affection with a tender smile before taking a bite of her tartine. Maryam moved to the counter, tugging her robe tighter around her waist as she poured herself a cup of coffee—milk and three sugars, her usual.

Meanwhile, Moncef, ever the joker, threw a few playful jabs in her direction as she poured the coffee. Maryam, long accustomed to his antics, didn’t even flinch.

Noticing the empty chair at the table, Maryam smirked to herself. The youngest sister, Alma—affectionately known as Lulu—was still in bed. 

Typical, she thought. Lulu, the baby of the family, was probably the only one who could sleep through the chaos.

Maryam turned her attention to Aunt Mila, who hadn’t lifted her eyes from the newspaper. “Since when do you read the news, hmm?” she asked, raising one of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows as she sipped from her mug.

Amina took a slow drag from her cigarette, her gaze still fixed on the paper. “Why wouldn’t I? The mayor’s dead. That’s big news.”

Maryam chuckled, turning back to the counter. She put her mug down and opened a drawer, rummaging through it for her favorite biscuits. “I’ve never seen you read the paper,” she said, her tone light.

Finally finding the biscuits, she tore the pack open with her teeth and turned back towards the table. “Actually, I’ve only ever seen you light fires with it.” She shot a sideways glance at Rania, who grinned without looking up from her laptop.

Amina sighed, finally folding the newspaper and meeting Maryam’s gaze. “Well, times change, and so do people, ya benti,” she said, the hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. “Even I, need to keep up with what’s happening in this madhouse of a city.”

Warda, still chewing her tartine, chimed in with a soft, teasing voice. “Oh, Maryam knows. She was at the crime scene last night.”

Moncef’s eyes widened as he snatched the newspaper from Amina’s hands, dodging her half-hearted attempt to pinch him. “You were?” he exclaimed, scanning the headlines.

Maryam rolled her eyes playfully, leaning back against the counter. “Thanks for the reminder, Warda. Like I needed it,” she quipped, though the corners of her mouth twitched into a small smile.

Moncef, still clutching the newspaper, leaned forward with curiosity. “So, what did you see? Give me the juicy details.”

Maryam shot him a look, already feeling her patience thin. “Moncef, how many times do I have to say it? I can’t tell you. It’s against the rules.” Her eyes widened to emphasize her words. “Besides, I woke up to Sherine hounding me for more info for her papers, and I still refused.”

Ali threw the newspaper at Maryam, but she dodged it with practiced ease.

Meysa, still on the phone, caught the exchange and snapped at her son, “Moncef, stop bothering your cousin! Go find something else to do.”

Ali grimaced and backed off. “Fine, fine. Just trying to get some interesting gossip.”

Maryam stuck her tongue out at him in mock defiance, earning a bemused look from Ali.

“So, what does everyone want for dinner?” Meysa asked, finally hanging up the phone. “I’m thinking Mloukhiah.”

Moncef chimed in, “I don’t know, Baba’s off to work at the bay until tonight, even though I told him not to go. The weather’s awful.”

Meysa scoffed. “Your father is as stubborn as a mule. Out there, getting drenched while Gotham spirals into chaos. What’s next? A gang of criminals taking over Wayne Enterprises?”

Maryam chuckled, her mind still partially occupied with the crime scene. “It’s Gotham, Meysa. Anything’s possible.”

Rania, finally looking up from her laptop, wore a serious expression. “The conspiracy theories are spiraling out of control. This is going to be a nightmare for Bella’s campaign. Every scandal just adds more fuel to the fire.”

Maryam leaned back against the counter with a smirk. “Welcome to my world, Rania. Looks like you’re becoming Maryam 2.0.”

Rania narrowed her eyes at her sister but couldn’t hide a smile. “Oh, please. I’m still young. Don’t age me prematurely.”

“Too late,” Maryam shot back with a laugh. “You’re already showing signs of stress. Look at those bags under your eyes.”

Rania leaned in closer with a smirk. “Ha! You’re one to talk. Your workaholic tendencies could turn anyone into an early retiree.”

“Maybe,” Maryam conceded with a grin, “but at least I’m not glued to a laptop 24/7.”

“Not glued, just constantly engaged,” Rania retorted with a cheeky smile.

Warda, ever the peacemaker, chimed in with a gentle smile. “Let’s not turn this into a competition over who’s the bigger workaholic. We all have our issues.” She glanced down at her round belly and stroked it lovingly. “Some of us just have different priorities.”

Meysa, always the doting aunt, leaned over and added, “Eat, Warda. You’re not eating enough for a pregnant woman. I don’t want my grandchild to be hungry.”

Warda quipped back, “I’m fine, Aunt Meysa. Don’t worry, my husband is feeding me enough.”

At that moment, Alma, the youngest Halimi sister nicknamed Lulu, stumbled into the kitchen. Her auburn, almost red hair was a mess of curls, and her eyes were half-closed as if she’d just been dragged from a deep sleep. “What’s going on? Why’s everyone so loud?”

Warda greeted Lulu with a warm smile. “Welcome to the land of the living, Lulu.”

Lulu took the coffee cup gratefully and sat down at the table. “I’m still half-asleep. What’s everyone talking about?”

“The mayor’s dead,” Jamila said matter-of-factly, lighting another cigarette.

Lulu’s eyes widened in shock, nearly spilling her coffee. “Wait, what? When did that happen?”

“Last night,” Maryam replied, watching her sister’s reaction with a concerned look. “It’s all over the news.”

Rania snorted and returned to her laptop. “Trust me, you’re not missing much. Just more chaos.”

Aunt Jamila exhaled a stream of smoke, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Chaos or not, this city’s going to hell. We’ve got to be careful. All of us.”

Warda nodded, her hand resting on her belly as she considered Amina’s words. “Yeah, we do. But we’ve survived worse, right?”

The room fell into a contemplative silence. They had indeed survived worse.

Breaking the silence, Maryam asked Lulu, “Where were you, anyway?”

Lulu groaned, leaning back in her chair. “Revising my bar exam.” She avoided eye contact with Maryam, her unease palpable.

“Really?” Maryam asked suspiciously, crossing her arms and frowning.

“Yep.” At this point, everyone stopped what they were doing and focused on Lulu, sensing the tension in the air.

With all eyes on her, Lulu finally exploded. “Okay, fine! I did go to revise, but then I went on a date with a guy!”

Jamila, crushing her cigarette in the ashtray, said, “See? Wasn’t that hard.”

“What guy?” Moncef asked, his tone protective.

“Yeah, well, I’m not going to tell you his name. I’m not even sure if it’s serious,” Lulu said, trying to deflect.

“Well, is he hot at least?” Rania asked with a mischievous grin.

“What do you mean ‘hot’?” asked Aunt Meysa, looking puzzled. “Is he sick or something?”

“No, Meysa,” Aunt Jamila clarified, “she’s asking if the boy is handsome.”

Maryam said nothing, but her gaze fixed on her sister, already forming suspicions about who the new guy might be. She hoped to god it wasn’t who she had in mind.

“Yaani, oh my god, it’s my life. I’m 26! Leave me alone!” Alma snapped suddenly, throwing her spoon onto the table and storming off to the bathroom.

Ali raised his arms in mock surrender. “I have to go open the ring anyway. Salam!” He left the kitchen, grabbing his energy drink on the way.

Seizing the opportunity to escape, Rania pushed back her chair, shutting her laptop with a decisive click. “Yeah, me too. I’m heading to the office. The team needs me.” She grabbed her bag and called after Moncef, “Can you please drive me?!”

“Be careful,” Warda called out, but the only response was the door slamming shut.

Maryam emptied her coffee into the sink, quickly washed her cup, and left the kitchen.

Aunt Jamila called after her, “Don’t make her even more mad!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Maryam responded with a wave, already heading out the door.

────୨ৎ────

       Maryam leaned against the bathroom doorframe, crossing her arms and giving her sister a stern look as Lulu brushed her teeth. “Please tell me it’s not who I think it is.”

Lulu leaned over to spit out the toothpaste, avoiding Maryam’s gaze. “Oh god, it is,” Maryam muttered, beginning to pace anxiously. Her fingers pressed against her temples. “Vittorio Falcone. Of all people—”

Alma quickly placed her hand over Maryam’s mouth, her eyes wide with alarm. “Keep your voice down!”

Maryam lowered her hands, her frustration palpable. “Can you blame me, Alma?” she said, using her full name to emphasize her annoyance. “You promised me you wouldn’t talk to him—”

“He kept insisting, Maryam!” Lulu cut in, placing her hands on the counter. “Sending me flowers, gifts, waiting outside uni and work—”

“And I warned you!” Maryam’s voice rose. “I said you’d be tempted by him and his charms! Ever since that night at the restaurant, and the way he looked at you while you worked! He knows what he’s doing; he’s playing you—”

“Maryam, he’s not that bad when you get to know him—”

“He’s part of the fucking mafia, be for real right now!” Maryam exclaimed, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “And not just any member—he’s the oldest son of Carmine Falcone!” She lowered her voice further. “The literal heir to the Roman throne.”

Alma shook her head, dismissing Maryam’s concerns. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Lulu,” Maryam said, taking her sister’s shoulders, “please don’t be fooled by them. I know them, I’ve worked near them. They’re dangerous.”

“I talked with him,” Alma said, though Maryam continued to shake her head. “We’re just friends. He says he’s going to make everything legitimate when he takes the reins, which he already has and has started doing some changes!” she explained, her tone pleading.

“Doesn’t matter,” Maryam said firmly. “He’s still dangerous. And you’re not even Italian. Why would he want to go out with you? It’s just so strange.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Alma said suddenly, her tone serious. “I know who he is, but all I ask is for you to trust me on this.” She absentmindedly played with a strand of her red hair. “We’re not together; if anything, I just went on that date with him so he’d stop pestering me. It’s nothing serious, really.”

“Look, I know he’s handsome and charming or whatever, but it’s not like in the movies. Please—” Maryam started, but Alma cut her off.

“I know what I’m doing, Mar. I’m not a baby anymore, and you know that.” Alma began to gently push Maryam out of the bathroom. “Don’t worry about me. Really.” With that, she pushed the door shut and locked it, leaving Maryam outside, bewildered and even more worried.

She leaned against the wall, her shoulders slumped as she tried to steady her breathing.

Maryam felt a pang of helplessness—she had always been the protector, the one who stepped in when things went wrong. But here, with Alma’s stubborn defiance, she was powerless.

The thought of Vittorio Falcone, the heir to one of Gotham’s most feared crime families, being involved with her sister was unsettling.

Her pulse quickened as she imagined the worst-case scenarios: Alma being used, manipulated, or worse. The danger was all too real, and Maryam’s protective instincts flared up with a fierce intensity. She remembered her own experiences with the criminal underworld, the threats and violence she had witnessed, that she had endured. 

It was a world that left scars—both physical and emotional—and she couldn’t bear the thought of her sister being dragged into it.

Maryam’s fingers gripped the edge of the door poignet, her knuckles white with tension. She fought to push down the rising wave of anger and fear that threatened to overwhelm her. She understood Alma’s need for independence and the desire to make her own choices, but the stakes were too high.

Maryam had always been the voice of caution, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that this time, she had failed.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Alma’s footsteps retreating on the other side of the door. Maryam took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. The cacophony of the house—the clinking of dishes, the distant chatter—seemed to amplify her sense of isolation. Her family was moving on with their day, while she remained stuck in this moment of worry and frustration.

Maryam’s heart ached with the weight of her responsibility. She knew she had to find a way to protect Alma without pushing her further away. But for now, she felt powerless, her attempts to safeguard her sister thwarted by the very person she was trying to protect.

With a sigh, Maryam pushed away from the wall and decided to leave the bathroom door. 

She needed to refocus, to address the rest of her day, and maybe—just maybe—find another way to keep her sister safe without losing her.

Maryam trudged back into the kitchen, her mood heavy with the weight of the earlier confrontation. 

Warda was slowly rising from her chair, preparing to leave. “I have to go back to the house. I promised Ryan we’d go shopping for the baby. He took the day off just for me,” she said, leaning in to kiss her aunts goodbye.

She then turned to Maryam with a knowing look. “Don’t be too hard on her,” she advised softly before grabbing her coat and leaving, her floral perfume lingering in the air.

Aunt Jamila, still sifting through the pile of envelopes, glanced up. “Looks like the Mayor’s wife invited us to the funeral,” she said, holding up a sleek black envelope.

“Oh yes!” Meysa exclaimed, recalling the phone call. “She phoned me this morning and said she wanted us to come.”

Maryam nodded, tying her hair up with a practiced motion, her mind still churning from the argument with Alma. “I’ll be here,” she said, her tone clipped. “But I’ve got work. I’m heading back to my apartment, and then I’m off to meet Gordon for lunch.”

Aunt Mila gave her a once-over, her keen eyes noticing the tension in Maryam’s posture. “Don’t work yourself up too much,” she advised, her voice carrying a mix of concern and firmness.

“Don’t worry,” Maryam replied, trying to sound reassuring.

But her mind was elsewhere, already dwelling on the tasks ahead.

With that, she turned and made her way to the room where she had slept, intending to change into something more suitable for the day’s events.

────୨ৎ────

After arriving at her apartment just outside the Narrows, Maryam quickly changed out of the clothes she had worn the previous day, opting for something more suitable. She selected a sharp outfit, something that matched her professional demeanor and the gravity of her work.

Heading to the bathroom, she swiftly straightened her hair with an iron, though she didn’t leave it down. Instead, she went for her usual French chignon updo, securing it neatly at the nape of her neck. With practiced ease, she reached for her makeup bag and began her routine: a touch of concealer to brighten her eyes, bronzer to accentuate her tan skin, a quick brush over her eyebrows, a flick of mascara on her lashes, a hint of blush, and finally, her signature red lipstick, which added a bold pop of color to her plump lips.

A spritz of her usual oud perfume added the final touch as she glanced at the time on her phone. Satisfied with her appearance, she slipped on her black high-heeled boots, her long black coat that she secured with the ceinture around her waist, grabbed the dossier she had prepared—complete with the photos and notes from the crime scene—along with her black bag. After ensuring her keys, phone, and wallet were inside, she opened the door of her apartment and stepped out of her apartment.

As Maryam stepped out into the hallway, the familiar sounds of her building greeted her. The muffled cry of a baby echoed from one of the nearby apartments, and somewhere down the corridor, a couple's argument punctuated the otherwise quiet morning. She sighed, tightening her grip on her bag. This was Gotham, after all—a city where peace was always fleeting.

With a quick glance back to ensure her door was securely locked, he began her walk towards the stairwell. The weight of the dossier in her hand was a reminder of the seriousness of her work, pulling her thoughts back to the task at hand. The voices behind her faded as she descended the stairs, the familiar creaks and groans of the old building, along with the click of her high heels, accompanied her steps. 

Despite the less-than-ideal living conditions and the constant noise, this place had become a part of her, just like Gotham itself. She thought about her aunts’ constant urging to leave the city, to find a better life somewhere like Metropolis or Central City.

They couldn’t understand why she chose to stay, why she remained in a city that seemed to chew people up and spit them out.

But Maryam knew. Gotham was in her blood. It was a city that had shaped her, toughened her, and no matter how dark it got, she couldn’t bring herself to leave. She often joked that if she worked anywhere else, she'd probably die of boredom.

Here, every day was a new challenge, a new puzzle to solve, and as much as the chaos drained her, it also fueled her.

Her salary might not reflect the work she put in—the long hours, the emotional toll—but money wasn’t what drove her. It was the people, the ones who needed her, and the small victories that kept her going.

Each time she uncovered the truth behind a death or brought a criminal one step closer to justice, she felt a sense of purpose that was worth more than any paycheck.

As she reached the ground floor and pushed open the heavy door leading outside, the cold air hit her face, sharp and bracing. She squared her shoulders, letting the door swing shut behind her as she made her way to the subway.

────୨ৎ────

     The diner was a relic from a bygone era, its faded charm unmistakable despite the wear and tear.

The once-vibrant red booths had lost their luster, now marred by cracks and scuffs. The linoleum floor, a worn pattern of black and white squares, squeaked with every step. Old-fashioned pendant lights cast a soft, yellowish glow over the space, creating an ambiance that was both cozy and antiquated.

The walls were adorned with vintage photographs and a few outdated advertisements, giving the place an air of nostalgia. A jukebox in the corner remained dormant, its music silenced by the passing years.

Inside, a handful of patrons sat scattered across the booths and tables—some reading newspapers, others engaged in quiet conversations. The air was filled with the aroma of coffee and the faint scent of cleaning products, a mix that added to the diner’s homey but slightly worn-out atmosphere.

Maryam spotted Gordon seated in a booth near the window, absently stirring a coffee. He looked up as she approached, a warm smile spreading across his face.

“Maryam, right on time,” he greeted, standing up to kiss her cheek. “I’ve already ordered your usual—Diabolo mint.”

Maryam returned his smile and slid into the booth across from him, her black high-heeled boots clicking on the floor as she settled in.

“Thanks, Jim. My aunt sent over some cakes for Barbara,” she said, handing him a small box. “She thought Barbara might enjoy them.”

Gordon’s smile widened as he accepted the box. “I’m sure she will. She’s always been a fan of your aunt’s baking.”

Maryam nodded, pulling out the dossier from her bag and placing it on the table, her expression serious.

“I’ve compiled everything from the crime scene—photos, notes, and the autopsy details,” she said. “There’s a lot to go through, but I’ve highlighted the key points.”

She leaned in slightly, her voice steady. “The pattern suggests a personal motive. I’m leaning towards someone with a clear objective, possibly targeting specific individuals.”

Gordon listened intently, his brow furrowed in thought. “And you think this might be just the beginning?”

Maryam’s gaze was unwavering. “Yes, I’m afraid so. The killer seems to have a goal in mind, and if my analysis is correct, this could be part of a larger plan.”

Gordon nodded thoughtfully. “Now that you're suggesting it, I’ve been hearing some unsettling whispers about potential future targets.”

He took a sip of his coffee, the weight of the situation evident in his tone. “Anything else?”

Maryam sighed, leaning back in her seat. “Yes, my aunts and I were invited to the mayor’s funeral. I think it’s important to be there, considering everything.”

As she spoke, the TV mounted on the diner’s wall flashed news coverage of the murder, catching both their attention for a brief moment.

Gordon glanced at the screen, then back at Maryam. “It seems the night of the murder is still making headlines.”

Maryam huffed, a hint of frustration in her voice. “Well, the Mayor’s dead—it’s kind of a big thing.” She took a sip of her Diabolo mint before adding, “It’s all over social media. My sister Rania, you know her—dark blonde hair,” she gestured to her own hair, “she works comms and public affairs for Bella Real’s campaign.”

Gordon hummed in acknowledgment. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Well, it’s been hell since yesterday night,” Maryam said, her tone weary.

Gordon nodded, taking another sip of his coffee. “Man, tell me about it. The whole city’s on edge.”

They shared a moment of silence, the gravity of the situation settling in. The TV continued its coverage, but their focus remained on the task ahead.

“Anyways, anything new from the Bat about the case?” Maryam asked, a note of hope in her voice as she tried to pry any information from Gordon.

Gordon chuckled softly, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Well, you certainly made quite an impression on him, that’s for sure—”

Maryam cut him off, blushing slightly. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Gordon shrugged, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he adjusted his glasses. “But seriously, no, I haven’t heard anything from him since last night.”

Maryam mumbled under her breath, “Probably rotting in his cave.”

Before Gordon could respond, his phone rang, the screen displaying an unknown number. He answered it with a hint of skepticism, holding the phone to his ear as he listened intently.

Maryam took a sip of her Diabolo mint, waiting patiently for the call to end.

After a few minutes, Gordon hung up and looked at Maryam, a hint of intrigue in his expression. “That was him.”

Maryam’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Oh, really?”

Gordon nodded. “Yeah. I’ve gotta go, but I’ll make sure to keep you informed.”

“Of course, don’t hesitate to call,” Maryam replied, watching as he stood up and placed some money on the table.

Gordon offered her a nod. “Take care, Maryam. I’ll see you around.”

She watched him leave the diner, heading toward his car, the weight of the situation lingering in the air as she finished her drink.

previous chapter (chapter one) | next chapter

Halimi Family

Parents :

Idris Halimi (the father, deceased)

Anastasia Nikolaevna (the mother, deceased)

The sisters :

Maryam Halimi (the oldest) — 30, doctor, medical examiner.

Warda Halimi (second born) — 29, Engineer at Wayne Enterprises.

Sherine Halimi (third born) — 28, Journalist

Rania Halimi (fourth) — 27, Comms and public affairs for Bella Real Campaign.

Alma Halimi (youngest) — 26, Law student

Paternal aunts :

Meysa (Halimi) Saeed

Jamila Halimi, nurse

Paternal Uncle :

• Fawzi Saeed (husband of Meysa), fisherman

Paternal Cousins :

Moncef Saeed (son of Amir and Meysa), owner of a Boxing Ring in Gotham.

[beemochi-art]

Thoughts on the transformers one movie?

Me? you wanna here my thoughts about the TF one?

SURE!!

First off the movie looks amazing, the ost is incredible, the voice acting is pretty good and the writing is Awesome! The pacing a little fast, the story movie kinda quickly which is fine, I’d rather have a fast movie then a slow one.

You can tell the actors really cared about this movie, I have never seen actors get this much into the marketing for anything! Brian Tyree Henry did an amazing job for Megatron, by far he was the best.

There was plenty of action! The fighting and weight of the character was great, you can tell they were really hitting each other hard. This movie had a lot of love put into it. Incredible watching experience.

D16 was the star of the show! In my opinion at least! They were able to capture the innocence and the loss of that innocence really well. The slight character tics also didn’t get past me and did a lot to add to the emotions the character were showing.

I loved this movie, and I will be watching more as soon as I can! I accidentally missed that end credits scene. We were just too excited and wanted to talk about it!

!!SPOILER REVIEW!! ⬇️

Alright! This movie fulfill something the fans have been asking for year for. The Orgin of Optimus prime and Megatron on the big screen. We all knew it was going to be a tragedy! Whether you ship Megop or not, we can all appreciate the loss of someone close, when we think we know someone but then seemingly out of nowhere, they flip. But I assure you, the flip was not out of no where.

But before I get to the main two I want to talk about everyone else first.

ELITA AND BEE

Sorry Oplita fans, Elita is on a path to get that promotion and get that bag! Elita is in fact a mean boss babe, but that not all she is. She is a strong and determined worker. Even tho she is one of the lower classes bots she does everything with a sense of pride, no matter what she’s doing. She cares a lot, her gruff and aggressive attitude may try to hide it but I see past that. Although she really didn’t have an arc to her character you know? Idk I might have to watch it again.

Bee is the goofster to the group. Very cute and very funny. He really didn’t have an arc either and I wish he did. Bee was mostly there to serve as the comedic relief. And honestly I think we all needed. He wasn’t ever too annoying or obnoxiously stupid. I very much enjoyed him!

Sentinel Prime

God what a fantastic villain he was! Kinda sad he died. I always knew Dee would kill him. He was just as pompous and trashy diplomat as I hoped. Such good lines from him. He died like a dog and couldn’t be happier. We didn’t get to see his alt mode which made me kind of sad. He’s like a mega church pastor! They are usually secretly evil. Him turning the tides of the battle with the primes is something else dude.

ORION

Oh god here we go. His character was just fantastic! I’m really happy we are getting an origin story. His personality being the adventurists, rowdy, troublesome questioner is so cool! And such a big contrast to the usual iterations of Orion pax. He’s stray kitten coded. His young age makes him optimistic, selfish and naive. It also causes him to mistreat Dee; having the best intentions of course, even tho he completely disregards what Dee feels. It started off as him just wanting to be seen and help his people to everything quickly getting out of hand and him losing his best friend. I’m sure he regrets making Dee participate in that race. His issue just being childlike innocence and being self centered.

DEE (aka Dean. Aka Megatron.)

Oh god y’all aren’t ready for this one!

Dee starts off as the goodest boy. Will of whimsy! But like most villains all it takes is one bad day. Oh Dee you poor thing. If robots could cry he would have like four times in this movie.

Good Christian boy. Followed the rules, didn’t ask questions and had unwavering love for the Primes. Megatronus and Sentinel being the big two.

It’s cool to think of Dee eyes being a dead giveaway to how he’s feeling. Betraying him even in the final scene.

“NO, I WANT TO KILL HIM!”

This part! This is my favorite part of the whole movie. Dee had the audience full attention. The desperation, sadness and anger in his voice. Fantastic! As D16’s friend, this needed to be addressed immediately. But I can understand Orion not knowing what to say or how to comfort him, cause as a kid yourself what do you even say to that?? Orion always knew something was wrong, he was the questioner, but to Dee this was his life. To Orion, Sentinel Prime’s betrayal wasn’t that deep. But this was Dee’s life, he followed them without question, just to see his hero struck down in cold blood. His anger is something Orion can’t comprehend, he never knew he had that in him. I think Orion could probably right this off the first time but it wouldn’t be that last time D16 would start scaring Orion.

I’ve always heard people describe Dee has flipping his personality. There is no flip. Dee is deceptively passive. His whole life has been flipped and need Orions support. But sadly that moment would never show up. I don’t even think Orion would know how to go about it since he was so focused on his goal. My mom said Orion was a bit irritating because  he couldn’t properly read his friend.

At first I thought he had carved this into himself. Which is bad, really bad. But I think Sentinel doing it to him actually makes it worse. He hasn’t just mutilated Dee once, But twice. He took something he liked, something that was special, something that was a symbol of him and Orions friendship and made it cause him pain. It’s like the last of his innocence being taken away from him.

So when he was trying to kill Sentinels and Orion was holding him back he said “He needs to die.” And that last part sounding so emotional hits so hard. He loved Sentinel. You can hear the hurt and sadness in his voice for megatronus prime, sentinel the other miners, but mostly for himself. And almost all that hurt Orion had to say “you’ll be like sentinel.”

Oh brother that was no the move. Immediately upon it being compared to sentinel by his best friend, the rage returned. Blinded by his rage he accidentally shot Orion.

Finally we have Megatron. Bro is on his Kratos arc. Sentinel was driven by greed. Megatron is driven by his hate and anger.

This by far the best transformers movie. I think ever.

[themotherofhorses]

Vic!! I have a request pretty pls hehehe,

Creepy dark! Aemond forcing his way with fem!reader as she sleeps after stalking him for many moons? PWEASEEE

what was mine is still mine, regardless of time.

pairing: soft but dark!aemond targaryen x fem!targaryen!reader

warnings: explicit language. nsfw smut. slight breeding kink towards the end. consented abduction. aemond is (as usual) obsessive and possessive but is actually kinda a sweetheart in this.

notes: ok so small thing: i kinda put my own twist to this request, because this sort of idea has lived in my head RENT FREE since forevvaaa. hope u enjoy it :)

masterlist

Dragonstone was quiet when arrived, the sea tide calm and peaceful.

Aemond Targaryen could not remember the last time he stepped foot in the castle, if he ever did at all, having spent the entirety of his life behind the bronze doors of the Red Keep. He did not care for the damned island, nor did he hold any love for its people, but his twentieth nameday was fast approaching, and his mother was insisting more and more that he take a wife soon.

“Now, where will you be,” he mumbles to himself as he rips off his riding gloves and tucks them into his belt.

The castle hallways were without light, and no houseguards stood afoot. Aemond smirks. It would be much easier for him to find you, tucked away in your own chamber.

Your personal chamber was nicely furnished, in the colors and style of your shared noble house, and had an aura belonging only to a Targaryen princess. Thick wool carpets covered the floor instead of harsh black stone, and your windows were cracked open just a little, with pretty drapes swaying from the light ocean breeze. The walls were hung with different tapestries, all of horses and dragons, and the doors were flanked by Valyrian sphinxes.

And to the corner was your bed, where you, his niece, lay atop, fast asleep.

Aemond wills his heart to continue beating, and for his cock to behave.

He has not laid eyes on you in almost a full decade, ten years too long for him. Both your parents whisked you away to Dragonstone when you were still a child, soft-faced and in the mid of girlhood.

They refused his mother’s offer for a betrothal between the two of you, and broke his heart to the tiniest of pieces that he wondered if they were still scattered around the Keep. But that was so many moons ago, and time slipped by him.

“Gods be good,” Aemond whispers, moving closer.

What has happened to that little girl, that kid niece of his? In her place sleeps a living goddess, too lovely for mankind. You’ve grown beautiful, a mirror image to your mother, his eldest sister. He bends to kiss your bare shoulder- just a simple and tiny kiss- and you stir in your sleep. It is cute, he admits, but he also can not wait another second longer.

Only the gods above know how much he’s wanted you.

With a hard yank, Aemond draws back the bedsheet covers, causing you to jolt up from the bed. You look around, confused and scared and still half-asleep, purple eyes clouding from drowsiness. In front of you sits a stranger, a man- silver-haired and cloaked in black riding leather. Across his eye, an eyepatch.

Your heart quickens at the sight. “Aemond…?” you call out, unsure.

He smiles, teeth and all. “You do not know how happy it makes me to know you are still able to recognize me, my niece. After all, it has been awhile- ten years, has it not?”

You shrug, trying to wipe the sleep away from your eyes. “What…what are you doing here?” you ask, while patting down the bed, looking for the sheets to cover your chest. “Should you not be at King’s Landing? Why are you here?” Your eyes grow as wide as a dinner plate as you soon add, “Oh no, has something happened? Is it my grandfather?”

But Aemond scoots closer, bringing his face to yours. “Do not fret, nice. I’m here on my own wishes,” and he twirls a thin strand of silver hair around his finger, humming as he watches it fall back around your shoulder. In that sheer Dornish nightgown, you look good enough to eat, and the princeling is feeling beyond ravenous.

“I’m here to collect a debt.”

Lucerys…you think, a sinking feeling in your chest. His stolen eye, that night on Driftmark…

Ten years and Aemond still seeks revenge.

“No,” Aemond says, shaking his head. He moves even closer, grabbing at your shoulders. His palms are rough and callous. “I would dare not hurt you. Anyone but you. You…” he sighs, “-you were promised to me, back when we were children. You were meant to be my wife, and they stole you from me. The only good fucking thing in my life, and it was taken away…”

He studies you, his eye running across your face, down your neck and to your chest.

That Dornish nightgown clings loose to your body, and he can see your nipples perk against the fabric. It sends blood rushing between his thighs. “Tell me, niece, what did I do to deserve that?”

“Aemond…”

“No!�� he hisses, tightening his grip on you. “No! You have not the slightest idea of the fucking torture I’ve endured these years. The nights I stayed up, begging to the gods that I might have you. I thought…maybe if they heard my pleas, saw my faith, they would…but no. Ten years, and not a single glimpse of you.” Your breath hitches when he meets your gaze, “I dreamt of you, every damned night. Fought the urges to fly over and collect you from here…”

You shake your head. “Aemond…” you say, softly. “I’m betrothed to another, this cannot be.” You press your hand against his cheek, feeling him lean into your touch, and kiss his forehead. “I have missed you greatly, uncle, but it has been years! So many years. I’m to be married soon.” You pull back, “It is best if you return home, and start finding a lady of your own choosing.”

Aemond sighs, and inside his chest, he feels his heart being ripped apart again.

“You are right, my dearest niece. My sincerest apologies for waking you up, it was quite wrong of me. I shall see myself out,” and he kisses your hand, brushing his lips against your knuckles. “I wish you all the luck in your marriage, and may your husband love and appreciate you till the dying days of his damned life.”

You smile at him, though a bit sad now. “Thank you, uncle. To you as well.”

The princeling turns to leave, and you sit up watching as he makes his way to your door, before sinking back into your bed. “Goodbye, Aemond,” you call out, one final time before your eyes close, failing to see him pause and turn around to look at you.

What was he doing? Foolish man, he thinks. Foolish, stupid man!

Was it in his nature to admit defeat so easily, and to some unnamed wastrel cunt of a man? No. Throughout his life, Aemond suffered nothing but tremendous losses, while being denied the goodness and fairness that a child should’ve had. His lips pucker at the thought.

You were right there, close enough for him to finally claim.

And so he did.

“Shhh, keep your voice down,” Aemond tuts next to your ear, a heavy arm slung over your naked breasts as he holds you as close to his chest as possible. It feels as if he is frightened to let you go, worried you would disappear before his very eye, with another ten years slipping by until he finds you again.

His other hand lies between your trembling thighs, fingering you with such an intensity and speed that it leaves you utterly ruined and in tears. “Aemond…” you hiccup, nibbling at your bottom lip as he groans. “Fuck! You sound so good when you say my name like that. Gods be good, you are wet. Absolutely soaking my fingers. Doesn’t this feel good?” he asks, using his thumb to rub at your clit. “Yeah…it does, doesn’t it?”

You sniffle, fat tears streaking down both cheeks as you nod.

Oh, it feels good. So good, but so wrong as well.

You were to be married in less than a fortnight, to a highborn lord of House Stark, handsome and kind. How would you explain this to him? Or to your parents, who proposed the marriage between you two? How would you tell them that you were ruined? And it was your uncle’s fault.

“Please, Aemond…”

Aemond grabs at your jaw, cradling it in his hand before pulling it close to his face. “Shhh, it will be alright, my love. Do not fret. You will be okay, just give in,” he whispers, quickening his fingers as he fucks them into you, curling two to hit your sweet spot. You almost scream, so overcome with pleasure that it hurts. “This is where you are meant to be, darling, make no mistake in believing that. My bride, my love.”

My woman, he thinks gleefully, watching how your face scrunches up. Your eyebrows furrow and your mouth press together in a tight line, and it is the most beautiful sight.

My woman, made for me. Made for my love and protection and seed…

Goosebumps prickle along your arms as wet sounds echo across the chamber, followed by a strew of whimpers and moans. It sounds so dirty, so sinful and wrong that you pray to whichever god was listening in that no one would overhear such, especially your parents and siblings. Your father would have Aemond’s head, no doubt, and your older brother might rob him of his only other good eye.

“Oh, fuck…” you moan, flinging your head back, “-don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

A minute or so later, your vision blackens, the room spins, and your jaw slacks as you cum plenty around his fingers, all with such a high-pitched shriek that Aemond slaps a hand over your mouth to muffle the noise. “What did I say? Stay quiet!” he hisses before chuckling, smearing the mess around your folds while you make an attempt to catch your breath. “Very good, my love. You did so well for me.”

He brings a finger to his mouth, to suck at the taste. “Your taste is heavenly,” he moans, swirling his tongue around it. He then brings two to your mouth, swiping at the tiny bit of drool pooling before stuffing them in. “Suck. Taste yourself now.”

“Dirty girl,” Aemond hums, a smirk curving on his lips as he watches the way you lick and suck at his fingers. “You are digging a grave too deep to escape, darling.”

Ruin me, you want to say. If I’m to die, I rather it be in your hands than anyone else’s…

He lays you back down on the bed next, making sure your head rests comfortably against the pillows. Ten years, Aemond reminds himself. Ten fucking years. He can feel his resolve slowly weakening by the second. You’re too beautiful, too soft and womanly and perfect for him. Every fantasy he dreamt up during boyhood never claim as close as to this. “I dreamt of this for fucking years,” he admits while kissing your pink and pouty lips. “All the possible ways to take you, to fuck this pretty cunt of yours.”

Your legs wrap around his hips as he pushes his cock inside you. It is painful- undeniably painful- yet he swallows every cry and wince and moan that you give. Your fingernails dig into his skin from the terrible pain- the stretch and the sting and the weird feeling growing deep within your tummy.

“It is too much…!” you whimper against his lips. “Hurts!”

“Of course it hurts, darling, it is your first time. Every woman hurts when a man takes her first blood. But you can take it.”

“No,” you whine, trying to shove him away. “No, Aemond, it hurts too much-” But Aemond only kisses your temple, sweet and gentle and lovingly, while rocking his hips against yours. “It’ll feel so good soon, my love, trust me. I would never do anything to hurt you, not my precious and sweet girl,” he coos, leaning to rub your noses together, “-my brave girl.”

Ten years.

He could not stop, even if he wished to. No, not now that he finally has you, underneath his body and wet and ripe for his seed.

“I’ll give you our child,” he mutters beside your lips as he pinches your nipple between two fingers and keeps his thrusts hard, deep, and fast. All of it makes your face twist in a soft gasp, your body tightening as you feel that thick rush of pleasure from before, right before you creamed over his fingers.

“Take my seed and have our child. I promise to take you back to King’s Landing and marry you," he vows through ragged breaths, "and spend the rest of our lives making up for those ten years.”

“Aemond,” you pant, clutching onto his shoulders and dragging his face down for a kiss. His skin is sweaty and flushed, and he has never appeared so beautiful before. You love him. You love him so much, how did you spend ten years without seeing him? It makes no sense. You understand his woes now, clear as day, and you want to rid of them forever.

“I love you! I love you, I love you, make me your wife, please. Please!”

He feels your cunt tightening around his cock, and he is ready to give you everything: his heart, his soul, and his seed.

Come the morning, his son will be swelling within your belly, and he will have you seated atop Vhagar, flying back to the Keep to make you his wife, in both the eyes of the gods and the laws of the land.

The next day, at dawning, Rhaenyra Targaryen’s only daughter does not join her family to break fast together. Her three half-brothers and two half-sisters raise eyebrows as they munch quietly on their meals but keep silent, all until little Joffrey asks where his older sister might be. Rhaenyra does not know, and neither do the houseguards, the men of the small council, and the maesters, and it worries her greatly.

Her husband, though, is quick to remind her that the princess- ever their trueborn child- enjoys morning rides on dragonback. “Give her a few hours and she will surely return with a new story to tell us,” Daemon says, while sipping on his wine.

But a few hours turn into the rest of the day, and soon evening creeps by.

A raven arrives from King’s Landing, bearing the family a note:

“I’ve taken what was owed to me. Such a pity you all forgot that what was mine is still mine, regardless of time.”

[jooniperbonsai]

Thanks for the Sub (ksj) | Chapter Four

Pairing: Camboy!Seokjin x Gamer!Reader (afab)

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 19.5k

Release date: June 11, 2024

Genre: Smut, fluff, angst, camboy au, gamer au, comedy, crack, slow burn, coworkers/boss/friends to lovers, an exploration of adults in their late 20s/early 30s

Summary: As you spend more time with Seokjin, the threads seem to be even more tangled than before. Memories of the past threaten to ruin everything that the two of you have. Are you sure this is what you really want anyway?

Chapter Warnings (Oh god bear with me in this): angst, miscommunication (sorry sorry sorry we need it for the plot), cursing, alcohol, insecurity and self doubt, sexual harassment online and offline, pet names, fat!reader (we love to see it), sexual fantasies in the form of oral sex/face riding, Seokjin gets hard like 3 times (pretend to be shocked), masturbation, references to menstruation and first time sexual fantasies/masturbation, lingerie, sex toys, boundaries & lack of boundaries, references to poorly written novels (derogatory), verbal abuse from family members, gaslighting

a/n: Hi. I know it's been a while. Thank you for your patience. This week especially has been rough as my family lost one of our pet cats unexpectedly, but I wanted to put my best foot forward and share this chapter with y'all to enjoy our Seokjin's return! I hope you enjoy this chapter and that its length will tide you over. I have a special festa treat planned with another chapter for y'all this week, and I promise it'll have been worth the wait. Enjoy! -h

SpringDay: He didn’t leave a note

Wonu15: Was he supposed to?

SpringDay: No, but…idk

Wonu15: Then why are you upset if that wasn’t in your agreement

SpringDay: IDK!!!!!! Because we talked about things? At least, a little bit? And he saw me cry and he held me. 

Wonu15: But did you ask him to stay the night? Did you ask him to leave you a note? 

SpringDay: No

Wonu15: Well

SpringDay: I know!!!! I get it!!!

Wonu15: Maybe you should tell him

Wonu15: That you’re in love with him

SpringDay: Fuck you

“Ugh!” You exit your chat app and toss your phone across the covers as you roll over in your bed, inhaling the pillow that now smells of Seokjin. 

He was here. Last night. He held you in his lap on your bed. He moved your furniture around for you. He stayed until you fell asleep. And even after that for a bit longer. You’d felt a chill, possibly as he left the bed, and it was enough to wake you. 

It was still dark, but the sun was creeping in slowly. Enough that you could see his slightly mussed hair sticking up in the back, a yawn escaping him with a sigh as he idled in the doorway, almost like he was hesitating before he left. 

If you didn’t know any better, you would think you dreamed it all up, but as soon as you heard the door click shut behind him, you found yourself curling around that warm spot in your sheets and falling back asleep. 

And that’s where you’ve been for most of the day, savoring the feeling of him in your bed or standing in the kitchen slightly hungover as you finished off the rest of last night’s pizza. You’ve apologized to your followers for skipping last night’s stream, promising that you’ll make up for it tonight. 

Your stomach clenches a bit at the idea of an encore performance from the last time you were live. Maybe Seokjin could come over and hang around while you get started? At least for a little bit?

He probably has better things to do than hang around your place. 

True. You had monopolized so much of his time last night, and it didn’t even amount to an actual stream. It’s selfish to assume he has nothing better to do than to sit around and monitor you to make sure you don’t succumb to peer pressure. 

You need to be an adult and do this on your own. 

With a sigh, you hoist yourself up out of bed and over to your computer. Everything you went over yesterday feels like a blur. At this point, you’re not entirely sure what you’re supposed to do. You remember he mentioned something about utilizing wishlists as a monetary solution to some of the more unhinged followers. 

If they have money to spend, let them spend it. But don’t compromise your morals to do so. 

Is that something he encounters often? It has to be. You wonder what streaming was like for Seokjin at first, all the ways he compromised himself for his followers. Is the dominant persona he exudes even authentic? What if he’s more submissive or even plain vanilla and just doing all this for the money? 

You can’t say you’d blame him. That last stream had you feeling as though you were sitting on the blade of a knife as you debated what the extra cut of money could bring you. Your heartbeat pounds more heavily in your chest, a few beats feeling like they’re piercing into your throat. 

It feels awful to know the way money has made you so powerless. And now here you are, about to force yourself onto a stream for some extra bucks in this month’s payout. 

How does Seokjin do it, really? You don’t want to pressure him into talking about it. Not when you two aren’t intimate like that. But you can’t help but wonder why and how streaming, much less streaming sex, doesn’t tear him apart each time. 

You wish you could ask him.  

Your reminder on your phone alerts you and you groan, forcing yourself away from the desktop and into the bathroom to shower. In your hamper, you spot Seokjin’s pink button down that he’d lent you last night. 

It felt like a piece of armor then, shrouding you from the chill of anxiety. Even now, as you lift it up to your nose, that comforting and fresh smell of his detergent begins to settle the sourness of your gut. 

Maybe you could do this alone, after all. Just, with a little encouragement from a friend. 

“You’re a fucking idiot,” someone said.

“I am not!” Another voice. A deeper one.

“You asked her if she wanted to fuck!”

“I did not! I asked if she wanted to come over and eat ramyeon! That’s all that it means!”

“No, no hyung, he’s right. That’s not at all what it means.” 

Words. Seokjin was hearing them flurry around him, picking up the tail end of whatever story Namjoon was telling the group. But he wasn’t really listening. He was too tired. He had napped for about an hour in his office earlier, though it was unintentional. He was sitting at his desk, placing a produce order when he felt one of his eyelids shut. Then the other. The next thing he knew, someone was banging on the door saying the register was jammed and they needed the key. 

He had left your apartment late. Right when the sun was beginning to rise. And he probably wouldn’t have even left then if it wasn’t for the fact that you finally had rolled off of him after about an hour of you sleeping heavily on his chest. 

You talk in your sleep, he learned. Not a lot, but in little murmurs, usually yes or no spilling out of your mouth with ease. He was grateful for them, because otherwise he would have fallen asleep with your body slotted against him perfectly, the weight of your head and arm on him just enough to tumble him into a state of safety. 

Both too late and too soon, you moved, rolled onto your other side. And then Seokjin left. 

He debated leaving a note so you would know he wasn’t bailing, going so far as to find a pen and notepad from the kitchen fridge to write on, but then he knocked sense into himself. Notes were for people who left after hookups when unsure whether or not they were welcome to stay the whole night. You’d invited him over, sure, but as friends. You would have of course expected him to leave after you fell asleep, as that was the agreement. Right? 

Seokjin had danced around your living room for ten minutes, pacing back and forth, looking like a crazy detective searching for clues. What would he even say in it? If he left one would you think that he’d expected you guys to have sex? 

So he didn’t, he tossed the notepad on the side table as he grabbed his things, aware now that his button down had gone missing since you changed into your pajamas, but he didn’t have time to look for it, and didn’t want to further snoop through your stuff to reclaim it. 

By the time he left, the sun was up, and he had just enough time to rush the few blocks to work. Besides that nap, he hadn’t slept at all last night. 

And now he was on Jungkook and Taehyung’s couch, a beer magically in his hand that he didn’t remember getting while his friends apparently talked about…ramyeon? 

“–clearly your fault you choose to pretend you’re so old and stay out of touch. Seokjin-hyung knows what that means, don’t you hyung?” 

Who was talking to him? He grunted, hoping whoever it was would let that be enough of an answer. 

“Hyung?” Jungkook. That’s who was talking to him. 

Seokjin blinked. His contacts felt like sandpaper in his eyes. 

“Don’t bother with him. He hasn’t had a single sip of that beer since he got here and has been zoned out staring at that wall for about thirty minutes,” Yoongi said, moving from Seokjin’s periphery into full view. 

“Are you okay?” Namjoon asked gently, clearly concerned but also possibly using this moment to help redirect whatever teasing he was facing. 

“Just tired,” Seokjin responded. 

“Oh yeah, you had to work today. And you were at Y/N’s to help her with her stream last night, right? How did that go by the way?” Jimin asked. 

“What stream?” Seokjin asked, confused. And then he remembered. That was the whole point he had gone over there in the first place. 

“Um, you know, the one that you went to her place for?” Jimin’s eyebrows knit together. The rest of the group craned their heads in Seokjin’s direction, curious.

“She, um, she didn’t end up streaming.”

“Then, what time did you leave?” A broken, awkward silence fell over his friends as Seokjin shifted in his seat. 

It suddenly felt oppressively warm in here, and heat creeped up his neck as he tried to string words together. 

“I think like…7?” 

“So you got there, only to turn around and leave? So why didn’t you sleep last night? You look like shit,” Taehyung added unhelpfully. 

Yoongi rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. “Is everyone really this clueless today or are you all fucking with me?”

He pushed himself up from the beat-up leather armchair, his usual space during their hangouts and sauntered over to the small bar Taehyung and Jungkook had right off the dining area. He took his time, uncapping the bottle of whiskey Seokjin presumed they kept mostly for Yoongi’s benefit, and filled one of the highball glasses left out for him. 

Once Yoongi started drinking whiskey, everyone knew to prepare themselves for an evening of his contemplative and sometimes unfiltered ranting. This was when his self-proclaimed ADHD seemed to shine best. 

“Honestly, you guys still don’t see it do you.” 

“See what exactly?” Seokjin asked, finally awake enough to formulate sentences. 

Yoongi studied his glass for a moment and in a final decision plucked the entire bottle from the bar and brought it back to his group of friends. He groaned as he sat back in the chair, like it was painful to do so on his bones, like he was the age of Seokjin's father and not merely thirty. 

Yoongi knocked back his first glass of the whiskey, smacking his lips afterward. 

In the corner of his eye, Seokjin saw Jimin roll his in annoyance. 

“Can we get to the point?” He asked. 

Yoongi shot him a look, and then placed the glass down on the coffee table. 

“First of all, Taehyung-ah, he didn’t leave early. Hyung here left late. As in this morning. He was obviously out all night.”

Namjoon snorted. “Hyung, this isn’t a detective drama. We all kind of figured.” 

“I didn’t,” Taehyung objected.

“We know,” Namjoon chuckled and turned his attention back to Yoongi. “Ok, oh wise one, what is it that we all seem to be missing?”

Yoongi pouted, but he recovered his dramatic flair. It was something everyone knew to give him the space to perform, the odd pause in his quiet nature usually a sign that he needed attention and didn’t know how to ask. 

“Well, when you put it that way, maybe I won’t say.” A slight smirk cracked through Yoongi’s façade. 

“Did you guys sleep together or something?” Hoseok blurted, which had an immediate rush of blood to Seokjin’s head as he flooded with embarrassment. 

“No! God, no we didn’t!” He didn’t want to mention that yes, technically you slept with him, just not in that way. 

“Pfft, relax. Of course he didn’t. You think this guy will be looking all mopey after he finally gets laid again? No, he’s going to have that stupid dopey grin he always had with…you know,” Yoongi recovered the attention of the room, Soon Yi’s name unsaid but stirring a bit of unease among his friends. Yoongi and her had been particularly close during the period of Seokjin and her dating, having been his roommate for quite some time. He’d learned to weave his life around Soon Yi’s presence, over time warming up to her during the days he returned from class to find her studying on Seokjin’s bed and waiting for him to come home. Since the breakup, he’s always refused to say her name. 

“Ah, the dopey grin, I almost forgot about that.” Jimin’s warm voice filled in the gaps where Yoongi’s sudden coldness cast, sitting himself on the edge of the leather armchair as he plucked the glass of whiskey Yoongi had just poured from his hands and gulped it down. 

Yoongi glared at Jimin, but it faded quickly as Jimin winked back at him. He was clearly trying to lighten the mood, and Yoongi took the bait, softening back into Jimin’s outreached arm that began rubbing circles down his back. 

“I’m right here,” Seokjin said lamely, but his friends ignored him. He put the beer up to his lips and let it flood into his mouth. It was warm. Gross. 

“Do you think he’s going to start doing that thing again where he’s late for everything because he’s too busy having sex with Y/N all the time to manage his time better? Because that was annoying,” Jungkook complained. 

Seokjin spluttered, choking on the beer. “Wh-what?!”

Everyone laughed, including Namjoon, who gave Seokjin a sympathetic look. “I think now that he streams all the time, his time management skills have improved.”

“Besides, it seemed more like it was Soon Yi who was causing that issue. She was chronically late for everything. Is Y/N late for things?” Hoseok added. 

Seokjin blinked. How did this conversation even get to this point? 

“What the fuck is going on?” He asked, exasperated. 

Yoongi chuckled, stepping back into his guiding elder persona with ease. “You’re down bad for Y/N, obviously. We are just trying to be supportive.” 

“I am not!” He argued, the heat of embarrassment now turning into anger. 

“You are too,” Taehyung argued. “I’ve seen you at work with her a few times. You are always staring at her like she’s the most delicious thing you’d ever eat. You want her so bad, hyung.” 

Seokjin glared at Taehyung. “Just because I look at her sometimes doesn’t mean I am in love with her.” 

“Okay Namjoon, I take it back. You’re not a fucking idiot. Or maybe you still are, but Jin-hyung takes the cake as the biggest fucking idiot here.” Hoseok said, a humorless laugh flying from his chest. “Wow. No one said you’re in love with her.”

Seokjin’s face flushed. 

“Aww, don’t be embarrassed hyung!” 

“Yeah, you don’t have to tell us all your secrets.”

“Did you have sex though?”

“Taehyung-ah!”

“What? You’re the one who asked in the first place!” 

“So?”

“So, I know you’re curious too. I want to know which one of his porn star moves he pulled out of hiding. Did he Full Nelson her or was it purely missionary? Nah, nah, he’s too dirty for that. Hyung, did you Full Nelson her?”

“Wait, what’s a Full Nelson?”

“It’s a wrestling move,” Namjoon said.

“It’s a sex thing!”

“No. You’re making that up!”

“Hyung, is that a sex thing?”

“Yah! Shut up!” Yoongi said, and four pairs of eyebrows shot up as Namjoon, Hoseok, Taehyung, and Jungkook broke away from their conversation to come back down to Earth. 

Seokjin’s hands were sweaty and he jostled his leg anxiously as his friends composed themselves. 

“Sorry,” Taehyung mumbled. 

Jimin sighed, finally pulling his hand away from Yoongi’s back. 

“Maybe we should let Seokjin-hyung speak,” he suggested, gesturing to his anxious friend. 

Everyone nodded sheepishly. 

Seokjin took a deep breath, not even sure where to begin. 

“Well, I…First of all, Y/N and I really didn’t have sex. She had a panic attack over the possibility of me being gay for some reason. Er, well not me being gay but asking the question. And that seemed to be something for her that opened the floodgates to an entire larger panic attack. So, after I cooked us jeon, we just kinda hung out and ditched the idea of the stream. And then, she did fall asleep on me for a bit.” 

The memory of you this morning flooded his thoughts, how your hair skimming across his arms as you shifted your head gave him goosebumps. Or that your scent had invaded his clothes, his nose, so much so that he could just picture you and the soft, sweet smell would manifest around him. 

“Oh, oh hyung.” 

“Don’t look at me like that!” Seokjin shrieked as Jimin frowned. 

His friends all sat quietly, sipping their drinks. Taehyung awkwardly stood up, stating he needed to use the bathroom before he exited the room. 

“When did it start getting this serious for you?” Namjoon asked. 

Seokjin’s eyebrows knit together. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We aren’t serious. We aren’t even together.” 

“He means when did you start having feelings for her hyung? I know we said that none of us were accusing you of being in love with her, but are you sure that it’s just about sex, or friendship, or whatever it is you keep saying it is?”

Love. That word felt like fire in his brain. He couldn’t possibly love you. Not when he barely knew you. Not when he only just stood in your apartment for the first time, saw you asleep on him. What Seokjin knew about love was something faded and dusty, shoved under his bed in an old shoebox and hard to name. It had been so long since he felt the early feelings of life with Soon Yi.

Soon Yi. That was love, wasn’t it? The hot poker of constant chaos, being whisked away from one thing to another with pleasure and delight. Wasn’t that supposed to be what love was? He remembered ripping apart magazines with her in her dorm room to make a large collage that she created from top to bottom. All the colors swirling around them as they shredded page after page and refit together. Things clashed, patterns divided themselves into a kaleidoscope around her room. That was how Soon Yi was. A kaleidoscope of every color Seokjin had ever thought imaginable. 

And she was like that for him too, when she laid underneath him that night, her body wrapped around his in every way imaginable, thrown from the bed to the floor as they christened every surface of that space imaginable. 

With you, things weren’t able to be defined by colors. Instead, all Seokjin knew was that the heaviness and the intensity of first love wasn’t at all how he experienced you. No, you were like a fire that ignited in him, and he knew it. Scorched away every faded bit of that box under the bed and licked your flame along every part of him. 

The way he so easily complied with you last night, despite the fact that he knew it would be bad for you both to be so close. Letting you lie on him while he sat there hard just by breathing in your sweetness. How his body responded like this was some first love despite the fact that it wasn’t, and he found himself changing the rules of his life every single time a sigh left your lips. That couldn’t be love, only fascination, only primal, sexual curiosity. 

He’d admit his crush, but love? There was no way this could be it. 

“No,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m…I’m not in love with her.”

“But–” Jungkook began, but Jimin silenced him with a look. 

“No,” he repeated. “I’m not in love with her. I have a crush. And we’re friends. And yeah, I am really really ‘down bad’ for her like Yoongi said. But it’s not like that.” 

Jungkook rubbed his eyes with the back of his fists, sighing in clear frustration. 

“Alright, hyung,” Jimin said gently. “Alright.” 

Just then, Seokjin’s phone pinged, and his heart plunged right into his stomach. 

You were live? Now? Without him there? 

That wasn’t in your agreement anyway. You agreed to help her stream. You helped her. Now she doesn’t need you. 

That little bit of knowledge felt like a twisted knife, but he ignored it anyway, rapidly tapping the alert on his phone that led him to the app. 

“What’s that about?” Hoseok asked. 

His other friends repeated the question, filling the room with a hum of curiosity. 

“Shut up!” he snapped, clicking the side button to turn up the volume. 

“–and yeah sorry about not streaming last night. Time kind of slipped away from me. But I plan on making it up to you guys, I promise.” Your voice echoed throughout the living room, hushing Seokjin’s friends as they hunched forward to see what was the cause of his sudden irritation. 

“Is that…?” Yoongi began. 

“Yes,” Taehyung said as he waltzed back into the room, patting his damp hands on the back of his pants. “That’s her.” 

“Oh, oh okay I get it now,” Namjoon said. “Leave it to hyung to be down bad for someone who dresses just like him.” 

What? Seokjin squinted at the screen, taking in your appearance: your hair was loosely curled around your face, some juicy pink lip gloss that he knew tasted like strawberries (he’d smelled it on you before) glazing your mouth, and a black lace bustier that was barely being covered by a pink linen button down was peeking out. One that looked exactly like the one he was wearing last night.

“Because that is my shirt,” he replied, dazed. 

“What?” Jimin said, hurling himself across the coffee table and yanking the phone from Seokjin’s hands. 

Jungkook followed behind Jimin, resting his chin on his friend’s shoulder as he squinted at you on the screen. “Can we make it any bigger? I can’t see shit from here.” 

“No!” Seokjin protested, but it was clear he wouldn’t win this argument. 

“Wait, why does she have your shirt?” Yoongi asked as Jimin and Jungkook fumbled with the television setup to cast the stream. 

Seokjin glared at his friend. Hoseok laughed, sliding into the spot next to him and offering him some shrimp chips. 

“Who cares? The better question is why is she wearing it on her live stream over her lingerie?” 

“Ah, true.” 

Yoongi turned to Seokjin expectantly, like he would somehow know the reason. Honestly, he wondered the same. 

You weren’t ready for this. You two had barely covered the basics yesterday. Why were you streaming when the arrangement was between the two of you to do this together? Did you just not want his help anymore? Or did all the talking and your panic attack yesterday make you rethink things?

What if you had really wanted him to leave last night or your emotions got the best of you and you regretted everything? Seokjin could feel the spiral of his thoughts starting to unwind as he tried to figure out what the explanation for this stream was. 

“A-ha! Ok, we got it,” Jimin said as he clicked through the series of menu permissions to cast a larger version of you onto the screen. 

You were reading your comments, lightly gnawing on your lip. Nerves, he realized. 

“Oh, uh, yeah, we can play the same game as last time. We didn’t quite finish, did we?” You said, rolling your neck and flexing your shoulders. As you did, your breasts thrust further toward the camera, plush skin Seokjin dreamt of shoving his face into so many times now fully on display for all his friends. 

“Oh, fuck,” Jungkook said from somewhere in the room. Seokjin had no clue. He couldn’t break his gaze as you giggled at something in your comments. He felt heat head south from his face. 

“Jesus hyung.” Hoseok said. “I don’t know how you get through a workday with her without getting hard.” 

“He doesn’t,” Taehyung added unhelpfully. 

He heard the air behind him shift, before a soft thwack and Taehyung’s responding groan informed him that someone had thrown a pillow at him. 

“Okay, so new rules,” you said.“From now on, if any of you say something super perverted, you’ll be unable to comment until the next stream. I’ll have my mods ban you from commenting. The only way you can get on my good side again and get yourself unbanned during a stream is if you fulfill something off of my wish list I added. You can type #springwishes and see all I’ve put on there. Sound good?” You smirked at your camera, a little bite of confidence spreading through you. 

Seokjin’s chest clenched, a tiny bit of relief washing over him as he saw you get your bearings, the comments spamming that hashtag for the link to your wishlist, which he’d advised you to make as a form of incentive and distraction during moments when you felt overwhelmed. If people were getting into deep waters with a topic, you could always redirect to the wishlist, making it more of a prize for your viewers to partake in versus punishment. 

“Alright, so let’s do this,” you said. “Game on.”

Maybe he was overreacting. In the last hour he and his friends spent intently watching your stream, you seemed to navigate your chat a little more with ease, or at least with redirection. 

Yoongi had nodded off in his chair despite the earth-shattering moans your game was crying out as you tripped different combos. You were getting better at the game, and as you finished another level that gave you the prize of some more very not safe for work photos by your “girls”, a heavy yawn escaped through your lips. 

Maybe you didn’t need his help after all. For what it’s worth, you seemed to be settling in comfortably to your performance aspect of the role, sometimes twirling bits of hair in your fingers, earning yourself half a dozen new subs and a few new things from your wishlist. 

“Wow, we’re making good progress,” you said, reaching for your water bottle and pouting at your screen as you sipped from the straw. 

The comments had become more mild during the game when you were fully immersed. Seokjin had been monitoring them closely, seeing your mod Wonwoo diligently screening spam out of the comments. 

But now that your attention had shifted, they were being flooded once more with people vying for your attention. 

Str3amballzak: Wanna fuk those tits

(Str3amballzak has been banned from the chat room)

Lickemup: sit on my face

(Lickemup has been banned from the chat room)

“And so it begins,” you said sarcastically, sipping more water from your straw as you switched your camera view to just you instead of the game. 

(Str3amballzak has fulfilled wish list item number 7: new streaming headphones)

Str3amballzak: worth it

“You guys are working hard at getting yourself permanently banned,” you said, rolling your eyes. “But thanks I guess.” 

Str3amballzak: ur welcome baby

Str3amballzak: ever do private streams?

“No, I don’t do private streams Mr. Ball Sack. Or Ball Zak? Anyway, do you want to go in time out again?” 

Str3amballzak: fine ill behave. 

Str3amballzak: daddy just wants to spoil u

Str3amballzak: u should put some other toys on that wish list ;) 

Heat flooded Seokjin’s face as he read the chat messages fluttering by. This was going south quickly. 

“Not your baby,” you said with a scoff. “And no thanks daddy. I’m good.”

“God, these dudes are gross. Is this the same kind of comments you get, Seokjin-hyung?” Jungkook asked. 

“At first, kind of. But not much anymore. On occasion someone will try to dom me from the chat, but there’s a tip feature for that,’ he responded, eyebrows furrowed as he studied your face for any discomfort. Annoyance, sure, but you could handle that. His hands still hovered over his phone, ready to intervene in a moment’s notice.  

(Lickemup has fulfilled wishlist item number 3: electric kettle)

Lickemup: something to keep you warm if it’s not my tongue in your pussy 

(Lickemup has been banned from the chat room)

(Lickemup has fulfilled wishlist item number 0: mystery gift)

Lickemup: loophole? 

“Oh,” you said, eyes going wide. “I…I didn’t know that was an option.” 

Seokjin didn’t either. And he certainly didn’t know what a “mystery gift” was. What he did know was that this wishlist would mail you anything without giving away your address. But that meant it could be anything. 

Uh oh. 

User27271: wanna cum on your face 

(User27271 has been banned from the chatroom)

(User27271 has fulfilled wish list item number 0: mystery gift)

User27271: hope you like pet play 

(User27271 has been banned from the chat room)

User8008s: stroking my dick to your pretty face rn

(User8008s has been banned from the chatroom)

(User8008s has fulfilled wish list item number 0: mystery gift)

User8008s: 💦

“Jesus Christ, guys,” you said weakly as the chaos of the loophole began to take over your chat, dozens more accounts flooding the comments to do the work around, plunging into the raunchiest of comments before being banned, then fulfilling some mystery gift before being banned again, this time for good. Seokjin looked at the view counter in the corner. It was rising exponentially. 

He could see how quickly your control was leaving you, the glassiness of your eyes and shakiness of your voice as you fought to reel in your chat leading you toward the verge of a breakdown. 

“Is there any way to turn that feature off?” Jungkook asked helplessly, his eyes wide as another onslaught of cyber attacks began.

“I don’t know, I didn’t even know it had this option,” Seokjin said, his voice tight as he helplessly watched you begin to shrink away from the spotlight he had spent hours with you yesterday practicing to do the exact opposite in. 

You pulled the shirt tighter across your body, and that seemed to spring him into action: you there in his shirt, this chaotic chat undoing the work you’d done in a matter of minutes. Fuck those people. 

“There has to be something we can do,” Jimin said, and Namjoon whipped out his phone, searching up the parameters of the wish list site you had used. 

“Tell her to just have her mods turn the entire feature off in the meantime,” Hoseok said, tapping his foot anxiously. 

Seokjin nodded, typing the message into the chat box. 

JokeJinSeokjin: Turn off your the gifting feature

But his comment was lost in the slew of the chat. He knew there was no way you would see it. 

“She definitely isn’t going to see that!” Taehyung groaned. 

“Call her, hyung. You have her number,” Yoongi said, his voice gravelly from just waking up. 

Right, a phone call. He could do that. 

Seokjin opened his contact list and dialed your number. He knew you kept your phone on silent during your stream, but in a moment of luck, you looked down, where he assumed your phone was at and hastily pressed the accept call button. 

“Hello?” Your voice sounded like a wild echo through the TV; the sound delay was just enough to warp you. 

Seokjin stood and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He didn’t even bother turning on the light, something about the isolation away from his friends and the darkness feeling like a comfort, like you two were in your own little world and not being put on blast in front of thousands. 

“Turn off your chat commands. Now,” he ordered. 

“Oh, uh, I don’t know how,” you said, then groaned. “Guys please I don’t want any of this. Get it the fuck together.” You paused. “What do you mean who am I talking to on the phone? It’s none of your goddamn business.” 

“Y/N,” Seokjin warned. You needed to stop engaging. 

“I know! I know, okay?” you snapped, and Seokjin nodded, even though you couldn’t see him. You took a shaky breath after a moment. “Are you watching?”

“I was but I needed my phone to call you so I’m not right now. Why? Is something happening?”

“No it’s just–never mind. I have set myself on away and muted so I can unlink this option. Wonwoo is turning off the chat completely for me.” 

“Good,” he responded and opened a browser window, typing in his query. “Okay I looked it up and you need to click the right toggle in your stream settings and scroll down until you see ‘outside links’ and then–”

“Slower, please!” You said exasperated. 

“You can always turn the whole stream off,” he said gently and you huffed in response. 

You paused for a beat. “I don’t want to. I was fine before this whole thing started. I want to do this.” You sounded like you were on the verge of crying. He knew this meant a lot to you. So much of the first few stream’s success determines your future. He knew this. Saw it happen in his own online presence. If you lost a lot of followers tonight, you’d probably not regain them. And then your payout at the end of the month would be a fraction of what you were receiving. 

“Okay. Yes. Then let’s take a deep breath,” he said, taking a deep breath of his own for you to follow. He heard the soft inhale through the receiver, and smirked. 

“Now let’s get you all set up. See that toggle on the right?” 

You hummed a response. “I think so.” 

“Okay, now go down. You see the external link options?” 

A pause. “Can’t you just do it for me?” You whined and Seokjin laughed. 

“I could but I’m across town at a friend’s house. It would be easy if you do it yourself.” 

He wanted to kick himself for saying that. Because he would be out the door in a heartbeat, would Uber or sprint toward you. But by the time he got there, it would be too late. Too much chaos was happening at once, and this needed to stop now.  

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to keep you—“ 

Seokjin clicked his tongue. “None of that, now. Focus.” 

If he did show up at your house to help, he also knows what would happen next. After the momentary panic was over, you would be pissed that you didn’t handle things on your own. At work, however big the mess, you were always insistent on doing it yourself. Here was no exception. 

After a few clicks he heard a gasp. “Got it!” 

“Good job, princess. You did well.” 

“Oh…thank you. Not without your help though,” you said meekly.

He knew you were running out of time. In a few minutes, you’d be back to kick ass in your stream, and life would go on. So he chose his next few words carefully. 

“I thought you wanted me to be there for your first stream.”

“I..well…I did, but I felt guilty and like I had to stream tonight. I didn’t want to bother you, but it looks like I did that anyway, huh?” 

“You’re not bothering me, ever. You asked for my help with this.” 

“And you did! You helped so much.”

An awkward silence fell between you two as Seokjin thought. He exhaled roughly.  

“So, what now? Are you just trying to get rid of me or something? Did I do something wrong?” His voice shook, the hurt he tried to conceal penetrated through the evenness of his tone. 

“No! No it’s not like that,” you said quickly. “I just, I feel like I had to.”

“Had to what?”

“Stream. I felt bad and like I owed it to them today.”

“Why?”

“I…I don’t know really,” you said softly. “Because I’m desperate for the cash. And that sounds awful I know. But I want to make sure that when summer term comes around, I am ready for it financially. And my parents have been calling me a lot and I just…I’m sorry. Are you mad at me?”

He could hear the edge of your voice as you got more worked up, your last word cracking slightly like you were trying not to cry. 

“No, no I’m not mad, Y/N.” 

“Are you sure? Because I know you are helping and you already are spending time with me and it’s not like you don’t have other things to take care of! Like you had to work this morning and I got a text from Mino saying he caught you asleep in your office snoring. I didn’t tell him it was because of me, but god, if I could get this shit together, your services wouldn’t be necessary.”

“I’m not mad. Really, I think you’re trying to find reasons for me to be mad at you but I’m not. And don’t worry about my sleep schedule. It was one night out. I’m not that old for one night not sleeping in my bed to ruin my entire life.”

You hummed in response. 

“Listen, Y/N, I chose to stay out all night knowing I had to open today. You might be persuasive but you aren’t that good to manipulate me into anything. I was there because I wanted to be there. Okay?”

You hummed again. 

“I need some kind of verbal acknowledgement other than ‘hmm’.”

“Sorry. Okay.” 

“Okay what?”

“I was listening!”

“I know you were, that’s not why I’m asking.”

You sighed. “Fine, okay I am not manipulating you. You wanted to be here.” You paused. “Seokjin?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t know if I can go back.. Like, what do I do? I’ve already been gone for ten minutes and Wonwoo is blowing up my texts and…” Your voice broke, and he could hear the quiet sound of you crying. 

“Hey, breathe, princess. It’s okay. You can always just turn your computer off. The people watching were assholes.”

“Not all of them,” you muttered back. “God what is wrong with me?”

Seokjin turned on the light to the bathroom. His clothes were crumpled, heavy circles under his puffy eyes and disheveled hair making him look like some washed up finance guy. Honestly, he looked a lot like how he used to back when he did work in finance. 

“Nothing is wrong with you, and you know it. You’re perfect. A mess, and really bad at remembering to put the pickled radishes back in the fridge when you’re done with them, but that’s still pretty great all things considered.”

He heard a chuckle on the other end. “Yeah, I’m such a winner. Ugh, I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to do.” 

“Let me help, then,” he offered.

You took a deep breath. “Okay, what do I do?”

He chuckled. “I’m not going to decide that for you. That’s something you need to figure out. But, I’ll give you a few options. First, you can just shut your computer down completely and not apologize, not explain yourself. Your chat and any good subscribers that you actually want to have around will understand. You’re forgetting that there were thousands of people watching, and the loudest ones were the trolls, but they weren’t the only ones there.

“The other option,” Seokjin cleared his throat. “Is that you can go back out there, finish the stream, leave your comments off, and do what you want to do. I can’t guarantee it’ll be as lucrative but you will at least won’t be engaging with those idiots anyway.”

He let you mull it over, opening the medicine cabinet and rifling through his friends’ things. Eyedrops, god, his eyes were on fire from these contact lenses. He had a pair of glasses in his work bag, but they were a little old and frankly kind of stupid looking. 

“Okay, I think…I think I want to try again. And like you said, I’ll keep the comments off this time.”

“That’s my girl,” Seokjin sighed as he squirted some solution into his burning eyes. Then he paused. “I mean, uh, you know. Good job.” 

You chuckled on the other end. God he really needed to monitor himself better. Something about his conversations with you were becoming less careful by the hour. 

“Thanks, I know what you meant. And thank you again.”

You paused again. “Is there something wrong, Y/N?” Seokjin asked. 

“Well, it’s just. I want to do this, I do. But I’m not. God I don’t know, it's like I’m frozen in place. I just feel like there’s so many things I need you to show me before I get good at this.”

“Like what?” 

“I don’t know. How to be sexy without ruining my career, how to just dust everything off and get back out there. That’s what you do all the time! With uh, with work and everything.”

Seokjin chuckled a little. Dusting things off was hardly something he was good at, but he did know how important it was to get back out there. He wasn’t quite sure what you’d meant in relation to work since that wasn’t really a space for it, but that wasn’t his focus. Instead it was on something else. 

“You…think I’m sexy?”

“Oh, uh…yeah duh. Don’t let it go to your head though, everyone thinks that.”

Seokjin could think of quite a few people who didn’t think that, actually. 

“Fine, fine, I’ll let it slide. And you’re right, it is important to just dust things off and move on. But that’s just one thing that I want to show you. There’s so many other things for you to learn.”

So many things. He felt proud knowing that you were doing this on your own, even after this hiccup; it meant that you were doing exactly what he’d tried to teach you yesterday. Even if you faltered once. It was impressive. And he couldn’t help but think of how much you were going to grow from this experience, how many doors it opened up for you, for both of you to forge a stronger connection. He wanted to show you all sorts of things, not just with streaming, but with him. How after seeing your apartment and couch with a dent in it, he wanted you to create a dent in his couch as you read books from your collection. Or that even in his large chef’s kitchen he had in his luxury apartment, he could stand side-by-side next to you prepping more carrots for other foods. 

Maybe cake this time. And when you inevitably spilled ingredients all over the place like you did at work, globs of cream cheese frosting on your cheeks, he’d laugh and find it endearing as you always were, and try not to think about your tongue doing more naughty things to him as you lick it off of your fingers. How you clearly had a little stubborn bratty streak in you that liked to tease and tempt him, and without a doubt you would spend an extra long and thorough job making sure he had a front row seat to you sucking your fingers into your mouth. Just like how you knew you were sitting in that apartment of yours right now, his pink shirt wrapping around your large perfect tits. What were you wearing on the bottom of that ensemble, even? That bustier that was so goddamn tantalizing. Did it have matching panties? Were you wearing those too? He knew you well enough to know you were probably wearing some kind of jogger bottom since people didn’t get to see your fantastic ass in the camera view. 

Good. That was something Seokjin didn’t have to feel jealous of. They could get their fill of your breasts on this stream, but he knew what that soft tummy looked like, how those strong, thick thighs looked in leggings and joggers and most recently, tiny pajama shorts. Thinking back to last night, the way those hiked up your thighs to your little panty line, how soft the skin looked. Would your thighs be just as soft if they were straddling his head? He could only imagine how delicious they would look after he left little nip-marks on them, suckling the flesh just enough to hear your breathing increase, to get you shifting all needy and antsy as you got more needy and impatient. Just as he would want you so that you would rub that wet pussy right on his face and–

“Are you still there?” you said, and Seokjin’s breath caught in his chest, causing him to cough. 

“Yes, I’m sorry,” he rasped. He heard you chuckle low in response, and fuck. Something about how sexy your voice sounded had his cock throbbing. “I got, uh, distracted. What did you say?”

“Oh….uh, never mind.” You paused. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong but your voice flooded through the receiver again. “I don’t want to take you away from your friends any longer. I think I’ve got things for now, but thank you again.”

His heart sank with disappointment that absolutely should not have been there. “Ah, right. Of course. Well, then I’ll let you get back to it.”

“Um, on second thought,” you said suddenly, and his ears pricked up. “Do you…do you think you could come by just in case things get out of hand again? Do you want to? If not it’s okay but––”

“I’ll be over in thirty minutes,” he said eagerly.

Seokjin was already throwing open the bathroom door and barreling down the hall, his friends all shifting from the TV where your away message was cast and onto him. Jimin’s eyebrows raised in question. Taehyung grinned at his friend devilishly, winking and nudging Jungkook. 

“Okay,” you breathed, relieved. “Good.” 

“Good?”

 “Mhmm. See you soon.” Your voice sounded lower, huskier. If there was any ability to think anymore, he would think you were trying to sound sexy and flirty. 

“Yes, okay. See you.” As he hung up, Seokjin felt himself smiling at his phone, his heart feeling a bit fuller, more awake. 

“I’m uh, I’m going to go over there. There’s some stuff she wants me to keep an eye on,” he announced. 

He looked over at his friends. Namjoon attempted some form of polite nodding and understanding, but it quickly broke as everyone else erupted into laughter. 

“Yah! What is it now? Were you guys eavesdropping or something?” 

“We were,” Yoongi said between breaths, “but it wasn’t like you were having a particularly interesting conversation.” He dabbed tears from his eyes. 

“Except the part where you called her princess. Phew you’re whipped.” Hoseok added. 

Seokjin rolled his eyes, reaching down into the couch to find his keys that had been eaten by the cushion upon his arrival. “It just slipped out.”

“Yeah, well, you might want to take a breather before you head out, hyung.” Jungkook avoided eye contact with Seokjin, a blush rushing to his cheeks. 

“And why is that?” Seokjin asked. 

“Oh, I don’t know. Because your Big Dick Daddy boner is so incredibly obvious right now that I’m not sure it’ll be you keeping an eye on Y/N when it’s more likely she’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

Seokjin looked down and as if on cue, his dick twitched. He tried to adjust himself. His friends roared around him, even Jimin trading his careful composure in for hilarity as he threw himself to the floor. 

“Fuck you guys.” Seokjin said as he headed toward the door. 

“Not us, but maybe you tonight!” Taehyung called. “I’m sure Y/N will be singing ‘Hey Daddy’ when you walk in!” 

Seokjin was already out the door, but he could hear the first few bars of the Usher song playing, and despite himself, he smiled. 

When Seokjin arrives, you have already explained to your chat that if they want to have any privileges at all, they’ll stop being asshats. That is a boundary you can more easily create, something less wavering than the control needed to essentially domme your chat. 

You’re not a domme. Not even close. 

“Be right back,” you say to your screen, kicking on the away message. You glance at your phone. Only about twenty minutes left until you’re ready to end things. Hopefully not too long to make Seokjin wait. 

“Hey,” you say, opening the door. His dark hair is disheveled, bags under his eyes. He looks like hell. You fight the urge to immediately turn him around and send him back home. 

He’s tired but his smile is still adorable and wide as he steps into the door of your apartment, discarding his shoes. 

“Hi,” he says softly. 

“Thanks for coming. I’m going to wrap my stream up soon, but I was thinking maybe we could debrief after?” 

He nods and plops himself down on your couch like he’s been here dozens of times before, not just once. 

“Yeah, of course. I’ll just be in here if you need me.”

“Are you going to watch the stream?” You ask, suddenly feeling self conscious. It’s one thing if Seokjin watches your stream when you’re not there, but the idea of him seeing you in lingerie and playing some sexy game is kind of intimate. 

You in lingerie and his fucking shirt, that is. 

“Well, I thought about it. It’s probably the only way I can really understand what’s going on in case you need me. I’ve brought my earbuds so you don’t get feedback from the other room or have to hear your own voice delayed. So we should be good.”

The idea of earbuds does sound a little bit more practical and distancing. 

“Okay, yeah. Oh, and um, about your shirt…” Seokjin looks down from your face, scanning your body with his eyes. You feel heat lick over the places his gaze follows, down your collar bone and the curve of your hips and back up to the swell of your breasts that spill over your bustier. This is where his stare hovers for a moment, and it’s almost maddening, like he’s undressing you with his eyes. It stirs something deep in your core, pricking your nipples a bit to start becoming hard. The lace of the bustier is too thick and it’s lined to avoid exposing anything, but it doesn’t matter. 

Seokjin is looking at you like he wants to eat you, and it’s turning you on impossibly fast. 

“Keep it,” he offers after a moment, his eyes flitting away from your chest. His ears are turning slightly red. “It looks good on you.” 

“Thank you.” It’s all you can offer in response. You clasp your hands together in front of you, the soft linen of his shirt skirting around your naked thighs. The shorts you wore to bed last night were all you could find to throw on with this getup that were clean and comfortable enough for a few hours of streaming. They’re a bit too short, but you figured no one on stream would see them. 

You didn’t really consider that Seokjin would see them again, or really ever, and now you’re realizing how much skin you are showing. 

“I’ll uh, get back to it I guess,” you say and Seokjin nods, now appearing more engrossed in setting up his phone with the stream than talking to you about it or paying attention to what you’re wearing, or the lack of it. 

You scoot off to your room, shutting the door quietly behind you and sinking down into your chair. 

You hit the settings for the away message to turn off and unmute. 

“Alright, we are winding down for the night. Thanks to everyone who stayed with me to the end, I appreciate it.” 

Your comment section responds in kind, with thanks for you continuing to stream through the chaos. 

“Before I leave, though. I figured we can play a few more levels of the game. We have to make sure Candy has enough magic wands to unlock the special bonus game. Although, can I just say that picking wands was a weird choice? Don’t you normally just need one to get the job done? Why not something else, like different shaped dildos or something. Honestly, a little more variety in size and shape can’t hurt.” 

After a few seconds of delay, you hear a boom of laughter in the living room. His laughter is infectious, and it blooms a large grin on your face. 

“So here’s the plan. I’m going to unlock this bonus level tonight and then we’ll see what the hype is about during the next stream, okay?” 

The chat has calmed itself, and you’re glad you tested having it turned back on instead of totally following Seokjin’s advice earlier. Maybe his streams still function if he doesn’t have his comments on, but you know most of your royalties are given from moments of engagement; your parasocial relationship with your subscribers is based on more conversation than the actual thing you’re doing. It’s how you’ve gotten this far without being good at video games. No one seems to care when you get stuck on the same level each time if you at least have engaging conversation. 

JokeJinSeokjin: I’m hungry. Do you want me to order jjajangmyeon?   

You smirk at your screen and nod, then answer a few questions your chat has initiated. 

“Why did I decide to do a Late Night stream? I needed to change things up. You guys all started to follow me after Wonwoo’s stream and I feel like there’s only so many games I can play with the same kind of commentary before we all get sick of it.”

JokeJinSeokjin: What about mandu? The delivery minimum is way too high so we need to get something else. 

A chuckle leaves your lips and you nod again, redirecting yourself to the chat once more. Someone asks how you’re feeling about continuing streaming in this way. 

“Uhh, I would say that most of the streams so far have been a little crazy, right? It’s…doing this is hard. I’m hoping the more I do it the more things will start to chill out. I’m sorry to anyone who was offended by the comment section earlier. I didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand.”

JokeJinSeokjin: Food is ordered. Will be here in 30. 😋

Springin2Luv: @ JokeJinSeokjin who are you? I thought you didn’t have a boyfriend S.D.?

Your face heats as you prepare for the onslaught of drama this will cause, but then you’re shockingly surprised at Seokjin’s response. 

JokeJinSeokjin: Just a good friend to make sure S.D. is fed and for another stream. 

JokeJinSeokjin: Anyway 28 minutes until food time so hurry up and finish this level!

You laugh. “Well, you heard the man, let’s get back to the game.” 

Twenty eight minutes later exactly, Seokjin knocks on your door. “The food is here! I’m starving. Are you done yet?” 

You put the game on pause. “If you were watching the stream like you said you were, you would know that I’m not done with this level and am in fact stuck.” 

“Well excuse me for not staring intently and absorbing every detail when I’m this hungry. I’m going to open everything and eat it all before you!” 

“Go right ahead! You’re the one who wanted it so badly,” you call back, teasing. Though the second you finish the sentence, the warm smell of the crispy dumplings wafts into your room, Seokjin lightly creaking the door open and fanning the delivery bowl in your direction. 

He raises an eyebrow, challenging you as he takes one bite into one, mocking before his face contorts into pain. 

“Aish!!! It’s fucking HOT,” he yelps, and he drops the remaining dumpling back into the bowl, some of the green stuffing spilling throughout. 

“Well yeah, what did you expect!?”

“Not for it to be so goddamn burning hot!” He fans his tongue for good measure, and you can see even from your desk the slight red tinge some of his taste buds have taken. 

“There’s ice in the freezer. I’ll wrap this up now,” you sigh and shoo him away before turning back to your screen. “Well, you all probably heard that exchange, so I’m going to pause here. Sorry we didn’t get to beat it, but I’ll try again next time.”

You read over some of your farewell comments from your chat. But one really sticks with you. 

Babybibi: I feel like I know that voice from somewhere. 

Your stomach drops, but you remain composed, pretending you don’t recognize the comment. It never dawned on you that Seokjin’s fans could really be anywhere. Does he realize that? Is that why he safely stayed out of the camera’s reach? You’re not sure. 

By the time you have signed off, Seokjin has managed to plate both of your meals and get you drinks from the fridge. He’s plopped a throw pillow onto the floor to sit on at the beat up coffee table so you can sit in your regular couch spot. 

“I learned my lesson with that couch yesterday. It eats people.” 

“Oh yeah yeah, I know. Thank you, this looks great.” You blow on one of the mandu before popping into your mouth. Even after arriving ten minutes ago, it’s still crisp and hot. Meaning however hot it was for Seokjin must have been volcanic. “How’s your tongue?”

He pouts, sloshing some ice water around in his mouth before opening it to stick out his pink tongue. “It hawtsth,” he says with his tongue still lolled out. 

You chuckle. “Oh poor baby, do I need to kiss it and make it all better?” 

Seokjin shifts a little at the question, and you realize immediately the error in what you’ve just suggested. An image of the two of you drums up in your mind, you sucking each other’s tongues, an ice cube swapping from one mouth to the other as it melts. Nothing about this is even intimate; it’s just pure filth. And based on the matching redness in Seokjin’s ears, it’s clear his brain has gone somewhere similar. 

He finally rolls his tongue back between his plush lips and you sit awkwardly, suddenly unable to remember how to function. 

Seokjin makes the move to end the awkward pause, taking his chopsticks into his grasp and pulling out a large glob of noodles, shoveling it into his mouth. 

Right, food. Your stomach gurgles at the prospect and Seokjin raises an eyebrow at you as he chews, his eyes flashing down to your stomach. 

“Eat,” he instructs, so you do, following his commands to finish your dumpling and move on to your generous pile of noodles. 

How is he able to just push past the awkward and not have it freeze him in place the way it does with you? As you slurp your food down, you can’t help but study him, so effortlessly comfortable to sit in silence in your apartment after playing games about sex workers. 

You shouldn’t be surprised, you guess. Because Seokjin is a sex worker. He’s incredibly nonchalant about all of what you’re doing, no judgment to smudge this dynamic. 

If your old friends, or even your parents knew about you doing this, what would they think? 

Nothing good, you assume. 

It’s not that you were raised in an environment that was all helplessly ignorant about sex and bodies. You’d had sex. Your parents sat you down when you had your first period and explained every single detail about the human body and reproduction to you. It was painful and scientific, so divorced from the intimacy of what sex really is that it didn’t present itself to be much of an interest or issue until, well, you felt the first licks of desire. 

Those started as dreams. Ones where you would be heavily kissing and exploring the body of whoever you were crushing on at the time. The first one started with Wonwoo, after having spent all summer at the library memorizing the thin curve of his upper lips as he squinted to read the books in front of him. You would feel the heat of your core shifting you in your chair as you grew more intrigued, more curious about how his lips would feel on yours, what he would taste like. How his soft hands would feel if he actually held yours, not just the accidental brush when you would walk side-by-side back toward your neighborhood, where you would drop him off at the shop before slugging your way back through that sticky, angry heat that only added more to your discomfort. 

That was the first summer you started masturbating. And it was so awkward in some ways, trying to learn what you liked and how you liked it but also wondering why you liked it, why you liked Wonwoo in a way that was no longer so innocent and picturesque but scarier, more real. 

Your parents caught you, probably as every parent does at some point and just pretends they didn’t notice. Yours, however, made it clear that they knew. And while they never said anything beyond mentioning it once or twice, it felt humiliating. As if you were supposed to be above attraction and sex and pleasure. It was more in how your parents acted after this point that has given you enough insight to imagine how they would react if they knew what you did now. 

No direct words spoken, just blank, glaring looks and sneers. Just them ogling you like you had told them you murdered someone. Shame, in all the nooks and crannies of what it is. 

As for your friends, besides Wonwoo, they’ve all moved on. You had been so curious as a teenager, and wanted to know so much more. Yet, no one ever talked about sex. Some of them had dated through teen years. All of them dated someone in college except you. Sex was happening all around you and yet it was some forbidden topic. Even with Wonwoo after a while. You have a feeling you would have a next to near impossible time explaining what you are doing to those friends, and if Wonwoo wasn’t a streamer, you’re sure he wouldn’t fully get it either. 

But Seokjin understands. This is his life, this is so natural to him that he can sit in front of you after a long day and lazily smile with the knowledge that you are wearing lingerie underneath his shirt. 

“What are you thinking about?” He asks thoughtfully, and you blink, realizing that for the last few minutes you’ve been watching his gorgeous full lips, studying how his tongue peeks out to wipe away some of the sauce. 

“Lips,” you answer in your haze. 

“Ah,” he chides, and you blink away the memory. 

“What?” You ask. 

“Well, my lips are some of the best of them.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Given how long you were staring at me, I would bet that you were thinking they are. Don’t worry Y/N, go right ahead and get a good look.” He winks. 

“You’re so full of yourself.” 

“Well, at least I’m full of something. I haven’t seen you take more than a few bites of food. Quit stalling and eat your damn dinner.”

“You know, you’re pretty bossy.”

“I guess that’s why I’m the boss.” 

“Time and place. This isn’t the restaurant. Maybe it’s my house and I call the shots.”

He gestures around. “Well then, by all means. What are your commands.”

“For you to stop being a tool.”

Seokjin cackles. “Oh, that’s an insult I haven’t heard since middle school.”

“Well, is it any less efficient? I think it serves its purpose.” 

“I think you’re still stalling.” 

“Fine!” 

You twirl a large pile of noodles around your chopsticks and shovel them into your mouth. “Thewere. Hawppy?”

“Immensely so,” Seokjin says, his eyes twinkling. 

You don’t have the fight in you to argue anymore. The warm, savory noodles are so chewy and delicious, and the salt on your tongue is reminding you how deplenished you are from the energy of the stream. 

You eat in silence, until the heaviness of your limbs has scattered to mostly just the heaviness of your full stomach. 

You lean back against the sofa on your final chew, groaning when you’ve finished. 

“Ugh, that was so good.”

“I told you. I’m a genius for suggesting it.”

“You got lucky and picked the best place in this neighborhood.”

Seokjin scoffs. “Excuse you. Might I remind you of a humble restaurant that is also technically in this neighborhood?”

“And does this place serve jajjangmyeon at one a.m. on a weekday?”

“No.”

“Then my point still stands,” you say. 

Seokjin sighs and then follows up with a yawn that you can’t help but catch. 

“So, debrief time. Before either of us fall asleep.”

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. You can go home and rest. I can’t imagine you got much sleep today.”

“Hardly any at all, but you can’t get rid of me so easily.” Seokjin smirks. “Let’s talk about the stream.” 

“Well, you caught most of it.” 

“Yes, and I think it’s worth talking about.” 

You mull it over for a minute, how you felt as the onslaught of gifted sex toys seemed to flood the chat, the overwhelm not really of the thing itself but the assertion over a boundary you were trying to place. Why was this so hard for you to do? 

“I think I still feel so much like an imposter. I don’t know a lot about gaming, but I’m gaming. I’m not at all sexy enough to have a stream that does sexy stuff, so I feel like I’m just…” You shrug. 

He opens his mouth, but then stops himself, nodding for you to finish. 

“I don’t know, I just don’t want to fall for the pressure of being what everyone wants me to be. Which is, this role of the fat funny streamer. Like, every single trope in fiction has the side friend be fat and funny as some comedic relief. And because people wanted me to stream because I was so ‘funny’. Or they just see me as something to fuck because if I’m not completely sexless I have to be basically a pocket pussy for someone. All so I can make money. It’s so fucked.”

“But…you aren’t just a character in fiction, Y/N.” Seokjin reaches across the table, grazing his thumb over the back of your pinky knuckle. “You’re real. You feel things. You feel this, don’t you?”

You nod. 

“So if this is the choice, to keep streaming for some financial goal, then who is it you want to be? You’re sure of what you don’t want, which is a good place to start. But what next? You have a choice.”

You pause. You have a choice. 

In all of this, has it ever really felt that way? From the start, streaming was so rooted in financial stability. And because of that, it’s been so much heavier when you are forced into a performer role that you don’t want to partake in. It never occurred to you that you could actually control any of it.

But you suppose that’s what Seokjin does when he streams. He gives his audience some version of himself that he has a say in, control over. 

“I…I guess I don’t know. I have never really thought about this being a choice.”

He nods, then stands, stretching his arms over his head. “Maybe that’s where you start. Trying to figure out who it is you want to be. And owning her. Whoever she is. Whether she wants to be funny or sexy or a combination of the two. If she wants to give up streaming and find another thing, or go full steam ahead and become the top streamer on the internet. You get to decide.” 

After dinner–and trying not to stare at your breasts– Seokjin helped you wash the dishes, talked a bit more about your plans for the next stream, and then he left. He knew he was risking another impromptu sleepover and after your debrief, he wanted to make sure you had the space you needed to sit with the idea of choosing this for yourself. 

He knew all too well how important that was. Two years ago, in the same position, it was something he also had to decide: which parts of him stayed with him when he streamed and which parts he hid so he could keep them for himself. It wasn’t an easy choice. He still felt it creep up sometimes when he streamed, constantly vigilant of the words leaving his mouth so he didn’t ever give too much away.

Even when his friends were in the chat, he tried to not call attention to them by name. Similar to how you were on your stream. He wished he could be honest with you and tell you that this part never gets easier. Regardless of how much you wanted to share with others, there was the unfortunate reality that in order to maintain any sense of discretion and honor on the worldwide web, regardless of the type of streaming, the boundary between you and your audience would always lead to disconnection and loneliness. Conversely, you also were not ever going to be totally private and anonymous again. At some point, there was a tipping point where you would never again just be you. The digital footprint was permanent. 

And in this limbo, as time moved on and winter finally melted into Spring, the pressure was on for Seokjin. He considered telling you that he was a sex cam streamer. He had felt it on the tip of his tongue that night, but in the many nights that have since followed, fighting against the decision to just tell you so you could move through it and potentially build a more realistic and relatable plan based on his own experiences and the potential betrayal you might have felt when you learned of the ways he wasn’t at all morally superior for doing things for money. Would you judge him for wanting better for you? 

Moreover, would you be able to live with knowing that your friend–your boss– did gay sex streams? It just felt too delicate at this point to bring up, so Seokjin shoved it down inside of him, just like he did with his audience every time he hit the countdown to go live. 

And unfortunately, in the last few months he’d only streamed a handful of times, which resulted in a significant decrease in engagement and therefore, income. 

But between working at the restaurant and then coming over to sit in the other room as you streamed, his time was limited. 

He was tired. You streamed late into the early hours of the morning, and unlike him, you didn’t work full time. On the days you did have the early shift in the morning, you somehow seemed rested, clearly used to the chaotic structure of your regular gaming streams that might have occurred the night before. You’d decided to do a brief pause on late night themed streams until you had a better game plan. And to the surprise of both you and Seokjin, your followers were supportive. So you would stream regular games in the late night slots on occasion, and Seokjin would sit on as an honorary mod despite the exhaustion. Granted, those nights you often fell asleep before Seokjin had even left your apartment, and he would gently nudge you awake as you drifted off on the couch, prodding you to go take off your makeup and looking on fondly as you thanked him sleepily before crashing on your bed. 

One day in early May, though, everything that was delicately woven into the balance of things began fraying at the edges. 

Seokjin had woken up to a grateful text from you thanking him for coming over the night before, and had sent a follow up invitation. 

You 7:59AM: You can say no, but do you maybe want to go get dinner tonight when you’re done with work? 

Seokjin 8:00AM: Of course I’m going to say yes. Any suggestions where?

You 8:15AM: What about that restaurant that you told me about?

Seokjin 8:17AM: The Mediterranean one? With a month-long waitlist? 

You 8:18AM: Shit. I forgot about that. 😓

Seokjin 8:19AM: Wait a second. BRB

Seokjin 8:32AM: Ok I got a reservation for 10:30. I know that’s pretty late but that’s all I could get. Kitchen closes at midnight though so we should be fine.

You 8:32AM: HOW???

Seokjin 8:32AM: Head chef went to school with my brother. 

Seokjin 8:33AM: They weren’t that close. If they were, we would probably have an earlier time.

You 8:33AM: I don’t care! I’ll just eat before I go. It’ll be a fourth meal type of situation

Seokjin 8:35AM: We can also go somewhere else

You 8:36AM: NO. 😡 Do not take this away from me. I already decided what I want from the menu. We are going. 

Seokjin 8:37AM: LOL. Ok. I’ll come get you before? 10?

You 8:38AM: 👍

Seokjin smiled to himself, finally getting himself out of bed and ready for the day. He had a lot of work to do. When he opened his emails to get started, he saw an email from Worldwide Handsome. He opened it, his stomach sinking as he processed the words. 

Dear User Jin,  We at Worldwide Handsome appreciate the streams you have trusted us to host for the last two years. In this last financial quarter, we have successfully increased our outreach to new targeted consumers, both from members of the LGBTQ community and their allies. In part, we have you to thank for this success. Your continued participation in WWH’s Partnership program has taken us to new heights for pleasurable camming and stimulation experiences. Among our competitors, we have maintained our position as one of the top pornographic live cam websites, with your stream being one of the most engaged with to-date.  However, in the last two months, the algorithmic engagement of WWH’s live shows has significantly plummeted. In conducting market research, we found that in this quarter, we have had a staggering 11% decrease in consistent viewership, subscription renewal, and ad revenue. While there are many contributing factors, it has come to our attention that one overlapping factor might be one of the major contributing factors to this financial loss. In most of our data, it was User Jin’s channel that demonstrated the largest risk among our partners, primarily due to your lack of consistent streaming over the last few months.  While we are grateful for your continued dedication to Worldwide Handsome, we regret to inform you that should your channel continue to trend downward in market data over the next 30 days, we will terminate your contract with us as Partner. If this should happen, we still welcome you to continue utilizing the basic features of Worldwide Handsome. You will still retain a generous commission rate, the ability to publish past livestreams to your channel, stream clipping functions, gifting, and more. If you would like to learn more details about the basic features provided with Worldwide Handsome, please visit the FAQ page on our website.  Once again, we are grateful for your ongoing support over the years. We at WWH are grateful to you and the many other streamers who continue to make sex a global artform that we can proudly stand behind. If you have any questions or concerns, please do not hesitate to reach out.   Sincerely,  Worldwide Handsome Partners

Dropped from the partner program? His partnership with the website was what provided the groundwork for any sort of financial stability while streaming. It not only provided consistent scheduled payouts, but the commission retention was one of the highest in the industry. People were desperate to be part of the partner program, even if it belonged within the confines of gay sex streaming. And until this quarter, Seokjin had been leading the trend, securing his place within the company. But now, because of his neglect, it was being threatened out from under him. 

On top of it, the money pit of the restaurant was at it again; a sewer line bursting a few blocks away had caused flooding and an electrical malfunction a month ago, which resulted in a transformer blowing and frying his computer with all the records. His parents had been tech savvy enough to digitize everything, but clearly not enough to have learned to back up things onto the cloud instead of leaving them on the harddrive. 

For the last few weeks, he’d been shuffling documents back and forth between his laptop and the new system, begging his father to learn how to sign a PDF through some YouTube tutorial that only resulted in his father taking a fuzzy picture of the document in a poorly lit hallway of the cruise ship and sending it back over this morning with a text: 

Here you go! Hope this is okay. Probably won’t have a connection for a while. Talk next week. 

It was not in fact okay, and Seokjin was now considering just forging his father’s signature to get the new insurance forms authorized as soon as possible. The financial burden of what the restaurant was doing was starting to feel more like damnation and less of an investment. With each week drawing nearer to his parents' return, he began worrying that they wouldn’t be able to handle all the things that had become urgent needs.

He had a month to get it together. Otherwise, he could kiss both of his careers goodbye. With his father just adding to the slew of problems, today he was at his wit’s end. He was beyond stressed and in desperate need of release. 

Which is why when he logged onto Worldwide Handsome after a particularly frustrating call with the electrical company, he found himself falling naturally into his old persona easily. 

“I needed this,” he said to his audience, watching the bottom of the screen as the numbers slowly trickled in. It wasn’t nearly as many people as he had gotten accustomed to seeing you entertaining during your stream nights, and for some reason that felt intimidating to Seokjin. How you were able to secure an audience without needing to get naked, one that was flexible with you in ways that his audience could never be. He felt a tinge of jealousy at the thought. 

BGood4Daddy: Missed u pretty boy

He watched the comments flit by, many of them taking on the same sub-dom dynamic he usually played as. Some asked where he’d been, but most of them were just horny messages begging for him to act out their fantasies. 

His stomach twisted. Somehow he’d forgotten this was how things went. 

“Missed you too. Missed all of you. It’s been crazy lately,” he said. He palmed himself casually through his slacks, trying to convince himself to get into the mood. 

The tips started to slowly trickle in, starting to meet the bare minimum goals for Seokjin to begin stripping. 

That’s one thing about his audience he’d always be able to count on. They would always ensure that he had enough of a payout to take his cock out. 

He chuckled at the comments, starting to wind up as he removed his shirt, and then unzipped his slacks. 

XMasterX: you’ve been a bad boy. Sir needs to punish you for leaving us for so long. 

“Is that right?” Seokjin challenged. “Well, then if I’m just going to be punished, maybe it’ll be better if I leave.” 

The threat had the desired effect; Seokjin’s tip jar began to fill up faster, the view count starting to increase back to a somewhat decent viewership. 

Good. This was good. Soon he could get all of this over with and secure himself back into good standing with the website and his subscribers. 

Within a few minutes, the tip jar announced that the first two milestones have been unlocked: take off shirt and take off pants. 

“Eager are we?” he teased, slowly slipping his shirt over his head. He’d managed to get back to the gym in his apartment complex this week, but even if he hadn’t, it’s not like he wasn’t still toned from all the heavy lifting at the restaurant. With all the electrical issues, he’d been helping pull industrial heavy equipment away from the walls for the electrician to prepare to install a new grounding wire, and those weren’t particularly light. 

The comments lit up with the praise, usernames old and new beginning to flash across his screen. He smirked.

“I know you’ve waited a while, but maybe you should sweat it out a bit. Show me how much you missed me.” 

It felt so natural to say this, something he knew you hadn’t felt comfortable doing in your streams, but you’d tried a few times. He’d found it cute when you’d done it, almost like it was a gentle request. But for him now, this was about anticipation and tension, letting his viewers fall back into the world of fantasy he used to cook up every few days. This was a place of escape, where Seokjin was left behind and Jin took control. 

The tip jar shook, the animated coins piling in. 

He popped the button of his pants. Slowly. He smirked at the camera, reaching down and squeezing himself. He wasn’t hard, but he wasn’t small, and that was still part of the fantasy: the grand reveal that people had to work for. He often chose to work under the assumption that everyone was new in the chat, that this was a new experience for voyeuristic eyes. While he knew that wasn’t necessarily true, for all he knew someone could be stumbling into the chat room, unknowing to his body and the pleasure he was so willing to give. 

Someone like you. 

His cock twitched at that. He’d expected this fantasy to get a bit old for him: the idea that you would come across his stream and stay for the whole thing. It had been the fuel for his fire a few months ago, but so much had changed now that you were friends. 

But now that he knew more about you, all the little details, fuck. That just made it seem even more real. He could see you in your small room, his shirt draped over you safely while you strutted around in those tiny pajama shorts. 

He unzipped his pants, kicking them off at the ankles and sitting back down in the chair. 

You’d be doing the same thing, he thought. Those shorts riding up those thick thighs he now knew exactly the weight of as they’d rubbed against his. They were so soft, all of you so soft. And he knew you’d shove them down quickly, annoyed that they got in your way, pouting a little bit that he wasn’t there to tug them off of you. 

“Fuck,” Seokjin said. “I don’t know if I can really take it much longer.” It was true, his cock was hardening quickly, and the need to touch himself was growing heavier with urgency. 

His chat sounded off, various commands to wait or to go for it. It really didn’t matter. He wasn’t there for them tonight. Even though maybe he should have been, maybe the risk was that if he didn’t comply, there would be no great reward. 

mapl3stor33 tipped $3000: Welcome back. Give us a good one. You can always pay us back for it 😉

Seokjin smiled, his most loyal subscriber popping up with a generous tip. Yes, this was where he thrived, wasn’t it? Isn’t this what he was good for? 

2 milestones unlocked from another viewer, this time selecting from some of the few dozens of options programmed into the menu to help guide the stream: cock ring and edging, no cumming. 

God, why did he allow for there to be guided sessions? Why didn’t he lead the stream this time like the one he did a few months ago? That was the one where he’d cum all over himself after pretending to blindfold you. 

Now, he knew even more about you, how the curve of your ass felt shifting against him. How soft your hair was when it tickled his arms while you slept, little whimpers escaping your mouth that he knew he could easily draw from you again when he got the chance. You’d look so pretty with a blindfold on, shivering in the warm light of your bedroom, mouth open and desperate as he lightly touched around your collarbone, down your sternum and between the valley of your tits. You’d been so bad about teasing him in those sexy little bustiers and corsets lately, and it would be nice if he got to tease you for once. 

His cock ached through his briefs, asking him to end the torture, to free himself into the open air and stroke until he came thinking about all the ways he wanted to torture you with pleasure. 

But with another tip coming in, this time adding the detail of a vibrating cock ring, Seokjin knew his fantasies would not be leading him to be satisfied tonight. At least not in the way he wanted. 

Twenty minutes later, after playing into the game of begging and whining and falsely pretending he was going to cum to ensure he was edging, he came. A pathetic, unsatisfying dribble that wept out of him and hardly amounted to the sensation he felt earlier. He’d tried to think of you, but there was a block. Too many people watching, too many people demanding things from him. Instead of just cumming, it became aware to Seokjin how much of a performance these streams always were; the ring light setup ensured people could see every angle. He knew how to make attractive faces when he orgasmed that would leave everyone with plenty of imagery for their own personal fantasies later. He knew how to pretend to be more turned on than he was, and to force vibrators and dildos into proper angles to ensure he came. It was all part of the show. 

One that he hadn’t taken part in for quite some time. When he masturbated last night in the shower, he caught his reflection in the vanity mirror. He saw how his face contorted, how his body would buck and writhe without his control as he came against the shower wall, how in some ways, there was something objectively unsexy about how he came, no glossy angles to make sure his chin didn’t pull into different skin pockets, no ambient lighting to capture the ridges of his body. Just the pure experience of orgasming as a human being and nothing more. 

As he wiped up his mess, he decided to do a little chat with his subscribers. 

At least he didn’t moan that one person’s name like last time. 

Oh yeah. Jin what was that about? You have some girlfriend we don’t know about?

I thought he was gay. This is a gay site! 

You must be new here. He’s straight. 

Oh :( 

Maybe he’s been too busy fucking her to come play with us. 

I bet it’s boring sex. Who needs to do streams when they’re getting laid. You better tell her to satisfy you, or one of us will have to come show her how she could do better. 

“Yah, enough of that,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I don’t have a girlfriend. And I don’t want to talk about what happened that one time. It was a mistake. It won’t happen again. Anyway, I’m tired. Time for bed. I won’t make you wait as long for next time. Bye!” 

Ugh. What an awful stream. If it was going to be like this all the time, maybe he should have actually considered letting the website shut him down and take the cut. 

But then how would you get everything taken care of with the restaurant. 

He sighed. Is this how you experienced streaming too? He figured as much. His stomach tugged, disappointed he couldn’t talk to you about it. You always debriefed your streams with him, especially if you felt a little shitty during one. Now, because he was keeping this life of his separate from his life with you, he had no one who would understand to talk to about this. All he could ever do is provide support to you, but not you to him. It was still just as lonely doing this as it always had been. Only this time, Seokjin knew that it didn’t have to be this way. That some people could reveal other parts of themselves to get kernels of support when needed. 

But that wasn’t going to be him. He was alone in this. And as he dragged himself to bed, feeling sorry for himself, he didn’t notice that he left his phone on silent.

“Detective? Are you there?” The svelte redhead approached my desk. I could see through the cameras that she helped herself to snooping around. Whatever she was gathering from my notebooks, it was a trap. 

Any good detective knows not to leave his mess around. Any clues she was trying to gather from this dark, dark world, they would be nothing compared to reality. 

Reality is darker. Betrayal, people thinking they know me because they know my past. 

I light a cigarette, inhaling deeply. The smoke swirls around my head like a cloud. It’s cloudy here in Seattle, and that promise of heavy rain reassures me. He’s going to try to move the kitty tonight, and I’m not about to let him use her as a distraction. 

She leans her large, milky tits over my desk. She’d look good there, spread out across it. I’m sure she knows too. Any dame like her would know what she’s worth. A tempting distraction, but I am too good to fall for it. 

“God what the fuck even is this?” You exit out of the screen on your tablet, the cover mocking you for even considering it. Whatever the hell you were expecting from Clues to My Heart’s raving 5-star reviews, this wasn’t it. This was a pile of absolute garbage. 

And it isn’t serving its purpose of distraction. You are still imagining the main character as Seokjin, only Seokjin in some twisted, fake machismo, desk set smutty nightmare of a book that is so full of plot holes and clichés that you know you can’t stomach it further. Reading an awful romance novel is clearly not the answer to escaping the awful feeling in your stomach. 

You delete it from your library and sigh, staring at the shelves of your apartment, debating if you really want to read something or just go to bed and let yourself cry. 

He stood you up. He stood you up and you looked the hottest you ever looked. This was going to be your attempt at connection, at knowing for sure that you were on the path toward something more intimate than friendship. 

But now, it was clear: whatever expectation you had for the two of you, it might as well be dead and buried with whatever body this stupid book is trying to solve the murder of. 

You tried calling him multiple times. His phone just rang on and on as the clock shifted from 10:15 to 10:30 to 12:00. For a moment, you thought maybe you got the date or time wrong. Maybe instead of tonight as in today he thought you meant tomorrow? 

Or maybe he lost track of time by finding a dog outside of your apartment, and then he had to go find its owner so he never had the chance to tell you he’d be late. 

But more realistically, maybe he just doesn’t want to see you and this silence is meant to be interpreted as a boundary. Seokjin is definitely the type who would feel bad rejecting you when you come onto him, and would apologize to you despite the fact that he’s not guilty. It’s happened before, in the kitchen incident. 

Even if it’s not that, it’s the fact that you carefully selected an outfit for tonight, a silky black slip dress that you are terrified to wear because there’s no part of you that you can hide. The slippery material will highlight every curve, every line (especially panty lines), and every droplet of moisture that you might dribble or sweat out. 

But in the last few months, you’ve been trying to do one thing every day that scares you. Today, it would appear you were going to go for two. And now, you are dealing with one terrifying thing that might just be worse than the first two: rejection. 

It’s humiliating. You know you’re going to go to work tomorrow and will have to see him knowing that there will be some awkward confrontation or avoidance game. You’ll have to speak to him. He’ll probably call you into the back office and let you down gently. Will reinforce the fact that he’s your boss and that things have gone too far or some bullshit. 

And then, just like how you’ve been cut out of the lives of people who meant something to you, it’ll happen again, as it always does. 

1 Year Ago

It’s raining so hard that you can’t see the road, but you’re trying to drive through it anyway, trying to make it home in time so you won’t miss it. You got out of work late; you thought being a substitute teacher wouldn’t come with all the extra grading, but you were wrong. 

A year ago, the elementary school nearby shut down, and with it came the layoff of all its teachers. A stupid idea, really, because that meant an already over-enrolled school was forced to shuttle its students across town to the other elementary school, doubling its student body without doubling its teachers. Somewhere in the thick of it, you were looking for a job, living in your parents’ house trying to float from one career to the other. 

Your friends around you were moving; Wonwoo was already in a new time zone, making an upward move in every area. His former girlfriend-turned-fianceé worked in HR for a tech start-up and easily navigated getting him in as a coder. They had just secured a penthouse with a gorgeous view. His life was locked together. Your other friends, it seemed, had moved on in their lives as well. Two of them already had children and were married. Two more were engaged. Everyone else was jetting across the world on expeditions to places with sandy beaches and bottomless drinks. And there you were: mid twenties, desperate for change.

So when you saw the banner across the elementary school advertising a need for substitute teachers, you decided you were desperate enough to try. And as it turned out, you loved it. There was something magic about working with young children, seeing how they developed new ideas you would never in your adult dreams try to fathom. But to them, to fly across the world on a magical escalator or hippo was a true possibility and you wanted part of you to have that same freedom to dream of the impossible. Their creativity inspired you to push the boundaries of life and dream of more. 

Not to mention, it also landed you a boyfriend. One day while you were substituting for the gym teacher, nervously handing out kickballs to a bunch of fourth graders for class and praying they didn’t knock each other’s teeth out, someone stepped into the gymnasium and padded his way over to you, looking for his youngest sister to take her to a dentist appointment. And not too soon after, you and Do Woon had your first day date, which turned into a night date, and then a breakfast date. It was more like a 3-day date where the two of you spent the entire weekend rolling around in his sheets. You only managed to escape that awkward conversation with your parents because they were out of town for the weekend. If they had known any different, you would probably have died from embarrassment. 

Teaching has given you a lot of great things. But with that care comes a cost. You are now late for your father’s surprise birthday party and trapped in an insane rainstorm. 

You weave around fallen tree branches, trying not to obsess over the clock as the minutes roll smoothly into each other, knowing that by now, the surprise portion of the party is over. They’re probably eating cake now and reminiscing on his milestones. Your mother is probably chatting to your aunts and uncles about the renovations they’ve made to the main bathroom. Do Woon is supposed to be there, and if your instincts are right, you’ll be getting engaged tonight. 

It would be the perfect opportunity. All your family is there ready to celebrate, and your father who hates being the center of attention will have all the pleasure of dumping the focus onto you. 

Do Woon has been acting odd the last few weeks. You’ve been pretending not to notice, especially when recent conversations have been skirting around topics you two used to discuss regularly. You have a trip to Bali planned for the fall, which he once said is where he would want to honeymoon. He’s given very few details about this trip since he booked the flight almost three months ago, and you suspect that’s because he doesn’t want to give any spoilers about the honeymoon suites or couple packages you both looked over when you decided this was where you wanted to vacation. You’re not sure you have enough time to plan a wedding in six months, but if this is what Do Woon wants, who are you to say no? 

Since the start of your dating, he’s been thoroughly engrossed in a very specific timeline, and had no issues telling you so: he wanted to date for about a year, get engaged, get married (wherever you wanted, he insisted), have a honeymoon on some beachy shores and get started with making babies. He is the eldest of six. He wants a big family. 

You’ve talked him down from that number over the last few months, having him promise instead you will see how things go and will take it as it comes. While he wasn’t entirely pleased with that compromise, you think his agreement is a good enough answer. But that’s how Do Woon is. He plans his life down to every meticulous detail. Which is why even if you don’t think you can pull off planning a wedding in such a short window of time, you know he can. 

So tonight, you think it’ll happen. And unfortunately for you, you’re going to look like absolute rain-soaked garbage, the perfect accompaniment to your shitty day.

The once neatly wrapped gift next to you is now soggy from the downpour. You didn’t check the weather before heading into work today and left your umbrella in the car. It rolls around on the floor in front of the passenger seat, completely dry and mocking. 

At work, you found out that they’re continuing to make staffing cuts despite the shortage, as many families have chosen not to enroll in the school next year, instead moving their children to private schools closer to their homes or homeschooling. As desperate as they were to hire you, the work you put into the year you’ve been here is now about to just melt away. 

You don’t know how much longer you’ll have a job.

You anticipated this, of course, spent most of the fall applying for graduate programs. Of the ten applications you submitted, you’ve been waitlisted in two places: the local university here and the more modern (and urban) program not even remotely close to this place. You’d hoped when you sent those applications that things would be getting more serious with Do Woon, but it had only been a handful of months. You weren’t sure where the two of you were going. And now, you are hoping for the local program, not wanting to give up on your dream of teaching if it means you don’t have to.

Your phone lights up in the darkness of your car. One more missed call from your mother. But you’re so close, almost to your neighborhood. You know how poorly this is going to go. 

As you take a final turn, making your way down the street, you see the street has started flooding, barring you from your block. It’s no use, either. You can see on the block after yours that those crossroads are also flooded. The only way to get home is to do so on foot. So that’s what you do, park your car on the non-flooded side street, prop the sodden gift under your arm, grab your umbrella and head into the rain. 

The thing about thresholds is that they are a place where you exist in transition. From the street, you can hear a hum of music but don’t know the exact tune. You see faces lit by the warm lamps of your dining room, and can make out your uncle and your father’s boss. But you can also hear the rain thrumming on the roof, smell the Earth as the rain hits the soil. There’s the chill of the wind cutting through your damp clothing. The moment you step into the house, you’ll be someone else. A daughter still, but also someone else’s future wife. 

The warmth of the house touches your face when you step in, the loud voices you’d heard from the other side of the door now having owners: your aunt yelling at your young cousin not to touch something, the sharp guffaw of your dad’s best friend. 

You take off your soaked shoes and walk into the dining room. The cake has been cut, neat squares leaving only globs of frosting leaves behind on the golden tray. The neapolitan ice cream is abandoned and melting into an unappetizing brown sludge. Empty beer cans stack up on the table’s other end. 

Your stomach gurgles. You’ve barely eaten all day. But you know that will all happen soon. There’s time for cake and celebration after you see the birthday boy.

You find him in his favorite lounge chair, foot rest out as he relaxes and listens to some story one of his co-workers is telling about a client. 

“I’m telling ya, she had this massive tits that would knock over everything and everyone. So I says to her one day, you know what I says? ‘Ma’am, now pardon me for sayin’ so, I’m a respectable fella, but I think you might need to get a car blinker.’ And she asks me why and I says to her, ‘Because when you’re turnin’ around, we then’ll know to duck!’”

A roar of laughter bellows through the room, your father smirking at the story as he sips his beer. Ugh. You saunter over to him, fanning a smile across your face. 

“Hi Dad,” you say, and face the rest of the guests. “Hi everyone.” 

“Y/N! What the hell happened to ya, kid. Rainstorm getcha?” Your father’s boss asks.

You give an apologetic nod. “Yes, I was caught in it. Left work late. The road is flooded so be careful when you leave.”

“I drove over in the truck, so I’m fine,” he responds, sucking down the rest of his beer. “Ah, all out. Can I get you another Birthday Boy?” He nudges you with his elbow roughly. “What about you, hon?” 

“I’m, I’m all good. Thanks,” you say awkwardly, trying to ignore the way he’s looking at you up and down salaciously. This man is older than your father, is standing next to your father and behaving this way. It makes you want to strip your entire skin from your body and wash it in the washing machine. 

“Suit yourself. I’m gonna get some more of that cake anyways. You coming, Bill?” Bill, the apparent co-worker who was bragging about his evident sexual harassment, sighs. 

“Yeah, yeah. Well, if I don’t see ya, happy birthday again. Thank your wife for the dinner. It was great. And it was good to see you too,” Bill waggles his eyebrows and walks behind you through the foyer and into the dining room. For a brief moment, you swear you feel him cup your ass in passing. 

“Where have you been?!” Your mother’s voice carries across the room. You whip your head to search, finding her walking into the room from the back entrance to the kitchen. She must’ve been cleaning up because the front of her blouse is wet. 

“I was working and I had to stay late. And then the storm happened and I had to park down the street. I’m sorry.” 

“Well because of you, we awkwardly stood around for well over an hour waiting for you to show up and get everything set up so when your father walked in the door it would actually be a surprise. Which it wasn’t, by the way. He recognized Carl’s truck out front and I guess that was the big giveaway. You were supposed to help me with this, Y/N!”

Your father looks at your mother and sighs. “It was really no big deal. I hate surprises anyway.” 

“For a milestone birthday like this, you could use the surprise,” she asserts.

“Well, I got one anyway didn’t I?” He says sharply, standing up and walking out of the room. The gift in your hands feels like dead weight. You set it down onto his chair. 

“What happened?” You ask. 

Your mother walks closer, looking around the room to ensure no one else is listening. “Your father is being laid off. He found out today. And then when Carl and Bill and all them showed up, they kept talking about it. Turns out no one else in his department is being laid off. Just him.”

Your stomach sinks. Your father supplies most of the income that your family needs to stay afloat. He’s not expected to retire for a few more years. Which means if he gets laid off, he’ll lose a few years’ worth of extra employer contributions to his retirement fund. And his boss and co-workers being such assholes to rub it in? Fuck them. 

This wasn’t how you expected any of this to go. 

“Oh god. Poor dad.” Your mother nods. 

“Yeah, what a birthday. And you weren’t even there to share it with him because you were too busy to be here when it was the only time we needed you to show up. So thanks for that.” 

Her words are like knives. You feel yourself being sliced open from all the guilt. She’s not wrong. You’d been the one to organize most of this party, to convince her to follow through with it. And you missed it. People around you have begun departing, shouting happy wishes to your father. All his unwrapped gifts sit on the coffee table next to you, colorful paper pulled open. You missed the entire thing. 

“I didn’t mean to,” you try, but you know it's useless. Your mother waves goodbye to one of the neighbors. It’s stopped raining enough to not be a constant heavy click against the windowpane. 

“Well you did anyway. It is what it is. Now are you going to disappear on me during clean up or are you going to help me?” She begins to weave the discarded wrapping paper out from under the gifts, setting them into a neat pile on the coffee table. 

“I’ll get a trash bag,” you offer, and make your way through the house into the kitchen. Every surface is riddled with stacks of paper plates with balloons on them and plastic forks and spoons. A large yellow tupperware bowl idles by the sink, some vinegary salad now mixed with remnants of every other food from watermelon to potato chips. It’s the first thing you dump into the trash bag. 

You follow the garbage, in and out of the half bathroom and dining room, back to the living room when you notice someone is missing. 

“Mom,” you say. “Where’s Do Woon?” 

“Was he supposed to be here? Because I didn’t see him.” 

“He didn’t come?” 

“No, Y/N. Unless he is hiding upstairs in your room for some reason, I have not seen him at all tonight.” She dumps a pile of plates into the trash bag. “Think you can handle the rest? My feet hurt and your father and I need to discuss some things.” 

“Sure, I am just surprised he didn’t come. I thought–”

“God, honestly. For two seconds can you not think about yourself? It’s not your birthday.”

You fall silent, nodding your head as she steps out of the room and goes to find your father.

Something must be wrong, you think. You reach into your pocket and grab your phone, checking it for messages from Do Woon. 

There are many missed calls from your mother, but none from him. Strange. The last time you talked was today. You had reminded him what time the party started. He didn’t respond, but he read the message, and you were satisfied with that. 

You select his contact info and hit the call button. After a few seconds of ringing, it goes to voicemail. 

“Hey, it’s me. Not sure what happened tonight, maybe you got stuck in the storm. I know I did, it was crazy and I missed the entire party. Today’s been awful. But uh yeah, call me back when you get this. Love you.” 

Maybe he is stuck in a work meeting? He does work late, sometimes unexpectedly, putting in extra hours at his office until you are getting ready for bed. 

You shoot him a text. 

You 9:02PM: Hey, missed you at the party. Are you working late?Read 9:02PM

Immediately you can see he has opened it. But after ten minutes, there is no response. 

You 9:12PM: Everything okay? Read 9:12PM

You clean up the rest of the trash in the living room, tying off the bag and stepping outside. It has stopped raining. The world looks glassy as droplets fall from the tree limbs and refract the streetlights. You walk over to the trash bin, the glaze of cold water running down your hands as you deposit the bag in. You grab the mail. 

No acceptance letters. For some reason that feels like the cherry on top of the shittiness that is today. Your mother’s bitter words, your father’s exhaustion, the weather’s chaos weaving into your insecurity. It all feels like some horrible dream. 

You need Do Woon. He’s not much of a talker, but he is a good listener, and after a good ranting session, he’ll usually fuck the sadness out of you so you don’t have to think and afterward you’re usually too tired to do anything but sleep. That’s what you need right now. 

Where is he? It’s been a half hour and no response. Maybe you’re being paranoid and soon he’ll call and poke fun at how worried you seemed. Maybe he’ll be mad that you are interrupting a work meeting. But today has been awful. And all you want is to hear his voice. 

So you call him again, and this time it goes immediately to voicemail. 

You 9:38PM: What is going on? Read 9:38PM

You 9:39PM: Please answer me. I’m getting worried. Read 9:39PM

You 9:39PM: Babe!

Message failed to deliver. 

A glow falls onto the damp earth around you. You look around for the source and then up. As the rain clouds break apart above you, you realize you’re standing in the light of the moon. 

He never called back. That was the end. When you think about it now, there were some vague signs of distancing, but it never amounted to anything that made sense. There, then gone, Do Woon cut you off one day and never looked back. 

Much to your embarrassment, you didn’t handle the situation well. That night, you tried calling him three more times, only to receive a message that the number you tried to reach was unavailable. You’d considered driving to his apartment, but as the night wore on, you started to put the pieces together. He didn’t want to talk to you. He’d blocked you, and you didn’t know why. 

For the first month after the ghosting-turned-break-up, you tried to get intel to figure out what happened, how you had so royally fucked up your relationship that he didn’t even want to tell you to your face. Unfortunately, most of your friends you’d made that year were through him, and with him cutting you off, so did most of your friends. 

Your parents were sympathetic, to a degree. You were given approximately two days to mope. And then you were told to start looking for better jobs in case you, like your father, would be laid off. 

“It’ll be a good distraction, I think!” Your mother had said. “Nothing says get over a relationship better than starting a new job.” 

You and your father passed job postings back and forth for the next week. You were less than thrilled with the job market. Sure, jobs existed, but none with your skillset or interests or desired pay. To gain anything you would have to make a choice to lose something else, and it twisted your gut at the prospect. 

But, in the midst of the heartache, came your rejection from the local university. It was for the best, really. You knew you only wanted to study there because of Do Woon, and without him being part of your life it didn’t matter anyway. 

And just as you were at the end of your optimism, ready to let hope die and surrender to the dreamless haze, an email came in with an acceptance into the final university. A big city laid before you to explore. 

Things snapped into place. You finished up the school year and told your parents you were moving out. 

And now you’re here, in an apartment all to yourself, attending your dream program (or at least trying to) and learning how to cook a halfway decent meal. An apartment that has you rotting on a couch as you try to remind yourself that what happened with Do Woon was a fluke, and not anything you did wrong. And it certainly isn’t some sign that you’re doomed to repeat the same fate again.  

You’ve learned in the last few weeks that he’s engaged to someone he met through a matchmaking service. In his profile picture, his future bride is holding an ultrasound photo and he has his hands on her very large belly. “Coming this summer: our own ray of sunshine” the caption reads. 

You can’t imagine him ever saying that. He always hated cheesy things. But that’s the surprising thing about all of this: you also never expected him to ghost you and immediately start seeing someone else. 

He was a fluke in the timeline. Not a rule, right? You know this. You know not everything happening once means you’re doomed to repeat it forever. 

But why is that all you can think about with Seokjin? 

You went to work this morning, and he said nothing. No, he probably won’t disappear into the abyss because he manages this place. But when his parents return, will he then? Is he just biding his time before he vanishes? 

You hope not. God, you really hope not. 

The day rolls on without a word between either of you. Maybe this is how it should be, you think. Two people. Uncomplicated. Not tied to each other by strands of anything. 

Fate. This is how it works. It brings people together and then it pulls them apart. 

©2024 by jooniperbonsai

[love-and-deepspace-fanfic]

I have finally finished the gift for Rafayel to welcome his branching story in this upcoming September!

Hope you all will like this “Opposing Vision” from our beloved fishie! And I would very appreciate if you can support the post on the link below!

Now is the time for our delulu!

What happens if Rafayel came to our rescue instead?

OPPOSING VISION - RESURGING TIDES

As the light from a reflecting headlight pierced my eyes, I slowly regained consciousness, the effects of the neurotoxin anesthetic wearing off. I began to recall the events that had led me to this point.

At the Nest bar, I had agreed to put everything on the line to uncover the truth about my identity. Under Rafayel's guidance, I volunteered myself as bait. As he had said, if the bait isn't good enough, the fish won't bite. And if I, along with the Aether Core in my chest, was the source of all this, then let it be the end.

But what did I get in return?

An unknown assailant kidnapped me and it was all due to my own carelessness, or perhaps, my negligence and over-dependance.

I realized I had somewhat become too attached to Rafayel, believing that he would always come to my rescue, just like he had when I was sinking to the bottom of the ocean.

Thinking back, I realized something rather peculiar. Despite being underwater, where communication should have been impossible, I had a clear memory of conversing with Rafayel. As he was about to leave, I couldn't help but cry out, begging him not to go and not to leave me behind. And as the darkness enveloped me, I could feel myself fall deep into a warm embrace.

I had gradually developed a sense of reliance on him despite the fact that we had just met. It was as if he was the one I wanted to trust, as if he were a god, and I was his devoted follower.

What was happening to me?

The screeching of tires jolted me back to reality. My kidnapper came to an abrupt stop, cursing under his breath.

"Damn it, why did the car have to break down now?"

His angry muttering was mixed with someone's voice from the other end of the phone. I couldn't make out who it was, but I could guess the gist of the conversation.

He wasn't with Onychius! Did he work for another organization that also wanted me?

What was going on? I thought Onychius was behind all this, so why is there another player? Were there some hidden secrets I have yet to discover?

But without giving me time to dwell on it, my kidnapper grabbed me and dragged me out of the car, taking me to an abandoned cemetery. As he carried me, he mumbled to the person on the other end of the line.

"There's no one around. Is this an abandoned cemetery? Hey, send someone here, quick!”

As I tried to lean toward his ear to eavesdrop, he threw me to the ground and pulled out a knife, pointing it at me.

"So, you're awake? Not bad. But don't try anything funny, understand?"

His condescending tone set me off and I think it was a good time to provoke him for more information. I answered back at him.

"What's the matter? You're just a middleman. Are you working for the N109 zone?"

Impatient, he shouted, "Shut up! Let me check the merchandise before I deliver it. Talk! Where's the Aether Core?"

His question surprised me. Didn't he know the Aether Core was supposed to be within my heart? Why would he ask such a thing?

As the man lunged towards me with his dagger, his gleaming and menace eyes made me freeze in terror. This man is no joke, he can actually kill me anytime.

The chilling realization of my impending doom washed over me, reminiscent of the moment I succumbed to the depths of the water. In that desperate instant, my heart whispered a name, the one that surfaced amidst the immense fear – Rafayel.

Just as my lips uttered his name, a fiery streak surged between us, separating me from the assailant.

A calm yet slightly languid voice filled the air, "Such an ill-mannered fellow, how dare you address a lady with such disrespect? And be mindful of your hands, for touching my hired bodyguard will not come cheap."

A surge of warmth coursed through me, dispelling the icy chill of the by-gone aura. As my gaze met his where I can distinguish the mesmerizing blend of cerulean blue and fiery red within his eyes, I knew I had unknowingly become so reliant on him. Who, after all, was protecting whom?

Undeterred, the man tightened his grip on me, his dagger now pressed against my throat. "Who are you? Do you also serve Sylus and his Onychius organization?"

The suddenness of his movement caused the dagger to graze my neck, leaving a trail of crimson. The air crackled with an eerie tension fueled by the frigid wind and the unspoken threat.

In a swift motion, a gust of wind swept us off our feet. The man's dagger, once poised to strike, was now deflected, its blade replaced by a myriad of shimmering sparks aimed directly at his throat. Startled, he loosened his grip, allowing me to fall to the ground.

I gazed up at the extraordinary scene unfolding before me. Rafayel, usually adorned with a playful smirk, now wore an icy expression as he leveled his dagger at the man, his voice laced with a chilling calm, "If you value your well-being, I suggest you cease your resistance."

The man, however, let out a derisive chuckle, "I care not who you serve, but..."

Sensing impending danger, I watched as he reached into his inner pocket and retrieved a gun, pointing it directly at me. "The Aether Core will be mine!"

I braced myself for the inevitable. In that instance, my mind racing with thoughts of where the bullet would strike – my stomach or my chest? And if it were my chest, would I have enough time to utter one last word to Rafayel?

But the agonizing pain never came.

Slowly, I opened my eyes, only to find Rafayel's face inches from my own, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that made my heart flutter. I couldn't help but playfully nudge him, "Rafayel! What have you done this time?"

Despite my gentle push, he let out a dramatic yelp, "Ow, ow, that hurt! How could you treat your savior so?"

I couldn't suppress a giggle at his antics. His lightheartedness was a much-needed balm to my frayed nerves. Yet, the events that had just transpired lingered in my mind. What was to be done with the unconscious assailant lying at our feet?

As if reading my thoughts, Rafayel gestured towards the man, his voice laced with a hint of menace, "What would you like to do with him? Apprehend him, or perhaps..."

I understood the unspoken implication. Things had spiraled out of control, and while there were various paths to take, my instincts as a hunter prevented me from straying from my moral compass.

With a pleading look, I turned to Rafayel, "Would it be too much trouble to ask if you could anonymously report him to the authorities?"

Rafayel met my gaze, his hand ruffling my hair. "No trouble at all, but that will come out of your bodyguard salary."

True to form, even in the face of danger, Rafayel couldn't resist a playful quip.

Taking a deep breath, I looked into Rafayel's eyes with sincerity, "Thank you for saving me, Rafayel."

A flush crept across his cheeks, his expression a mix of surprise and embarrassment. He averted his gaze, his voice barely a whisper, "It's... it was nothing."

Clearing his throat, he gestured towards me, "Time to go. It’s not safe to stay here for long so let’s leave this place my bodyguard."

I was startled at the request as I was not expecting my infiltration plan would end this abruptly without achieving anything.

Really...I have to leave this place now? But I've put in so much effort to get here so far, isn't it all in vain?

I know what just happened also proves to me that N109 is not an easy place to infiltrate. Even if I want to make myself bait, it seems that not all the fish that want to bite the bait are the fish I'm looking for.

Seeing my hesitation and my mind about to wander off again, Rafayel sat down, flicked at my forehead, and tilted his head to one side, saying,

"You're overthinking it. If I was the one who helped you plan, then I could also come up with another plan. Today's mission is enough, no matter how much more you think, you won't make any progress. So why not take a break and come up with another way, how about that?"

With that, his hand reached out to me again. The slender but firm fingers invite me to trust the person in front of me, because the road ahead will not be as easy as I thought.

Determined, I took a deep breath and put my hand in his palm, saying, "Alright, let's go together then, Rafayel."

*************************************

As night fell and my apartment was a distance from where I had been taken, Rafayel offered me shelter for the night at his place. Ordinarily, I would have imagined that a house as vast as his would evoke a sense of isolation and dread upon returning at night. Still, for some reason, Rafayel's home, despite its oceanic expanse, didn't make me feel lost. It was as if... I had returned home... Returned to my true roots...

There I went again... what was wrong with me? Lost in a reverie the whole evening! I couldn't even understand myself at this point!

Slapping my cheeks twice, I tried to calm myself and avoid further overthinking. These emotions probably resulted from my shock after the terrifying encounter I had just experienced.

Rafayel told me to wait comfortably in the living room while he took care of some business, giving me an opportunity to take a closer look at the room I often frequented.

Everything was still as messy as ever... Rafayel was indeed not a fan of tidying up, but when it came to his passions...

My gaze fell upon the painting he often worked on, the same painting he had been engrossed in when we first "officially" met. Looking at it again, it truly had something special...

Unable to contain myself, I got up from the sofa and approached the painting. Though I had no knowledge of art, the colors used in this painting always left me questioning. The azure of the sea mingled with the crimson of the stone Rafayel had given me, evoking a sense of... melancholy... as if it were blood spilling from the sea. Could this painting have always been imbued with such sadness? Just like at Raymond's house, when I had hallucinations of the singing voice coming from the very painting he had painted.

Was it my oversensitivity or was he harboring a sorrowful secret within the painting that he doesn’t want anyone to reach it?

As I was lost in thought, a finger gently touched my shoulder, accompanied by a soft cough. "All done, let me show you to your guest room."

I took a deep breath after the unexpected tap, "Next time, there are other ways to get my attention." But remembering his earlier mention of urgent work he had to handle, I couldn't help but ask out of curiosity, "You're done already? I'm quite surprised that an artist would have urgent work to do late at night."

Rafayel paused slightly, tilting his head to the side and scratching the back of his neck, "It's nothing big..."

At first, I didn't catch the hidden meaning in his words until he led me to my room. Looking at the furniture in the room, it seemed as if it had been hastily moved aside just to make a makeshift space right in the middle of the bed, and the traces of dust on his fingers that I inadvertently noticed, I also realized the "urgent" work he had mentioned earlier. Could it really be... that we had only known each other for a short time?

A question began to stir in my mind, adding another layer of complexity to my bewilderment.

After settling down and readying myself for bed, I realized insomnia took control of me. Each of the past events played out before me like a puzzle, each clue more difficult than the last, but with no hints or connections to piece together, just casually floating before me, mocking me and making me realize my helplessness.

In frustration, I sat up straight up, got out of bed, and walked straight to the door. I needed some fresh air to calm this wavering mind down or else I would do something out of hot-headedness that eventually makes me regret.

As I wandered around and finally reached the living room, I noticed that someone else was also in a state of insomnia. Seeing Rafayel holding a paintbrush but sitting motionless, staring intently at the blank canvas in front of him, my heart tightened uncontrollably and I gradually approached him.

I followed suit, sitting cross-legged on the floor, arms wrapped around my shins and chin resting on my knees, also staring directly at the blank canvas.

Before I could speak, Rafayel asked,

"Is it because you're in a strange place that you can't sleep?"

The question caught me off guard, as it turned out that this was what he was concerned about. I chuckled.

"No, the bed is very comfortable, even though it's a bit messy. It's still very cozy; it's just..."

My trailing off made Rafayel even more anxious.

"Hey, tell me the rest of the sentence please? I can't handle being left hanging like this! I hired you as my bodyguard, but I'm afraid I'll die before you with this way of talking..."

When Rafayel met my serious gaze fixed on him, he knew I had something on my mind. He put his hands behind his back and leaned back in a lazy way while looking at me. Tilting his head, he asked, “Then what do you want to know? Let me warn you, my information isn't as readily available as it was at the Nest bar, so there's no guarantee I can answer everything you ask…”

“Well then,” I said, “tell me how you are able to find me.”

A flicker of surprise crossed Rafayel's face, but he quickly regained his composure.

"Hmmm, who knows, maybe it's because we have a telepathic connection?"

There was that playful tone again. I glared at Rafayel in reproach.

"If that were true, then you should have realized I was in danger from the start, shouldn't you? Why wait until so much later to find me?"

As I uttered those words, the atmosphere between us shifted.

Rafayel sat up straight, imitating me by wrapping his arms around his legs and resting his head on his knees. He looked at me intently and asked, "Then what about you? If you knew it was dangerous, why did you still rush in? Why go through so much trouble just to find out the truth? Wouldn't it be better to just live in ignorance?"

For some reason, I sensed that Rafayel's reprimand held another layer of meaning. Why did I want to know? Even though my answer might not be the best, I felt I needed to let Rafayel know what was on my mind. I looked straight at Rafayel with unwavering determination.

"Because living in transparency is better than living in a fabricated reality?"

He looked at me, I looked at him. We both had our own thoughts and our own resolve. No one broke the silence until something unexpected came out of Rafayel's mouth.

"So what if the truth isn't as rosy as you think? And what if it's connected to someone you used to know, someone you used to trust, and it makes you realize that they're not the good person you thought they were? What would you do then?"

Now it was my turn to be surprised. This was something I had never considered. Could someone I used to know have completely different personalities than I thought?

I had my own answer, and it sent a shiver down my spine.

My grandmother and Caleb?

Taking a deep breath, I looked at Rafayel with an unwavering gaze.

"Then I need to know even more! Because at least, I can understand their predicament."

As I spoke, I could feel the weight of my words settling upon me. The truth, no matter how bitter or unsettling, had a power of its own. It was a force that could not be ignored, a tide that could not be turned.

Rafayel continued to stare at me intently.

His silence was deafening, his gaze unwavering. He seemed to be weighing my words, probing the depths of my resolve. I could almost see the wheels turning in his mind, the calculations being made.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he broke the silence. His voice was low and measured, each word carefully chosen.

"Alright, if you've made up your mind to find out the truth."

As he spoke, he pulled out from his inner pocket a jet-black card with gold lettering, a design reserved for exclusive invitations among the upper class. It was the contents of the card that caught my attention.

"Invitation to the Underground Auction - Venue: N109"

Just as I was about to reach out and touch the card instinctively, Rafayel stopped me by pulling it back and looking at me scrutinizingly.

"This is the reason you sought me out, came to the Nest, and became bait for Onychius. All of that was just to get to this auction with the Aether Core, wasn't it? You must remember you agreed to the gamble, and you agreed to pay a high price to find the truth you wanted. And if you fail or don't provide enough leverage, you'll become the payment yourself."

The moonlight outside shone on my gleaming eyes. Yes, I hadn't forgotten my deal. Letting out a deep sigh, I looked back at Rafayel with no hesitation.

"So, you mean that the one who should make the transaction now should be you?"

With a sly smile on his lips, Rafayel tilted his head and looked at me with an air of admiration.

"That's right. Instead of beating around the bush just to get what you want, I'll take the trouble of being your guide. And out of respect for the fact that you're my employee, I'll give you a discount, how about that?"

Even though I knew that Rafayel also held many secrets, the feeling of dependence on him made me feel more at ease than anything else.

"Alright, then it's your turn to make your conditions..."

The wind swept past the window, revealing moonlight streaming into the room, carrying whispers that only he and I could understand. The words were spoken, but the true and heartfelt intention would reveal itself in time.

**********************************************************************************************

"Don't you think I look... strange?"

I asked, trying to cover the daring slit of my crimson dress as I stepped out of Rafayel's newly parked luxury car. As I was struggling, a strong, clean hand reached out to me, accompanied by his gentle voice.

"You look beautiful, not strange. And if you do look strange, who dares to gossip when I'm here?"

Sometimes I don't know if this trait of Rafayel's is a blessing or a curse. Putting my hand on Rafayel's palm, I gently stepped onto the luxurious tiled steps and headed toward the main lobby of a famous hotel in N109. In contrast to the complexities and chaos of the area known for its crime, this hotel had an air of nobility but also a sense of mystery through the scrutinizing eyes in the darkness, like predators lurking with bared teeth.

And to my surprise, it wasn't just myself under watchful eyes, but the one they were observing the most was...

As I looked up at Rafayel, who was very calm and composed, looking straight ahead while putting his arm around me as we walked in, a voice from the waiter next door rang out.

"Mr. Rafayel, please this way, the esteemed guest is waiting for you."

Rafayel was indeed a regular here, so much so that someone was waiting for him. As if reading my mind, Rafayel just patted my head for a moment and then leaned into my ear and said, "It's almost time for the show. Take care of yourself, I'll come to you when I've gathered enough information. Oh, and as we agreed before, feel free to use the card I gave you, because I'll deduct it from your salary anyway."

With that, Rafayel winked at me and then pretended to speak loudly for everyone around to hear, "Have a good time, my lovely little cutie."

Those words successfully drew everyone’s attention to me. There was never a dull moment with Rafayel.

After Rafayel left, I began my search for information about the Aether core and for the possibility that someone would be selling it. I wandered around the auction room for a while, observing all the cores present in the auction room, and I realized that this was not going to be an easy task. Some of the cores present had been modified, which immediately made me think of the organization that made fake cores. What was their plan? What was their purpose in creating fake cores?

Under the dim lights of the auction room, all information about the objects on display was also swallowed up in the misty darkness. Just like the pearl I accidentally came across, it was also on display on the auction board. The inscription on the item was accompanied by a rather strange name: "Tears of the Lemurian." This pearl reminded me again of the similarly sized pearls in Rafayel's studio. A normal pearl being auctioned off in N109? Or was it more than just a pearl and held some other symbolic meaning?

Once the question was asked, it was like a wave that couldn't be stopped. I had many thoughts swirling in my head, but it was like walking through thick fog. Even though I could touch it, I didn't know where it would lead me or how to find out. As I drifted deeper into thought, a figure approached me with a warm smile, but his eyes gleamed like a hungry tiger.

"Beautiful lady, are you interested in collecting precious items? I also know quite a bit about the item you're admiring, so would you be interested in trading some information for a dance?"

Sweet words laced with hidden daggers were nothing new to me. Just as I was thinking about how to reject the insincere person in front of me who was reaching out his hand, a hand was already around my shoulder, pulling me towards his chest. A familiar voice rang out, "Excuse me, the lady here already has an escort and an appointment. I'd hate to trouble you to find another unclaimed flower."

Sensing the fiery gaze above and with no sign of either of them backing down, I quickly wrapped my arms around Rafayel and sighed dramatically.

"Where have you been for so long? You kept me waiting. You said you knew everything about Lemuria, so you have to explain it to me, right? Otherwise, I'll be embarrassed in front of this gentleman!"

Rafayel's body stiffened for a moment, but he quickly played along and gently patted my shoulder.

"Alright, anything you want is possible. So, outsider..."

With a sharp glance, Rafayel looked at the man while emphasizing, "There's no need to worry about him that much."

As the strange man retreated in frustration, I let out a sigh of relief. Just as my eyes met Rafayel's gaze as he looked down, I couldn't help but ask curiously. "What you said earlier, was it... true or false? Do you know a lot about the Lemurians?"

Unable to tell whether it was the darkness playing tricks on my eyes, but I could sense a hint of sadness in Rafayel's eyes. But that hint of sadness came and went as quickly as a passing breeze, impossible to grasp.

"If you want to know, I do understand a bit. But for now..."

Rafayel released me, then leaned down slightly, extending his hand in an invitation to dance and said, "There's something more important to do. I have the information you need, so would you like to exchange it for a dance?"

I couldn't help but chuckle. It was a time of crisis, and Rafayel still had the energy to tease. But if he wanted to, I was willing to indulge him, because at least thanks to him, I had gathered all the important information I needed to learn about the truth. But that wasn't all.

Looking straight into Rafayel's eyes, I gathered my skirt, dipped slightly like an elegant lady, and placed my hand on his palm. I also wanted to try my luck and see what it would be like to trust him.

I didn't know why Rafayel wanted to dance with me, even if it was just for show, but my limited ability was really not up to the task. However, Rafayel, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy this very much, as after the countless times I accidentally stepped on his feet despite the melodious music with a clear rhythm still playing slowly, he still guided me gently through his motions. Just don't count his endless tease by the way.

His carefree attitude did contribute to my surging calmness, though, which made me start to enjoy this little dance we had.

However, there was only one thing I wasn't satisfied with, and that was stemmed from the fact that he had promised to provide information for a dance, but so far he hadn’t spilled the beans yet.

As Rafayel noticed my movements slowing, he smiled. He knew what I needed.

And as he was about to say something, the lights on the dance floor suddenly dimmed, accompanied by a soft, soulful ballad, leaving me surrounded by shadowy figures. I felt like prey in a hunter's lair. It seemed the time was near. Without delay, Rafayel pulled me even closer. Leaning in, he whispered in my ear,

“Did you notice? At three, six, and nine o’clock, there are armed men watching us. Once this song ends, who knows how many will be waiting to capture us both. But don't worry, we're prepared. If you hear or see anything unusual, don’t be too panicked and follow my lead.”

As he spoke, Rafayel gestured towards the elevator while making a spin during our dance. “See that? When the time is right, that’s our only escape.”

As the music reached its crescendo, I could feel the danger closing in. My heart pounded in my chest. A gentle hand brushed against mine, and I looked up into Rafayel’s reassuring eyes. Taking a deep breath, I nodded. Satisfied with my response, Rafayel interlaced our fingers.

“It’s time. The location of the Aether Core has been revealed. Let’s bring this to an end.”

With those words, he gradually finished the dance and started to lead me towards the elevator. As we moved, the shadows that had been following us began to converge. Just as they were about to make their move, a loud explosion erupted. As expected, Rafayel pulled me closer and we hurried towards the elevator through the smoking air created from the crumbling of the building structures. The explosion had drawn everyone’s attention, allowing us to slip away unnoticed.

As we approached the elevator, we found a beautiful woman waiting. Just as I was about to assume she was an enemy, the woman spoke in an irritated tone.

“You owe me one. I’ll settle this with you later.”

Her gaze lingered on me for a moment before she sighed and turned to Rafayel, her expression filled with a knowing look. “You two should go. It’s time.”

Rafayel nodded. “Thank you, for everything.”

As Rafayel took my hand to step into the elevator, a hesitant voice rang out, followed by a statement only they could understand.

"So... are you still thinking about that? If you still need it, my husband would always have a slot to make it for you."

Rafayel didn't turn around, but responded before the elevator doors closed.

"Perhaps."

As the elevator doors slid shut, I felt as if I had just witnessed something profound. With questioning eyes, I looked at Rafayel, but received only a vague reply.

"Don't worry about it. Right now, all you need to focus on is achieving our goal. We can deal with the rest later."

Rafayel was right. Now was not the time. Taking a deep breath, I calmed myself and thought about the task ahead. With each floor the elevator ascended, my heart pounded in my chest.

The Aether Core has been on the rooftop of this hotel all this time?

When the elevator reached the top floor, the doors opened to a scene I hadn't expected.

Before me lay a ruined landscape shrouded in mist. Shattered glass panes, collection vessels, transporters, and various pieces of advanced equipment were scattered amidst the overgrown grass and protruding steel beams, making me imagine what this place had once been.

It was like an abandoned laboratory...

As my skeptical gaze wandered from the abandoned laboratory to Rafayel, I realized how lost I was and how intently he was watching me.

After a long pause, Rafayel asked, "Do you know... what this is?"

His question was hesitant, and I couldn't understand why. Although I didn't know why the abandoned laboratory before me felt so familiar, the simple fact that I had never been to the N109 zone led me to dismiss that theory. So I could only answer honestly, "Isn't this just an abandoned laboratory?"

As if examining my answer, Rafayel looked at me for a long time. His eyes were noting every reaction of mine with no intention of letting even the smallest details escape. When he seemed to have confirmed something, he sighed and said, "This is indeed the abandoned EVER laboratory."

EVER? The renowned research organization in Linkon? It seemed plausible that they would use this place as a research base. But as if reading my thoughts, Rafayel immediately said:

"Why do you think EVER would have placed a research facility in the N109 zone? There are many areas affected by the incident 14 years ago, but why is only the N109 zone a wasteland? Do you think it's as simple as that?" Rafayel's question reminded me of some rumors I had heard, but my current state of mind prevented me from thinking any further.

Rafayel’s hand, which had never left mine, continued to pull me through the chaotic remnants until he led me past the ruined scenes, revealing a clearer picture of what was happening.

Before me was the Deepspace Tunnel pulsating like a heartbeat echoing through the sky. It was enveloped in thick clouds that drifted through the misty night. Occasionally, blue lights emanated from these clouds, illuminating the entire horizon like eyes peering through a gap in space, looking out into the vast universe. This was the closest I had ever been to the Deepspace Tunnel.

And beneath the tunnel's horizon was a white light emanating from a pile of rock. Unable to resist, I pulled away from Rafayel and moved towards the rock figure.

"A Flux Nexus. I saw a similar one in the no-hunt zone."

As if to continue my sentence, Rafayel, who was behind me, spoke up. "I'm sure you can guess what this Nexus contains."

Rafayel's footsteps approached me and he stood beside me near the Nexus. With a calm voice and deep, focused eyes, he cautioned me. "Think carefully. Once you take the remaining piece, there's no turning back. Are you sure this is what you want to know and achieve?"

If I had come all this way, I couldn't give up now. I took a deep breath and looked into Rafayel's eyes, answering firmly, "This is what I want to know, no matter the cost. Because I want to see with my own eyes what I've been missing."

Pointing towards the Nexus, I transmitted my resonance power.

And at that moment, the Nexus opened. In the center of the Nexus appeared a stone similar to the Aether Core I had seen before. But as I touched it, the ground suddenly shook. A violent storm erupted from the entrance to the Deepspace, and a giant, dragon-like monster with its massive wings appeared. A protofield opened, and a dragon-shaped Wanderer descended, with lightning bolts striking towards me and Rafayel.

This was the first time my battle with a Wanderer had not been easy.

As Rafayel and I fought the Wanderer relentlessly, the lightning strikes continued to hit me, causing fires to ignite around me, making me feel as if I were sinking into a hazy vision.

Before I realized what was happening, in front of me was a pitch-black scene. A figure wearing a sapphire-blue ribbon crossing over the shoulder, as shining and as beautiful as the scales of a fish appeared before me, breathing deeply as if panting from exhaustion or pain. The entire ribbon, draped across his chest, was soaked in a dark color with a strong scent like blood, the color and scent deepening. A hand, covered in tattoos resembling an ancient culture forgotten, reached toward my chest and pressed firmly against my heart. In his other hand, I saw what appeared to be a lump of beating flesh. Confused and in panic, I looked down at my chest where his hand was placed, and I realized that I was also covered in blood.

"What... what is happening?" I couldn't help but tremble as a manly but gentle voice echoed.

"Don't be afraid... trust me... our promise is eternal and unchanging..."

Amidst the somewhat familiar voice, the sound of a beating heart began to pound in my chest. And before me, the beating flesh in his other hand was consumed in flames.

As my vision started to blur away, the familiar voice called out again, accompanied by the warmth of a hand stroking me.

"I'll find you... no matter where you are... I'll find you..."

When I opened my eyes again, Rafayel's hands were tightly gripping mine, replacing the warmth I had felt before.

I didn't understand what was happening, but before me was the image of the Wanderer monster gradually turning to ash and dissipating into the air, leaving trails like rays of sunlight.

And the Aether Core I was holding began to glow. Countless rays of light radiated and were absorbed into my body. It was a familiar, warm energy.

Amidst all the chaos, I was still in Rafayel's arms, embraced by him. His hand still held mine tightly, just like in my vision. I didn't know how much time had passed until the light absorbed by my body changed from crashing waves to ripples on a calm lake.

And when the light from the Aether Core ceased to radiate, it began to crack.

I pointed my hand towards Rafayel, showing him the cracked stone.

He looked at it for a long time, then turned back to me and said, "Finally, that energy belongs to you. Isn't this what you wanted?"

I looked straight at Rafayel and expressed my thoughts. "You know, what I want isn't this power, but the secret hidden behind it."

Taking a deep breath, I gripped Rafayel's hand tightly and said, "I saw... something like a dream. Have we met somewhere before? Have I forgotten something?"

For a moment, it felt like Rafayel hesitated, but that feeling disappeared as quickly as it came.

"You must be tired. You need to rest. Let's go, this isn't a place we should stay long. We can answer your remaining questions another time. How does that sound?"

As quickly as the door to answers opened, it had been abruptly shut closed. After the events of today, there are still many hidden secrets with answers still missing. This coincidentally reminds me of the Lemurian culture, where each answer is met with another question.

Maybe this is indeed long from over.

[lucygxybaird]

i've just a seen a face, i can't forget the time or place where we just met. she's just the girl for me, and i want all the world to see we've met. had it been another day, i might have looked the other way, and i'd have never been aware. but as it is, i'll dream of her tonight. (i've just seen a face - the beatles) Billy treats his mother to a night of live music, thinking she deserves to have a little bit of fun. He doesn't expect to meet a sweet, scintillating songbird named Lucy Gray Baird.

“Oh, Billy, I’m not sure about this—”

Kathleen McCarty hesitates on the threshold of the saloon, her hand tucked into the crook of Billy’s arm as though to restrain him from going inside. The double doors are thrown open to catch the hint of spring in the air, musing spilling out into the street along with the lamplight. It’s already crowded, a band going full swing on a makeshift stage at the back of the cavernous room. The dance floor is so packed that Billy can only catch a glimpse of an elbow here, a swirl of a skirt there, a tip of a hat or tap of a boot. 

He desperately wants to go in.

Billy offers his mother an encouraging smile. “Ma, come on, it’ll be fun. Please? Please? We won’t stay for very long, I promise,” he says, unabashedly wheedling. “Just a song or two. You deserve to have some fun.”

God knows that’s true. Between working herself to the bone, taking care of him and Joe, and dealing with Antrim’s special sort of bullshit, Kathleen doesn’t have any time for herself. And Billy remembers well how much she and his father used to love to dance. “I’ll ask the band if they know any Irish folk tunes,” he adds, grinning, and his expression only brightens when Kathleen smiles back at him. 

“Oh, well,” she says. “Alright. But only a song or two, do you hear?” She pauses. “Do you think the band knows Téir Abhaile Riú?”

Billy laughs, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “I’ll ask,” he says again. “Come on.”

He leads his mother inside, just as the band finishes their song. The young woman standing in center stage beams, and Billy thinks he actually feels his heart flutter for a second. She’s tiny — standing in her heeled boots, she may not even come up to his shoulder, although it’s hard to tell with her standing up there — but she exudes a blaze of energy, drawing the eye the way a fork of lightning will steal all eyes from the stars. 

“Thank you, thank you!” She spreads her arms wide as if to embrace the whole room. “My name is Lucy Gray Baird, we’re the Covey, and I promise, we’ll be right back after we wet our whistles for just a minute or two.”

She jumps down with the light, easy grace of a deer bounding through the woods, landing right in front of him. Billy is aware of the other members of the band — there’s a flash of blonde curls, the impossibly sharp angle of an elbow that can only belong to a teenage boy going through a growth spurt, and a young woman hauling a bass at her side — but he can’t take his eyes off Lucy Gray. When she smiles at him, his own smile is tugged from him as naturally as the moon pulling the tides toward shore.

“I think those might be the prettiest blue eyes I’ve ever seen, but it’s hard to tell with that hat hanging over your face,” she says. “Let me check.”

Reaching up, Lucy Gray actually picks his hat up off his head, holding it down by her side like it belongs to her. She tilts her head, wrinkling her nose as though considering the depth of color on his eyes. “Yep,” she says, putting the hat firmly back on for him. “Blue, just like I thought. Maybe the bluest. Definitely the prettiest.”

Billy, trying to cover the fact that he’s now blushing furiously, says: “Why don’t I buy you a drink for getting it right?” 

Lucy Gray smiles at him again. “What would I have gotten for being wrong?”

“A drink,” Billy says, and she laughs. 

She leads the way toward the bar, and slips onto the stool, swinging her booted feet idly. Billy slides onto the stool next to hers, waving down the bartender. “Whiskey,” he says. “And—”

He looks over at Lucy Gray. She raises an eyebrow, grinning up at him. “A whiskey for me, too, sugar.”

As the bartender pours them each a drink, Billy touches the brim of his hat, nodding at her. She giggles. “My name is Billy,” he says. “I brought my ma in to hear the music.”

He looks over at Kathleen, who has found a table near the door. She waves at him, and he waves back. Lucy Gray wiggles her fingers, blowing Kathleen a kiss. “I can see where you get those lovely eyes of yours from,” she says, propping her chin on the heel of her palm. 

She picks up her glass and takes a long sip, closing her eyes as if in pleasure. He watches the way her long, dark eyelashes flutter, how her lips purse on the rim of the glass. All of a sudden, he’s desperately thirsty in a way whiskey won’t fix, but he downs half his own order in one go anyway. 

Before he even has a chance to ask if she knows any Irish tunes, Lucy Gray says: “Does your ma wanna hear anything special?”

When Billy makes his request, she smiles and hops down from her stool. “You bring her right up front,” she says. “We’ll sing just for her.” 

Billy grins at her and crosses the room to his mother, as the band starts to gather up on stage again. “Come on, Ma,” he says, offering her his hand. “Lucy Gray says they’ll play your song.”

“Oh, Lucy Gray’s her name, is it?” Kathleen is smiling at him in the certain way all mothers have when they believe their children to be acting especially endearing. “I could see you two talking over there. She’s rather pretty.”

“Ma,” Billy groans softly, feeling more grateful than he can express in words that Lucy Gray is up on stage, in conversation with the willowy bass player, and she can’t possibly hear this conversation. Otherwise he would just have to hope for a very singular sinkhole to open up at his feet and swallow him whole. “We were just — I mean, I’m sure she has a…”

The words haven’t even left his mouth and already he finds them upsetting. Lucy Gray having a beau has only occurred to him just now, and he finds himself looking around the room, trying to find a a man young enough for her — one sitting alone, maybe, eyes trained on the stage like he can’t bear to look away. But it looks like every man here (apart from Billy himself) is too old, or with someone, or both. He relaxes a little. 

They find a place in front of the stage. Lucy Gray catches his eye, and she winks at him. Billy feels his face flush and wonders if the pink in his cheeks is visible with the lights of the stage shining in her eyes. 

“Oh, no, I saw the way she was looking at you,” Kathleen says, patting his arm. “If she’s seeing someone, she won’t be by the end of the evening, I’ll warrant.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but then music starts to tumble from the stage like a living thing -- drums gamboling and fiddles stepping lightly through the air, the strumming of a guitar twirling after them. Lucy Gray is standing center stage again, keeping time with a hand at her hip. 

“Look how the lights of the town, the lights of the town are shining now — tonight I’ll be dancing around, I’m off on the road to Galway now…” 

She steps lightly forward, arms sweeping in a graceful circle as her feet tap on the boards, the hem of her skirt belling outward as she twirls. He watches her light up from the inside out, beaming, eyes gleaming. 

“Look how she’s off on the town, she’s off on a search for sailors, though. There’s fine fellas here to be found, she’s never been on to stay at home—”

The bass player and the girl with blonde ringlets framing her face like a nimbus of gold lean forward, adding their voices to hers. 

“Home you’ll go and it’s there you’ll stay, and you’ll work to do in the morning. Give up your dreams of going away, forget your sailors in Galway.”

All the members of the band join in for the chorus, stamping their feet to the rhythm of the Irish tune. Kathleen is positively beaming at Billy’s side, clapping her hands in time. He keeps stealing glances at her in between drinking in Lucy Gray’s performance, thinking that he can’t remember the last time he’s seen his mother so happy. 

“Téir abhaile riú, tèir abhaile riu — téir abhaile ríu, Mherai, téir abhaile riú gus fan sa bhaile — mar tá do mhargadh déanta…”

The crowd around them has started to pair off, letting the fast, heady rush of the music carry them around the floor. Billy turns to his mother, grinning and holding out his hand once more — but before he can take it, he hears a light clatter of boots and turns to see Lucy Gray, grinning widely herself. She bobs a curtsey to Kathleen and puts out her own hand, beckoning encouragingly. 

“Come now and follow me down, down to the lights of Galway where there’s fine sailors walking the town, and waiting to meet the ladies there…”

He expects his mother to demure, huddle against him, but instead, she puts her hand in Lucy Gray’s like she’s known the girl all her life. Lucy Gray doesn’t miss a beat as the two girls left on stage carry on the tune. 

“Watch now, he’ll soon be along — he’s finer than any sailor, so, come now and pick up your spoons. He’s waiting to hear you play them, whoo!”

Billy can’t stop himself from laughing from sheer joy and pleasure as he watches the years fall away from his ma, her dark curls flying away from her face, her eyes brightening and her feet just as light as her partner’s twinkling toes. Lucy Gray is laughing even as she sings, the sweetness of her voice warming with ripples of joy. 

“Here today and she’s gone tomorrow, and next she’s going to Galway. Jiggin’ around and off to town, and won’t be back until the morning.”

He’s aware of a flash of yellow from the corner of his eye, and he looks down to see the little blonde singer, putting out her hands to him. Billy bows, one hand over his heart and the other folding behind his back, and the girl smiles up at him. He takes her by the hand and they whirl onto the floor, finding themselves by Lucy Gray and his mother. 

“Téir abhaile riú, tèir abhaile riu — téir abhaile ríu, Mherai, téir abhaile riú gus fan sa bhaile — mar tá do mhargadh déanta…”

He realizes, with a kick to his heart, that his ma is singing along. He can’t remember the last time he’s heard her sing, or even hum. Idly, picking up the girl and spinning around with her in his arms, he thinks he’ll have to ask his mother what the Gaelic chorus means. 

“Off with a spring in my step, the sailors are searching Galway for a young lady such as myself, for reels and jigs and maybe more…”

Lightly, with no signal at all except a flick of Lucy Gray’s dark head, she darts to one side and Billy’s partner to the other, with the blonde taking Kathleen’s hand and twirling under her arm. Kathleen laughs, and Lucy Gray snatches up Billy’s hands, tugging him closer. 

“Stay here and never you mind the lights of the town are blinding you. The sailors, they come and they go, but listen to what’s reminding you — handsome men surrounding you, dancing a reel around you…”

Singing of handsome men, Lucy Gray leans up on her toes, her lips at his ear, as if the words are just for him. He turns his head to hide his grin, but he catches a glimpse of her dark eyes, and he knows that she saw. It doesn’t really burn him, this idea. It doesn’t burn him at all, actually. 

“Home you’ll go and it’s there you’ll stay, and you’ve got work to do in the morning. Give up your dream of going away, forget your sailors in Galway…”

Billy knows most of the people on the dance floor, by sight if not by name — the old woman who works at the inn where they stayed when they first arrived in town; the owner of the Chinese laundry and his wife, neither of whom he’s seen smile this wide before; his mother’s friend Hattie, who is clasped in the arms of—

“Mr. Upson, is that you?” Billy calls to him over the music, unable to keep from laughing again. 

Mr. Upson just grins at him and frees a hand from Hattie’s waist to tip his hat toward Billy. 

“Téir abhaile riú, tèir abhaile riu — téir abhaile ríu, Mherai, téir abhaile riú gus fan sa bhaile — mar tá do mhargadh déanta…”

As Billy turns again, Lucy Gray still grasping his hands like she’ll never let go, she leans back on her heels. He whirls her around, easy as you please; she’s light as a feather, and in any case, he would sooner drop an anvil on his foot than drop this girl right now. 

“Listen to the music flow, I’m falling for the flow of home. I’m home to dance til dawning…”

Her voice warms him from the inside out, song flowing from her lips like the finest of wines, and he knows he’s not the only one getting drunk on the sound of her. Everyone, his mother included, is flushed with exertion and a giddy happiness that drives the years and their troubles away like the gentle mornings of spring driving away all thought of winter’s chill. 

“Téir abhaile riú, tèir abhaile riu — téir abhaile ríu, Mherai, téir abhaile riú gus fan sa bhaile — mar tá do mhargadh déanta…”

Lucy Gray keeps one of his hands in hers and reaches for other for Kathleen, who is still dancing with the tiny blonde singer. Kathleen grabs onto Lucy Gray’s hand, looking up at Billy with starlight still caught in her eyes; Billy, for the first time in his life, understands how one can cry for joy. It’s like he’s so happy that he can’t contain it, a sweet ache that starts in his chest and spreads upwards, until his throat is tight and the corners of his eyes sting. Still, he wouldn’t trade the decision to come in here tonight for anything in the world. 

For more reason than one. 

“Stay a while and we’ll dance together now, as the light is falling. We’ll reel away til the break of day, and dance together till morning…”

The blonde girl reaches for Mr. Upson’s hand, and on his other side, Hattie reaches for someone else. Soon the dancers on the floor have formed a ring, whirling around in a feverish, excited circle, as the song plunges toward the chorus one last time. 

“Téir abhaile riú, tèir abhaile riu — téir abhaile ríu, Mherai, téir abhaile riú gus fan sa bhaile — mar tá do mhargadh déanta…”

As the Covey members still up onstage bring the song to an end with a flourish, Lucy Gray jumps nimbly back onto the boards, twirling around and spreading her hands. Kathleen ends up pressed against Billy’s side, giggling like a girl, her hair a mess and her smile firmly fixed on her face. Billy puts an arm around his mother’s shoulders to steady her as the crowd collects itself enough to burst into rapturous applause.

“Thank you! Thank you for comin’ out tonight, and joinin’ me in our final song—!”

The crowd groans, Billy included. Kathleen digs an elbow into his ribs. 

“—for tonight!” Lucy Gray insists. “For tonight. I promise y’all, we’re not goin’ anywhere just yet. In case you forgot, I’m Lucy Gray Baird, we’re the Covey, and I swear, we’ll be back to sing for you soon!”

Billy guides his mother over to the bar, the better to escape the crush of people as they start to leave. It seems that with the Covey done for the evening, most of the crowd is done, too. A few stragglers follow them to the bar and occupy the stools, but a few moments later, the place is nearly empty. 

“Ready to go?” Billy says, putting a hand on the small of Kathleen’s back, ready to guide her out. 

Instead of answering him, she flicks her dark blue gaze to the side of him, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’ll wait for you at the door,” she says, and Billy turns to see Lucy Gray standing at his side, looking up at him with a scrap of paper peeking between her fingertips.  

“Your ma is quite the dancer,” she says, and Billy chuckles. “So are you.”

“Oh, well, thank you.” He tips his hat to her again, and she bobs her head in response. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen Ma like that. It’s been…” He falters, thinking of how she used to be, before Pa died. He pulls a smile onto his face from somewhere deep. “It’s been a while.”

Lucy Gray surprises him by taking his hand and squeezing it lightly, once, before letting go. She doesn’t pry, but she says, “Well, you two should come back sometime.” 

Before he can say they (sure as hell) will, a voice calls out from the back room: “Lucy Gray! We’ve leaving!”

She smiles and leans up to kiss his cheek. “Maude Ivory,” she says. “Your little dance partner.” She puts a hand to her mouth and adds in a stage whisper, “She thinks you’re cute. So do I.”

With Billy befuddled and blushing, she turns to go, crossing the room in light, graceful strides. As she disappears through a curtained door by the bar, Billy feels the whisper of paper against his palm and turns his hand over. He smiles at the note she’s passed him. 

If you want to see me before our next show (Thursday, 8 p.m.), meet me at the meadow by the old Willow Ford farm tomorrow night. I like to watch the stars come out. 

- Lucy Gray Baird.

He isn’t sure what compels to do it, but he finds himself lifting the scrap of paper to his lips and kissing her signature on the page, before slipping it into his pocket. Billy goes to join his mother at the door, and he barely registers the way she’s looking at him with that indulgent little smile on her face. He walks her home in a sort of daze, thinking that the sun has only just now set, and he can’t wait for it to do it again tomorrow. 

The next time the sun goes down, and the stars start to twinkle in their sea of indigo velvet, he knows that’s when he’ll see her again. 

[bunnakit]

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 (you are here)

Wooyoung nearly sobbed at the intense wave of pleasure that washed over him, body writhing in the ebbing tide. His voice choked out of him, eliciting a deep and fond chuckle from above. He hated how warm San’s laugh was for how very cruel he was being. 

“Sannie please for the love of God move.” He begged, trying to kick out one of his legs only to have it pinned to the lumpy mattress, leaving Wooyoung reluctantly spread open. His cock leaked against his stomach and he couldn't help but think ‘Me too, buddy.’ 

San leaned down, pressing their lips together with lazy, lingering kisses. He was such a juxtaposition of unwavering strength and endless tenderness. He knew Choi San was one of a kind and he was so lucky to have met him that fateful rainy night. He’d never find anyone like him again. 

“Why don't you ask nicely?” San smirked against his jaw and he couldn't help but roll his eyes. 

“San if you don't fucking move I’m going to book the biggest, meanest bastard for your next fi-ah!” Breath swept into his lungs in a harsh gasp, expelled in a low and pathetic whine. It wasn't that San was the biggest he’d ever slept with - he was average, maybe above - it was that every movement was done with so much intent. He rolled his hips, gave teasing touches, and panted crude compliments all for nothing more than the satisfaction of his lover. 

It had been a night a lot like this, blowing off steam from an unsatisfying fight that San felt he won too quickly, when the revelation had struck Wooyoung. He had watched San then as he did now, the concentrated furrow of his brow, the clench of his jaw to stave off his own orgasm until he knew his lover was unequivocally satisfied. All of it came to the same conclusion Wooyoung drew in the current moment; He was unbearably in love with Choi San. 

“Why are you crying, jagi?” San’s movements stilled as he lifted his calloused palm, cupping his cheek gently.

Wooyoung blinked slowly, unaware of when the tears had begun to streak down his face but he could feel them carving tracks backwards. He kept his gaze on San, opening his mouth to speak but a cold tear dipped uncomfortably into his ear. He blinked and when he opened his eyes he welcomed a new cresting tide of tears. 

He was back here, in the almost clinical bedroom in the corner of a house that had never felt like home. His eyes burned with tears and he knew he’d been crying for much longer than the brief snippet in his dream. He stumbled to his feet and tread into the bathroom, grimacing at the image staring back at him in the mirror. His long hair was a mess, greasy and in disarray, and his eyes were nearly swollen with how puffy they were. 

Wooyoung ducked his head, splashing icy water on his face several times. He was so tired of crying, so fucking tired of it, and yet he couldn't stop. Every single morning he woke up and pressed a cold compress to his eyelids until he resembled something close to human again. He ignored that step today, turning off the sink just to turn on the shower. 

He wanted to wallow, to stay in bed all day and cry himself to sleep again, to rot in his silk sheets on his stupidly expensive mattress. He craved a lumpy mattress permeated in the smell of cologne, sweat, sex, and San. It was so tempting to fall back under the covers and shut out the world but he knew, as much as he hated it, that San would never want to see him like this. And somehow that was enough. 

Wooyoung finished his shower quickly, wrapping a towel around his waist and going through his skin care routine that had way more steps than even made sense. He finished rubbing in his moisturizer before he opened the drawer beside him. Multiple watches in a variety of styles lined the inside, save for a vacant spot in the very center. 

His heart dropped through his feet, thrashing and writhing somewhere on his heated bathroom floor. 

Where is it? 

I put it here, didn't I?

My nightstand- Not here. 

The dresser-

No, no, no, nononono- Where is it?! 

His breath came in a rapid staccato, unsustainable and painful. He didn't really care if he ever breathed again, not if he’d truly lost Sannie’s watch. He needed it, needed to feel close to him in the only way he was allowed now. 

“Where is it?” He gasped, black spots dancing at the edge of his vision just before he heard a door open in the main section of his apartment. He yanked on a pair of sweatpants left hanging over a bedpost before stumbling out into his living space. 

“Hyunsoo-ssi, have you seen my watch? The silver one with the big dial-”

“Oh, that atrocity.” He tsked and dread mixed with something else, something sticky and molten, bubbled in Wooyoung’s stomach. “I cleaned out all your old designs for this year’s collection,” He passed a judgemental eye to the sweats hanging off his hips. “Though it seems I might have missed some.” 

Again, Wooyoung didn't feel when the tears started. He could only feel the cold streaks left in their wake as his skin grew impossibly warm. His fingers curled into his palms, nails pressing indents into the soft flesh. 

“And where are they now?” He hissed through clenched teeth, eyes closed as those black dots appeared in his periphery again. He felt wound tight, a coiled spring ready to snap - or perhaps a leopard, crouched low in wait for one wrong move, one little -

“I threw them out. Don't worry, Wooyoung-ssi, this year's designs are much-” 

He hadn't made a decision to throw the salt lamp across the room. Wooyoung hadn't even been aware he was holding it until it left his fingertips, hurtling towards the wall with an impressive amount of speed. His nostrils flared as the drywall crumbled and shards of the salt block scattered around his floor. He opened his eyes, vision tinted red as his eyes locked on his father's assistant. 

Wooyoung hated himself for it, hated the way it reminded him of his childhood, but he took a sick thrill in the fear that washed over Hyunsoo’s face. Good. “Get out.” He croaked, voice hoarse with barely restrained screams. 

There was a spot on the rug in his father's office, a deep brown and an odd wobbly shape. Spilled coffee, his father had said, knocked over by one of his visiting business partners who Wooyoung could barely remember. He understood now what that stain really was. 

His mouth flooded with spit the moment Hyunsoo closed the door behind him and Wooyoung had only a moment to sprint to his kitchen sink, more grateful than ever for his open floor plan as he slid to a stop on the tile just in time to eject the contents of his stomach into the shiny silver basin. He’d barely eaten the night before, something his stomach hadn't thanked him for, but at least it was a benefit to him now as he had very little to offer up. Snot and tears spilled down the lower half of his face and he groaned, using the spray nozzle on his faucet to rinse both the sink and his face. 

Wooyoung slammed the tap to shut it off before sliding down to the floor, back pressed against the uncomfortable grooves of the cabinet behind him and knees tucked to his chest. He tucked his forehead against them, the moisture dripping from his hair soaking the knee of his sweats. One hand lifted, rubbing a slow circle over the left side of his chest. 

His last connection to San, gone with something as simple as a careless - or perhaps malicious - act of service. The hickeys had long faded from his sternum, the scent of San’s cologne no longer clung to the clothes he'd worn that night. The watch had been all he had left to prove that he had been lucky enough to have been known - been loved - by Choi San. 

Wooyoung felt the rhythmic thumping against his fingers, an undeniable sign that blood still pumped through his veins. His heart was there, it was still there, so why did his chest feel so hollow? He wanted to thrash, to wail, to make sure the world could hear the pain that scraped his insides raw. Instead, he cried silently, vacant gaze locked on the mangled hole in the wall, lamp cord dangling down to the floor. 

Crying had never gotten him anything but a scolding so he had learned a long time ago to keep silent. 

When Wooyoung looked at himself in the mirror again the next morning another grimace spread over his face but this time accompanied by a nauseating twist in his gut. He lifted his hand to brush through his hair, twisting his fingers around the too-short strands and tugging until he felt a light sting at his scalp. It looked as wrong as he felt but he had an image to maintain now - Father’s perfect puppet. 

The image nearly made him sick, not from an attractiveness standpoint, but rather he missed who he was before. He missed San carding his fingers through his hair as he sang to him softly, half drunk but full of love. He missed San gripping with his fingers close to Wooyoung’s scalp, tilting his head back to press open-mouthed kisses against his neck. He missed San rolling over onto his hair in the middle of the night, coaxing him back to sleep with hushed apologies. 

He had hoped it would feel cleansing but instead it felt like a final goodbye to the man he could have had and the man he could have become.

[stargazersnz]

So! This was a birthday present for @dr-ground-zero and they said that I could share it here! So to the anon who asked for more content, here’s something to tide you over! In my mind this was like a part 1 to ways of persuasion so yeah!

CW- sneeze, slight mention of spray.

The seas were mostly calm, waves slowly forming with little rises up and down. It had been awfully quiet recently with very little sign of the God himself, possibly for good reason. A cold front had washed across the waters where Poseidon had been residing and this of course affected him greatly. He was a cold, shivering, snivelling mess, not to mention the very thing he controlled and lived in had been beginning to irritate his nose due to this.

Rising from the water Poseidon stood tall, his waist height equalling, if not challenging, the size of a ship's mast. His chest would rise and fall unevenly, bringing up his water logged arm to brush his hair out of his face with a slight flourish to it his nose began to twitch. The God of the Seas would run his other hand under it, attempting to quell the ever growing itch which seemed to refuse to leave him be, this was with little success of course. Rather it seemed to be pushing it further to the edge of his nose, possibly the droplets of water which would be pushed into his nose with each pathetic sniffle to stop the clear liquid from daring to drip out like a droplet into the ocean.

“Hehhh… heh’ERRRSHHU!!” His teeth clenched tight as the tickle finally overtook his body, the droplets of spray mixing in with the water around as if just more droplets from the ocean. However he clearly was not done just yet, his nose continued to twitch and nostrils flared wildly, wide enough that any poor bypassing seagulls would be at risk of being sucked up by each desperate sniffle. He was left wrecked by the ruthlessness of this cold.

“Ceehhh heehh… come on… thihh this is reehhhh heeehh… riiihhh… ridiculous…” He grumbled, rubbing his already red and angry nose aggressively. As much as he despised sneezing, feeling as if he were becoming mortal, having an unbearable tickle that just wouldn't quit was even worse, it was stuck torturing him.

The mixture of both the biting cold air and the new found sensitivity to salt his nose had developed left Poseidon at the mercy of this tickle, left completely helpless. In this moment he was rather glad there was no one else around to see the pitiful state, the all mighty Poseidon brought to a hitching, squirming wreck by a mere case of the sniffles, oh how his brother would mock him. He would continue to scratch and itch at his flaring nose, desperate for any sort of relief, the tickle being neither big enough to sneeze nor small enough to peacefully ignore. The linger this hitching was going on the more the waves around seemed to crash upon the rock he had leaned against for support.

“Ceeehh heeeh come on… pleeehhhh heeehh.. haaahhh… hah’ERRSSHHUU! Ah’IRRSSHHUUUH! Guuhh… huuhhhh… ahhhh.. AH’IRSSHIUEWW!” Finally, Poseidon snapped forth with a double sneeze down into the water, splashing up to meet his face. This sudden collision caused the God to inhale some of the salty sea water resulting in a third sneeze leaving him panting softly and sniffling desperately from the mix of spray and sea water which was dripping off the tip of his nose.

It felt so humiliating but so good to finally get that tickle out, the tickle which had left him gasping and panting for a good few minutes. The worst part about this whole situation was this was only the beginning of this cold. It had just started to settle into his nose and with each passing sniff he could feel the congestion beginning to build, his nose starting to feel as if it was putting up walls of snot within to fight away anything which might want to infest his poor agitated nostrils.

With one final snivel Poseidon let him slowly sink back under the waves, rubbing at his nose as he did, even pinching it to stop the initial flood of water from triggering another desperate tickle. Settling down in the water he tore off some kelp which surrounded him and wiped at his nose with little effect, this cold was in for the long haul and wasn’t going to be backing down anytime soon…

Alternate ending -

“Ceeehh heeeh come on… pleeehhhh heeehh.. haaahhh… hah’ERRSSHHUU! Ah’IRRSSHHUUUH! Guuhh… huuhhhh… ahhhh.. AH’IRSSHIUEWW!” Poseidon unleashed the wave of sneezes, each one rocking his body as if it were a fragile boat in the wake of a storm. With the combination of aggressive sneezes and being in his giant form the rocks gave in causing the God to follow suit and collapse into the water. He could practically feel his cheeks heating up and just hoped that there was no one watching down upon him or he would simply never live it down.

Accepting his situation he chose to settle down under the waves, hoping to find some peace. This was of course after another flurry of sneezes which seemed to be fighting against the wall of congestion that was slowly building in his nose, wanting to be pushed out. The seas around were becoming treacherous and it looked like a storm would soon be closing in on any surroundings which were in the path of the ailing God. All he could do was wait this out.

Much to Poseidon's dismay he eventually gave in and settled himself around the debris caused by his earlier incident, at least if he remained underwater no one else could see him in such a state so that was the plan. The sickly God managed to tuck himself under the waves, rubbing his ever itchy nose and somewhat relax, hoping, praying this cold would be over soon.

[thornybubbles]

The Cat Came Back

NOTE: This is just a blurb based on an idea that’s been bouncing around in my head for a while. I was debating on whether or not to share this because I don’t really plan on expanding on it. It’s not a yandere story, but I could definitely put it in the “horror scenario” category. 

---------

It didn’t take Josuke long to get to your house after you called him. You woke him up in the middle of an after school nap and told him to come over to your house. You didn’t explain anything and just said that it was urgent. He was already worried about you because you hadn’t been to school for two days, but hearing the dread in your voice had him panicking. Whatever was wrong with you was something serious and he could only hope that it was something that Crazy Diamond could fix. If not, then he would do whatever he needed to to help you. You were one of his dearest friends after all. 

It was only a year ago since the incident with Kira and all the stuff that happened before that. He had never wanted you to be dragged into the madness of Stands and Stand users, but you got involved anyway when Kira targeted you specifically during that final battle. Josuke had no idea what you were doing there. You weren’t a Stand user and you would have no way to defend yourself when things inevitably got crazy. You were supposed to be at home and away from all that mess, but you said that you heard the explosions and got worried. Leave it to you to be the only one that would run towards the sound of explosions instead of away from them (you dummy!). Unfortunately, in your haste to check on what was happening to your friends, you ran right into Yoshikage Kira. 

Kira recognized you instantly as one of Josuke’s friends and planned on using you as a hostage until he was able to flee the scene after the tides of battle had turned against him. There was no doubt that once he managed to escape them, he would kill you, a fact that he gleefully reminded Josuke of during the final showdown. If it hadn’t been for Jotaro and Star Platinum’s ability to stop time… well… it’s not something Josuke wanted to think about. 

Josuke finally reached your front door and rang the bell. Mere seconds after, the door opened and you stood there looking up at him with a haggard, haunted expression. He was shocked at your appearance. It looked like you hadn’t slept in days. One look at you had him asking what seemed like a thousand questions at once. 

“Oh my God! Are you okay? Are you sick? Is that why you weren’t at school? Why didn’t you call someone? You could’ve gotten Koichi or Yukako to take notes for you, you know? Where are your parents? Are you here by yourself? Who’s taking care of you?” 

You only answered one of his questions. 

“My folks are out of town visiting relatives.” you said, voice shaky with fatigue and anxiety. “Get in here. We gotta talk about something serious.” 

Before he could say anything else, you grabbed him by the collar of his uniform jacket and dragged him inside. You had him sit on the sofa in the living room. He waited there, impatient and anxious, as you nervously paced the room in front of him. After another minute of watching you imitate a caged big cat, he couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Come on, don’t leave me hanging like this!” he said, voice cracking as he tried to swallow down his building dread. “Just tell me what’s wrong!” 

You looked at him, eyes both tired and manic at the same time. 

“I’m going to!” you snapped, emotions flaring. “I just… I’m just not sure how to even begin to explain this…” 

You sighed deeply, trying to calm yourself enough to say what you needed to. 

“I-I’ll just start this off by saying that… well… I… I don’t even know how this is possible now, but…It happened after school on Monday. I got home and…” 

You took another deep breath and massaged your temples. Your head was pounding and you hadn’t bothered to take anything for it yet. 

“Look. I don’t really know how to soften the blow with this, so I’m just gonna come out and say it… I have a Stand now.” you said. 

Josuke’s eyes widened and he sat looking at you in shock. There were so many thoughts going through his head at that moment. Having a Stand was a double edged sword. On one hand (depending on what kind of Stand you had) you would be able to defend yourself better as a Stand user than a normal person. On the other hand, it would mean that you would be forever destined to run into other Stand users, not all of which would be friendly. This revelation also filled Josuke’s head with even more questions. How had you obtained your Stand? Was there another arrow for them to worry about? Or did you get your Stand without an arrow? If so, why hadn’t you suffered with the near deadly fever that usually accompanied developing a Stand? Most people who were born Stand users either developed them at birth or at least at a very young age. That’s not to say that a user couldn’t develop their Stand at a later age, but…. 

Josuke opened his mouth, preparing to bombard you with all the questions swimming around in his head, but you held up a hand to silence him. 

“Wait, before you say anything, let me just say that it isn’t what you think. My Stand, well, it isn’t… it isn’t actually mine…” 

Josuke gave you a confused look. 

“W-what? What do you mean by that? How can you have a Stand that isn’t yours?” he asked, unable to hold back his questions any longer. 

You let out a cry of frustration. “I don’t know, Josuke!” you shouted. “I don’t have a damned clue, okay?!” 

Josuke jumped and shied away from you at your harsh tone. Seeing his reaction you closed your eyes trying, once again, to get your emotions under control. 

“Sorry.” you said with a shaky sigh. “Sorry I snapped. This is just… it makes no sense, okay? It really, really makes no sense and I just don’t know how to deal with what’s happening. I always was a little envious of you, Okuyasu, Koichi, and the others because I was the only one that didn’t have a Stand. I thought it would be cool to have one, you know? But… in this case I think I’d rather go back to not having one.” 

A few minutes of silence passed between you. Josuke fidgeted on the couch in anticipation of whatever else you would have to say. He was torn between asking you things or waiting for you to start talking again. 

“I guess the only way you’ll understand what I mean by the Stand not being mine is to show it to you.” you said finally. 

Another moment or two of uncomfortable silence. 

“Okay… Josuke, I’m going to show you my Stand now, but you have to remain calm, okay? Don’t freak out!” 

You took a step back from him and stared at the floor for a moment. Josuke watched you both curious and anxious over what your Stand would be. 

You didn’t summon your Stand in the usual way. You didn’t call it by name, so Josuke assumed you hadn’t given it a name yet. But once the Stand came into view Josuke understood why you didn’t call it by name. You were right when you said that the Stand wasn’t yours. It belonged to someone else… someone who was supposed to be dead. This Stand already had a name and it was a name you probably didn’t want to say aloud, not after what the user put you through. 

Josuke knew the Stand because he’d actually fought the user, but you knew the Stand by accident. You’d bumped into Rohan while he was at the cafe one afternoon and spotted some of his sketches on the table. They were all sketches of Stands and you were fascinated. Though he pretended to be annoyed in the usual Rohan fashion, he’d been all too happy to show you the sketches and explain everything he knew about Stands and Stand users. You browsed the sketches he’d made of the various Stands and their corresponding users: Josuke’s Crazy Diamond, Okuyasu’s The Hand, Koichi’s Echoes, Jotaro’s Star Platinum, and so on. Being a non-Stand user, this was the only way that you would ever know what everyone’s Stands looked like. 

There was one sketch, however, that Rohan seemed determined to keep you from seeing. He snatched the stack of sketches from you just as you got the final sketch, almost giving you a paper cut in the process. He mumbled something about needing to head home to get back to work, but it was already too late. As he was yanking the stack of sketches out of your hand, you got a glimpse of the final sketch. On the paper was the image of a figure you would never forget as long as you lived. Next to the user was the image of a Stand that would now also be burned into your memory along with its name that was scrawled on the space next to it: 

Killer Queen. 

This was the Stand that you summoned; a Stand that belonged to a dead serial killer. 

It took every ounce of Josuke’s impulse control to keep him from jumping up from the couch, summoning Crazy Diamond, and pummeling Killer Queen back into non-existence. But he knew that if he did that, it would hurt you, too. He could tell by the way Killer Queen hovered behind you, staring at him intensely, that it was waiting for you to give it the mental order to attack. You didn’t though. You were nothing like its previous owner and Josuke was not your opponent. But he could tell by the way the Stand stared directly into his eyes in a challenging manner that the damned thing not only recognized him, but still viewed him as an enemy. You shifted uncomfortably where you stood and Killer Queen mimicked the motion, taking on a different battle pose that somewhat imitated your new position. Oh yes, it was obvious that Killer Queen was your Stand now and anything Crazy Diamond did to it would affect you, too. As if it could sense what Josuke was thinking, the corners of Killer Queen’s mouth turned up slightly. It was mocking him. The wicked thing was actually mocking him!

This couldn’t be possible. It shouldn’t be possible! Reimi told them that both Yoshikage Kira and his Stand had been torn apart by the ghostly mass of arms that haunted the hidden alley beside the grocery store. It made no logical sense for Killer Queen to still exist after both it and its user had been ripped to pieces. It made even less sense for it to be attached to you now. How could someone gain control of a dead person’s Stand? Just how was such a thing possible? 

You felt your whole body quiver with disgust as the unwanted Stand pulled itself from your soul and manifested behind you. You stared at Josuke, watching his reaction. You pointedly refused to even glance at the Stand, afraid that you would retch if you so much as laid eyes on it. The shocked and horrified look on Josuke’s face did nothing to soothe you though. A single glance at the look on your friend’s face had your eyes filling with tears. You knew he wasn’t looking at you like that, but you still felt judged. Just having Kira’s Stand attached to you made you feel as if you had somehow become responsible for all the lives he’d taken. It was as if his sins had been passed on to you and it made you feel repulsed by your own existence. 

Sensing your distress, Killer Queen pulled its attention from Josuke to glance down at you. Wanting to comfort its new user, it knelt down and nudged your face with its forehead in a sick parody of a housecat demanding attention. At the sensation of it touching you, you jumped away, staring up at the Stand in terror. Your stomach churned at the sight of it and you actively had to fight against your gag reflex. Killer Queen cocked its head to the side, confused by your rejection. It reached for you and you threw your hands up in front of you as if to place a barrier between you and your own Stand. 

“Stop!” you shouted. “Don’t touch me!” 

Killer Queen did as it was told but stared at you strangely as if you were behaving unreasonably. 

“Go back!” you commanded. 

Killer Queen tilted its head to the other side, ears going back slightly. It made no move to obey. 

“Go back, Killer Queen!” you commanded again, hating how easily the Stand’s name rolled off your tongue. 

This time the Stand obeyed, but not before turning back to Josuke and staring him down once more before vanishing. 

Josuke glared right back at it until it was no longer in view. 

You could feel it when Killer Queen’s presence rejoined your soul and the sensation caused your knees to buckle. You sank to the floor and started bawling, unable to hold your emotions back anymore. Josuke was by your side in seconds, wrapping his arms around you and doing his best to calm you. You pressed yourself into his hold, soaking his uniform with tears and shaking. 

“Josuke!” you cried. “Please, please, please help me! I don’t know what to do! I don’t understand what’s happening to me! Please help me!” 

You were in utter hysterics and Josuke didn’t know what else to do but hold you and rock you like an infant until your screaming and sobbing quieted. Eventually you tired yourself out enough that you could think somewhat rationally again. 

“I-I don’t want the others to know about this,” you said with a sniff. “Not yet at least. I’m afraid of how they’ll react.” 

“Okay, but I think it’s best that we get in touch with Jotaro.” he told you. “He’s got experience when it comes to Stands and stuff like that, so he may have seen something like this before. He’s got ties to the Speedwagon Foundation and whatever he can’t help us with, I’m sure they can.” 

You went limp in his hold, finally feeling a tiny amount of relief after days of worry and dread. You allowed yourself to relax completely as he held you. 

“Thank you, Josuke,” you said in an exhausted tone. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

He lifted your head to look you in your watery eyes. 

“Hey, you know I’ve always got your back.” he said with a small smile. “You’re going to get through this, okay? You aren’t alone. I’ll be with you every step of the way.” 

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

NOTE 2: Well that ended on an uplifting note which is unusual for me. I just want to take the time to explain where this crazy idea came from. So, I’ve been slowly “JoJo-fying” my Terraria game and I found a mod called “JoJo Stands” which allows you to have Stands in the game while also filling the world with various JoJo references (of course!). With the mod, there are two ways to get Stands. The most common way is to wait for Jotaro (part 4 version) to show up in your game and get a Stand arrow shard from him. You talk to him and choose the option “Stand Help” and he’ll say something about how you “Seem to be reliable” and give you an arrow shard. If you use the arrow shard your character will take a slight amount of damage but get a buff letting you know that you’re under the influence of the arrow. You then just have to wait a few in-game minutes and a random Stand will appear into your inventory. I do have to mention that when you use the arrow shard there is the rare chance that it won’t give you a Stand and instead kill you instantly with a message that the arrow “found you unworthy”, after which you’ll have to go back to Jotaro, get another shard, and start the process over. 

The other way to get a Stand is to simply be “born” with one, meaning that a random Stand can be assigned to you from the moment your character spawns into the game world. It’s rare to get a Stand this way, however. On my first playthrough of the game after downloading the mod, I was lucky enough to be “born” with a Stand. I was really excited but when I checked my inventory to see which Stand I got, my excitement turned into a deep distress. The first Stand I ever got in the mod was, you guessed it, KILLER FREAKIN’ QUEEN! I didn’t know what Stand I would get, but I was not expecting him! 

I got over my initial anxiety at having such a destructive Stand after I used him in the fight with the Desert Scourge (giant worm boss from the Calamity Mod) and Killer Queen blew it to pieces before it was able to do any damage to me at all. That’s not to say that the Stand was overpowered or anything, as later boss fights proved to be a bit more of a challenge, but having him in boss fights was certainly a boon. 

In spite of how helpful he was as a Stand, I came to realize that I’m not a very responsible Stand user and frankly have no business having a Stand that dangerous. For example, there was the time that I went to pet my cat while I had Killer Queen active and I forgot to set him for Auto instead of Manual. So I ended up petting the cat with Killer Queen instead of my character. Anybody remember what happens when Killer Queen touches things while in attack mode? Yeah, I turned my damn cat into a bomb and detonated it seconds later. Fortunately, my cat didn’t die. It was injured but it fully healed after a few minutes. My sister joked that Killer Queen was jealous and wanted to be the only cat in the house. Very funny. 

Then there was the time I nearly blew myself up. I had just upgraded Killer Queen to the level that I could summon Sheer Heart Attack. For some dumb reason, I thought it was an excellent idea to test SHA’s abilities while standing inside of my house instead of taking it outside somewhere. My stupidity resulted in me nearly destroying my whole room. The explosion took out the whole background wall, some of my furniture, and parts of the floor and ceiling. It also took out over half of my health. It left me with only two hearts and a giant mess to clean up. My sister heard the explosion and came running to see what happened. I explained what I’d done and she told me that I needed to have my Stand License revoked. Very funny. 

At some point I started speculating on the idea of a person developing a Stand only to find out that the Stand not only used to belong to someone else, but it used to belong to a really evil villain. So that’s where the idea for this little blurb came from. Like I said before, I don’t really plan on adding anything more to this as I haven’t planned anything beyond this initial premise. So consider this a one shot. Keep an eye out for more stuff in the near future! 

[myreia]

Familiar Shores

Characters: Tansui, Rasho, Meryta Khatin (WoL) Pairings: Tansui x Meryta Summary: The day is bright and warm as Tansui distracts himself, wondering when his lover will return. When will she come back to him? Rating: Teen Notes: For @thevikingwoman. Happy belated birthday, Viking! Mwha! 💕💋 2,456 words Read on AO3

Simple tasks and simple chores may not be the most exciting part of his life, but it’s on days like these that Tansui is grateful for the work.

The sun beats down from an azure sky, baking the shores of Onokoro they may as well simmer like the coast of Hells’ Lid. The kind of sun that leads to slow, languid days. Their people have scattered, seeking relief on the seas or under shade. Some of the young Confederates took off this morning to fish and relax. With a pang, he wishes he had joined them, but the youth deserve time to explore and discover away from the watchful eye of their elders. The past few weeks have given little time for rest and relaxation; with more Garleans in the Ruby Seas and a malfunction in the Onokoro aetheryte, the Confederacy has been busier than usual.  

And so, he has found himself, as he often does, busied on the dock, making minor repairs to his boat. The vessel is small, little more than a two-person sailing dinghy used for servicing large ships or sailing around the bay. Though the keel is worn and the sides scarred from years of use, she still makes for a serviceable boat if you don’t mind her bellyaching. She’s been all but marooned for the past three moons.

His fault, running her aground. He knows these seas, he should have known better. Then again, it was a bit difficult to pay attention, given where Meryta decided to put her hands.  

Tansui sighs and stretches, wiping sweat from his brow. Water laps around his legs, tugging and pulling as the waves flow in and out. The memory, though distant, is a good one, still capable of bringing a rosy flush to his cheeks that has nothing to do with sunburn. It was his idea to escape that night to sail below the moon and the stars. Just the two of them in such close quarters with calm waters all around…  

She brings out something of a romantic in him. A romantic more fitting of a younger man, and yet here he is, finding convoluted and ill-advised ways to give her the world when she’s here and thinking about it when she isn’t.

He wets his lips—the dry, salty taste sharp on his tongue—and tilts his head back, enjoying the briny wind and spray of mist on his face. A smile spreads from ear to ear. Meryta. Soaring in and out of his life just as the birds migrate. Here one moment and gone the next, as variable as the changing tides. She never stays long, though sometimes he senses she would like otherwise. He does not mind. He can wait for her and wait some more.

There is no doubt in his heart she will find her way back to him.

His smile fades. Every time she returns, little pieces of her have changed. A shift in her demeanour, a change in her speech. Consequences, however small, of a time spent in places he does not know or understand. Sometimes he thinks the call of the Warrior of Light is too great a burden for any one person to carry. But what does he know of the fate of gods and primals and other worlds?

He is simply a pirate.

“Tansui!” A gruff hand claps him across the back and Rasho throws an arm around his shoulders, pulling him away from the boat. “Brilliant day for a nameday, eh?”

Tansui chortles and twists around, water sloshing around his knees. “And here I’d just about forgotten,” he returns, ducking out from his grip. “Namedays come and go, this one is no more remarkable than the last.”

Rasho chuckles. “Aye, perhaps it is, perhaps tis not,” he replies with an irritatingly knowing smirk on his face. What does he know that Tansui doesn’t? “Take a moment to enjoy yourself, my friend. You should be playing dice or drinking or napping on a day like today.”

“I’m in the water, that’s all I need. Besides, someone has to look after her.” He shrugs in the direction of his boat. “Fix her up and she’ll be good as new.”

Rasho’s smirk widens. By the kami, what has gotten into him? “Very well, very well,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. “But don’t work yourself to the bone, you hear? Have it on good authority you’ll want to be around for tonight.”

He snorts with laughter. Whatever his friend is implying, he’ll know in due course. “Understood, captain.”

“Oh, and Tansui… Keep an eye out for interlopers. On the sea and in the skies. Don’t want anyone slipping by on our watch. Not with Garleans on our doorstep.”

“Perhaps we should raise the tithe, given the trouble.”

The smirk is back. “I will leave that decision in your capable hands,” he says. “Do let me know what you decide to raise it to. And for whom.”

Tansui frowns.

Rasho raises his head. “Ah. Look’s like she’s getting away from you.”

Tansui curses and spins around just in time to see his boat pull free of her ropes and float away from the dock. Inhaling a deep breath, he ignores Rasho’s booming laugh and plunges beneath the waves. He swims swiftly, his haori dragging behind him, and catches the boat’s bowline. Grunting, he treads water and wraps the rope around his arm, then begins to haul his escapee back to shore.

Minutes pass, water rushing in his ears, foam spraying in his face. Still, he cannot help but laugh at his foolish error. The sea is warm, the sun is bright, a stray cloud passes overheard. There are worse things in the world. 

At last, he reaches the end of the dock, panting and spitting salt water from his mouth. He goes under again, testing the depths, searching for the bottom with the tips of his toes. When the water closes over his head, he shoots back up and surfaces, hair loosened from its braid and flying into his eyes. He could round the dock and return to where he was, but this will do. Perhaps Rasho is right. He’s struggled enough with the boat for today.

He raises an arm, preparing to heave the rope up and tie it properly to the post.   

A shadow falls across him and, for the briefest of moments, his heart stops.

A Xaela warrior stands above him on the edge of the dock. She is wrapped in a heavy blue coat that leaves her upper arms bare, a sheathed katana at her side. Cropped green hair frames her face and horns, and her vibrant purple eyes observe him with calm certainty. Her tail flicks back and forth, the end curling and uncurling as those familiar eyes look him up and down, lingering on his bare chest beneath his open haori. She is aglow, the light illuminating her so perfectly from behind that he could be staring into the sun.

No wonder some call her the Warrior of Light.   

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. There are countless things he could say to her—things he has dreamed of, things he has played over again and again during restless hours at night—and yet all thought is driven from his mind.

A wave smacks him in the face, brine splashing into his mouth. He splutters, coughing, and the next moment he finds her unbuckling her katana and setting it aside. She kneels on the dock, hand outstretched, and grasps his hand with hers. His thumb presses against her wrist, brushing past sensitive scales to where her pulse beats, strong and firm.

“Meryta,” he breathes. “You’re back.”

A smile spreads across her face, bright as the rising sun. “Would you like some help?” she asks.

He stares at her like a fool. “You’re back.”

“You’re in the water.”

“I was fixing my boat. She escaped. I was fetching her.” He swallows, the taste of salt fresh on his tongue. “You’re back.”

She meets his eyes. “That’s the third time you’ve said that.” Her voice is soft and full of wonder, as if she can’t quite believe she is here either. Her grip tightens, fingertips pressing into the back of his hand. Locked. As if the tides themselves could not pull them apart. “And you haven’t answered my question.”

He returns her gaze. “I can do you one more,” he replies, shooting her a roguish grin. “You’re back.”

And he pulls her into the sea.

She yelps as she goes under, plunging into the depths in a rush of bubbles. He chases, sinking below, joy beating frenetically in his heart. When he opens his eyes, all is turquoise and green and blue and purple, watery light spiralling in from above, white bubbles spinning all around. He catches her in his arms and crushes his mouth to hers.

Warmth floods him. Her lips are soft and inviting and wondrous as she kisses him back, delightful and delectable and filled with such sweet promises. She clings to him, enveloping herself around him with her hands cradled at the base of his neck and her tail wrapped around his leg. This moment below the waves cannot last—he does not have the Kojin’s gift the way she does—but here in this watery domain there is nothing but them. Nothing but time. Nothing but peace.

They surface together, locked in a kiss, his hair tangled about his face, hers plastered across her forehead. Then finally they part, foreheads pressed together, legs and tail entwined, and bob in the gentle waves, catching their breath. They drift slowly away from the dock, their sodden clothes fanning about them.

“Ass,” Meryta says.

“Pirate,” Tansui replies with a wink.

She giggles and splashes water at him. “Is this what counts as a nice greeting? After how long I’ve been away?”

“Any greeting where I get to kiss you is nice, no?”

She sighs happily and clutches him, her legs floating up behind her as she rests her head in the crook of his neck, mindful of her horns. “I tried to teleport here, but it wouldn’t work,” she murmurs. “And then I thought… The worst came to mind. I’ve been occupied elsewhere and the Alliance is not always as complete with its intelligence as I would like.”

“We’re fine. An ordinary malfunction, as far as I know.” He pauses, threading his fingers through her wet hair, admiring its shine. “How did you get here? No ships have docked today.”

“I flew. I didn’t want to miss your nameday.” His heart swells. She knows. She remembers. He does not recall telling her. With a shrug, she kicks her feet, splashing the water, and propels them further from the dock. Back on shore, a yellow chocobo pokes curiously at the beach, nosing a large shell with its beak. “When there’s no aetheryte, Lucida takes me where I need to go.”

“You crossed the seas by air.” Fucking Rasho, that is what he meant, wasn’t it? He must have heard she was in the area, making her way back. He leans back, hair floating in the water, and stares at the cloudless sky, laughter rumbling in his chest. “Imagine that. Perhaps I should demand a new tithe for that.”

Warm fingers loop around his neck, tilting him up. “I’ve already paid your Ruby Tithe,” she reminds him huskily, kissing him. “I suppose we can strike a bargain as to what this new one will look like.”

“Consider me listening.”

“Are you accepting suggestions?”

“Consider me open.”

She drags a hand down his neck and across his collarbone, splaying her fingers across his broad chest. “Let’s get out of the water,” she murmurs. “Maybe then we can find a way to bargain in earnest.”

“You have no idea how dearly I would like to.” He kisses her again, hands threaded in her hair, savouring her lips, her cheeks, her jaw, her everything. By the kami, it has been too long. He has told himself again and again that he is a patient man—at least where she is concerned—but if you asked him to describe himself now, that patience is nowhere to be found. “You know the way.”

“I do.”

“We should get to shore.”

“We should.”

“Put some other clothes on. Preferably something not wet.”

She whines, the smallest of sounds humming on her lips. “Must we?”

“I—ah, fuck.” He pulls away, still clinging onto her as he stares ahead at the small boat rolling away on the cresting waves as if she has a mind of her own. “My boat…”

Meryta squirms, twisting around. “Your boat?”

“That one there.”

“The one where we—”

“Aye, yes, that’s the one.” Tansui sighs. “Too late to retrieve her now, the tides have taken her. By the time we seek her out, she will have run aground on a reef.”

A gentle smile tugs at her lips. “Can you get another one?”

“Aye, but tis not that one.” He sighs again, cursing his foolish mistake. Boats come and go, this he knows, and yet this one was special. She made it special. “We should return to shore.”

Judging from the furrow in her brow, she is still lost in thought. “Can you build another boat?” she asks, staring at his vessel as she crests another wave. Gone, gone, and out of sight. “Certainly the Confederacy has a shipwright, or do you steal all your ships from your neighbours?”

He snorts. “There is one, yes, Meryta, thank you, but I would not trouble him for this.”

“If I were to supply the resources, would he be willing to teach me?”

“What are you saying? That you will build me another boat?”

She turns his face towards hers and grins. “There’s more in my kit than a katana and a bow, you know,” she says. “I have a saw and a few other tools. I’ve never made a boat before, but that doesn’t mean I can’t learn. Perhaps I can contact Gridania and ask Beatin if he has any advice.” Her eyes brighten, limbal rings glowing, enthralled by the idea. “Race you to shore?”

He blinks, still stuck on the part where she said she would build him a boat, and nods. With a whoop, she dashes ahead, swimming freely beneath the waves. He gives chase, splashing after her until his feet touch ground. Then he breaks into a run, sloshing through the water until he has caught her again. She laughs, giggling madly as he lifts her into the air, kissing her again as they spin about on the white hot sands.

Namedays come and go, and this one he will remember.

[marichive]

𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 : 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

Writing / roleplay prompts collected from the POV chapters of Catelyn Tully / Stark in A Clash of Kings , the second book of the ASOIAF saga. Feel free to adjust pronouns / etc. as needed.

tw: dark & mature themes, death, violence, suggestive / sexual content

❝ The ancient crown of the Kings of Winter had been lost three centuries ago. ❞

❝ It is no easy thing to wear a crown. ❞

❝ Kneel before the king. ❞

❝ He is not a bold man, this one. ❞

❝ I brought you from our cell to carry my message to your cousin. ❞

❝ I should be most glad to bring your message to the queen. ❞

❝ Understand, I am not giving you your freedom. ❞

❝ You chose to fight beneath a foe’s banner. ❞

❝ I want your pledge, on your honor as a knight. ❞

❝ I do so vow. ❞

❝ Every man in this hall has heard you. ❞

❝ I will do as I pledged. ❞

❝ What is this message? ❞

❝ An offer of peace. Meet my terms, and I will sheath this sword, and make an end to the war between us. ❞

❝ Living men had gone south, and cold bones would return. ❞

❝ He had the truth of it. ❞

❝ He will remain my hostage for his father’s good behavior. ❞

❝ Henceforth, we are no part of their realm, but a free and independent kingdom, as of old. ❞

❝ These are the terms. If she meets them, I’ll give her peace. ❞

❝ Did you see the look on his face? ❞

❝ Take this back to my bedchamber. ❞

❝ I wager there were others who felt the same. ❞

❝ How can we talk of peace while they spread like pestilence over my father’s domains, stealing his crops and slaughtering his people? ❞

❝ We lack the strength. ❞

❝ Do we grow stronger sitting here? ❞

❝ You cannot ask them to remain idle while their fields are being pillaged and their people put to the sword. ❞

❝ It would be an ill thing if he were to leave us. ❞

❝ He lost sons. Who can blame him if he does not want to make peace with their killers? ❞

❝ More bloodshed will not bring your father back to us. ❞

❝ An offer had to be made. ❞

❝ I can’t release him, not even if I wanted to. My lords would never abide it. ❞

❝ Your lords made your their king. ❞

❝ If your crown is the price we must pay to have them returned safe, we should pay it willingly. ❞

❝ Was it war that made you grow so fast, or the crown they put on your head? ❞

❝ The boy has the right of this. ❞

❝ Don’t call me ‘the boy’. I am a man grown, and your king. ❞

❝ That was unworthy of me. ❞

❝ Gods be good, what has become of me? ❞

❝ He is doing his best, trying so hard, I know it, I see it, and yet . . . ❞

❝ I have lost him, the rock my life was built on. ❞

❝ I could not bear to lose them as well. ❞

❝ I’ll do all that I can for them. ❞

❝ If she has any sense, she’ll accept my terms. ❞

❝ I’ll make her rue the day she refused me. ❞

❝ Kings are not supposed to have mothers, it would seem. ❞

❝ I could command you to go. As king. I could. ❞

❝ He’s been a hostage half his life. ❞

❝ He is not a man to be trusted. ❞

❝ Does he know you have returned? ❞

❝ You will want to hear my tidings in private first. ❞

❝ You have her face. I can see it in your cheekbones, and your jaw. ❞

❝ You remember more of her than I do. ❞

❝ I wish I had their faith. ❞

❝ That’s blood up there, smeared across the sky. ❞

❝ Was there ever a war where only one side bled? ❞

❝ When he hears this, he will rage. ❞

❝ Even terror has its purpose. ❞

❝ He would like to fight on a field of his own choosing. ❞

❝ He’ll want something. ❞

❝ I want to weep. I want to be comforted. I am so tired of being strong. ❞

❝ I want to be foolish and frightened for once. Just for a small while. ❞

❝ No one has ever died of restlessness, but rashness is another matter. ❞

❝ You are all your lord father claimed you were. ❞

❝ As champion, you may ask of me any boon that you desire. ❞

❝ If it lies in my power, it is yours. ❞

❝ My life for yours, Your Grace. From this day on, I am your shield, I swear it by the old gods and the new. ❞

❝ If you wish, we may stand here in the mud and debate what honors and titles are rightly due to each, but it strikes me that we have more pressing matters to consider. ❞

❝ My lady, when you are rested, I would be honored if you would share our meat and mead at the feast tonight. ❞

❝ What is mine is yours. ❞

❝ My sweet queen is all the woman I desire. ❞

❝ Can you drown in grief? ❞

❝ They are boys drunk on song and story, and like all boys, they think themselves immortal. ❞

❝ They’re young and strong, full of life and laughter. ❞

❝ And lust, aye, more lust than they know what to do with. There will be many a bastard bred this night, I promise you. ❞

❝ They are the knights of summer, and winter is coming. ❞

❝ In the songs all knights are gallant, all maids are beautiful, and the sun is always shining. ❞

❝ I feel the need of some air. Will you walk with me? ❞

❝ He would make an appalling king. Nor is he like to become one. ❞

❝ Men respect him, even fear him, but precious few have ever loved him. ❞

❝ I mean to be king, my lady, and not of a broken kingdom. ❞

❝ We are the first. ❞

❝ Gods grant that I shall do the same. ❞

❝ This is no fight of ours. ❞

❝ I know the king would not wish his mother to put herself at risk. ❞

❝ We are all at risk. ❞

❝ Do you think I wish to be here? ❞

❝ He sent me to speak for him, and speak for him I shall. ❞

❝ It is a sort of game kings play. ❞

❝ I had not thought to find you here. ❞

❝ I am sorry for your lord’s death, though he was no friend to me. ❞

❝ He was never your enemy. ❞

❝ He did his duty, I will not deny it. Did I ever do less? ❞

❝ Yet he took it. That which should have been mine. ❞

❝ How they love to promise heads, these men who would be king. ❞

❝ Men give their allegiance where they will. ❞

❝ I only want what is mine by rights. ❞

❝ We share a common foe who would destroy us all. ❞

❝ The whole of the realm denies it. Old men deny it with their death rattle, and unborn children deny it in their mothers’ wombs. They deny it in Dorne and they deny it on the Wall. No one wants you for their king. ❞

❝ I swore I would never treat with you while you wore your traitor’s crown. ❞

❝ Younger, bolder, and far more comely. ❞

❝ We are all traitors, however good our reasons. ❞

❝ I fear she never saw your little letter. ❞

❝ They are bastards. ❞

❝ Isn’t that a sweet story, my lady? ❞

❝ I must say, it took my breath away. ❞

❝ Do you name me a liar? ❞

❝ If you step in a nest of snakes, does it matter which one bites you first? ❞

❝ You’ve never tasted anything so sweet, I promise you. ❞

❝ I did not come here to eat fruit. ❞

❝ A man should never refuse to taste a peach. ❞

❝ I did not come here to be threatened, either. ❞

❝ When I make threats, you’ll know it. ❞

❝ You’ll be pleased to know she came to me a maid. ❞

❝ Oh, I expect I’ll get a son on her within the year. ❞

❝ How many sons do you have? Oh, yes – none. ❞

❝ If my wife looked like yours, I’d send my fool to service her as well. ❞

❝ Enough! I will not be mocked to my face, do you hear me? I will not! ❞

❝ I hope your new god’s a merciful one. ❞

❝ It grieves me that it must come to this. ❞

❝ You have a cheerful way of grieving. ❞

❝ You must allow a king some flaws, my lady. ❞

❝ I had hoped to help you make peace. I will not help you make war. ❞

❝ She loves him, poor thing. ❞

❝ She’d play his squire just to touch him, and never care how great a fool they think her. ❞

❝ Stay and help me pray. It’s been so long I’ve quite forgotten how. ❞

❝ Did your old gods ever answer you? When you knelt before your heart tree, did you hear them? ❞

❝ When they took his head off, they killed me too. ❞

❝ Death came in that door and blew the life out of him as swift as the wind snuffed out his candles. ❞

❝ Are you blind? The girl loved him. ❞

❝ Some say that after the battle, the king cut out Stafford Lannister’s heart and fed it to the wolf. ❞

❝ I would not believe such tales. He is no savage. ❞

❝ That is no common wolf, that one. ❞

❝ The gods don’t care about men, no more than kings care about peasants. ❞

❝ A good king does care. ❞

❝ Only a mother would keep her children safe, however she could. ❞

❝ I am not made to be a mother. I need to fight. ❞

❝ I could serve you. If you would have me. ❞

❝ You could have let them kill me. I was nothing to you. ❞

❝ When the time comes, I will not hold you back. ❞

❝ I am yours, my lady. Your liege man, or … whatever you would have me be. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours, if need be. I swear it by the old gods and the new. ❞

❝ I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table, and pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you into dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new. ❞

❝ He asked for you. I did not know what to tell him. ❞

❝ He risks all for a baseborn boy whose blood is not even his own. ❞

❝ He has made common cause with a power greater and darker. ❞

❝ Have you forgiven me? ❞

❝ You’ve done nothing that needs forgiveness. ❞

❝ He loves you fiercely. Believe that. ❞

❝ I gave him my favor to wear. ❞

❝ I gave my maidenhood to this solemn stranger and sent him off to his war and his king and the woman who bore him his bastard, because I always did my duty. ❞

❝ Why do boys so love to play at war? ❞

❝ Knights die in battle, as ladies die in childbed. No one sings songs about them. ❞

❝ Children are a battle of a different sort. A battle without banners or warhorns, but no less fierce. ❞

❝ At times I feel as though I am being torn apart. ❞

❝ And who will keep you safe, my lady? ❞

❝ Someday you must sing for me. ❞

❝ If we are winning, why am I so afraid? ❞

❝ I am a creature of grief and dust and bitter longings. There is an empty place within me where my heart was once. ❞

❝ I only thought you might enjoy happier company than mine. ❞

❝ Will holding it secret in your heart make it any less true? ❞

❝ What god would let this happen? He was only a baby! How could he deserve such a death? ❞

❝ Ice can kill as dead as fire. ❞

❝ The Starks do not use headsmen. They always said that the man who passes the sentence should swing the blade. ❞

❝ I will not sleep away my grief. ❞

❝ I fear I am in no condition to receive you. ❞

❝ Look at me, ser. ❞

❝ I see you had no taste for the wine I sent you. ❞

❝ I can have your head off anytime I want. Why would I need to poison you? ❞

❝ We granted you the comfort of a tower cell befitting your birth and station. You repaid us by trying to escape. ❞

❝ A cell is a cell. ❞

❝ No? Then surely it was to have your pleasure of me. It’s said that widows grow weary of their empty beds. ❞

❝ I suppose I could still service you if that’s what you need. Pour us some of that wine and slip out of that gown and we’ll see if I’m up to it. ❞

❝ Was there ever a man as beautiful or as vile as this one? ❞

❝ If you said that in my son’s hearing, he would kill you for it. ❞

❝ Why should I tell you anything. ❞

❝ You think I fear death? ❞

❝ Your crimes will have earned you a place of torment in the deepest of the seven hells, if the gods are just. ❞

❝ If there are gods, why is the world so full of pain and injustice? ❞

❝ There are no men like me. There’s only me. ❞

❝ There is nothing here but arrogance and pride, and the empty courage of a madman. ❞

❝ If there was ever a spark of honor in him, it is long dead. ❞

❝ Stay, and you shall have your answers . . . for a price. ❞

❝ Answer my questions and I’ll answer yours. ❞

❝ People often claim to hunger for truth, but seldom like the taste when it’s served up. ❞

❝ I am strong enough to hear anything you care to say. ❞

❝ You would never ask that unless you knew the answer. ❞

❝ I want it from your own lips. ❞

❝ He is mine. ❞

❝ You admit to being her lover? ❞

❝ Do all my kin still live? ❞

❝ You were a knight, sworn to defend the weak and innocent. ❞

❝ He was spying on us. ❞

❝ You meant for him to die. ❞

❝ I seldom fling children from towers to improve their health. Yes, I meant for him to die. ❞

❝ You swear you had no part in sending him? ❞

❝ I may indeed have shit for honor, I won’t deny it, but I have never yet hired anyone to do my killing. ❞

❝ Are you trying to deceive me? ❞

❝ Believe what you will, I’m past caring what people say of me. ❞

❝ Your boy must be feeling lonely. ❞

❝ How can you still count yourself a knight, when you have forsaken every vow you ever swore? ❞

❝ So many vows … they make you swear and swear. It’s too much. No matter what you do, you’re forsaking one vow or the other. ❞

❝ Only a man like you would be proud of such an act. ❞

❝ We made a bargain, I can deny you nothing. ❞

❝ I do not want to know this. ❞

❝ I think it passing odd that I am loved by one for a kindness I never did, and reviled by so many for my finest act. ❞

❝ Come, don’t you find this all terribly amusing? ❞

❝ That name again. I don’t think I’ll fuck you after all, he had you first, didn’t he? I never eat off another man’s trencher. ❞

❝ Give me your sword. ❞