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girlboybug · 2 years

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Shades of Cool

“my baby lives in shades of cool, cold heart and hands of aptitude.”

or the one where joel can’t seem to stay away from you despite his efforts to. but it’s not like he tried very hard to begin with.

what’s playing 🎧 : shades of cool by lana del rey

pairing : joel miller x female!reader

word count : 9k

CONTENT WARNINGS : SMUT, creampie, breeding kink if u squint, oral f receiving, fingering, loss of virginity, virginity kink if u squint yet again, tummy bulge, unspecified age gap and joel kind of has a thing for it, unprotected sex, (pls wear a condom guys im just a mf on tumblr) multiple orgasms, a tad of overstimulation, allusions to male masturbation, dirty talk, pet names, mating press, prone bone, light dom/sub dynamics, reader def has some unresolved daddy issues mean!joel but theres some soft joel

TRIGGER WARNINGS : minor character death/reference to his death but he literally doesn't exist in the show i promise, canon-typical violence, mentions of blood, mentions of guns, implied/references to sexual harassment

a/n : this is my first time uploading to tumblr, forgive me if my layout is funky lol, anyways pls enjoy <3 read the second part here

you swallowed hard when you saw joel making his way towards the alleyway you two routinely met up in. watching as he did his typical side to side glance, casual in presence but it was muscle memory for him to ensure the safety of his environment no matter it’s location or the mundaneness of it.

you quite disliked the feeling that pricked your chest and quickly spread inside the cavity, overflowing up into your throat and drowning out any coherent thoughts in your mind whenever you saw joel.

it was annoying. pathetic even. just a silly schoolgirl crush you hoped would go away in time.

you put aside the fluttering feelings for later, and waved, catching his attention. he sent a curt nod, rubbing his palms together before pushing them into his denim pockets. “hey.” he greeted you, if you could really call it that.

you took whatever you could get from him, so you smiled, parroting it back with a nervous politeness.

“do you have the uh…” you trailed off, feeling embarrassed that you struggled to even verbalize what you were trading.

he raised a brow, folding his arms over his chest, looking at you expectingly. “i got it. you got the rations?” he finished speaking for you and you nodded enthusiastically, hurriedly pulling out the thick wad of rations you worked your ass off for.

he shut his eyes with exasperation for a few seconds before hovering his larger hand over the wad, miraculously dwarfing your own hand. “don’t wave it around kid, jesus,” he sighed, shaking his head while palming it and sliding it away into his back pocket.

“sorry…” you muttered embarrassedly.

he didn’t reply, and instead handed you a box, bright purple and pink and your gaze slowly rose up to his face with a slightly ajar mouth. “uh. joel.” you started, voice leading into an upward trail of confusion.

“if i wanted tampons i could have easily gotten this myself.” you wanted to hide the slight irritation in your tone but he caught on to it, unfolding his arms to jab the top of the box with his index finger. “how about you open it smartass.” he instructed dryly, moving backward and refolding his arms.

your eyes lingered on him tryingly for a few more seconds, huffing quietly to yourself before flipping the cardboard flap up.

again. tampons.

you tilted it towards him and he dragged his hand down his face tiredly. he dug his hand into the box, the tampons shoved to the sides, revealing a small pistol.

your mouth fell open into a comical O shape, laughing in awe. “oh!” you giggled and joel stared at you blankly, already feeling a hankering for a straight shot of whiskey at the bright and early hour of 8:30am.

“very creative.” you beamed and it seemed as though joel fought back a smile behind a glare. at least, you told yourself that.

“just enough for gullible people.” he pushed at a button of yours, just a little, and you paused for a second, shooting him a playful glare. “whatever,” you exhaled through a quiet chuckle.

“thank you joel, i appreciate the um. tampons, i was running low.” you played along with the bit and he rolled his eyes, nodding, already ready to go back home.

“sure thing.” he was about to turn and walk out of the alleyway but something held him in his spot.

he took in a deep inhale before making eye contact with you, rendering you back into your nervous state from when he first arrived.

“why do you need a pistol? we’ve only ever traded for small things. why the sudden big order?” he has absolutely no clue why he’s asking you this, or rather, he has no idea why he’s letting himself ask this.

he shouldn’t care. he doesn’t.

you stiffened, straightening your back and holding the box to your stomach, hands cupping the bottom of it. “just to keep at my place. thought i’d feel safer with it.” you answered truthfully, making sure to not go further into detail.

his squinted eyes stay on you for awhile, unsure of what you needed to feel safe from. “are you uh…in any trouble?” he asks and you feel a little excitement ignite in your lower belly.

is he worried about you?

“no! no not at all, i just…i don’t know,” you try to laugh it off but the silence between you two just feels heavy instead. “why do you ask?” you question and he shrugged.

“if you’re in trouble, i don’t need it somehow coming back to me. i got enough shit i need to worry about.” he answered and the bubble inside you popped and deflated almost immediately.

“oh, well no need to worry about that. it’s nothing like that, you’ll be fine.” you decided to end the conversation there, a cold feeling of humiliation that prods at your shoulders and throat alerting you that it’s best to just walk away before you can say anything else that might make the situation more unbearable.

“thanks joel.” you added, quickly making your way out the alleyway. “be careful with that thing.” he called out after you, and you feel the bubble slowly start to shamelessly inflate itself once more.

maybe he does care. even if it’s just a little.

—

you hid the box in the shoddy nightstand you had lugged up into your apartment from off the street one night, and exhaled lowly, pursing your lips. “this is good.” you stated to yourself.

the whole reason why you wanted a gun, was kind of useless if you really put some actual thought into it.

it really was just for the comfort of your mind, putting the nerves you had at ease. like a security blanket of sorts.

fedra soldiers occasionally conduct inspections, making a mess of people’s homes to look for any contraband, firefly propaganda, weapons, anything that so much acts as an eyesore to them is grounds for permanent confiscation.

there’s a specific solider that just makes you uncomfortable, makes your skin prickle up into sharp goosebumps and makes your stomach churn like dry gears rubbing up against each other.

the way his eyes follow you around, rejoicing in his power over you and how you cowered away from him.

they come in as pairs to inspect and even if they didn’t, he was still taller, stronger, heavily armed and trained and could kill you in front of a crowd of people and still face no consequences. so a singular witness wouldn't stop him from breaking the rules.

if anything, you’ve probably just put yourself in more danger carrying a weapon. but you felt that if you had it, you maybe had a fighting chance in case push came to shove.

you collected yourself into your very depressing excuse of a bed, lifting the fraying crotched blanket over your body, pretending you were anything less than semi uncomfortable.

the next morning, you woke up with a slightly sore feeling that resided in just about every crevice of your body but you ignore it, as it’s a common thing to wake up to if you’ve got what basically feels like laying on a napkin as a bed, and using what feels like an even thinner napkin as a blanket.

you readied yourself to participate in street clean up, since you had to take on more shifts than usual to make up for the hefty chunk of rations you gave to joel.

—

a bandana resided around your nose, neatly but tightly tied behind your head, doing…definitely not enough to cover the stench of cleaning the sludge off the streets.

"the fuck would i need coffee beans for asshole? hit me up when you’ve actually got good shit to trade.” you overheard two guys a few feet away from you bickering, your ears perking up at the mention of coffee beans.

you remembered joel vaguely mentioning how he’d kill for a cup of coffee, and you agreed on that sentiment, even though you’ve never once had coffee. the point being, he’d been out of coffee for awhile, unable to find anyone who has it, and you figured maybe scoring him a bag would be a nice sign of gratitude for the pistol.

you pulled down your bandana, walking over to the guy once the other one walked off. “hi, um i didn’t mean to eavesdrop but i heard you have coffee beans? i’d be willing to trade for them.”

“i don’t take kindly to nosy—“ he cut himself off mid sentence once he turned to look at you, his eyes dragging up and down your body and you wondered in that moment if it was worth the hassle of talking to this. thing.

but then you thought of joel, and how maybe he’d smile at you, thank you with a tight bear hug and suddenly, it did all seem worth it.

“yeah, yeah i’d definitely be happy to trade with you,” he grinned and you laughed, trying to hide your disgust with fake excitement. “great! what would you want for it? i have some spare shampoo bars, a pair of wool socks i was saving for winter, or—“

he cut you off this time, leaning into your space closer and you instinctively backed away. “i was thinking maybe something different.” he alluded to something that made cleaning up literal shit off the street seem a lot more pleasant.

your face fell and you lifted up your bandana. “yeah, nevermind. thanks anyway.”

you turned on your heel and he groaned, calling after you. “the socks…” he huffed, rubbing the side of his chin. “are they soft?” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

you tugged down the bandana again, smiling brightly. “very!”

—

you scheduled another meet up with joel, excited to gift him the bag of coffee beans.

you were slightly sad to let go of the socks, your feet always got so cold in the winter and the nights were already starting to increase in frigidness, but it’s okay, you could always find another pair of socks again, but you didn’t know if you’d have another chance to pleasantly surprise joel like this.

against joel’s typical judgment, he said to just stop by his apartment, feeling too tired to lug himself down into the alleyway again.

but all you heard from that was he trusted you enough into his personal space. which, as much as joel would deny it, is true.

he could clearly envision you apologizing to a fly for so much as being in its way, so inviting you over posed as nowhere near a threat.

you knocked at his door, hiding the bag behind your back before he opened it. the wind got knocked out of you once more at the sight of him. he was very much older than you, easily the age of a man who could be your father, but that didn’t erase any of his attractiveness.

in the deepest part of your subconscious, you knew that that’s what added onto it.

“hi!” you chirped and he stepped to the side, widening his door to let you in. “hi.” he repeated, drier but, not unhappily.

“what’d you wanna trade for again?” he asked, his hand rubbing the side of his stubbly jaw, and you had to look away, knowing you’d just watch him in silence if you didn’t.

“actually,” you hummed, nearly bursting at the seems with glee. he watched you curiously, unaware of the slight smile on his face as he watched you tip toe closer with your hand still behind your back.

“i didn’t come by to trade. i got you a gift!” he rested his palms behind him on the small table, his broad shoulders seeming even broader now and you wanted to run your hands across the expanse of them.

“a gift?” he asked, breaking you out of your trance. he sounded genuinely shocked, almost unable to believe you. “mhm!” you nodded, a smile still etched on your features.

“close your eyes, and open your hands.” you instructed, and he tilted the side of his head to you, wordlessly saying really?

you nudged your chin, motioning for him to listen, your way of replying with yes, really.

he eyed you before shaking his head, standing up straight and closing his eyes, his palms bared out for you, muttering a quiet, i have no idea why i’m listenin’ to you.

you plopped the bag of coffee into his hands, sing songing a soft “now open!”

he opened his eyes, his lips parting in awe. he laughed out of disbelief, and your heart soared with joy as you saw him smile, and widely at that.

“kid…you…why? i mean, god, thank you, but why?” he asked and you shrugged, rocking back and forth on your heel to your toes. “take it as a thanks for my pist-i mean tampons.” you joked and he chuckled, shaking his head and putting the beans down onto the table.

“well, thank you, that’s mighty kind of you.” he looked downward at you, and you looked back up at him, trying to memorize the way his lips were curled, the sweet lines by his eyes and the way he just seemed so happy by such a small act of kindness.

“no biggie!” you replied, and he darted his eyes away for a moment before turning back to you. “do you know how to use your gun?” he asked and you felt your face grow hot with slight embarrassment.

“uh. i mean you just aim and pull the trigger right?” you asked honestly and he blinked a few times before shaking his head. “okay so you don’t.” and you squinted at him. “i could teach you. get you some extra bullets too.” he remedied the half joking comment with his offer and you perked up.

“yeah? you would?” you asked excitedly and he nodded. “‘course. you just went from tolerated, to slightly more tolerated in my book. so i’m gonna help you not accidentally shoot yourself in the foot.”

you didn’t like how you actually felt a twinge of sadness at his obvious joke about only tolerating you. he was kidding, but sometimes it was hard to tell because he had the same monotone, slightly annoyed at everything everyone has to say, kind of voice.

and you were a sensitive person, and even the most harmless jokes could manage to sting you.

“well jeez aren’t you sweet.” you complimented with sarcasm. joel threw on his flannel, ignoring your comment. you stepped aside while he made his way to the door.

“you comin?” he looked at you, opening the door behind him, waiting for you to follow. you turned around to look behind you stupidly, then back to him. “what?” you asked confusedly and he fought the urge to roll his eyes and take back his offer.

“we’re gonna start now.” he inclined his head out the door, motioning for you to come along. and who were you to decline doing anything with joel.

—

joel was here. in your apartment. in your space, in your air. he was sitting on your bed, the place where you’d occasionally, frequently shove your fingers into places you just knew joel would be able to reach with no effort.

he ran his fingers over the barrel of the gun, drumming against its ridges and for a moment you felt a bit envious over the literal inanimate object.

“cmere,” he patted the space next to him, waiting for you to be seated so he could get started.

with wobbly legs you made your way to him, smoothing over your jeans in an attempt to secretly wipe away your clammy palms.

“show me how you hold it.” he placed it in your hands and it felt foreign to the touch. it was heavier than you expected it to be but you tried to conceal your inexperience by holding it the way you’ve seen others handle their firearms.

you pointed it at the door, pretending that soldier was in front of you, finger on the trigger and hands at the bottom of it, supporting your grasp.

he observed your hold, a low hmm coming from the back of his throat. “not terrible.” he adjusted your hands, your skin latching onto his heat, claiming it as yours as his body hovered around your side.

“how’s that feel?” he asked and you cleared your throat, blinking a few times and avoiding his close stare. “it uh, it feels better.” you answered and he clicked his tongue, nodding curtly to himself.

“alright. now, when you run out of bullets, the magazine at the bottom might drop out but if it doesn’t, you’re gonna take it out and reload, you wanna be fast if you’re in the middle of, well whatever situations got you needing to pull out a gun.” there was a slight cadence of a joke in his gun lesson 101, and it made a giddy feeling return to your tummy.

he reached in his back pocket, pulling out what you assumed he meant by magazine.

he explained the logistics of your newly owned weapon, trying to use terms you’d be able to follow along with, not unaware of how you were watching and listening intently, hanging on to every word he spoke.

you were too damn obvious.

—

you saw more of joel after that, bumping into him in places you usually didn’t see him, yet seemingly excited every time you met.

his aloof stare slowly turned softer when it landed on you, maybe it never changed at all but to you it definitely felt different.

he swore it was you that had been following him, an air of playfulness in his accusations of you stalking him, but really it was him.

he unable to admit to himself that he wandered around the areas he knew you were usually found in, wanting to scold you for having such an easy routine to follow but he kept it to himself.

he watched you walk beside him, taking in the sights of the town, wondering how you could possibly appreciate the hellhole that surrounded you all.

“so how’s the coffee? any good?” you asked, turning back to look at him, feeling a hushed breath pause in your throat once you saw he was already looking at you.

a peek of a smile ghosted over his face. “it’s good. i, i appreciate that you did that. i hope you didn’t have to trade too much for it.” guilt resided in him at the thought of you having to give more than you had just for coffee beans. he felt he wasn’t worth all that effort.

you shook your head, laughing lightly at the memory of the trade. “no no don’t worry, just a pair of socks. they were these brown wool socks that were so soft, so i’d say it was a pretty fair trade.”

“i’ll be on the look out for a pair like that then.” he was already figuring out who he could trade with to get you another pair of socks. “no it’s okay you don’t have to it’s-“

“hey,” his voice felt rich, calling your attention back to him. your chest went tight. “yeah?” you whispered back.

“shut up. i’m gettin’ the socks.” there was a backbone of sternness in his lighthearted promise.

you sucked on your bottom lip through a grin before you spoke again.

“i have a confession.” you exhaled, feigning dramatics and he tilted his head towards you, watching you with worried eyes. “yeah?”

“i lied. i’ve never had coffee before.” you lowered your head with faux shame and he gasped, shaking his head with disapproval. he paused for a moment, then turned around.

you caught up with him, holding onto his arm, feeling hot at the taut feeling of his limb, and how he didn’t push you off. he just peered down at you, keeping you there with him. “jeez i didn’t think you’d take such offense to that,” you breathed out through a chuckle.

“inexcusable. you’re tryin it when we get home.” the twang in his accent was something so attractive, and it only had you feeling more and more willing to do whatever he wanted. you’d drink acid if he asked of it from you in that deep southern drawl.

you two walked back to his place, shedding a layer out of many, holding onto it as you trailed in behind him.

he glanced over at you, then your coat. “set it down somewhere, you can have a seat.” he pointed at the round table and you quietly thanked him, hanging your coat over the back of the chair before sliding it out and sitting in it.

“i remember you have a sweet tooth. damn near talked my head off about trading for a bag of hard candies a few months ago, so i reckon you’d like it sweet.” he mostly talked to himself when he said that, fondly remembering the way you rattled on about how you were craving for caramel drops.

“you remember that?” you were just about swooning, unable to hide it even when joel walked back over to you, two mugs in each hand of his. “how could i not? you never let me forget it.” he set the mug down in front of you, sipping at his as he leaned back into the chair in front of you.

you picked it up, hugging the warmth of it with your palm. you took a light sip, your eye shutting, a low quiet moan leaving your lips from around the mug once the taste landed on your tongue.

joel stirred in his seat at the sound, busying himself with drinking from his cup to avoid making any kind of facial expressions.

“joel,” you crooned and he felt weak. “you like it?” he asked, his lips still curled over the rim of his mug. “it’s so good, i understand why you like it so much.”

“well, i don’t make it as sweet as that, but yeah, coffees good. not a lot of people agree.” he shrugged and you set your mug down in front of you. “can i taste yours?”

he slid it to you and you lifted it, tasting it and almost immediately wanting to spit it out. you quickly gave it back to him, sipping the sweeter coffee to cleanse your offended palette.

“yeah, that tastes like shit, i don’t know how you drink that.” you smacked your tongue against the roof of your mouth, the burnt taste not quite leaving you just yet.

he rolled his eyes, taking a loud obnoxious slurp. “my tastebuds are just mature.”

“mature for what? shit? once you hit a certain age do just you grow accustomed to crappy tasting things?” you were dipping into a more casual way of speaking to joel, causing his gaze that rested on you to turn into a view of amusement.

“rich comin’ from the kid who still eats like she’s 5.” he rested his arm against the back of his chair, and you expired, feeling a bit defensive of being called a child.

“i’m not a kid.” you muttered and he chuckled. “alright.” he agreed in sentiments but not in actuality.

breaking the comfortable silence that filled the room you and joel shared, a loud bang rang from against the door. joel slid from out his chair, hurriedly pacing towards the door.

before he could even open it, you already knew it was one of fedra’s soldiers. things were starting to feel a little too lax, it was only a matter of time until they came knocking down doors again.

your throat went dry, stomach cinching with anxiety once he stepped inside, the same soldier that had you saving up your rations week after week to be able to afford the pistol from joel.

his eyes flickered between you and joel, scoffing to himself. “what’s this?” he asked you, ignoring joel who stood right in front of him.

“nothing.” you answered, intimidation and fear already prickling at your skin and racing down your spine.

joel stood in front of you, shielding you away from him, and slowly, the fear lifted itself itself away from you, but not fully. not while he’s still here.

“aren’t there usually two of you who do these searches?” joel questioned, watching as the solider jabbed at various things of joel’s with the tip of his rifle.

“partners out sick. so y’all get the pleasure of havin just me.” he flashed an ugly grin at you, bending to the side to see your uncomfortable face behind joel’s back.

he walked around, haphazardly lifting and tossing things about.

“oh?” he bent down, squatting by joel’s bed. “what’s this?” he waved around a baggy full of white powder. joel stiffened, his nostrils flaring in anger.

“that’s not mine and you know it.” and surprisingly it actually wasn’t.

joel had just sold the last of his pills to a sad sap unable to sleep without them, and that was a month ago. the asshole was planting drugs on him.

“this is not only grounds for confiscation but imprisonment. tough spot you’re in miller.” joel exhaled angrily from a quiet ragged breath.

“unless,” he came up to you, pushing past joel to cup your chin. “she wants to, convince me why i shouldn’t take you down for this contraband.” you flinched from his touch but it only made him hold on tighter.

joel snatched his wrist away, stepping back in front of you. “you don’t have to involve her. what do you want? rations, half of my next haul? what?” he gritted and the solider just laughed.

“you think i don’t have easy access to all that? i want something you can’t easily trade for.” he leaned to the side, waving at you.

joel pushed him backward, triggering the response of a rifle being shoved in his face. joel didn’t so much as waver, grabbing the neck of the firearm, pointing it away from him while his foot came and rammed down onto the front of his shin, successfully knocking him down with a loud wail of pain.

it happened so fast all you could do was sit and watch, frozen in place as joel lost himself on top of the solider, pounding and pounding and pounding his fists in relentlessly, not stopping despite the ache trickling over across his knuckles.

you heard a sick squelch followed by cracking noises and you knew that should’ve made you fear joel. it should’ve made you run out the door and never look back. but it did the opposite. you never wanted to stay more.

you watched with wide pupils as he rose up from the beaten and bloodied solider, breathing hard and loud, stumbling upward to a leant stance, staring at the lifeless solider on his wood floors.

he wiped his nose with the clean, unbloodied slate of his forearm, before dropping it back to his side to lean forward and spit over the body.

he turned back to you, scanning your face for any hurt, fear or disgust.

but there was none.

before you could say anything, he spoke aloud his thoughts. “i gotta get rid of the body.”

“do you need help?” you extended a hand willing to assist and joel shook his head a hard no. “you saw enough, you don’t need to see more. i’ll be back.”

you stood up, pressing a hand to his chest, looking at him with watery eyes. he wanted to wipe them away from you, but he couldn’t. not with the blood that was already starting to cake under his nails.

“joel i want to help.” you admitted, soft voice trembling and joel leaned forward, his face close to yours. “you should probably go sweetheart, you don’t need to get wrapped up further in this.” his words traveled along the coast of a gentle but solid whisper.

“i don’t want to go.” your voice barely carrying itself loud enough as a reply, eyes following joel’s actions of walking away from you to roll up the soldier in a thin fraying carpet.

“you should.” is all he said, walking out the door with a body dragging behind him.

—

you went against any logical thought process whatsoever and stayed. you decided you’d make yourself useful, feeling as though the events that continually replayed in your head felt like your fault.

you sat on your knees, scrubbing at the blood that had already set in the floors.

you scrubbed until it hurt, and you kept going despite the fact. you dunked the scrubber into the bucket of soapy water turned brown, squeezing the excess onto the floor before rubbing it in.

the door clicked open and your head whipped towards it, heart leaping in your chest once you saw joel stumble in.

“hi.” you breathed and he looked at you with surprise. he saw the work you busied yourself with, locking the door before making his way to you. “what’re you doin’?” he asked gently, yet again in shock at how unabashedly kind you were to him.

“didn’t want the blood just sitting here on your floors. ‘least i could do since it’s my fault that all happened.” you sniffled, feeling guilty at what had transpired. though the guilt was there, a sense of gratitude was even larger.

he did that, for you.

he bent down to catch your watery gaze. “no, no that was not your fault. just got a little carried away. ‘don’t want you thinkin’ that you had anything to do with my choices, okay?” he leaned to the side, catching your eyes that were avoiding his. “okay?” he repeated, waiting for you to say it back to him.

“okay.” you mouthed just below a whisper. he took the bucket and the scrubber, walking to the sink. you of course, trailed behind him.

he lifted his sleeves, turning on the faucet to rinse off the dried blood on his hands.

he picked at under his nails, scraping the blood off wherever he saw it. which was, every inch of his hands.

his body faced back to you, his now cleaned hands picking up yours, seeing specks of blood and dirt splattered on your hands from cleaning his floor.

he washed you clean, and all you could do was admire him. how gentle he was taking care of you. he rinsed your skin clear of blood, drying you up and letting your hands rest back to your sides.

“i’m sorry you had to see that.” he apologized, feeling ashamed of how little he was in control of his anger in that moment.

you shook your head, hands shakily resting on his chest. “no, i don’t want you to be sorry.” you murmured, eyes landing on his lips. you swallowed back any fears that held you back from showing your affections any longer.

you leaned forward, pressing your lips to his. with a pleasant surprise, he kissed back, no hesitation in his actions. his hold fell to your waist, squeezing, pulling you into him.

he took in your air, and you gave it to him, happily, willing to offer it in all its abundance. your hand rose to his cheek, palm resting over his beard. his thumb rested on your chin, rubbing it softly.

he forced himself to pull away, his hands selfishly unable to remove themselves from your waist. “sweetheart this isn’t a good idea. you’re too young, and i’m not a good man. i think i just showed you that.” he tried to warn you, hushed and gently, with honest intentions of keeping you away from something you’d regret being involved with.

but the only thing you’d regret is never being with him.

“i’m not, and i don’t care what you do joel, i want you, all of you, want you so bad,” you all but whimpered, trying to press yourself against him more.

he was a greedy man at heart, pulling you back up for a harder kiss. there was a hot hunger that was electric between you two, a burning ignition that pulled you two in, tying an in separable twine amidst your bodies. but neither of you ever had any intentions of undoing it anyways.

he held the side of your cheek, the other traveling from your lower back to your ass, squeezing it hard, using his grip to pull you in closer, grinding up against you right there.

you were so needy for him that it rattled your bones. a wet clicking noise elicited from your mouths, tongues brushing up together messily. your chin dribbling with saliva.

you moaned in his mouth, feeling the hand that was on your cheek move to hold you by the back of your head, his tilting to kiss you deeper.

he untangled your lips, keeping himself not even an inch away, just to share the breath between you two. your tongue flicked over his lips, biting down on the bottom one before lurching forward for him once more.

he groaned in your mouth, lifting his hand to come down and spank your ass. you whined, back arching and crotch brushing up against his.

you two stumbled towards his bed, your back falling into the mattress. he crawled on top of you, ridding himself of his boots and you of yours.

his knee rested on one side of your hip, the other coming between your thighs. your chest rose up into his, your back lifting off the sheets and hands coming up to paw at his chest.

without any reservations, you rubbed against his knee, struggling to kiss him back. “feel good little girl?” he sounded gruff, strained voice trying it’s best to not moan at the way your wet little cunt managed to create a wet spot on his knee.

“so good joel,” you gaped, kissing his neck desperately.

“shouldn’t be touchin’ you like this, sweet little thing like you gettin handled by someone like me,” he breathed through a series of heavy pants, his hands wandering all along your sides, your hips, your thighs.

“don’t want anyone else but you.” you whimpered truthfully, holding his wrist and guiding his hand to your chest, right above your heart. you let it drift to the left, shuddering when he squeezed your breast.

he kissed your pulse, teeth baring out against it. he rested his hand on your lower belly, rubbing the skin under your tank top. “can i touch you?” he whispered, his beard tickling the space just below your ear.

you nodded, running your hands all along his strong back. “please,” you bucked your hips upward, begging with not only your words but your body.

he exhaled out a quiet chuckle, fingers working to undo your jeans, tugging them down until they were forgotten on the floor.

he dipped down beneath your underwear, his cock throbbing in his boxers at how wet you were. so soaked it was pathetic. he hadn’t let his hand drift down to the sweet place between those thighs of yours til then, and yet you were as wet as if he had his tongue pressed up against you.

actually, that’s not a bad idea.

he circled around your clit, watching as you revealed in it, his fingers being thicker than yours, making the sensation all the more intense.

“joel,” you repeated his name, voice wavering in breathy gasps, his fingers rolling the sensitive button of yours. he slipped a finger inside you, eyes peering up and watching as your back rose just a little, hips pressuring downward and further onto his finger, taking him all in.

“so soft,” he murmured, lowering himself to press a kiss to your hip. he rolled his hips into the mattress, trying ease the pressure building up beneath his jeans.

he was too turned on, this young pretty girl he’s had his eye on for a year was sprawled in his bed, soft and soaked cunt all ready and pliable just for him and him alone.

he could die a happy man.

his lips encircled your clit, tongue drawing around it while he pressed into a familiar spongy spot within you.

you sucked in a sharp gasp, the sweet sound turning into a high pitched whine. “please,” you sobbed, hands flying down to keep his head in place.

he fucked you with his fingers, curling right up against the spot that was making you dizzy, his tongue and lips working perfectly on your little clit.

tears flowed down your face and on his pillow, your hand coming up to your mouth trying to lessen the volume of your cries.

“j-joel, please i,” unable to formulate any sentences, you just gave up, giving in to your moans.

the way you squeezed around his fingers, sucking him with greed and need, made him wonder how that’d feel around his cock when he’d get to finally shove it in you.

he growled at the thought, sucking hard around your clit. you whimpered, pushing down onto his tongue more.

“s’too much, i cant, i,” your head rolled around his pillow, his scent, his touch, his tongue suffocating you in the most heavenly way possible.

you squirmed in his hold, unable to escape his grip, unable to escape the way his tongue pressed flat and hard up on your clit. his beard brushed up against your thighs, pulling a giggly moan from you.

“perfect little pussy,” he grunted, kissing your clit before dragging his tongue slowly, up and down languidly.

he rested his forearm over your lower tummy, pressing hard and feeling the corner of his lips perk at the way you gasped, shuddering loudly and trembling in his mouth at the action.

“joel, i think i’m—ooh,” you spoke tearfully, poor little throat already getting hoarse from crying out his name.

“feels good huh baby,” that little twang in his deep voice curled off his words just right. all you could do was whimper a shaky sogood joel s’good.

his finger pressed up against that spot inside you, his tongue on your clit being the sweetest cherry on top of the tooth rotting sundae.

you were cumming, hiccuping his name unashamedly. your plush thighs coming around to cage him in, to which he paid no mind to, if anything it excited him, his rough hands gripping your ass and pulling you deeper into his mouth.

the wind up deep inside you finally released, flickering flashes of burning hot lights spread across your limbs, slowly fizzling out as you went limp in his bed.

he didn’t let up however, his tongue grown addicted to the way your perfect clit felt on the wet muscle.

you whimpered, struggling to push him away from your cunt. it was just too good and he hadn’t had enough yet.

“joel n-no more s’too much,” you pleaded weakly, and he took slight pity, pressing one last kiss before rising back up to you.

he pressed his fingers to your lips, groaning quietly with approval at the way you took them in with no verbal orders needed.

you were so good for him, his sweet little girl.

he pulled them out, resting on your plump bottom lip before moving it out the way to kiss you. you moaned deeply into his mouth, bringing your arms around him, hands traveling up to his hair.

his salt and peppered hair felt soft, weaved through your gentle fingers. you lightly tugged on it, feeling mischief in your veins at the ministration. he growled, biting down on your lip and laughing as you yelped.

he held your jaw, pressing hard kisses all along your face, speaking stilly, his inflection so deep, so masculine, so old and wise, had you hypnotized, his words that were reserved for your ears only, were something you’d cradle to yourself forever.

“told myself i wouldn’t crack, i wouldn’t have you like this, you’re too young, you don’t know what you want, but fuck,” he dragged his fingers up your folds, chuckling to himself at the way you whimpered, curling into his touch immediately.

“now that i got you, ‘fraid i can’t let you go sweetheart. i’m a selfish man at heart.” he admitted, kissing your jaw. you just about exploded in that moment. you had no idea he felt the same for you as you did him, and it was the most powerful, enlightening feeling you’ve ever felt.

“i’m selfish too,” you whispered back, puckering your lips to kiss him. “didn’t let anyone else touch me but you. just wanted you,” you looked up at him from under your eyelashes, unaware to how that little admission made the precum collecting at his tip leak out even more.

his grasp on your hip tightened, squeezing it as he buried his face in your neck. “fuck baby, gonna give this old man a heart attack sayin’ things like that.”

your shaky hands went for his belt, tugging on it with need. “want you joel, please?” you begged, lips pressed to his ear. he didn’t need to be begged any more, he undid his belt with one hand, pulling it off his waist, letting it join the pile of your discarded jeans and boots.

before he could take himself out, your hands found themselves under his flannel, desperate and anxious to see what he’s been concealing away from you. “off, please,” and he wanted to say no, feeling not as proud in his physique as he once was about 20 years ago.

“nothin special to see baby,” he countered and you shook your head. “it’s you. it’s special to me.” you suspired airily, already feeling your tummy get tight at the thought of him hovering above you, shirtless.

he took in a deep breath, letting you unbutton his flannel.

you undid each button, trying your best to not rip them clean off despite your rushing efforts. you slid it off his body, exhaling in awe at the sight in front of you.

you sucked on your bottom lip, hands traveling across his broad shoulders, fingers tracing his collarbones, dragging around the scarred areas from past wounds, admiring the few freckles on his chest that trail up to his shoulders.

he watched you, never having felt so admired before. “enjoyin’ yourself baby?” he teased, his thumb rubbing over your chin.

“mhm,” you nodded, not caring how it looked to be gawking at him.

you could feel the muscle from the layer of life and age over his stomach, your eyes then falling to the bulge of his biceps, instantly growing obsessed, squeezing at the muscles.

“you’re so beautiful joel.” you spoke with such true sincerity and he tittered quietly, shaking his head. “thank you baby,”

your wandering hands finally fell to his jeans, undoing the button and zipper, eager to see what else he’d been keeping away from you.

he let you, more than ready to feel your touch in the place he craved the most. he was tired of having to fuck his calloused fist, trying hard to pretend it was your cute hand touching him.

you pulled him out, feeling your jaw go slack at the length of it all. “jesus joel,” you swallowed hard, steadily jerking him off, feeling slightly unsure if you’re doing it right. you were telling the truth, when you said you’d never let anyone touch you, too hopelessly in love with joel to even imagine allowing anyone to see you in the way he’s got you.

he grunted, unintentionally bucking his hips into the tunnel of your hand. he was thick, heavy in your clutch, veins running along the side of it, his tip round and fat, almost red with droplets of precum leaking out.

“gonna show you what those little boys could never give you,” he promised, and you believed him, gazing at the way he reluctantly pulled away from your hold, knowing if he let you stroke him any longer he’d cum all over your hand.

he circled your clit with the head of his cock, shuddering a semblance of a breathy moan at the sensation. “gonna be a bit of a stretch baby, tell me if it’s too much okay? i’ll try to go slow.” he kissed his promises of gentleness into your temple.

he inched in, hands around either side of your head, foreheads pushed together while your mouth fell open, sucking in all the air in the room. the stretch was very unfamiliar, but not unwelcomed.

you held onto his shoulders for support, grasping onto them tightly, pretty plump trembling lips crying out moans that would replay in joel’s head on lonely nights. you felt fuller than you ever have before joel was even fully inside you.

he was nudging up against spots in you that you had no idea could feel so good, and if he angled his hips any higher, the fat head of his cock would be kissing your cervix.

“can barely fit myself in ya’ baby,” he groaned, head falling from your forehead to bury itself in your neck, kissing your hot skin to try to calm him down before he lost control and rammed himself inside you.

your calves rested on his hips, whimpering while trying to lift yourself up in an attempt to get him to push himself further in.

“more joel, please?” your pleas were accompanied by sponged kisses just below his ear. “gonna take it all for me baby?” he questioned you, inching in just that much deeper, and you shut your eyes, nails already beginning to crescent themselves in his back. “mhm, gonna take it all,” you swore, more than eager to have him fully within you, as close as could be.

he jutted his hips in, knocking the wind out of you. you bit down on his shoulder, whining a drool filled mess with the way he started to fuck you, rough hardened hands molding softly around the curves of your waist.

he was bathing in the way your little cunt took him in, squeezing around him so good just like he knew you would. he took his time, rocking into you in and out, holding your shaking body close to him.

you could feel every ridge and vein in you, hooked onto the way he filled you up, stretching you beyond belief, making you bounce upward with every movement.

his hands slid down over the smooth skin of your thighs, widening them further open before pushing them up, growing impatient, achingly hungry to be deeper in you. you struggled for air at his fast actions, eyes immediately rolling back at the way he began to fuck into you.

“can’t help myself, m’sorry baby, pussy’s too good, shit,” a gruff sigh of relief leaving his mouth at the way you took him in. you didn’t care, you were thrilled to take whatever he gave you, and however hard he saw fit.

“feels s’good, feel so full,” you cried, translucent tears free falling, the aggressive pistons of his hips causing your swollen clit to ache, begging to be touched.

“feel me right here huh baby?” he rubbed over the bulge in your tummy and you squealed, wriggling away from the overwhelming stimulation. “ha,” you strung out, arching up into him.

“yeah, you do,” he taunted breathlessly, loving how you were a wreck beneath him. “in so deep joel,” you mumbled against his shoulder and he kissed your hair, nodding knowingly. “i know babygirl but you’re takin me so well,” he praised, feeling so proud of his sweet girl taking his cock like a pro.

“never gonna let anyone see you like this?” he pressed deep there, corners of his lips curling when you weep, squeezing at his biceps. “never gonna let anyone have you like this?” you shook your head, sobbing a string of no joel no, never, just you.

“perfect, tight fuckin’ cunt is all for me, aint sharin’ with no one,” he held you by the back of your thighs even further, stressing how serious he was, set on fucking himself into your soaked hole until there was a permanent shape of him within you. a shape no man could ever fit into.

sobs of uncontrollable pleasure were the only thing you could feel in your veins, pumping your blood full of dopamine. his balls tightened, hitting the fullness of your ass, and he let himself grow sporadic, let himself take you. his fingers found your desperate clit, chuckling to himself when you croon tearfully, thanking him pathetically for touching you.

“can i cum, please?” your requests only made him twitch inside you, his sweet girl was so polite. “go ahead baby, let it out,” he leaned down to kiss you, swallowing up your moans and cries.

your body jerked under him, the tight vice of your cunt gripping onto him while he rubbed over your clit, pulling out the second wave of an orgasm from you.

you broke apart from his lips, still just a breadth of a gasp away from them, brushing up against the ghost of a kiss as you pressed your forehead to his, sobbing his name while your body trembled from how hard you were cumming.

“shit,” he slammed a hand against the wall above your head, shoving himself impossibly further in you, your legs shaking on either side of him. “good fuckin’ girl, squeezing me so goddamn good,” he fucked you through your orgasm, kneading over your breasts, groping at them and pinching at your pebbling nipples.

you fell limp, letting yourself drown in the unraveling lengths of your climax.

“gonna cum baby, where d’you want it?” he asked, feeling his lower stomach start to tighten up. “inside, wanna feel all of you,” you whined, kissing all along his shoulder and collarbones, messy and ravenous.

his face fell to the crook of your neck, biting down on your soft flesh when he came, impaling you once, twice, ending it with one last hard thrust as he came in you, pumping you full of his cum.

he didn't feel himself soften inside you, but with each of the passing minutes he decided he’d better pull out then or else he’d never leave. you winced from the removal, arms coming around to hold him with a clinginess.

he collapsed on top of you, and you sighed contently, the full weight of him resting on you could’ve honestly sent you into the deepest nap you’d ever have.

you felt his cock, still hardened on your thigh. with sleepy eyes you looked up at him, lips on his stubbly jaw when you spoke. "you're still hard," you murmured. his fingers drew up and down your spine, and you shivered, arching yourself into him.

"that's okay, it'll go down soon." his throat got tight when he felt you wrap your hand around him once more. "we don't...have to ignore it." you trailed off, bitten lips pressing delicate kisses laced with ulterior motives into his tanned skin.

you wanted joel to use you as many times as he wanted to, a new compulsion flowing rampantly in your veins. now that you had finally gotten a taste of joel, you wanted to gorge yourself on him.

"you sure you can take it?" he asked through a hushed breath of arousal. you nodded, kissing at his lips with need.

he didn't need to be told twice, he repositioned you, letting you fall back onto his pillow with him hovering above you. he rolled you onto your stomach, holding you by your hip to lift you just enough for him to shove his flannel right against your cunt.

his rough palms encased your ass, groping at the thick flesh. he dipped down, spreading your ass and watching as his cum poured out of you. he groaned quietly to himself. you whimpered, turning to look over your shoulder as joel pushed his fingers inside, shoving his cum back into you. your chin dropped, face falling back into his pillow when he pumped his fingers inside you, chuckling darkly to himself at the way your ass squirmed against him.

every little swivel your hips made was met with friction from his flannel on your clit. the hem of it just so happened to be pressed right there. he slapped his cock over on your ass, exhaling loudly at the way it jiggled from his actions.

he aligned himself once more with your little hole, pushing himself in with ease due to the slick left from a mixture of his cum and yours. you whined, hands flying backward, desperate for any solace from his hands in yours. he held your wrists at the small of your back with one hand, the other supporting his weight to lean forward when he pushed himself all the way inside you. you cried out, his name falling out of your mouth like a mantra, your legs trembling beneath him.

he was in you so much deeper this way, stretching you out more than you thought he already could. his hips snapped up against your ass, fully within you and hitting every single tingly spot inside you along the way.

you were already out of breath, your lungs and brain vacant of anything except for him, for joel. "feel you in my tummy," you hiccuped, tilting your head to look at him through teary eyes. he breathed out a lazy, cocky laugh, moving forward to kiss your forehead, unintentionally shoving his cock in even deeper, feeling a sense of pride at the way you gasped and whimpered at the deep intrusion.

"i know huh baby?" he chuckled in your ear, and you shivered, feeling your face grow warm from how flustered he made you feel. he was so dirty, any filters he once had were gone, the tight grip your cunt had on his cock made him downright ruthless.

he pressed his hands at your lower back, letting yours fall free to cling onto his sheets. he held you down that way, fucking into you with a newfound source of energy, his grey hairs falling over his forehead, sweat glistening over the ripples of muscles along his biceps and abdomen, his whole being going into pounding himself into you.

he wanted you to be so full of him that everyone would know it just by looking at you. the possessiveness he tried to suppress for so long had come out, and he wasn't sure if he could go back to hiding it again. but that wasn't on his mind, not when you were clenching around him, sobbing his name loud enough for everyone outside to hear.

his grunting fell to your ears, it was near pornographic, including the way you bounced with each and every thrust of his, just watching it made his chest get tight.

he needed you closer.

he pulled you back up from under your arms, keeping you flush against his chest while he continued fucking you. you were growing limp, body worn out from the rigor he put you through. but he held onto you, keeping you in his arms. his arm went under your tits, a sneaky hand coming up and groping at one, pinching at the nipple.

he buried his face in your neck, filling your ear with the low growl of his groans. "such a good girl, letting me fuck you like this, but i think you like it, and you know what else?," he drew in a heavy breath, "i think you like being fucked like a little ragdoll," you couldn't answer, he was right, but you could hardly focus on any words, his cock rendering you a teary eyed moaning mess.

"can't even respond when spoken to," he slowed the roll of his hips, hitting you in deep and slow, letting you hear him instead of the loud wet rhythm of your cunt being fucked into. "that's okay, i'll still take care of you," he chuckled, returning back to his rough pace.

"so good, make me feel so good joel," you managed to finally cry out in a series of strewn moans. his fingers trailed themselves down to your clit, rubbing in tight little circles. " i know baby, cum for me, show me how good i make you feel."

you wriggled around in his hold, your third orgasm of the night was thick in heft, a heavy wave of intense stimulation clearing your vision and leaving a white glittering hue instead. you felt joel everywhere, from the way he was buried in your cunt, to the way his hips were clasped over the curve of your ass, fitting into you like a puzzle piece.

the fervent circles being drawn over your clit was the thing that pushed you over, your head falling backward onto his shoulder, his turn to be serenaded by a string of your pretty moans. "good babygirl, did so good for me." he cooed in your ear, pressing a kiss behind it. "thank you," you meekly replied in a breathless voice.

you were the weakest you've ever felt, your poor spent body still being held upright as joel chased down his own orgasm. "gonna let me cum in you again baby? want more of it?" he panted in your ears. "please, want it joel, please,"

he gripped onto your hips, feeling his own stutter, before he pushed in deeply, stilling inside as he came in thick ropes. he finally softened, slowly pulling out of you. you winced again at the loss, feeling suddenly cold and empty. you collapsed on his bed, reaching out for him.

he laid beside you, pulling your leg up and over his waist, running a hand up the expanse of your thigh. your eyes fell shut tiredly, enjoying the comfortable sound of the two of you trying to catch your breaths.

a part of you was worried he was going to break the silence, afraid he'd call the whole thing a mistake, and lecture you on how he isn't the type of man who does relationships. you knew all of that, you just hoped he wouldn't say it and just let you soak in the moment.

almost nervously, his hand came to dance across your cheekbone softly, wanting to memorize the way your skin felt to his. "do you regret that?" he murmured and you opened your eyes, shocked at the question.

you leaned into his hand, curling your own over his. "no, never joel, why would you ask that?"

he sighed, scooting closer to you. "I'm not a good man, sweetheart, i'm giving you a chance to leave." he spoke above an octave of silence. you frowned, shaking your head. "i don't care about anything that you've done in the past or what you'll do in the future. i just...want to be here, with you, in any way you'll let me." you admitted, wishing you could say the one thing you've been harboring for a year, but you knew you needed to keep that to yourself just a little longer.

"if i had a bigger conscious i wouldn't let you," his hands pulled you into the hold of his arm that came over your waist. "lucky for me then that you're not the good man you claim to be." you whispered, the scent of coffee on your breath enveloping his senses, and in that moment, he had a realization.

he thought about how nice, how domestic it would be to wake up and share a cup of coffee with you every morning, before you had to face the day, at least you could share a moment of peace together.

"yeah," a trace of a smile grew over his lips. "you're right. i'm not." he rolled on top of you, cupping your cheeks in his large palms. "you're makin' an unwise choice little girl," a quiet rumble rested on your lips.

your arms came around his shoulders and you sighed a half laugh. "i know. i don't care."

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #the last of us hbo #the last of us smut

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cal-kestis · 1 year

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HOW TO: Make an iPhone Layout + Downloadable Template

Hi! I've gotten a few messages asking for a tutorial on my iPhone gifsets — but instead of only doing a tutorial (that would probably be triple the length this one already is), I decided to turn my layout into a template with all the bits and bobs! In the "tutorial" under the cut, I'll share everything you'll need, a free template download, and quickly go over how to use this template. :)

Disclaimer: This template uses Video Timeline and this tutorial assumes you have a basic to intermediate understanding of Photoshop.

PHASE 1: THE ASSETS

1.1 – Download fonts. These are the fonts used for all assets I've included in my template: – SF Pro or SF Pro Display (Regular, Medium, Bold): Either version works, they look nearly identical. You can download directly from https://developer.apple.com/fonts/ or easily find it via Google – Bebas Neue: Free on Google Fonts, Adobe Fonts, and dafont – Times New Roman (Bold): Should be a default font in Photoshop

Make sure to download and install any of the fonts you don't already have before opening my template. That way, once you open the template file, all the settings (font size, weight, spacing, color, opacity, etc.) are as intended.

1.2 – Download my template. Before you use my template, all I ask is that you don't claim or redistribute it as your own and that you give me proper credit in the caption of your post. Making these iPhone gifsets takes me a longgg time and turning this layout into a template took several hours too.

DOWNLOAD TEMPLATE VIA KO-FI ← This template is completely free to download (just enter $0), but if you feel inclined to tip me, I appreciate you! 💖

BTW this template also includes some of my frequently used icons!

NOTE: If, for some reason, you open the template and see the pop-up shown below, click "NO" — otherwise, the fonts will be all messed up:

And if you see this triangle with an exclamation point by a text layer, don't double-click it — it'll mess up the font as well:

PHASE 2: THE GIFS

I'm just going to briefly go over gif sizes and my recommendations. Also, keep in mind when grabbing your scenes, you'll want all of these gifs to be the same amount of frames.

2.1 – Background Gif: 540 x 540 px. I recommend this size so you have a good amount of visibility for the gif behind the iPhone wallpaper. I also recommend making this black and white (or in my case, black and white with a slight blue tint — idk I just like the way it looks) so the wallpaper coloring can stand out.

2.2 – Wallpaper Gif: 230 (w) x 500 (h) px. Keep in mind the very narrow dimensions of the wallpaper! And also keep in mind that you'll have a bunch of apps and widgets covering the image. I try to use wide shots (or layer my clips into looking like wide shots). Also, keep in mind your color scheme for your set and your character's aesthetic! I tend to focus on one or two colors for the wallpaper.

I usually position the wallpaper to the side with 20px bumpers, so there's lots of space to see the background:

2.3 – Large Photo Widget Gif: 201 (w) x 96 (h) px.

2.4 – Small Photo Widget Gif: 94 x 94 px.

PHASE 3: THE TEMPLATE – "IPHONE" FOLDER

In this section, I'll try to quickly walk you through how to use this template and some bits that may require extra instructions. I'll be going through each folder from top to bottom.

3.1 – Status Bar. Time, Service, and WiFi are pretty self-explanatory. In the Battery folder, you can use the shape tool to adjust the shape layers labeled "Fill (Adjustable Shape!)" to customize the battery level.

3.2 – Message Notification. Again, these are pretty self-explanatory. I've already masked the circle for the contact photo, so you can simply import any photo and use the transform tool to shrink it down. The circle is 24x24 px. If you don't want to use a photo, there's another folder called Default Initials.

If your message text can't fit the text box, the message should end with ellipses which is how iOS caps off long texts.

3.3 – Blurred Banner (IMPORTANT) This folder is easy to miss because there's only one placeholder layer in there. On iPhones, the area behind a banner notification and the dock get blurred (including the wallpaper and any apps).

What to do: Make a duplicate of the apps in Row 1 and/or widgets that intersect the message banner, convert them all into one smart object, apply a Gaussian Blur filter (Radius: 3.0 pixels) on the smart object, and move the smart object into this masked folder!

(There's another masked folder in the Wallpaper folder for the dock which I'll go over in that section.)

3.4 – Apps Turn off the yellow guide if you don't need it to keep things aligned and turn off layers you don't need by clicking the eye icon. Replace the "App" placeholder text with your app name, change the color or gradient of the square to compliment your color scheme, and add your custom app icon overlay!

If you can't find an app icon you need from the ones I provided, flaticon.com is a great resource. Also, if you can only find the filled version of an icon, check out this tutorial for how to make any text or shape into an outline.

Also, each app folder has 4 notification bubble options (1-4 digits). Again, you can toggle these on and off as you need!

3.5 – Big Widgets I like using these when my wallpaper has A LOT of negative space to fill. I included the Photos and Books widgets in my template, but there are lots of widgets available on iPhones. You can check some of the other ones I've done here, or if you have an iPhone, simply try adding some widgets to your phone!

There are also widgets bigger than these, but they would take up half of the phone screen which is why I don't use them for these edits.

3.6 – Small Widgets The only thing I'll say about these — because they're pretty straight forward — is there are a lot more weather themes than I included in my template. Also, if you set your character's phone to evening, the weather widget will show a dark background (sometimes with stars), so keep that in mind.

Speaking of, I've included Light Modes and Dark Modes for, I think, every applicable widget.

3.7 – Page Dots These barely perceptible dots indicate that your character has more pages of apps than shown in your gifset (so if an anon tries to come at you, you can just say "it's on the next page of apps" /j /lh)

3.8 – Dock Again, the dock has notification bubble options and I've included the default app designs, custom filled designs, and custom outlined designs for iMessage, Phone, Email, and Safari (there's also a FaceTime alternative if that's how your character rolls). These are usually the apps people keep in their Dock, but this is fully customizable too. So, if your character is, like, super obsessed with Candy Crush or something and needs it in thumb's reach — you can put it in the dock.

3.9 – Wallpaper This whole folder is masked already to a 230x500 px rounded rectangle.

Inside, you'll find another "Blurred Portion" folder for the area behind the message banner notification and the dock.

What to do: Duplicate your gif layer and place it in this folder, remove any sharpening filters, and apply a Gaussian Blur filter (Radius: 3.0 px). Be sure to add any coloring/adjustment layers ABOVE this folder and your original sharpened gif layer.

PHASE 4: EXPORT

We made it!

I hope this template makes it super easy for you to recreate this layout! If you decide to try it out, feel free to tag me with #usernik.

If you notice anything wonky about the template, kindly let me know so I can fix it! And if you have any questions about how to use this template, please don't hesitate to send me a message! I just ask that you try to be specific in your question so I'm able to answer you the best I can!

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fuxuannie · 1 year

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╭₊˚ ๑︰babysitting sigwinne :)

:★: relationship : wriothesley x g-neutral reader

:★: warnings : none! fluff

:★: a/n : saw a pretty mf and took my chances 🦕 disclaimer : i'll be going with the popular hc that hes nearsighted / blind but if what i write is incorrect or innacurate, please let me know & i'll immediately change what i've written! i'm always welcome to constructive criticism especially in areas im unfamiliar with. i talked with a partially blind friend to help me with this huhu.

You really didn't know what to expect when your boyfriend WRIOTHESLEY tells you that he's coming over.

He could be happy, angry, sad, it's just really hard to tell his mood over paper.

But when you hear that doorbell, you walk over to the door and see him standing there but.. there's a child holding his hand? "Hi!" The little bunny girl waved, smiling brightly however when your eyes shift back to your dearest lover - he seems exhausted, almost the verge of passing out.

"Hello!" You reply with a smile, watching Wriothesley let go of her hand, trudge past you and on his way to your very comfortable couch. "What's your name?" You inquired to the little lady. "I'm Sigwinnie, but I know all about you (name)! Mr. Wriothesley talks about you very fondly."

You couldn't help but feel your heart squeeze at the idea of him talking about you so sweetly, you move away from the door to let Sigwinne in and look at her surroundings - familiarizing herself with the home. "So, do you mind telling me why you're here? Since my boyfriend seems just about dead on my couch."

"I can hear you."

"Great! You can answer."

Picking Sigwinne up into one of your arms, you approach the couch and stand infront of him with your free hand on your hip. "So?"

"Tired."

"I'll kick you out. Explain."

You can hear a defeated groan into the couch cushions. "I have to take care of her, but work came up.. I'm really exhausted but I really didn't want to disturb you like this." He mumbles softly, a hand through his hair while sighing.

Already knowing how much your boyfriend works, you were happy to do this for him and Sigwinne seemed to be a very behaved child at heart. "Alright, rest well." You murmur, bowing down to kiss his forehead softly.

. . . . 💐 . . . .

A few hours pass, Wriothesley is awoken by the sounds of giggling in the distance. His eyes take a moment to adjust, rubbing them softly as he yawns. He looks over to the table to what seems to be a bunch of markers and papers, all depicting what seems to be a happy family.

"Shhh! You're gonna wake him up!"

His head turns to what he can remember to be the general location of the kitchen, hearing hushed giggles followed by the sound of cups clanking.

Of course, it doesn't sound like anything that could cause trouble, but he may aswell check what's happening. Due to the fact he has your home layout memorized, he really has no struggle navigating through the furniture and towards the kitchen.

At first the sight is a blur, what seems to be Sigwinne in your arms reaching up for something in your pantry until a little 'Oop!-' escapes your lips when you realize you've been caught.

Wriothesley takes a moment to adjust his eyes, taking a few steps closer until your smile comes into clear view. "Good morning!" You giggled, the girl in your arms waving enthusiastically as a greeting.

Maybe he's yet to properly process anything, but the sight of you and Sigwinne getting along makes his heart melt. It's adorable to see the light peeking from the windows into the scenery of the kitchen and almost illuminating you in his vision.

"Ah- well- um.. Good morning." He murmurs, turning his head away as he feels that oh so familiar warmth on his cheeks. "Are you blushing???"

To shift the topic, "What were both of you doing?" He asks, remembering the giggles and whispering he had heard. "Oh! We wanted to make you tea."

He then feels a tug on his sleeve, looking down at the Sigwinne who had the sweetest smile on her face. "Tea!"

He hovers his hand over the cup and chuckles.

"I prefer my tea hot, this is ice cold. This is one of your drinks, isn't it?"

"Huuuh?! Not fair! How does he always know.." Sigwinne pouted, her ears flopping downwards in defeat.

You ruffle her hair with a smile. "Oh well, we tried."

"You were apart of this?"

"Noooooo..?"

Wriothesley pulled you by the waist and buried his face into your neck, his laughter echoed into your as his breath tickled your neck. "You really are a handful.."

"Are you guys gonna kiss?"

#♡ — 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact #gi x reader #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader

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kathxrat-01 · 18 days

Text

"So magic controls the weather… It’s always nice to learn a bit more about this world."

Ryoko joins the Golden Frost Fest!

Groovy lines: [LOCKED]

Home Transition:

1. Kiyuu really wanted to go too, but she came down with a cold! Maybe I could bring her back some food, if they allow it. 2. I finished my whole outfit just last night, but I think it’s worth it! I really love dressing up for these types of occasions. 3. The music here makes me feel right at home! As if I know what that even means. Well, it’s the thought that counts!

Home, After Login: The wind is getting colder… Are you sure they haven’t started yet?

Tap Home:

1. Everyone looks amazing! I’d like to go up and compliment some people, but I’m a little nervous. What if they get mad and punch me in the face?! 2. All those flowers look delicious… Do you think I could pluck a few—I’d get banned?! What makes you say that?! 3. Jack was planning on going in just a plain old T-shirt and shorts, so Kiyuu and I had to drag him into the sewing room to decide on something. Luckily I had a little extra fabric lying around… 4. It’s gonna get a lot colder from here on out. Do you think Kiyuu will hold up alright? I don’t really know how her immune system works, but it looks like it doesn’t. Cynthia will be taking care of her while Jack and I are away, but I can’t help but worry. 5. I’ve lost every single game I played here… I hope no one’s keeping score. Hey, I swear I’m not doing it on purpose!... Seventy five percent of the time. It’s just that the others look so excited to get some of the prizes, so I don’t want to decrease their chances, you know?

Event hosted by @the-rini-rush !

More under cut!

I had a really fun time designing Ryoko's oufit! I'm a super huge fan of ruffles and all that LMAO. Here's the full design!

Nah I just kinda went for it idk even know what I was doing.

Groovy will come later! For now I'm starting school, which is in like. 5 hours. Oh no.

I don't really have much to say at all wow. OH THE LINEART TOOK ME 5 HOURS ACTUALLY. WTF. IDK WHY IDK HOW BUT IT DID. ALSO COPYING THE CARD UI WAS SO. DAMN. DAMN IT SUCKS.

Oh yeah Kris I copied ur layout cause idk it was just the most practical teehee (I didn't even mean to actually I swear)

Either way, I hope u guys like Ryoko's fit! Thanks for stopping by and thank you to @/the-rini-rush for hosting the event!

Taglist! (Ask to be added): @skriblee-ksk @boopshoops

#golden-frost-fest #twst oc #twst ryoko #twst fan event #twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland oc #oc art #twst fanart #twisted oc #poor Kiyuu I hope she feels better #I could NOT think of a reason she wouldnt be able to go SRY KRIS

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keystonepublishing · 1 year

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There Will Come Soft Rains by @tunastime

Wedding Bands only need Three Gold Pieces by wisteriaworlds / @percivex

Where and How our Fires Burn by @plumelagoon

After a week of printing, cutting, and gluing, I have finally finished a long-held goal of mine to bind these three fanfics!

After the last mammoth bookbinding project, I wanted to do something simple for a change. So, I decided to bind some Rancher Duo fics for my personal enjoyment while using some of the cheapest materials and leftover stuff that I can find. While the overall binding process was comparatively simpler, there were also a few new tricks I use in the making of these ficbooks.

If I could sum it up, I would say that these ficbinds are a sort-of "working experiment". As in, experimenting in making, gluing, and putting what goes where at which sections of the book.

For starters, the endpapers of various feathers are just cut sections of present-wrapping paper I found at a store. I intended to use a different paper pattern for the inside cover/endpaper, but ran out of that and bought the feather one instead. Given how Jimmy is head-cannoned and written as a canary of death, it's serendipitously fitting.

I also went for simplicity at the spine; just a long piece of cardstock. Simple and effective, yet somehow it went wonky for one book when it came to gluing. Why? How? I don't know!

Experimentation was afoot from the title page alone. The first two fics are titled plainly, but I decided to place a semi-transparent visual of a feather at the last ficbind, just to test the visual look. I'd say it looks a lot more interesting and fits the fic's vibe, though I also like the simplicity of the last two title pages.

The front matter (or information page/s) was also a place where slight experiments were done, namely at keeping all the information contained to one page. If there is just too much info, can I make it a two-page spread without it looking like a boring wall of text? And lastly: is there enough room to add the AO3 logo and my own?

The second and third ficbinds use symbols as dividers between different sections of info, and the third ficbind has no logo - more on that later.

I then experimented on the first page: could I use pictures or visuals to set the mood for the fic? Each picture was taken from the internet and edited to fit the page, though it look me literal hours to find the right pictures to use in the first place.

The titles have a pop of red color to make for an interesting visual effect. Soft Rains and How Our Fires Burn also have drop caps at their opening paragraphs to see if it fits with the visual look and layout.

There Will Come Soft Rains was also the first time I did some fancy editing in regards to the letter-writing sections of the fic. The paper background was easy, but it took some time to find the exact fonts that could fit Tango and Jimmy's writing vibe. I also divided Tango and Jimmy's perspectives with thematic dividers - a cowboy hat and redstone block, naturally.

I then repeated the visual vibe at the opening pages for the ending. As Wedding Bells ended at the left page, the opposite right page was a singular photo that conveys the vibe of the fic's ending. Since the other two ficbinds ended at the right page, I tried to come up with a way of conveying the emotional touchstone of their endings and settled on a double-page spread of photos.

Setting the photos to that they seem to meet at the center was a bit finicky, and it ultimately did not print as a seamless whole. Still, I like the effect those photos give to the ending(s).

Same concept, but simplified at the End Notes. I ultimately feel the simplified visuals of the latter ficbinds ended up better than the complete picture of my first attempt.

Also, remember how one ficbind, Where and How Our Fires Burn, did not have the logos at the front matter / information page? That's because that fic was when I experimented with a colophon and placed the logos of AO3 and my own there. Thinking about it, I may not use this method if I want to make a simple bookbind that saves pages, but definitely will for bigger projects.

Full credits for all these fics to their writers!

#solidaritek #team rancher #rancher duo #jimmy solidarity #solidaritygaming #tangotek #bookbinding #fanbinding #ficbinding #my bookbinds #Keystone Publishing #MCYT

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colormepurplex2 · 2 years

Text

Till Death Do Us Part | Enemy of My Enemy is My F̶r̶i̶e̶n̶d̶ Lover

↳ Hitman Yoongi x Kidnapped f.Reader ⤜ Enemies/Lovers ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 23,272 ⚠️ Blood, gore, violence, murder (weewooweewoo this warning shouldn’t be taken lightly), angst, knife play, biting/marking, virginity loss/first-time vaginal sex, dom/sub dynamics, power play, restraints, Yoongi still has a breeding kink but he's keeping it tame (shame, I know)

Next Chapter⇾ ⇽Previous Chapter ◅ Back to chapter list

"Do you really have to go?" you ask, looking out the window of your new bedroom. It's not technically just yours, it's the room you'll be sharing with Yoongi now, in the new house you've been moved into.

Your honeymoon, what was intended to be a week-long trip to the cabin, was just severely short. On the second night, Yoongi received a phone call from his father requesting he come back early because the meeting in Warsaw was being moved up. So, Yoongi packed you both up and Wenton had you back on the estate property in just a few hours.

"This isn't really something I have a choice in," he mutters in response from the closet, where he's changing out of his casual wear and into a suit.

"How long will you be gone?" That's not something he'd shared yet. You turn from the window, finding Yoongi coming out of the closet.

His fingers are doing up the last few buttons on a navy long-sleeve dress shirt. "Two weeks, at the least. Could be three, though. It really depends on the buyers and how long it takes for negotiations."

If there’s one thing that turns your stomach, it's hearing talk about the inner workings of The Hitman's arms dealing business. You can't help the small shudder that rolls across your shoulders. "Does it really have to be now, though?" You don't mean for it to sound like a whine, but it catches in your throat just enough for Yoongi to notice. His demeanor instantly changes, softening.

"If I didn't have to go, I promise I wouldn't," he assures, abandoning the jacket he was about to slip on to step closer to you. His right hand comes up and cups your cheek. "I know it feels like we just found each other again, but I swear everything will be okay. There are things I'll need you to handle while I'm gone. You'll do that for me, right? You'll be good and work hard for me?"

"Of course," you promise, even if you still have reservations about trusting him.

Yoongi said two to three weeks. It's been almost seven now. You've had little communication with him. It's all mostly word of mouth from Wenton that Yoongi is fine and will be home soon. Though, every time you press and ask when 'soon' is, Wenton avoids giving a straight answer and just tells you to try being patient.

The last few weeks have been weird, to say the least. It took at least the first week to get used to being in this new home. It's quaint and cozy, but feels foreign in so many ways. With a more modern ranch-style layout, it only has a single level with a large open-concept kitchen, living room, and dining area. There is a laundry room off the kitchen with a half-bath. The laundry room also has a door leading to the backyard. No pool, but there is a large hot tub and even a sauna room. A hallway extends from the living room, leading to the three bedrooms. A jack-and-jill bathroom sits between the two spare rooms with the master suite at the very end of the hall. The en-suite bathroom is large, with a garden tub and stand-alone shower that has dual heads. A large walk-in closet holds more storage and space for clothing than you think you'll ever have a need for. Even already full of both yours and Yoongi's things, the home feels somehow empty.

Before leaving, Yoongi gave you free rein to decorate however you wish. Wenton stayed behind, something about The Hitman wanting as few extra ears in Warsaw as possible, and has been instructed to assist you in anything you may need, including decorating the space.

Despite being given this freedom, you've found very little motivation to actually change anything. You blame it in part on the fact you still feel like a prisoner, just with a different set of walls surrounding you now, but another deeper part of you feels the need to have Yoongi's input on the decorations, too. After all, it's his home just as much as it's yours, maybe even more so.

You stand in the middle of the master bedroom, feeling a little uneasy. Everything is so pristine and oppressively white. Down to the crisp white sheets covering the bed and the subtle smell of cleaner in the air, it reminds you of a hospital room. As soon as Yoongi returns, this is the first room you want to change.

Shrugging out of your oversized sweater, you toss it into the hamper followed by your tights, socks, and bra. Your toes flex against the cold hardwood floor in the closet as you dig through the drawer containing your sleepwear.

It's been maddening, being in this house all alone, especially after everything you found out about at the cabin. You thought you would have had far more time to talk over everything with Yoongi, to solidify more of a plan. But, as it is, he left you with a few tasks that have left bitter tastes in your mouth.

Slipping on a pink silk tank top, you make your way over to the bedside table you've claimed as your own. Atop it are stacks of papers and a few notebooks and ledgers. This has been your nightly routine, sitting in bed and pouring over documents Yoongi left for you to sift through. You're looking for answers, without really knowing the questions. Yoongi said to just make note of anything that looks important or out of place. So, as you settle under the duvet, you grab the next stack of papers and get to work.

You've been assured the house is safe, that there are no cameras or listening devices, but you still can't help nervously glancing around the room before cracking open the first notebook. Knowing you were being watched at the cabin, back at the main home of the estate, and even tracked through your phone, really put a damper on your ability to relax.

Even so, you find yourself quickly engrossed in the contents of the notebook. It's filled with accounting reports, purchase and trade logs dating back between seven and eight years ago. There are a few names Yoongi wants you to look out for, names that are connected to the documents Namjoon found that led to the apartment in Tokyo.

It's weird digging into a part of your father's life like this. In a way, it still feels unreal. Like there is a part of you that refuses to accept that your father was involved in anything, whether it was weapons dealing related or an affair. Yoongi gave you proof when he gave you the box of things to go through. There were pictures, letters, even a signed lease agreement on the Tokyo apartment. All supporting the fact that your father had this whole other life.

You haven't thought much about your parents in the last few years. In the beginning, when you were first taken, it seemed like you'd never be able to get over what happened that Christmas Eve. Dreams quickly turned into recurring nightmares, seeing your mother bleed out under your hands and the sickly wet feeling of your father's blood and brain matter splattering the side of your face...those are things you thought you'd never stop remembering. Though, over time, things got easier. The nightmares became less frequent and even their faces started to become hazy in your mind.

Now, however, seeing photos of your father with another woman has brought everything back into sharp focus. At first, it made you sad, seeing the images of your father happy with someone else. But, that sadness quickly morphed into anger. Anger at the fact that when all was said and done, your father still chose to sign a marriage contract to hand you over to The Hitman's family. Full well knowing just what his lover went through at the hands of the man himself. That's confirmed in the letters between your father and Yoongi's mom, Aneta...Netty. That's her name, but you still find it hard to stomach the idea of saying it out loud or even thinking it too often. Netty sent so many letters to your father, letters that clearly were tear-stained, describing the heinous acts The Hitman committed; both inside and outside of the home.

Glancing at your phone on the bedside table, you realize it's already after midnight. You don't necessarily have to go to sleep. It's not like you have a bedtime or need to wake up at any specific time tomorrow, but keeping some sort of semblance of a schedule helps you feel less disorganized and like you're just floating in the ether. Which is something you know can easily happen when you're cooped up inside, day in and day out.

You close the notebook, slipping a loose sheaf of paper between the pages as a bookmark. Flicking off the bedside lamp, you slide down under the duvet and roll onto your side and face the empty space beside you. Before closing your eyes, you make a mental note to ask Wenton tomorrow if he's heard anything more from Yoongi.

It's dark in the bedroom when your eyes flutter open. You're a little disoriented, blinking several times to dispel the awkwardness between wakefulness and sleep. A strip of light is coming through from under the bathroom door and you can faintly hear the shower running. You glance around the room, eyes taking in the still-made other side of the bed. Nothing looks out of place or disturbed, no indication that it's Yoongi in the bathroom.

The disorientation turns into a hyper-awareness. Slowly pushing back the duvet, you reach over and slide open the drawer of your bedside table. Your fingers glide over cold steel before wrapping around the grip of the pistol Yoongi gifted to you before he left for Warsaw. The Ruger LC9 is small compared to other handguns, but you're comfortable enough with it. Silently pulling it out of the drawer, you get a firm grip on it and slip off the bed.

You're barely aware of how cold the wood floor is under your bare feet as you pad across the room to the closed bathroom door. It's just a few short steps, but with enough space that you're comfortable racking back the slide on the pistol without fearing whoever is in the bathroom might hear. Flexing your fingers around the grip of the gun, you bring it up until your forearm is over your chest, the gun lofted just to the side of your face. Using your other hand you grip the door handle to the bathroom. You give it a slight test turn and ease out a slow breath when you feel it's unlocked.

Using the element of surprise is your best bet, you know this. So, with that in mind, you quickly flick open the door and drop your arm to aim the gun into the lit space of the bathroom. A cold rush of adrenaline pumps through you before you let out a startled cry.

"Oh my god, Yoongi!" You swiftly shut the door behind you and discard the pistol on the counter of the sink. With frantic, trembling hands you yank open the glass door to the shower.

It's like a scene from a horror film. In a pile in the corner, you see Yoongi's discarded clothes surrounded by a pool of red-tinged water. Tendrils branch off from the puddle and swirl down the drain with the water cascading off Yoongi's body. Red and pink splatter the white tiles, thick strands of crimson plop to the tiled floor as he groans and shoves himself back from where he was leaning against the far wall.

His back is to you, leaving you open to see the extent of the scars and fresh wounds peppering his skin there. "I didn't mean to wake you," he grunts out, finally turning fully to face you. He slumps back against the wall, his right hand bracing against the other wall and his left cradling his side. Streamers of red feather from beneath his hand where it's clamped against his skin.

"What the fuck?!" you exclaim, rushing into the shower, heedless of the spray that instantly soaks through your clothes. "You're hurt!"

His chuckle turns into a groan. "I just ripped a stitch, it's fine."

"Fine? Ripped a stitch? What the hell happened? When did you get back?" The questions flood out of you as you ease his hand away from his side, uncovering the ragged stitches slanting just above his hip bone. Two have popped, the skin shredded apart.

He tries to stand up straighter but his knees buckle and he nearly takes you down with him. You just manage to catch him, saving you both from hitting the hard tiles. "There is a first aid kit under the sink. Inside there are supplies to repair the stitches and some styptic powder to help with the bleeding. I'll explain as soon as I'm not on the verge of passing out, yeah?" His attempt at a smile turns into a grimace that has you scrambling out of the shower and digging under the sink.

Several tense minutes later you've managed to get the bleeding stopped and helped him replace the popped stitches. You keep anticipating an explanation, but find yourself continuing to take care of Yoongi in silence. It takes a few tries, but you finally get him to sit in the bottom of the shower, legs splayed out and his stitched side as far from the running water as possible. His eyes are glassy, bloodshot, and he grimaces as you clean and tend to the smaller set of injuries scattered over his battered body. Along with the numerous cuts, his bottom lip is split and you can just make out the starting of a bruise around his left eye.

Yoongi's warm to the touch, warmer than you think he should be from the shower. A few of the wounds look fresh while others you can see must be several days old. The confusion and worry nearly double with each new antiseptic pad you open. By the time you've got him cleaned up and the water is running clear, his eyes are closed and his chest is rising and falling with even breaths.

"Yoongi, can you stand? Do I need to call Wenton? I don't know if I can get you into bed by myself." You shut off the water, stripping out of your own sodden clothes and grabbing towels for both of you.

His eyes flutter open as you kneel before him, your own towel tucked around your torso. "I can stand with your help, just go slow for me." You can hear his teeth grind as he shifts his weight. Each moan of pain from him tugs at your heart until you finally have him up, an arm thrown over your shoulder for support. Yoongi grips one side of the towel and you help him tuck the other around his hips, low enough to not disturb the stitches.

"I'm going to get something to cover those as you sleep," you murmur, settling him on the edge of the bed. You grab a roll of gauze from the first aid kit and wrap it around Yoongi's waist, securing a sterile pad over the red and angry stitches. "You probably need some antibiotics, too, you're burning up and those stitches look like an infection might be setting in."

"Sure, sure, just tell Wenton," he groans, laying back against the pillows. You do your best to shift his body over, swinging his legs up and under the duvet. The towel is still wrapped low around his hips. He untucks the end and lets the towel fall open, uncaring to move it any further. "There's some Dilaudid in the medicine cabinet, that'll do for now."

"An opioid?" you whisper to yourself as you head back into the bathroom in search of it. "Yoongi, what happened?" you ask a little louder coming out of the bathroom with the small pill nestled in your palm and a glass of water from the tap.

"Just a little disagreement with the Bratva, no big deal," he mumbles before swallowing the pill down.

You stare at him for a moment. "A little disagreement with the Bratva, no big deal?" you parrot back to him. "This doesn't look like no big deal!"

Yoongi harrumphs, pressing his lips into a thin line and avoiding your gaze. "My father may have pissed them off and this is the product of being collateral damage," he mutters, vaguely gesturing to his body. His eyes finally flick to yours. "Don't look so aghast. This isn't my first rodeo, princess, I've been stabbed plenty of times before."

"Stabbed?! You need a doctor," you insist, twisting to grab your phone from the nightstand.

Yoongi catches your hand in a weak grasp. "I've already seen a doctor. Dr. J. was on the plane with us, he's the one that did the stitches. They would have held, too, if I didn't get into a pissing match with Namjoon when we landed." The last part is grumbled, barely audible enough for you to hear. His eyes flutter shut and he lets out a slow, labored breath like the conversation is taxing.

"Namjoon? What happened with Namjoon, Yoongi?"

Yoongi's even, shallow breathing is the only response you get. His brow is pinched like he's in pain but it slowly smooths out with each additional exhale he lets out. You want to press for answers, to figure out just what went down and whether or not you should be worried. But, looking at him right now, he's so vulnerable and it does something to you. Like a knife twisting in your gut, you realize you're genuinely concerned for his wellbeing.

It feels like it'll be impossible to sleep now. You do one last check of his injuries, peeking under the gauze wrap to ensure there isn't any more bleeding. Fluffing out the duvet, you make sure it's covering him but not tight enough to cause discomfort to his injuries. You disappear into the bathroom for the next fifteen minutes, drenching the shower in bleach you found under the sink and scrubbing away the blood splatters.

You wring out Yoongi's discarded clothes, unsure if they're salvageable or not. When you stretch out his gray dress shirt, you have to suppress the strangled gasp that peaks in your throat. The shirt is riddled with holes, thin slices that you can tell are from a blade. There are dozens, like Yoongi was used as some sort of macabre human pincushion. Balling up the shirt, you pitch it into the bathroom trash and then hang up the jacket and pants over the top of the shower door. Your own clothes follow his and you can't help but notice the small smears of red staining your tank top. You've never been in a situation to try and get blood out of clothing, for all you know everything should just be trashed. You contemplate it for a moment before abandoning the bathroom, leaving the clothes to be dealt with further, later.

Stepping into the closet, you discard the towel and pull on a dry shirt and pair of panties. Yoongi still looks to be sleeping as you settle on the other side of the bed. You close your eyes, intending to try and get a few more hours of sleep, but the sheets shifting beside you have your eyes popping back open.

"He doesn't like not knowing what you're doing," Yoongi murmurs in the dark. "He cornered me in the hangar just after Father and Dr. J. left." He lets out a tired sigh before continuing, "He didn't like me being gone for so long, leaving you in peace. Apparently, he tried to get into the house a few times, but Wenton was able to hold him off with assurances that I'd double my efforts for the time I've been gone. Namjoon wants proof...proof that I'm making you suffer for my time-lapse." Yoongi's eyes find yours in the dark. You can barely make out the shape of his face, but there is enough low light to distinguish the whites of his eyes. "It's all a sick and twisted game for him. I'm so sorry you're in the middle of this bullshit...I promise, I promise we'll figure out a way out soon." His words trail off, his promise barely more than a husking whisper. Even breaths follow, if a little shallow and rattled-sounding.

You prop up on an elbow, leaning over the space between your bodies. "Sleep. Just sleep for now," you whisper, brushing a strand of his unruly hair from his forehead. It's grown out, even in just the eight weeks he's been gone, long and a bit shaggy across his forehead and down the sides of his neck. It surprises you a little when you find yourself pressing your lips to the space of his forehead you just uncovered. Such an endearing gesture isn't exactly something you would have pegged so soon in your rekindling relationship with Yoongi. But, it does leave you feeling a little warmer on the inside, a little less lonely and afraid.

Those feelings carry over into the morning, but are quickly pushed to the side by worry and concern. Yoongi feels less feverish, but he's still quite pale and you can tell he's in pain.

"My phone, it should be on the kitchen counter." He tries to roll over, clearly intent on getting out of bed.

Being as gentle as you can, but also stern, you tug him back down. "Stay put. I'll get anything you need."

Now that the sun is up, you can clearly see the trail of blood through the bedroom. You follow it with a queasy stomach, leading down the hall and through the kitchen. It continues into the laundry room, so you assume Yoongi came in through the back door last night. As he said, his phone is lying on the counter. His keys are beside it, drops of blood smeared on the marble surface under them. Plucking his phone up, you escape back into the bedroom.

"I need to call Wenton. When's the last time he was by?"

You think about it for a moment. "He was here two days ago, which means he should be back by today. He's been coming around lunchtime, usually with food."

Yoongi grunts in understanding. "Were my glasses on the counter, too? I can't remember when I had them last."

"No, I'm sorry, they weren't. Maybe you left them in the car?"

He sighs, but it turns into a groan and his brow pinches. The screen on his phone is black, no matter how many times he thumbs it. "Looks like it's dead. Do you mind calling him? Just tell him it's 'status yellow' and he'll know what to do."

"Status yellow?" you question, grabbing your own phone and pulling up Wenton's contact. "What's that mean?"

Before Yoongi can answer, Wenton is picking up. You relay Yoongi's 'yellow status' to which Wenton promptly huffs a breath and hangs up. You give Yoongi a questioning look, pulling your phone away from your ear and glancing at the blank screen.

"Think of yellow as an I'm-hurt-but-not-dying code. The codes are simple, something you can also use. Green means it's something self-induced like a hang-over and I'm out of Tylenol, yellow is a bit more severe but not life-threatening like already being stitched up but I might have a minor infection, red is needing medical assistance immediately or I might die, and white is...well, white is something I hope to never use. And if I do, then it's not Wenton who gets that phone call, it's Rio with the cleanup crew because I'm probably staring death in the face with no way out. So, yellow means he'll bring just enough medical equipment to put me on the mend, but won't bother contacting Dr. J. or setting up transport to the infirmary," Yoongi explains, nonchalantly, like he's discussing something mundane like summer weather patterns.

You sit there stunned for a few moments, trying to figure out maybe why you're just now learning about this code system he has. Deciding it's best to just come out and ask, you do. "Why am I just now learning about this?"

Yoongi gives you a hard-to-read look. "Honestly? I was hoping you'd never need to know it. But, I also wasn't sure about...well, us. Things haven't exactly been rainbows and sunshine." He holds up a hand, warding off the snarky comment about to come out of your mouth. "Before you say anything, I know that's my own fault. Trust me, I regret it more than you can imagine...which is part of the reason I'm doing what I can to ensure that we get out of this."

"Yoongi, can I ask you something?" you ask before slipping into the bathroom and retrieving another painkiller for him.

He nods as he takes the pill with a grateful smile. "Anything."

"You keep saying 'we'. That 'we'll' get out of this." The next part hurts to even think about, much less ask aloud, but it's something that's been weighing heavy on your mind. "Is this even something you're able to get out of? This life?"

Yoongi doesn't respond for a long time. He toys with a loose thread on the duvet, wrapping it around his finger over and over again. You watch as the tip of his finger turns red, then purple, before he gives the string slack and the skin slowly fades back to his normal flesh tone. "I think so," he finally answers, bringing his eyes up to yours. They're a lot clearer than they were last night, not nearly so glassy or bloodshot. "I've wanted out of this life for as long as I can remember. This isn't what I expected when I was adopted," his voice wavers slightly. "When The Hitman and Netty first arrived at the children's home, it was like a dream come true. What they offered was a new life, a fresh start. You see, it wasn't just a regular children's home for kids without parents or guardians...it was a home for troubled youth. All seven of us were there, we were like our own little punk-ass gang. All the other boys were so scared of us, even the workers steered clear. But, it's not like we wanted that, not really. Maybe a few of us were a little more messed up than the others, but we all just wanted one thing...a home, a place we could grow and learn. We just wanted what any other kid wants, someone to care about us."

An ache settles in your chest. You were aware that all of the sons were adopted, but this is the first time you're actually hearing their story. It's not hard to imagine them always being monsters, it's easier that way. In a sense, Yoongi just confirmed that they kind of were monsters, a little gang of punks. But, it is hard to stick to that narrative completely, knowing the motive behind it. After all, we're all just animals in the end anyway, right? One step removed from being feral. A simple act of violence can turn the tables just as much as one of kindness. These boys just needed someone to be kind to them. Instead, it seems they just got a tighter leash.

"Were they cruel to you?" The words make your stomach turn, but they come from a place of empathy.

Yoongi smiles a little. "No. Not at first. It didn't take long for us to understand that Father was a little different, that his job wasn't exactly the most morally straight. I saw my first dead body just a month after we were brought home with them. It really wasn't until years later when we'd see the truth for what it was...when he started wanting us to be a part of the business. Mother didn't like it, she didn't want us to be part of this world. For the most part, it was really only the older boys, Seokjin, myself, Namjoon, and Hoseok who were under his thumb. That changed when Mother died, almost overnight."

It's not like this is a revolutionary confession. This shouldn't change how you feel, you're still in a loveless marriage to a man that's been a cruel monster to you for the last year. However, the ache in your chest seems to intensify, paired now with a burning behind your eyes. "I'm so sorry," you whisper, not sure what else to say.

"Don't be upset, please." Yoongi slides a thumb across your cheek, catching a tear you didn't even realize had slipped out. "We don't deserve your sympathy, princess," he coos softly, trying to comfort you which seems to only make it harder to hold back the tears.

"I should be the one trying to comfort you," you mumble, blinking rapidly to thwart more tears from escaping. "No one deserves a life like this, regardless of what's been done in the past. You were just boys, you deserved better than that."

A knock on the doorframe to the bedroom startles you and Yoongi both. "Sorry, Sir, I don't mean to interrupt." Wenton clears his throat, eyes averted.

"Come on in," Yoongi calls, giving you one more half-smile before turning his attention to Wenton. He comes around the side of the bed and sets a box, that much resembles a fishing tackle box, on the bedside table. Giving Yoongi a once over, Wenton steps into the bathroom and you hear the sink running as he washes his hands.

Coming back into the room, Wenton peels back the duvet, mindful of Yoongi's nudity, to just expose the gauze wrapped around his middle. "Dr. J.'s handy work I assume?" he questions, flipping the lid of the box open and pulling out a pair of medical sheers and a pair of latex gloves. Yoongi just grunts in response. "Any idea how deep?" His question is followed by the snapping of the gloves against his wrists as he pulls them on.

Yoongi hisses between clenched teeth as Wenton pulls away the sterile pad covering the stitches. "Deep enough," he grits out. "Maybe an inch or two. Didn't get anything vital."

Wenton hums, tenderly checking the skin around the stitches. "Mild infection, probably would clear up on its own. But, it might be best to take some antibiotics to help it along. What happened to these two end stitches here? The skin looks like ground hamburger, Dr. J. isn't that messy last I knew."

"I'd laugh if it didn't hurt so fucking much," Yoongi winces, holding back a chuckle. "Had to repair those myself, it's been a while since I've had to do my own stitches, I guess I'm a little rusty."

You're still uncertain as to whether or not you can trust Wenton. He did, after all, send off your soiled bed sheets from the cabin to Namjoon. Yoongi assured you that he's the one that told Wenton to go along with it, that he's in on all the plans to get away. If Yoongi trusts him wholeheartedly, you guess that should be reason enough for you, too. But, it's just so damn hard to trust anyone, considering.

"Do I even want to know why?" Wenton mumbles more to himself than Yoongi. "I guess I don't need to ask how Warsaw went, your body tells me all I need to know." He gives you a fleeting wary look before speaking his next words. You're not the only one with trust issues, it seems. "Will we need to change any plans, account for anything new?"

Yoongi relaxes back against the pillows, taking the pills Wenton offers him from a small container in the box. "Shouldn't be necessary. This was just a disagreement between Father and the Bratva...I may have paid the price but Hoseok and Namjoon are the ones who will be reaping the rewards."

That's confusing. This is the first time Yoongi has mentioned Hoseok and Namjoon in relation to the dealings in Warsaw. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He looks at you. "I was going to mention it before, but we kind of got sidetracked in conversation and I was apparently too out of it last night to think clearly. The reason the meeting in Warsaw was moved up, I found out, was because Father wasn't just securing a new arms deal...he was also securing Hoseok a wife." That shocks you, but not nearly as much as what he says next. "Though, in the end, we seemingly bargained for two...one for Hoseok and one for Namjoon."

"Mercy." Wenton rubs a hand over his mouth, belying his first real show of something other than indifference in your presence. "Those poor souls." 💔💔💔

Two weeks later, you find yourself flicking through the dresses in the closet. Yoongi informed you this morning that you both would be having dinner at the main house tonight. You find it odd, as you don’t recall there ever being casual dinner parties like this before, at least not when you were living there. But, it’s not like you can say no.

Yoongi’s stitches are nearly ready to be taken out. Wenton had him on a cocktail of medications for a week before Yoongi flat out refused to continue and has grumbled every day since that the stitches need to come out. Together with Wenton, though, you were able to convince him to give them more time.

Already in a smart navy suit, Yoongi perches on the edge of the bed watching you still in the closet. “How about the navy and white halter?” he suggests, giving you a small smile when you look up, startled, having gotten lost in your own thoughts about the dinner tonight.

You grab out the aforementioned dress. It’s pretty, simple and comfortable, with a thick halter strap and a-line skirt. The bodice is a deep navy, matching Yoongi’s suit, and the skirt has an asymmetrical white pattern that is pleasing to the eye. “You don’t think it’s a little elementary to be matching?”

He lets out a full laugh, something you haven’t heard from him in a while. “Is it childish of me to want to match my wife?”

Wife. It’s still hard to wrap your head around that sometimes, even though it’s been months now. It’s nice to hear him laugh, so you keep a comment about that feeling to yourself. “I suppose I can humor you.” You try to make your words light and playful. It must work because Yoongi laughs again which has you pausing mid-step as you leave the closet with the dress in hand. The falter only lasts a moment, panic on your face quickly washed away. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say the tiny little feeling that made you pause was…butterflies.

An hour later you're in the back of Yoongi's SUV with him, Wenton driving. The house you have with Yoongi is on the backside of the estate property, easily a fifteen-minute drive. It's a one-lane paved road, a driveway really, that snakes through sprawling woods and cuts over a small brook. The stone bridge over the water is short, a simple arch with moss-covered river-rock side rails.

"Father didn't explain what the dinner is for, only that we needed to be there and be presentable," Yoongi explains, chewing the corner of his bottom lip in thought. "I can't imagine it's anything to be too worried about, but keep your wits about you anyhow. As far as I know, all of my brothers will be in attendance." He says brothers, but you know who he's more specifically talking about. The one brother wholly set on seeing you completely broken, if not six feet under.

You hate coming back to the main house. The overly exaggerated monstrosity fits perfectly with the dark and cold persona of The Hitman. Everything is opulent, screaming of wealth too big for any one man to have achieved by gracious means. For you, it also represents a prison. A place you were locked away under a proverbial key for years. It's weird to think that you're just as much a prisoner now as you were then, but still you feel freer than you were even with your parents. Yoongi has given you something you'd never really had before. A goal, a chance, a means to an end...a future of your own making. You just have to get there first.

With your hand tucked into Yoongi's elbow, he escorts you through the front doors and into the hearth room where The Hitman and the other brothers are enjoying a finger of whiskey before dinner. It's hard to suppress the smile that rips at your lips when you catch Miriam's eye. She's a welcomed sight for sure. At least you know you won't be suffering through dinner surrounded by nothing but the men. She gives you a wink before turning to Seokjin and murmuring something you don't catch. He raises an eyebrow at her but lifts a shoulder in a casual gesture of indifference.

"Finally, can we eat now?" Jungkook hasn't changed much since the last you saw him. He's still quite boyish, despite being in his early twenties now. His black hair is coiffed, showing off his smooth forehead and framing his dark eyes.

"Grow up." This comes from a source you're trying to avoid. All the same, though, you can't help but feel the way his dragon eyes sear up and down your form.

The Hitman clears his throat, casting a glare at both Namjoon and Jungkook. "We're still awaiting two more guests." He flicks out his wrist, the gold watch wrapped around it jingling. "They should be arriving any minute now."

As if his words were a summon, there is a resounding knock against the front door. You hear the door open and shoes shuffling in the foyer. A moment later the butler, Mr. Lee, ushers four new individuals into the room.

You're not sure what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn't two young women being shadowed by who you're certain are their fathers. It quickly dawns on you. These must be the new girls, the future wives of Hoseok and Namjoon.

"My friend!" One of the men strides forward to clasp hands with The Hitman. "Good to see you again, sorry we could not be here sooner. You know how fragile women folk can be," he chuckles, gesturing back toward the two women still standing in the doorway.

"Alina, Dasha, come girls," the remaining man practically shoves the women forward, toward The Hitman. "Greet your future papa." The last is stated with a sharp laugh that has them jolting forward.

They both offer murmured greetings, their eyes downcast. They're both fair-skinned with reddish-blond hair, maybe could be mistaken for sisters at first glance. But, you catch differences that tell you otherwise. The man that first strode in, you learn is Ivan, indicates which girl is which. Alina has a button nose and slightly upturned eyes, whereas Dasha has a more pointed nose and chin with thin lips. The other man, Leonid, doesn't say much, choosing to be more like the shadow you first thought him to be.

"Interesting," Yoongi murmurs in your ear, shifting so he's standing just behind you. To anyone else, it probably looks like he's just being affectionate. His hand not holding a glass of whiskey settles on your waist as he leans in a little further. "Bratva princesses. Don't let their demure attitudes fool you, they are trained with a blade from birth and are well versed in the ways of killing. Hoseok and Namjoon think they're getting little playthings, boy will they be surprised."

To hide your surprised smile you turn in Yoongi's arms and press a kiss to his jaw. "A fate they both deserve," you whisper against his skin.

"Ah, this must be the newlyweds!" The loud proclamation startles you, your hands automatically fisting into Yoongi's jacket.

Yoongi just smiles, slipping on his own mask of mock pleasantries. "Ivan, Leonid," he says in greeting, giving them each a nod. He turns you back around and introduces you, offering just your name in turn.

Your hand is scooped up by a big, rough mitt. "A beautiful specimen, my boy, just exquisite," Ivan smiles a Cheshire grin that has you pulling your fingers from his grasp before he can plant a kiss on them. "And a little fire, I like that."

You really want nothing more than to grab Yoongi's half-filled whiskey and toss it in this animal's face, but The Hitman calls for everyone's attention which you're grateful for. "Let us move to the dining room." Just like that, the atmosphere in the room shifts to being less stifling.

As fate would have it, that uncomfortable feeling returns tenfold when you find yourself seated next to Namjoon. Yoongi tried to swap seats with you but one look from Namjoon and you both knew that wouldn't fly without dire consequences.

The Hitman sits at one end of the table, Ivan and Leonid to either side of him. Dasha, Namjoon's intended, sits directly across from you, putting her on Namjoon's right. Alina sits beside Dasha with Hoseok on her other side. The other brothers are dispersed through the remaining seats, Miriam beside Seokjin who's beside Jungkook on the other side of Yoongi. From where she's sitting, you can't properly see nor speak to Miriam and that sours your mood further.

The dining table is covered in a white silk and lace table cloth, fine white porcelain place settings, shiny silverware, and crystal glasses. There is already a feast laid out in the middle, everything from stuffed whole chickens, salads, roasted vegetables, mixed rice dishes, exotic fruits and cheeses to honeyed ham. You avoid the ham, for reasons similar to why you hate snow. For that matter, if you could avoid formal dinners like this for the rest of your life, you'd be just fine with that.

Conversation floats along the table as everyone eats. Ivan and Leonid are loud, obnoxiously so. Their manners are lacking, food dropping from their open mouths as they laugh loudly and speak mid-chew. Time seems to slow down to a stilted parody of passing. The more the men talk, the more you internally cringe. Even the small interactions you have with the sons leave you feeling claustrophobic in a way. Though, you know it's really thanks to the man seated on your right.

Dasha and Alina keep throwing sneers your way. The only comfort you find is when Yoongi occasionally, but deliberately, brushes his shoulder against yours. The intimacy you displayed in the hearth room probably didn't win you any points with Namjoon. It was too close to being what he believes you don't deserve, which is not part of the agreement he has with Yoongi.

With that thought, you're not even sure you can stomach the few bites you've managed to take but then lose your appetite completely when you feel a large palm settle on your bare knee. It's such a startling sensation that you jerk in your seat and rattle the glasses on the table.

"There's plenty of food left, no need to shake the table, girl," Ivan guffaws from down the table, brandishing a whole chicken leg for emphasis. Enough food, sure, if you count the crumbs remaining on most of the platters. The Russians have devoured more food than you think two grown men should be capable of.

Your cheeks are hot as your eyes flick up to meet Namjoons. His fingers dig into your skin painfully. The pressure increases until you can't help but shove back from the table, mumbling to Yoongi that you need to be excused to the ladies' room. Before you can turn and escape, Yoongi grabs your wrist and stops you. "Are you okay?" he asks in a whisper meant only for you.

"Fine, just...need a moment," you whisper back, flicking your eyes to the side toward Namjoon. A knowing look settles on Yoongi's face, he gives you a small nod and releases your hand.

You can hear Yoongi addressing Namjoon in a short, curt tone as you make your way from the table. His words are low enough that you can't hear them, but the inflection is enough for you. You also catch The Hitman announcing cocktails will be served in the adjoining lounge shortly. That should give you enough time to get to the bathroom down the hall and get yourself together before having to show your face again in front of everyone.

Shutting yourself into the half-bath, you internally curse remembering there is no locking mechanism for the door. Not that that would stop anyone who truly wanted to get inside. You turn to the sink and flip on the tap, taking a moment to breathe. This is your first time being in Namjoon's presence since you found out about his intentions for you. To say you're feeling a bit skittish would be putting it lightly. It doesn't help that you know you shouldn't be so carefree with Yoongi, it does nothing to help the situation.

Splashing some water on your face, you resolve that when you go back out there you're going to snuff the little warmth there is between you and Yoongi. If only for the sake of appearances. You know Yoongi will understand and not hold it against you. He's supposed to be your worst nightmare, after all.

Like a scene from a horror film, just as you’re patting your face dry with a clean towel from under the sink, the door snaps open. “You ought to know better than to put yourself in a position to be alone with me, little mouse.”

Your mouth opens to yell, “Yoon-.” But he’s on you and slaps a hand over your mouth before it can make much of a difference. Namjoon pins you against the sink pedestal, the backs of your thighs biting hard into the lip of the sink as you're forced up onto your toes by his sheer body mass.

“Yoongi is busy right now, courtesy of our father,” he sneers, the words curling his upper lip into a snarl. “It’s just you and me right now. Even if you did scream for help, do you really think someone would come to save you?” Your frantic eyes dart around the bathroom, looking for something you might be able to use as leverage to get him off. “Now, I’m going to take my hand away, scream if you want…but if you know what’s good for you, you’ll choose to just listen instead.”

Like a physical manifestation, the weight of his words settles on your chest, constricting your ability to breathe. All you can do is nod slightly behind his hand. A moment later he slides his hand from covering your mouth to cradling your jaw. “What do you want?” The words leave you in a rasp.

“Your skin is looking better. Those bruises have faded as if they were never there.” He uses the hand on your jaw to tilt your head from side to side, examining your neck. Your skin flushes, a mix of anger and fear making your heart frantically beat in your chest. “Did you enjoy it, the way his hands wrapped around your throat, squeezing until the dainty tissue beneath your skin was swollen with blood enough to leave a mark?” A shudder ripples through you, which he takes as an answer enough. “You did, didn’t you? I definitely enjoyed seeing it, those pictures he sent me are beautiful, a work of art. I wonder if we can recreate them, what do you think?”

Panic surges, making your body go stiff. You subconsciously ease back from him, practically climbing onto the sink to get as far away from him as possible. When Yoongi returned from Warsaw, he told you about his run-in with Namjoon and how he wanted proof that Yoongi was going to make up for his time away. You spent an entire evening staging it, digging through boxes of makeup and special effects tools. In the end, Yoongi snapped mid-struggle pictures of you. It was a dance, a choreography of push and pull. It reminded you so much of what happened at the cabin, Yoongi going to such lengths to make it seem like he’s a monster when in reality he’s just an excellent actor.

The pictures were quite breathtaking, in a haunting and gut-churning way. The tears were real, the fear evident on your face. You’re a good actor, too. Hand-shaped bruises littered your throat, reddened palm prints scattered over your cheeks, thighs, and upper arms. You even thought the pictures looked real. Yoongi pretended to attack you, but you screamed like it was real. It felt real, like a glimpse into what your life would be like if he was actually that monster he pretended to be for the last year. He apologized afterward, profusely.

“Please don’t,” you gasp, shoving your hands against his chest. “Yoongi will be so mad.” You don’t have to finesse the fear that stutters your words, the fear is definitely real. You’re face to face with an actual monster and he’s not into acting.

“Mmm, the wrath of my brother is a small thing, compared to the fun we could have, little mouse.” His lips crash into yours, his teeth too harsh against your unwilling mouth. One hand fists into your hair and the other maintains its stern grip on your jaw. You flail, swatting and smacking his chest and the sides of his face. Your feet kick wildly, you feel the toe of your heel connect with his shin more than once, but nothing seems to thwart him. Namjoon’s aggression is predatory and you’re a helpless little mouse just like he said.

Copper warmth bursts on your tongue as his teeth lash your bottom lip. You do scream now, letting it loose as if your life depends on it. It’s swallowed by his mouth, muffled and comes out more like a pathetic yell. The hand on your jaw drops to your throat, big enough for it to fit perfectly between his thumb and fingers. He begins to squeeze, focusing the pressure on the arteries on either side of your neck. Your vision almost instantly wanes, black spots dotting the edges. This is it, you think, this is how it ends. Namjoon finally gets his way.

His mouth is still on yours, his tongue lapping up the blood still leaking from your now busted bottom lip. Just as your eyes are fluttering shut from lack of blood flow, his presence is ripped away. Tendrils of hair are ripped out from the root, still caught around his fingers. Your bottom lip is once again thrashed with his teeth as they leave your mouth. The pain of his fingers scratching along your throat is just another blip on the scale at this point. It might as well be a lover's caress compared to the rawness powering down your throat now that you’re sucking in harsh gasps of air.

“I will kill you!” Yoongi’s roar is emphasized by Namjoon’s body crashing into the far wall of the bathroom.

Your body slumps back against the mirror, hands feebly scrambling on the sink in an attempt to hold yourself up. Everything is still hazy but you blink a few times and clearly see the moment Namjoon begins to laugh like a maniac. He throws his head back, howling with mirth. “Oh, big brother,” he wheezes between laughs, “I was just having some fun.

“Touch her again and see what happens,” Yoongi barks, his chest heaving with restrained violence. “You may be my brother, Namjoon, but I’ll forget that well enough if you touch what’s mine again.” The possessiveness of Yoongi’s words should scare you. Instead, you feel a wave of rightfulness settle in your bones. It’s a deep feeling, like a bottomless ocean. Both full of unknown things that scare you but also a calming comfort you can float adrift in.

Namjoon rights himself, absently brushing his hands over his suit jacket. “Don’t be so touchy, Yoongi.” That predatory gleam replaces the humor with his next words. “Best tighten that leash before you find your bitch snatched up by a new owner.” He shoves open the bathroom door and disappears down the hall without a backward glance.

“Are you okay?” Yoongi turns to you, cupping your cheeks in his hands. “What am I saying? Of course you’re not okay. Fucking bastard,” he curses, trailing his hands down your neck, checking to see what damage has been done.

“Can we go home?” you whisper, choking back the sob lodged in your throat.

Yoongi wraps an arm around you, helping you down off the sink. “Of course. Of course, we can.”

You don’t even say goodbye to anyone, Yoongi simply walks you out the front door where Wenton is leaning against the front of the SUV scrolling through his phone. Wenton doesn’t ask any questions, just pockets his phone and opens the back door for you and Yoongi. Thirty minutes later, you’re dressed down in a tank top and under the duvet in bed. Yoongi lays next to you on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

“Thank you.” You reach out and run your fingers over his bare shoulder.

He turns his head, his eyes meeting yours. His brow is pinched, lips a thin line. “You shouldn’t have to thank me, it shouldn’t have happened to begin with. I should have known as soon as Father asked me to retrieve something from his office and you were still gone to the restroom that Namjoon would take the opportunity to pounce. I’m so fucking sorry.”

You shake your head. “I shouldn’t have run away at dinner as I did, it was stupid to have even put myself in a position like that.”

“What did he do, exactly? What made you need to step away?”

A breath leaves you in a huff as you think back to dinner. “I don’t even know if it was so much Namjoon. I mean, yes, he put his hand on my knee under the table and that sent me over the edge. But, the whole night seemed like one big game of cat and mouse. Those Russians, are they actually that brutish and pig-like? Their manners…or lack of, just everything put me so off-kilter. Not to mention I may have been internally freaking out about how we were in the hearth room. I didn’t mean to be so intimate like that, so close. I didn’t even consider what it would do to Namjoon, to see us acting like a perfectly normal married couple.” The words finally taper off, your flood of emotions having fueled the deluge of thoughts aloud.

“Namjoon is a problem we’ll take care of, a problem we’re working to solve. It shouldn’t be much longer until we find some information we can use, the information we need. In the meantime, I have a plan B in the works that would take us away from here even if we don’t find what we need to get him off our backs. We can just disappear. It won’t be easy, nor fun in the beginning, but it could work. As for the Russians,” he grimaces, “it was all a show. They wanted to push buttons, be as disruptive as possible to see how Father would react. They were nothing like that in Warsaw. Everything is just a play for power, seeing who will break first.”

That’s what scares you, though. Breaking first. 💔💔💔

It’s one night, several months later, that you finally see the first bit of light at the end of the tunnel. You’re cross-referencing some of the notes you’ve been making from the accounts and logs Yoongi provided you with. He’s sitting beside you at the dining table, working on his own spreadsheet of numbers, something for the offshore accounts he’s set up in case of plan B.

“Marcus Kingston, you know that name, right?” you ask Yoongi, tapping your green highlighter against the list of transactions you’re looking at.

“Marcus Kingston, like ‘Kingston & Ruso’, Marcus Kingston? He’s Father’s criminal defense attorney. Why?” He pauses in his work, bringing his attention to you. Yoongi’s dark eyes are accentuated behind his black-framed glasses, an accessory you secretly love seeing him wear. He’s gotten a haircut in the last six months, but it’s still long enough to brush the collar of his t-shirt. It’s rare to see him out of a suit, but you have a special place in your mind where you file away images of him in casual wear like he is now. The black sweatpants and white t-shirt shouldn’t be as attractive as they are. For that matter, Yoongi himself should be one of the last people you find yourself pining after…but, life has a funny way with things like that sometimes. You could blame the forced proximity on the way your feelings for him have kindled over the months, but you’re done lying to yourself…mostly.

You clear your throat, bringing your attention away from the way his hair slightly curls around his ears and back to the datasheet. “I almost missed it, and it might honestly be nothing, but there is an account transaction here that seems a little weird.” You angle the paper so Yoongi can see where you’re pointing. “I’m cross-referencing the transactions, accounting for repeat charges. Here, Kingston & Ruso, charges for the embezzlement case from a few years ago. I’ve traced the same type of transactions back over the entire eight years you’ve had me looking into. But, there is one here,” you grab the other paper you were using to reference, “these are transactions from just over seven years ago. Five of them. I thought it was the same, Kingston & Ruso, but it’s Kingston Co. IS. It’s different.”

“Huh.” Yoongi pulls the papers closer, his finger sliding down the papers and stopping at each transaction you highlighted. “Kingston Co. IS, that’s weird.” He turns to his laptop, pulling up a private web browser. Yoongi has the entire house outfitted with what you consider secret network spy things. An entire internet server that he controls, no way outside sources can get in, or so he assures you. In a few keystrokes, search results are scrolling on the screen. “Kingston Co. IS, looks like Marcus Kingston also has his own investigative services company.”

“Like a P.I.?” you ask. “Someone who digs up dirt or follows people around, catching cheating spouses and shit like that?”

The words are out of your mouth before you even connect the dots with what they could truly mean. Yoongi glances at you and you can see the cogs turning in his eyes, the thoughts tumbling around while he mulls over what you just said.

“Yeah, exactly like that,” he finally says. “You don’t think…it couldn’t possibly be…” His words trail off, not wanting to complete those questions aloud.

It’s definitely a probability you want to latch on to. If The Hitman was using Kingston to investigate Netty, if The Hitman found out about her and your father…well. “Yoongi, I’m going to ask you a very hard question and you need to really think about it and give me a straight answer, okay?”

You can see the way his shoulders tense like he’s readying himself for a blow. “Okay.”

“Your father said your mother’s death was an accident, right?”

It has the effect you knew it would. Yoongi’s features cloud over, a thundercloud rolling in that crackles with lightning. “Are you actually insinuating…,” the heat in his words dies abruptly. “My father,” he states simply, his tone devoid of all emotion. “We didn’t see the body…just the blood. A fall down the stairs, he said it was an accident. Too much blood for an accident,” he mutters that last part, squeezing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “But, Namjoon found the suicide note in Tokyo, that’s not something that could just be explained away as an accident.”

“Yoongi,” you place a hand on his shoulder, hoping to ease the next words out of your mouth, “suicide notes can be coerced, written under duress or threat. We can’t rule anything out at this point, especially with this.” You gesture with your other hand to the account sheets in front of him.

“You’re right,” he concedes. “You’re seeing this much more clearly than I am.” Much to your dismay, you feel the tremble of his shoulder under your hand and can hear the choked emotion in his admission. He really did love his mom and this potential is like a swift kick in the gut.

“Come on, let’s go lay down, we can look more at this tomorrow when we’ve both got fresh eyes.” You stand from the table, pulling him up with you and leading him down the hall into the master bedroom.

Yoongi doesn't protest when you tug off his shirt and push down his sweatpants, leaving him only in a pair of tight black boxer briefs. Being nearly naked around one another has become part of the routine. You don't mind it, if anything you sometimes find yourself admiring his body. Despite the plethora of scars covering his body and the defined muscles, there is still a softness to his edges that gives you hope you won't be cut too deeply by him in the end.

Maybe it's this realization that leads you to do what you did next. But, you suddenly find yourself pressing your lips to his. He doesn't react at first, still caught up in his own thoughts. Though, as soon as he realizes what you're doing he jerks back like you've slapped him. "That...that was," his hand flies up to his mouth, fingers pressing where your lips just were.

Our first kiss. Your mind fills in the words he doesn't speak. Weird, right? In all the years you've been here, in the months you've been married, even including your wedding day, not a single time have you ever kissed each other on the mouth. It seemed far too intimate, too personal and like it would be a step in the wrong direction.

"I'm sorry!" You fumble back a step, hands clenching into your shirt. "I wasn't, that didn't, I shouldn't ha-." You don't get to finish your apology or explanation. Yoongi steps forward and presses his lips to yours so fiercely that it steals your breath. For a moment you're still on the verge of panicking but the sure movements of his lips working against yours melts any remaining uncertainty. He wants this just as much as you do.

Your hands are everywhere. They map across his chest, back, up his neck, and through his hair. His body responds to each sweep of your hands, small pleasured grunts muffling against your lips. Yoongi is a little more hesitant in his exploration of your body. His touches are light and feathered, like he's worried it might be too much and that he's crossing a line.

His lips taste faintly of the whiskey he had earlier. It's an earthy, spicy flavor that has you seeking more, probing the seam of his lips with your tongue. Yoongi's lips part for you, welcoming the slide of your tongue against his. Goosebumps break out along your sides as his hands slip under the hem of your shirt and slide along your ribs. "Is this okay?" he asks, his tongue leaving yours to help form the words against your lips.

"Mhm," you hum, capturing his tongue with your teeth and pulling it between your lips again.

This is a different kind of dance that you find yourself falling into rhythm with. Previously, it had always been about the step-by-step orchestration of well-placed sways and stiff dips. A parody of intimacy with a mask of hate you both shared. The mask has been slipping, proven all the more by the small misstep at dinner with the Russians all those months ago. Your dance is no longer a blunder of uncertainty. Now, it's all fluid motion filled with an intensity that radiates through your entire form.

Yoongi breaks away from the kiss, sucking in deep breaths of air. His fingers dig into the skin of your hips as he tries to put a little space between your bodies. With one of your hands buried in his hair, he doesn't get very far. "Let's slow down," he pants. "I don't want you to think that this is...I'm not taking advantage of you. Don't feel obligated, please." You can see the uncertainty warring on his face. It's prominent in the pinch of his brow and how he tongues the corner of his mouth. You watch the tip of his tongue slide along the crease of his kiss-swollen lips, awestruck by the fact you've waited so long to actually kiss him.

"I don't feel obligated," you blurt, snapping your eyes up to his and away from his hypnotic tongue. "I-I'm the one that kissed you."

His brow smooths out slowly, the corner of his mouth tugging up slightly. "You did."

"If you're not certain about this," you begin, retracting your hand from his hair and letting it fall to his shoulder instead, "it's okay, I understand. Things are...weird, and I get it. We can both walk away now and promise it won't change anything. We'll still be in this together, regardless if we're all in or not."

The look in his eyes softens, like melted chocolate on a warm day. "I've been certain about this for a long time," he confesses. "A very, very long time." The distance between you diminishes, his lips brush against yours once, twice, a third time. "I want to be all in."

"I want that, too."

There should be some sort of self-restraint award given for how patient you are. As much as you want to rip off all of your clothes and jump him, you let Yoongi take his time in undressing you. His hands are still gentle, the rough calluses on his palms are soothing in their own way. You've never really paid attention to just how masculine his hands are. Prominent knuckles with just a dusting of hair, slender fingers with blunt tips and trimmed nails, palms that could easily cover your entire face or wrap around your throat with ease...not that you're thinking about either of those things.

Your clothes form a pile beside you, until you're standing there in even less than Yoongi. This is quickly rectified when you slip your thumbs into the waistband of his boxer briefs and push them down his thighs. They could just drop, once you have them to his knees, to puddle around his feet. But, you follow them down all the way, finding yourself on your knees before him, helping him step out of them and adding them to the pile.

"If you put your lips around my dick, I don't know how long I can last," he warns, watching you eye the bobbing length of it. Sweat is beading at his temples, his thighs trembling under your hands where they rest against him for support.

It's nice to see him a little unhinged, out of control. It's even better knowing you're the one making him that way. The sexual chemistry has always been undeniable between the two of you. The swap in power, however, is completely new. Previously, Yoongi has been the one in charge, whether it was the blowjob behind the garden shed or the intense manhandling on the patio at your reception dinner. Now, though, you have the power. With just a slow flick of your tongue, you have him gasping and jerking in your hold. It feels good. Really good.

You chuckle, letting the huffs of your breath play over his glistening cockhead. "That's okay, as long as you're up for a round two." Sliding a hand across his thigh, you slip your fingers around his base with a light squeeze.

"Fuck, woman, you can't say shit like that unless you really are looking to get a mouthful," he groans, his hips jerking in your hold again. "I'm not kidding, it's been years since I’ve had a female in my bed and jerking off can only do so much for a guy."

Years? You glance up at him through your lashes. Surely he has been laid sometime over the last few years, it's not like you expected him to be virtuous. That's just part of the lifestyle you're married to, it's par for the course with these kinds of men. Though, you have come to learn Yoongi isn't exactly like most mafia types.

"Yoongi, how long has it been?" you're asking before you can think better of it, not truly wanting to know the answer you realize.

He puffs out his cheeks. "Uh, well, I don't know. If you don’t count what we’ve done…since I was a teenager I guess?"

That...that surprises you. But, it also makes you feel something flutter low in your belly. "Really? All this time, you've never...with someone else?"

"Never. It didn't feel right, regardless of what might have been expected of me," he explains, his lips twisting to the side a little.

You let that simmer for a minute, really sink in. Years. It's been years. "Tell me what you like," you offer, giving his cock another slow flick of your tongue. It had gone half-hard with the awkwardness of the conversation, but quickly fills back out with your attention.

"What I like?" he groans, slipping a hand into your hair. "I-well, I don't know."

You take him into your mouth, savoring the feel of his velvety skin sliding along your tongue. Pulling back, he pops from between your lips with a satisfying sound. "What kind of porn do you watch?" you question before taking him into your mouth again, swirling your tongue along the crown before letting him slide deeper.

"Uh," a small moan emits from him instead of words. He swallows hard, eyes glued to where he disappears between your lips. "Cum. Um, I like cum p-play. Creampies, er, breeding. Maybe, uh," he pauses to suck in a stuttering breath, "biting, ropes...and," he mutters a word you don't catch.

Hollowing out your cheeks you suck as you slowly pull off him again. The salty punch of his precum coats your tongue, a pungent yet not unpleasant taste. "What was that last part?" you ask, working him over with your hand a few times, watching as more clear viscous liquid gathers at the tip of his length.

"Knives," he grunts out in a rush, hips canting forward as you rub your thumb over the crown of his cock, smearing the beaded moisture there.

All the attention you're giving him has an ache of your own settling between your thighs. Who would have known that power makes you hot under the skin? "We can try those things, if you want."

"What? Really?"

You place a soft kiss on his crown. "Sure. I just have one request," you say as you stand up, hand still wrapped around him moving in lazy strokes.

"Anything," he pants. "Anything you want, it's yours."

"If at any point I want to stop, we stop. No questions asked, you stop and it's done." He looks at you like you're crazy, because of course he'd stop. "That's not my request, just a prelude statement. What I want is...for you to not hold back. Don't treat me like I'm going to break. I want this to be real, as real as it can get. I want to see what's under your mask, I want to see who you really are. Deal?"

Yoongi's expression is somber, a delicate mix of serious and tender. "I can do that for you. But, I won't hurt you, not like...before. This is different, I only want to bring you pleasure."

"There can be pleasure in pain," you murmur before pressing your lips to his.

He walks you backward until the backs of your thighs hit the edge of the mattress. Your lips never lose connection, they don't stop working in tandem with his. Yoongi follows you up the bed, only stopping when you're comfortable in the middle of the large space. "Let me worship you," he says with a groan. His hands cover your body, being just as delicate as before but with a renewed sense of certainty. With the right amount of tongue and teeth, he trails open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, neck, and over your collarbone.

"Oh," you gasp. Electric shocks rock through your body as Yoongi's tongue swirls around one of your nipples. "Oh, wow." Your back arches off the mattress, pushing your breast further into his mouth. It's like your nipple is connected directly to the apex between your thighs. He moves his head and gives the same attention to your other nipple, eliciting a startling moan from you when the sensation travels down your spine and right into your clit.

Teeth press into your sensitive skin as Yoongi bites down softly. One of your hands grips the long strands of his hair, pressing him more firmly against you. He growls in response, sinking his teeth into your flesh with more vigor. You cry out, but the sharp pain ebbs as he laves his tongue over the wreath of marks left behind by his teeth. "I could play with your tits all night. They're perfect and they hold my bite marks so well." His praise is accompanied by another, shorter, nip to your other breast.

The blunt tips of his fingers take over when his lips leave to trail down your stomach. They pinch and tweak, rolling your pebbled peaks with just the right amount of pain to elicit the pleasure surge down your spine again. You're just tilting your head up to look down at him, watching his descent down your body, when your head snaps back as he presses an open-mouthed kiss right on your already aching clit. "Holy fucking hell," you bite back a further spiel of curses, catching your bottom lip between your teeth instead, as he delves between your folds with his tongue. "That should be illegal." The words come out from between your teeth, barely coherent.

It's an entirely new sensation, Yoongi's mouth exploring every inch between your thighs. He has you keening, gripping the bed sheets, and flexing muscles you didn't know you had. Between one hand continuing to fondle your breast and the other sneaking below his chin to tease your weeping entrance, along with his tongue and lips and their never-ending assault on your clit, you quickly find yourself on the verge of a sweltering orgasm.

"You're doing so good," he utters against you, the vibrations of his voice like another jolt to your system. "I can feel the way your body is tensing, just let go, cum for me."

And, so you do. It's like a too-tight guitar string snapping. You're wound so tight the first wave feels like a tsunami crashing into shore, devastating all in its path. "Fuck me!" you cry out, eyes squeezed shut so tight that pops of color dance behind your lids. Yoongi doesn't relent, he continues flicking, licking, and sucking as your body washes through another cresting wave. You're faintly aware of the obscenely wet sounds coming from between your thighs, but you're too high to really care.

Your body trembles as you finally begin the wind-down, jerking from the overstimulation coming from Yoongi's mouth still latched onto your swollen clit. You give a tug on his hair, eyes catching his and pleading for peace as your hips try to shy away from him. Finally, with one last flat-tongued lick he pulls away. The entire lower half of his face glistens in the low light of the bedroom. "Did you enjoy that?" he asks, a coy grin curling his reddened lips.

"We'll definitely be doing that again," you pant, tugging his hair again to try and get him to move up and over you. "I think...I think I want something else now, though." You give him a pointed look as he follows your lead, allowing you to guide him until his hips are nestled between your spread thighs. There is no mistaking the throbbing length of his erection now pressed firmly against you. The thick shaft nestles between your slick lips and presses into your still aching clit.

"Are you sure about this?" There is a small crease between his brows, his eyes flicking back and forth between yours, looking for any sign that things have gone too far.

You smooth a thumb between his brows, smiling as the crease disappears. "I'm sure. This is my choice and I want this with you...if you want me, too."

He rests on his elbows, his large hands coming up to cup along your jaw. "I do want you. More than anything." You can see the truth in his eyes, plainly written right before you. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something more but you see the indecision flash through those truth-filled eyes before he snaps his mouth shut and presses his lips to yours.

It starts out slow, Yoongi moving his body against yours. Just the slide of his cock along your folds has you panting for more, seeking a rougher play of your tongue with his. You take out your frustrations on his lips, biting and sucking them, but he doesn't give in just yet. "Please, Yoongi," you breathe against his lips. "I want you. Please."

Maybe you should have resorted to begging sooner. It seems to break his resolve. He snakes a hand between your sweat-slick bodies to take a firm hold on his cock. "I'll go slow, tell me to stop if you need to," he instructs between your frantic, wet kisses.

"Just shut up and fu-." Your demand cuts off in a strangled, garbled moan as he notches his cock against your entrance and begins to push in. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," you sputter out soft pleas with each additional inch.

There is strain on Yoongi's face, his lips gone slack. Neither of you deigns to worry about kissing right now. "This might hurt," he grunts, his hips catching slightly with resistance. There is a pinch followed by a bloom of heat and pain that lances straight into your lower belly. "Are you okay?" he asks, eyes wide and searching your face.

"Fine," you manage to sound halfway believable. "Just keep going. It'll feel better if you keep going, right?" His hips start to retreat for a moment before your fingers dig into the meat of his ass and keep him from pulling out. "I won't break. Remember what I want."

His mouth descends on yours again. A frenzy of distraction as he pushes further in, easing his way until he's finally sheathed to the hilt. His body is warm against yours. Slowly, the pain recedes and you're left with an indescribably full feeling. Then he begins to withdraw, bringing back the faintest whisper of pain that's dwarfed by a zing of pleasure when one of his thumbs finds your clit.

"You're so beautiful," Yoongi whispers, breaking away from the kiss to stare down at you. He leans back, holding himself up with one of his hands pressed to the bed beside your face. "The way your body rolls with mine," his eyes dip lower, "the way your tits bounce every time I fuck my cock into you. Look at you, taking me like you were made for it." His eyes continue down your body, finally locking on where he's sinking into you over and over.

You follow his gaze, mesmerized by the way his hips move, barely registering how your hips bump up to meet him on each thrust. There is no more pain, your body feeling nothing but a cresting pleasure. The insistent attention from his thumb against your bundle of nerves, the way his cockhead rubs against a spot inside just right, has you barreling toward another dive into the abyss.

"I'm going to cum," you whimper, hands sliding up his back and digging into the muscles of his shoulders. His name leaves your lips with a shuddering moan that you feel all the way down to your toes as they curl against the sheets.

Yoongi grinds his hips against yours, working himself against your sensitive inner walls that pulse around him. "That's it, princess, you're such a good girl." His words are another drip of serotonin, straight to your cerebral cortex.

You make a pleased sound in the back of your throat, what's sure to be a dopey smile plastered on your face. "That was...wow." Little shock waves still ripple through your body as Yoongi continues a sensual roll of his hips. "We'll add that to the do-again-list, too."

He chuckles, nuzzles against your neck and places a kiss below your ear. "I can support that." His hips slow to a stop, still pressed firmly against you. "Still up for being a little daring?"

"Anything, as long as you make me cum like that again." You can't believe you just said that. It's far too bold a statement coming from you. There were chinks in your armor before, but now you feel wholly exposed, no armor to speak of at all. It's exhilarating...freeing.

You groan as Yoongi slides out of you, sitting back on his heels. This gives you your first full view of his slick erection as it slaps messily against his stomach, leaving smears of your arousal across the subtle plane of his abs. It's a wonder how it even fit inside. "Like what you see?" His question is full of cocky snark, having caught you staring.

"So what if I do? You are my husband, I should be allowed to admire what's mine." There is just a bit of sass to your reply that makes his grin pull wider.

"Yours, hmm? Yeah, I guess I am," he concedes with a wink. "Keep that in mind with what we're about to do next."

Needless to say, you're thoroughly curious now. Yoongi shifts on the bed, reaching over to his bedside table and pulling open the drawer. When he leans back, settling between your thighs once more, he has two objects in his hand. One, the same pocket knife he had at the cabin, and the other, a discarded tie he must have grabbed from the floor beside the bed.

With a short intake of breath, you decide to throw all inhibitions and doubt out the window. You truly do trust Yoongi. "Do your worst," you challenge, holding your hands up in surrender.

For the first time since you entered the bedroom, you see bold lust shining in his eyes. His touch is no longer delicate or soft. Instead, it burns with passion and unrestrained need. He gathers your wrists in one hand, his large palms easily keeping them pinched together. With his other hand, he begins to wrap the purple silk tie, weaving it intricately between your forearms until both of your wrists are confined side by side.

He pushes your arms above your head, firmly planting your hands against the pillows. "Keep these here or you'll be punished."

You raise an eyebrow at that, wondering what sort of punishment you might incur if you disobey him. For a moment, you're thrust back to a year ago. The flicker of a monster that isn't a monster flashes before you. But, no, this Yoongi isn't like that. This might be a different side of him, but it's nothing like it was then. He's a safe space. You're safe.

Your momentary inner turmoil must go unnoticed, Yoongi's attention focused on extruding the blade of his pocket knife. "It's the same one," you muse, your words finally drawing his attention.

"It was a gift from my mother, the first and last gift I ever received...until I got you," he adds with a soft smile. "I won't use it if you really don't want me to," he whispers, his eyes flicking between the tip of the knife and your face.

That knife signifies more than just a kink for you. It's a turning point in your relationship with Yoongi. A reminder of what happened at the cabin, what he was willing to do to ensure your safety from a monster you weren't even aware was lurking in the dark waiting to pounce on you.

Before you realize what you're doing, your hands are lifting from the pillow, intent on touching him to soothe any worries. His eyebrows snap up in surprise before he tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. "Ah ah, what are you doing? Already disobeying me it seems."

Your hands instantly drop back to the pillow, your brow furrowing and your lips pouting slightly. "That's not fair, I was only going to try and comfort you. Let you know it was okay to use the knife...that I want it."

With your words, his cock bobs against his stomach and his pupils blow even wider if that's possible. "I'm still going to have to punish you, princess." A flick of his wrist brings the knife point down, aimed right at your right breast. "Have you ever thought about getting these pierced?" he questions softly, grazing the tight bud of your nipple with the tip of the blade. It's not enough to hurt, but the sensation has you mewling all the same.

"W-would you like that?" you ask in turn, watching as he maneuvers the blade and glides it over your other nipple.

One of his shoulders kicks up in a nonchalant way. "Maybe." He presses the knife flat along your ribs, the hilt resting on your hip and the point barely a whisper against the underside of your breast as it heaves with your panting breaths. Yoongi shifts forward on his knees, pressing his thighs to the backsides of yours. His free hand comes up between your thighs, fingers trailing through your still-wet folds. "I'm going to fuck you again now and I won't be gentle about it." His eyes bore into yours. "This is my pussy," he accentuates his words with a quick slap against your now throbbing clit.

"Holy fuck," you wheeze, catching yourself before your hands lift off the pillow again.

All it takes is a shift of his hips and he's sliding back in. There is a slight intrusive pain with the stretch, but it's quickly replaced with a burning ache from how fast and hard his hips are pistoning forward. Your whole body rocks with each thrust, the air siphoned right from your lungs as it escapes in a cascade of moans.

His gaze is zeroed in on the knife and how it presses into your skin. You can feel the cool metal and smooth bone hilt with stark clarity, hyper-aware of how close the underside of your breast comes to the sharp point each time your body bounces. Yoongi's other hand grips your hip, holding you in place so you don't slide away with his relentless pounding.

The knife begins to migrate, moving slowly up through the valley between your breasts until it rests just in the hollow of your throat. You can feel the way your heart hammers against your ribcage, like it's frantic to get away from the glinting blade. "Your skin looks so good under my blade," he murmurs, the praise hooked with a groan. "So soft, so delicate...so easy to bleed. Fuck." The curse is a growl as he snaps his hips forward and grinds against you before pulling back just to snap forward again. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this, wanted you." The knife clatters to the floor, Yoongi having tossed it to the side. "I've needed you, needed this," his words continue to tumble out as he drops his body down against yours, arms sliding under you to hold you to him. His hips still work relentlessly, achieving a deeper stroke from this angle. In just a few thrusts, you're riding the edge of another orgasm.

"It feels so good," you whine, undulating your hips in time with his, seeking the release your body so readily craves.

Yoongi moans into your chest, pressing his sweaty forehead to your shoulder. "God, I fucking...fuck me, princess, I fucking love you."

His confession rolls through you, his own tsunami that batters against your desolate shore. It's torrential, the resulting explosion. You feel the instant surge of warmth as Yoongi begins to cum, followed by the aching pulse of your own release as if greedily sucking him in.

You both lay there for a long time. Content to just bask in the afterglow, heedless of the mess oozing from around Yoongi as he slowly softens inside you. He doesn't withdraw, just gathers you in his arms and rolls to his side. His arms cradle you against his chest, your legs intertwined with his.

You fall asleep like this, a mess of fluids and emotions. It's tempting to question him, to find out if that was a confession fueled by the passion of the moment or if it was a statement of fact. Either way, you're not sure you want to know the answer...not sure you could survive the answer. Because, in the end, you don't know if you'll get to keep him. And that's what you're now realizing you really want. Him, just him. 💔💔💔

In the morning, you're both back at the dining table. Thoughts of last night are put on the back burner for now. Yoongi has a special program pulled up, attempting to hack into Marcus Kingston's company databases. When you asked him if he was trying to dig into the investigative services company, he casually informed you he was actually going for both. He wants access to his attorney files just as much as he wants access to the investigation side.

"Isn't that illegal?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. "Like, super illegal...hacking into court documents, lawyer-client privacy and all that?"

He just laughs. "You realize all of this is illegal, right? Everything I do is...well, mostly."

Fair point. Sometimes it's hard to see the world through a lens that isn't inherently morally gray any longer. The sense between right and wrong has been skewed over the years of living with a literal organized crime syndicate. Granted, you don't get to see much of it firsthand, but you don't need to in order to know what happens. During your time at the estate, you were subjected to more blood-curdling screams and gunfire than any typical action or horror movie contained. You suppose you've become desensitized to it. Well, with the exception of the occasional time Yoongi comes home with a new stab or bullet wound. Warsaw was only the first over the last six months. He works regularly for his father, coming home battered and bruised just as much as not.

"So, how long will this take? Are you looking for anything in particular?" Decaf coffee might seem counterproductive to most, but Yoongi enjoys it and it's been growing on you. You take a tentative sip of the hot liquid, relishing the bloom of the slightly sweet coffee creamer on your tongue. He drinks it black, which is fine, just not for you.

He nods to his cup when you hold up the decanter sitting on the table after setting your own cup back down. "Think of it like pressing control F on a keyboard, I'm just searching through the files using keywords. Anything that's triggered will be grabbed and put into a file for me," he explains as you pour him more coffee.

"Wait, searching, as in actively? You're already in?"

He chuckles, giving you a warm smile that crinkles his eyes behind his glasses. "Don't be too impressed. Kingston is an idiot, his firewall infrastructure was just begging for me to tear it down. I was able to slip in completely undetected. We should have enough data to start reviewing in maybe an hour or so, I imagine."

You're still a bit bewildered over the whole thing, watching Yoongi expertly handle his technology. "How did you manage all of this anyway? The network, the ability to hack," you ask, exaggerating the last word in a stage whisper.

His lips purse out. He rolls them between his teeth before they pop back out with an audible sound. "Well, this isn't exactly the life I wanted for myself, all things considered. When I was adopted from Mathers Home For Boys, I thought maybe the biggest obstacle I'd face was whether I wanted a golden retriever or a cocker spaniel to run around in the white picket fence I surely thought Netty and The Hitman had." A lopsided grin tugs his lips to the side, the movement catching your eye and for a moment you're sucked back into last night. Your first real kiss. "But, as we both know, that wasn't the case." You're pulled from the memory as he continues, "When I realized what was in store for me, I decided I needed to start making an escape plan. Now, that's not exactly something that can just happen overnight. I had to be smart about it, I learned the ways of my father and then used them against him."

"Used them against him?" you question when he pauses.

Yoongi taps a few keys on his keyboard before turning back to you. "His mannerisms, the nuisances and tics for how he operates business. I needed to know what he would notice, how much attention he paid to me, and whether I could get away with doing something behind his back. So, after a few years, I finally had what I needed and started building my escape arsenal." He shrugs like what he's about to say is no big deal. "In order to escape, I knew I'd probably have to disappear...completely. Die without dying, y'know? Become a ghost. I needed a way to make that happen. The easiest way for someone to disappear is through technology. We're such a connected world, that it's impossible to not be somewhere online...even if it's not of your own volition. Maybe you've been caught on a security camera somewhere, or are in the background of a random selfie you didn't know was being taken. Either way, unless you live in the middle of nowhere, it's improbable that you're not somewhere online, which means you can be found using the right kind of means."

"You make all that sound so much scarier than I would imagine it being," you joke, but a part of you feels a bit uneasy about it. It has you thinking about the possibilities. You know you're online, your now deactivated social media pages are proof enough. But, the other parts, the small details...background images, security cameras, those aren't things you think anyone thinks about really.

Yoongi smiles. He reaches up and smooths a thumb over lip where you didn't realize it was caught between your teeth. "Don't worry. That's what all of this is for," he gestures to the computer setup, "I can make both of us disappear with just a few clicks of my mouse."

"Really? That easy?" Your heart pounds a little at the possibility. It suddenly morphs into an idea. Why not do that now? Why waste time trying to placate Namjoon and squirrel yourselves into positions that are uncomfortable?

A snorted laugh disrupts the tumble of your questioning thoughts. "No. It's not really that simple. I know what you're thinking, trust me, if I could click away our worries like that I would have done it long ago." His expression turns serious, the humor fading from his eyes. "When I say die without dying, I mean it. We'd both be dead to the world, but it also means staying dead...for the rest of our lives. We wouldn't be able to live normal lives, we couldn't have friends over for cocktails and a barbecue. No dog in the backyard, probably not even a kid to dote on...we'd be off the grid, remote. Even then, we'd have to be self-sufficient to the point of near madness. That's not a life I would thrust upon you unless it was the absolute last, and I mean last, option."

More things you hadn't considered. Of course that's how life would have to be. The Hitman, you know, has connections worldwide. Deep connections that span further into more minuscule networks than you can even fathom. Being an organized crime boss doesn't just afford one a life of luxury, it also comes with the power of knowledge. Which is far more useful of a weapon than any munition could ever hope to be.

You mull this over, finally seeing a little bit behind the veil Yoongi has constructed. He's smart, smarter than you think you'd given him credit for. He's thought of everything. "So, last option. If it comes to that, though, how will I know? What will happen?"

"If that happens. We run. I won't go into the details right now, it's better you don't know...just in case." Yoongi turns in his seat, fully facing you now. His hands reach for yours, encasing them within his warm palms. "I don't want to ever have to resort to that, but I will if it means saving your life."

It doesn't go unnoticed to you that he doesn't include his life in that statement. Just yours. As if you might run away together, but it's possible only you make it to the end with your life still intact. It's a haunting feeling, the way that thought tugs at your heart. You don't like it.

"What's that?" Your attention is snagged by a flashing box on Yoongi's computer screen.

He turns to look at what's caught your eye. "Oh! Results," he says, snagging his mouse and double-clicking the box.

A multitude of thumbnails pop up, dozens of files ready to be viewed. "What keywords did you use, exactly?" you wonder aloud as you shift closer so you can see the screen better.

"Names, locations, and dates that correlate with the transactions you found." All of the thumbnails are titled with a sequence of numbers and letters, seemingly random. "I might be able to narrow it down, let's look at any files that contain both your father's name and Netty's."

He inputs the search requirements and a few of the documents separate from the rest. This could be another pivotal moment. These files could very well contain extremely sensitive pieces of information that might just sucker punch the both of you.

The mouse icon hovers over the first file. Yoongi glances at you, his eyebrows raising slightly. "Go ahead. Whatever we find, we'll be okay." Despite the nervous smile that curves his lips, he nods and double clicks.

Pivotal is one way to describe it. Each additional file Yoongi opens is like another slice to an already fresh wound. There are countless photos, evidence of your father having a sordid affair with Netty. What hurts the most, though, are the scattering of pictures where you can see your mother in the background, seemingly completely oblivious to your father with his lips locked to Netty's behind a large potted plant in an alcove. You recognize the restaurant and even the dress your mother is wearing. Their twentieth wedding anniversary. You can even see the back of your own head, seated across the table from your mother. The shot is a little blurry, obviously taken from somewhere across the restaurant and at a somewhat bad angle. But, to you, it couldn't be clearer- Marcus Kingston was hired by The Hitman to gather proof of his wife's unfaithfulness.

This revelation puts Yoongi in a sour mood. His brow is pinched, the clicks he administers to the mouse have increasingly become angrier. But what really obliterates the atmosphere is what you find in the very last file. Oddly enough, it's not titled with a mix of letters and numbers. Instead, it has a single word for the name. Erpressung.

It's a copy of a transaction receipt, for services rendered. The emblem for PD Shipments, one of The Hitman's fronts, sits at the top middle of the page, a little distorted, leading you to believe this is a scanned copy of the original document. He couldn't come out and plainly itemize a hired hit, so the lines are vague but allusive enough you can connect the dots. Things like 'cultivation survey', 'Death Valley design unit', and 'waste disposal' make a short but chilling invoice list. It looks like a standard, if a little unusual, bill that someone might incur for 'services'. In this instance, the invoice is addressed to Ruso Industrial Landscaping Services.

"This is dated for two days before mom died," Yoongi whispers, eyes locked on the open file still on his screen. "Ruso. It can't be a coincidence."

"What does 'erpressung' mean?" you ask, pointing to the file name at the top of the document window.

A moment later, Yoongi has a search up. The results indicate it's the German word for extortion. "Marcus Kingston really is an idiot. Who actually names a file like that?" Yoongi shakes his head, baffled.

"He might be an idiot, but The Hitman isn't. Even if these items on the invoice look funny, there is nothing here that could possibly be used to prove anything." You huff an indignant breath. "Who would believe us?"

Perhaps it really took a few minutes for it to truly sink in for Yoongi. One moment he's still shaking his head at the ludicrous nature of Marcus Kingston's fallible ways and the next he's stone still. His jaw visibly tightens, hands fisting where they rest on the table. The sudden transformation has you swallowing, a chill breaking out along the back of your neck.

"He did it. He actually did it." The words are empty, emotionless. "I'm going to kill him!" Yoongi's chair topples backward as he rushes to his feet. It clatters loudly on the hardwood floor, barely covering the sound of Yoongi's ragged breaths.

Before he can take more than a few steps from the table, you're latching on to him. "Yoongi, wait, please! This isn't how we need to approach this!"

Your pleas seem to go unheard, that or Yoongi just doesn't care at this point.

"Let go of me," he hisses, trying to wretch his arm from your grasp.

"No, no, no, please! Please, just listen, you need to stop and think for a moment!"

Yoongi manages to drag you to the doorway of the master bedroom. You manage to lock a leg against the doorframe, bodily blocking him from going in. He pushes against your knee, pressing his hip right into the joint. "Get out of my way!"

"I won't," you stress, vehemently. "Calm the fuck down! Get ahold of yourself for fucks sake. You can't just go off the rails and try to murder him!" You shove against his chest, hard. "Don't be like Namjoon, Yoongi. Just fucking don't!" The last part comes out a bit choked, like the words are lodged in your throat.

His eyes snap to yours. Realization slamming home. "Shit. Shit! You're right." He instantly deflates. "I'm sorry, I don't- I don't know what came over me."

"No, I get it," you admit. "Trust me. I get it. It's a lot and you have every right to feel this way." Yoongi lets you pull him into your arms. "Just have to be smart about this. Stick to the plan, right? Do you think Namjoon might...if you show him everything, maybe he'd believe it?"

Yoongi's chest presses against you as he takes in a deep, slow breath. "I hope so...but, there's only one way to find out."

You slip your hand in his, tugging him back toward the dining room. "Let's finish up and organize everything, get our plan straightened out now that we have a little more to go off of."

It's a solid foundation, you think, once everything is laid out before you. There's plenty of evidence, most of it plain and actually believable. The truth hurts, but it also brings a bit of solace for both you and Yoongi.

The plan is now to present the findings to Namjoon, in hopes that his animosities will be put to rest and his anger will turn towards the real culprit for Netty's life being cut short. Bitterness settles in your belly as you wonder whether or not things would have panned out differently had Netty's and your father's relationship not been discovered. Though, there is still the letter in your father's penmanship that was found in the Tokyo apartment. Something you can only assume was either staged by The Hitman as a decoy, a scapegoat in case someone caught wind of something suspicious, or a stark reality in which your father really did break Netty's heart even if he didn't have a direct hand in her death.

Would your father still have signed your life over to this fate? Would your parents still be alive? How does all of this connect and what pieces are you missing? These are all questions you don't have the answers to and may never, in the end. For now, you settle for just making it through the next few weeks as the plans you have with Yoongi fall into place. If you successfully push off Namjoon's attention, Yoongi is certain the inevitable fall-out between him and The Hitman will be distraction enough for you and him to get out in a way that still gives you a bit of a life to live. Yoongi confided in you that he's certain Namjoon won't stop until he puts a bullet in their father's head...which is the perfect time to slip away, in the aftermath as the powers shift and Seokjin takes his place to rule as the eldest. Your confidence in that playing out just the way he sees it is shotty at best, but you trust him...really, you do. 💔💔💔

"Everything is set, I have it all worked out that after Hoseok's wedding next week I'm going to approach Namjoon, give him everything," Yoongi informs you as he buttons up his baby blue dress shirt. "We're so close. A week in Brazil, then I’ll be home for Hoseok's wedding and then, hopefully...you and I are out of here for good."

He catches your eye through the floor-length mirror he's standing in front of, an addition you both agreed on when you redecorated the bedroom. "Are you sure you'll only be in Brazil for a week? Last time you gave me a time frame, it quadrupled."

"Warsaw was an anomaly. Brazil is a sure thing, I'm just going to be meeting with the new donos, no negotiations or new deals, just an introduction. Easy, simple.”

"Easy...sure. Doesn't mean I want you to go, either way."

His eyes light up as he turns and gives you a quick once over. "Worried you might miss me?"

You laugh, rolling your eyes. The last few weeks, or months, really. It's become increasingly harder to not fall victim to Yoongi's charm. He's a totally different person, here in the safety of your home. He's even better than he was in the beginning, when you thought he was nice for buying you gifts and telling you childhood stories. No, this Yoongi is a breath of much-needed fresh air that you struggle every day not to get high on.

"Don't be so cocky. The only thing I'm going to miss is your coffee. I just can't make it like you do." Your bottom lip pokes out to aid in your pout.

Yoongi throws his head back in laughter. "And here I thought you might actually care about me! Devil woman only wants me for my coffee-making skills." The words tease a smile onto your lips.

"In all seriousness, I will miss you. But I'm also just scared, with everything happening so soon...I just don't want something to go wrong."

Strong arms wrap around you, pressing your face into his chest. His subtle, uniquely-his scent invades your senses. It's comforting, right along with the way his body fits against yours. "I'm not allowed to miss Hoseok's wedding, so even if something does come up I won't have a choice but to put whatever it is on hold so I can get back here. Father would willingly cut ties with the entire Comando Vermelho if it was the only way to get me home on time." You feel his lips press into your hair. “I should get going, the flight leaves in two hours.”

“Hurry back,” you whisper, hugging him a bit tighter before releasing him and stepping back.

You follow him to the front door. His even strides take him right to the threshold. For some reason you can’t shake the uneasy feeling unfurling in your stomach. Maybe it’s just this is the first time Yoongi is leaving for an extended period of time since things have progressed to a new level between the two of you. Granted, you haven’t done anything more than enthusiastic kissing and heavy petting over clothing since, but there is still a new, fresh bond there that’s still fragile.

The front door swings open, revealing a blacked-out sedan parked out front. “Where’s Wenton?” you immediately question. That uneasy feeling doubling up on itself.

“He’s staying here, to be my eyes and ears on you,” he explains in a hushed tone so his words don’t carry beyond your little bubble.

Your lips pinch between your teeth as you roll them. “He could still drive you to the airstrip.”

Yoongi glances over his shoulder, your eyes following his when you notice his posture straighten instantly. The driver, a man you don’t recognize, is leaning with his forearms braced over the drivers' side door. He’s wearing dark sunglasses, but you can feel his eyes tracking your every move. “I don’t care what you think,” Yoongi growls, making his voice loud enough, intending for the driver to hear. He’s acting again, putting on a show, you know. “Get your ass inside where you belong.” His attention snaps back to yours, eyes flashing momentarily with regret.

“You’re a real asshole,” you snark back, popping a hip and throwing up a rude gesture in his face.

He takes a menacing step forward, crowding his chest into yours. “You dare to talk to me like that!” Yoongi raises his right hand, palm towards you as if he means to strike you for your insolence. “If I had more time I’d whip you raw, you ungrateful bitch.” His raised hand comes down and fists into your shirt, hauling you up onto your toes. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice so soft you’re more reading his lips than hearing his words. “I know you’ve been thinking about it, I can see it in your eyes when you look at me sometimes. I meant what I said to you that night…I do love you. I don’t expect you to reciprocate, I don’t deserve it. But, I swear, when I come back I’m going to continue to try and prove myself to you.” You’re shoved back a step, stumbling as Yoongi releases your shirt. “Your ass is mine when I get back, mark my words.” His chest rumbles as he growls that threat before promptly turning on his heel and marching toward the waiting car. “What are you waiting for? Get the fuck in the car, I have a plane to catch,” he snaps to the driver who jerks back from his lax position to follow the order.

You close the door with a wave of emotions battering your insides. Regret, anxiety, and anticipation all mix with the faintest bit of happiness. You’re still scared, you’d be a fool not to be, but another piece of the puzzle just fell into place. Yoongi said it again. You’re only a little disappointed that he left before you could say it back and even a bit more that he thinks you don’t want to say it back. But, now more than ever, you’re certain you want to…before it’s too late. 💔💔💔

True to his word, Yoongi arrives home just a week later, the night before Hoseok’s wedding. As with your own, and as much as you could gather from Miriam’s account how hers went, it’ll be simple and short. You’ve been invited, only because you’re now officially part of the family- unlike when Miriam married Seokjin. Alina adamantly refused to let any of The Hitman’s family help her get ready. So, as much as you might have hated it, you’re a little disappointed you don’t get to assist with her hair or makeup. You haven’t seen any of the Russians since the dinner party and you’re quite okay with that, at least. They didn’t exactly have the warmest nor most pleasant demeanors.

“Come on, we’ll be late if we don’t leave soon.” Yoongi waits for you to turn with your back to his front, so he can settle the new amethyst butterfly necklace that he picked up for you in Brazil, around your neck. “You look beautiful. I love you in purple,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose along your exposed shoulder, placing intermittent kisses as he goes. The dress is strapless with flowy, gossamer strips of royal purple and lilac that flutter to just below your knees.

You turn, smiling up at him. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you admit, taking in his black suit jacket, pants, and purple dress shirt to match your dress. “You know, I don’t think I mind so much when we match after all.”

“That’s my girl,” he coos, a wolfish grin splitting his face. “I’ve missed you, a week was too long.” His lips brush yours lightly before he groans and presses them more firmly, desperately. It’s an automatic response now, to open for him, letting his tongue dip between your lips.

When his hands grip your hips and rock you forward against his now evident erection you have to suppress a shudder and pull away, breaking the kiss with a weak exhale. “We don’t have time, we’ll be late.” As if you didn’t just reiterate his earlier statement, you latch your lips back on his for another round of kissing that leaves you even more breathless.

“We’re finishing this later,” he pants, his soft puffs of breath flowing over your now moist and kiss-swollen lips. You’re certain all your dusky mauve lipstick is gone at this point and with the flush your lips are sure to be sporting, you don’t even think you should bother to reapply. "Be sure to keep this covered," Yoongi mumbles, his hand caressing the pistol strapped to the outside of your thigh. The flowing style of the dress isn't just for looks, it also helps conceal the Ruger LC9 nestled in its black holster.

"I hate that I even might need it." Never in your life have you ever thought you'd need a weapon to protect yourself. You like to believe you're not naïve enough to think you'd get through life without some sort of conflict. But, it's just not really one of those things you think about until you're put into the situation to have to think about it. "It's just a wedding...what's the worst that could happen?"

Yoongi makes a grumbling sound in protest. "More than you could ever imagine. Don't forget whose wedding you're attending. It's not just my family, but also the largest Russian crime organization. I can guarantee you everyone in attendance will be armed in some fashion."

It's hard to argue with that, so you just let it go. It's not all that bad being armed, just one of those weird power-dynamic kinds of situations. Checking one last time to make sure the sway of your dress still conceals the weapon, you sigh and say, "Let's go, best get on with it before we're late."

Just as you surmised, it's a small affair. Only slightly larger than your own wedding by three attendees; Ivan, Leonid, and Dasha. Wenton's place is taken by Hoseok's assistant, Morris, but everything else is the same. Alina's color choice reflects in the bouquets and flower arrangements. They showcase blood red roses and gold filigree accents. It's all a bit garish, made more so by her gown. It's a monstrously huge, puffy metallic gold-colored thing that puts a good three feet between her and Hoseok as they stand in the gazebo.

Dasha is dressed no less cringy. Her own dress is lime green with yellow trim, a slip dress with slits up to her radical hip bones that tug the fabric in a skeletal way that you find a bit concerning. She looks to have lost an extreme amount of weight since the last you saw her. You don't have much chance to ponder her current living conditions, as the ceremony draws to a close and everyone disperses. There is no after-party, no one lingers to congratulate the newly wedded couple. Hoseok makes a beeline for the garage while Alina begins to throw a bit of a tantrum, yelling at her father in Russian.

You follow Yoongi inside, hoping he'll lead you out the front door to where Wenton should still be waiting with the SUV. Your heart kickstarts into a gallop as The Hitman calls for Yoongi to meet him in his office, now.

"It should only be a minute. You can wait right here for me or go ahead out to the car with Wenton," he assures you, giving your hand a squeeze before disappearing down the hall toward his father's office.

It's an easy decision, you don't want to spend any more time in this house than you have to. Making your way down the entrance hall, you're just about to open the front door when you hear a muffled scream coming from the closed drawing room to your left. Instinct says, not your problem, but when a second scream filters through the heavy door you're pulling it open before you can let your instinct really speak. You should have just kept walking.

The moment the door pops open you want nothing more than to shut it and forget what you see. But, it's like a car wreck on the highway, you can't help but stare. Dasha lays crumpled on the floor, her green dress covered with dark brown splatters. It doesn't take more than a second to realize it's not dark brown, it's red only looking that way on the green. Namjoon is hunched over her, his right arm raised back. Gripped in his lofted hand is a thin, short blade. You watch as a bright red liquid drips from the tip. Blood. Dasha's blood.

You want to scream, your body needs the release, but it's frozen like a deer in headlights. You need to move, to get out of those blinding beams. Only, you can't no matter how hard you try. It takes a moment for Namjoon to detect your presence. But as soon as his head turns and his eyes lock onto yours, your body kicks into action. That scream comes ripping out as you jump back and slam the door.

It doesn't stay shut long, though. You barely make it three steps before the door behind you splinters open and crashes against the wall. "Yoongi! Yoongi!" You've never screamed so loud before. "Yoongi!"

Several things happen simultaneously. You hear a door bang open down the hall where The Hitman's office is, Yoongi shouts your name, and Namjoon pounces. The force of Namjoon's large body barreling into yours knocks the air right out of your lungs, suffocating the next scream in your throat.

The back door flies open just as you see Yoongi sliding around the corner from the far hall. His eyes lock onto you caged in Namjoon's arm, fear and anger turning his face into a murderous scowl. Ivan and Leonid come through the back, hot on his heels, yelling and demanding to know what all the screaming is for.

"Stop right where you are!" Namjoon bellows. One of his arms hooks around both of yours, hiking your elbow high into the middle of your back. Pain radiates down your shoulders as he shakes you. His other hand brings the bloody knife to press under your chin. "One more step, brother, and I'll fucking slit her throat!"

Yoongi's steps falter, the blood draining from his face.

"What's the matter with you, boy?!" Leonid barks, stopping just a few steps beyond Yoongi. "Is that blood?"

"Dasha!" you whimper, her name turning into a wail as Namjoon jostles you and shoves the blade further against your neck, pricking the skin.

"Shut the fuck up!" he screams into your ear.

Leonid takes a step further. "What did you say, girl? I know you didn't dare speak my daughter's name."

"Namjoon!" The Hitman's commanding voice echoes down the hall. "Let her go. Now!"

Namjoon wretches your arms a little tighter making you cry out, tears free falling down your cheeks. "Nah, don't think I will. I think I'll keep her, I need a replacement wife after I gutted the other she-bitch."

Leonid snarls, making to take another step forward but Yoongi latches onto his arm and holds him back. "Let me go, svoloch'!" he roars, trying to dislodge Yoongi's hold. Ivan grapples Yoongi from behind, coming to Leonid's aid.

All hell breaks loose a moment later. Guns are drawn, curses and punches thrown. Guards seem to materialize out of nowhere. You hear Yoongi yelling, The Hitman barking orders, and just the sounds of utter chaos. None of it stops Namjoon, he simply pulls you backward to the front door. You lose sight of Yoongi a moment later as you're hauled off toward a waiting car.

Kicking and screaming doesn't help, Namjoon just chuckles any time you land a foot to his shins. "Don't worry, little mouse, I'm going to take good care of you."

The knife to your throat is finally lifted. Namjoon tosses it to the side, discarding it in the grass. "Please, Namjoon, please just let me go." Your throat is hoarse from screaming but you beg through the pain anyway. You frantically look around, hoping to see a sign of Wenton or anyone else that might help. There’s no one.

"Don't be a spoilsport, we're going to have lots of fun. Just wait." He pops the trunk of the car, grabbing out a roll of duct tape. "This might be a bit uncomfortable, but really it's for your own good." The ripping sound of the tape makes goosebumps pop up along your arms as he binds them. It's not just a simple band around your wrists, something you probably could work your way out of. No, he winds the tape over several times all the way up to your elbows, locking them tightly in place. Your ankles get a lesser sentence, just one thick strip around them that grinds your bones together painfully. Namjoon pulls off your heels, discarding them to the side with the knife. "Try to relax, little mouse, it's a long drive." The last thing he does is slap a strip of tape over your mouth before slamming the trunk shut.

You can faintly hear commotion spilling from the front door, like the chaos has finally followed you outside. But it's soon covered by the hum of the engine turning over and then the crunch of tires over gravel as Namjoon guns it down the driveway. There is a shining thread of hope in the shape of a handgun still strapped to your thigh. You can feel it pressing painfully into your leg from how you’re laying on it. Instead of rolling over to relieve the ache, you embrace it, letting it be a steady reminder that there is still a chance. You have a gun Namjoon doesn’t know about and you know Yoongi will come for you. He has to be okay. He has to find you. If anyone can, you know it’ll be him. 💔💔💔

You try to count the minutes in your head, to judge just how long you drive, but the mix of stifling heat in the trunk and your panicked heartbeat have you stuttering over numbers. The car finally begins to slow, coming to a stop before the engine is cut. It’s eerily quiet in the trunk, even your shallow breaths are barely breaking the oppressive silence. Sweat beads along your temples, threatening to drip into your eyes if you move too much. It might be Fall outside, but it might as well be mid-summer trapped where you are.

An audible click signals a door being open before you feel the car shift a little beneath you. You’re able to trace the soft scuff of shoes as someone approaches the back of the car. It’s impossible to suppress the relieved whine that leaves you when the trunk pops open and you can draw in a breath of fresh air. It’s cold, crisp, and leaves a welcomed ache in your lungs. Though, that relief quickly turns into renewed panic when Namjoon leans in and blocks out what little light is left in the sky.

“Is that her?” A masculine voice you don’t recognize asks from outside your line of sight.

“My little mouse, come to play,” he says to you, a feverish glint in his eye. He casts a look to his right. “Yeah, this is the one I told you about. Is it ready?”

The unknown man barks a laugh and then says, “You pay for the best, you get the best. I’m almost insulted you’d ask that.”

“You’ll get the other half once the job is done. If I know my brother, and I do, he’ll be just behind us. Hopefully, without the cavalry. I might have put a little bug in Father’s ear,” Namjoon’s attention drops back to you, “that our little mouse here has been squeaking a little too loud and sampling cheeses outside the home.”

“You have four hours before my crew burns it down, make sure anything you don’t want someone potentially using against you is inside where the fire will be the hottest. Give her a little kiss for me, will ya? I sure do miss getting my hands dirty.” He laughs again, like this is all some sick joke and you’re missing the punchline. “Don’t suppose I could watch for a minute?” Namjoon turns dark eyes back to his right. The man must see something in his gaze that gives him an answer enough. “Chill out, man, I was kidding.”

“Leave,” Namjoon snaps. You hear the barely there sound of the man's footfalls as he retreats.

The pain in your arms and shoulders blazes anew when Namjoon yanks you out of the trunk. Your bare feet meet cold concrete, ankles still bound. You blink rapidly, getting a glimpse at your location for the first time. The sun hangs low in the sky, just above the distant city skyline. What city, you’re not sure, but if you had to estimate you’re closer to home than you originally thought. To the left is a river, one you’re certain cuts right through the outskirts of the city. A dilapidated warehouse sits ahead of you, giant ‘keep out’ and ‘condemned’ signs plastered over the rotting front. “Welcome to your new home, little mouse.” You can hear the sinister glee in his words as he swings an arm around your hips and lifts you clear off the ground, walking toward a small, open door.

Once inside you wince, your eyes going foggy as they try to adjust to the sudden darkness. Your pupils go from wide to pinpricks when Namjoon slaps his free hand on the wall and the entire space floods with light brighter than the sun. “Namjoon, please!” The words are muffled behind the silver tape covering your mouth, but you’re certain he can make it out just fine.

He walks you further into the warehouse space. There are old abandoned pieces of construction equipment lining the walls, like metal-bone sentinels watching over your descent into Hell. “Does Yoongi like when you beg like that, little mouse?” he asks with a smug grin. “He seems the type to get off on a struggle. Hands around your neck, dick down your throat, watching the plea for mercy slowly bleed from your eyes until you’re just at the edge before he grants you a small breath of life. But, that’s the problem right there, isn’t it? He’s the kind that gives in, he lets up, doesn’t have the balls to go all the way.” You know he’s trying to degrade Yoongi in that regard, making him seem weak. But, it has the opposite effect for you. He’s right. Yoongi is like that, he does give in and let up…because he's not a monster.

You try to mutter out another response, something you hope sounds like ‘Fuck you’.

“Come again?” Namjoon says, reaching up and ripping the tape from your mouth.

You groan, lips blazing enough to rival the fiery ache in your shoulders. “I said,” you pant, “Fuck. You.”

Namjoon’s bellowing laugh scares you. It’s so sharp, sudden, and echoes around the warehouse. “Fuck me, huh? Is that your fantasy? Yoongi not quite doing it for you? Don’t worry, princess,” he sneers at the nickname Yoongi uses for you, “I have eight inches of glory waiting just for you.”

A knife. A big one. He wasn’t exaggerating when he said eight inches. It has a wicked edge, half smooth and half serrated near the hilt. Namjoon shoves you through to a side room, which was once probably an office space for the warehouse. Inside is a setup that has your blood running cold. A large chain hangs down from one of the overhead steel beams. The knife he promised is waiting on a rickety table just beside it.

You barely take in the rest of the room before you’re effectively trussed up like a pig for slaughter. A large hook attached to the bottom of the chain is shoved through the duct tape covering your forearms. Your toes barely graze the concrete floor, elbows straining up to a near impossible angle. “Shit,” you grit between clenched teeth as your weight settles fully to brutalize the already screaming joints of your shoulders.

“If my estimate is right,” Namjoon says as he circles around in front of you. He pulls out his phone, glances at it with a smile, then drops it back into his pocket. “By the time Yoongi gets here, he’s on his way now if you were wondering, you’ll be just on that cusp between life and well, not life. He’ll get to watch the fire go out in your eyes. Probably no different than how the fire left my mother’s eyes after your father destroyed her!” By the time he’s done, he’s screaming the words.

“No, no, no, no! Namjoon! It’s not like that. Netty wasn’t-,” he backhands you across the mouth, cutting off your words.

“You don’t get to say her name!” he roars, spittle flying. “Your father,” he jabs a finger into your chest, “stole her from me! I only wish he were alive so he could watch me steal you from him.”

You’re sobbing, from both the pain radiating along your jaw but also with the loss of the hope you had. The pistol might still be strapped to your upper tight, but it’s proving useless at this point. If you can’t get free, can’t get your hands on it, it does no good. You’re lucky Namjoon hasn’t found it…not that you’re worried he’d take it away, but you’d rather he not turn it on you. Being killed with your own gun just seems like a bigger slap in the face somehow.

“You’re wrong,” you whimper. “It wasn’t my father.”

“What a poor effort. You can do better than that, little mouse. Tell me a lie I might actually believe,” he scoffs, turning his back on you and approaching the small table. “We really could have had some fun you know? Us brothers, we share everything. You’d have ended up in my bed eventually, probably wouldn’t have left either.” He chuckles, finding humor in his musings. “Though, Yoongi is probably my only brother that I haven't completely figured out. He’s a hard worker, obedient and jumps when he’s told to. Then you came along,” he turns back to face you, knife in hand, “and there was a change in him. He grew softer, more hesitant. We can’t have that, though, can we? Especially for you. You don’t deserve something soft.” Namjoon steps close, bringing the tip of the blade to rest right at the top of your dress between your breasts. “The satisfaction of watching you bleed might not be the same as if I could gut your father, but I’ll be sure to make the most of it.” Fire blooms between your breasts as the knife tip slides easily into your skin, a strangled cry ripping from your throat. “That’s it. Squeak for me, little mouse, let me hear you.”

You’re not sure how long it goes on for. Could be minutes, could be hours. Your skin is alive with pain, dull and sharp sensations that throb and throb just below the surface. At some point Namjoon shredded the bodice of your dress, the purple fabric hanging it strips from your waist. The flowy skirt hangs like a wet blanket around your hips, no longer beautiful shades of purple but dark crimson instead. You’re fairly certain Namjoon is talking to you, but you can’t hear him over the buzzing in your ears. You stopped screaming at one point, emitting only gurgling grunts that tasted of warm metal. The numbness started in your fingers and toes, but it’s steadily creeping up your limbs and has been for a while now. It’s weird, feeling both hot and cold at the same time. There is an unpleasantness about the way your eyes blink, like if you close them for too long it becomes harder to open them again.

It registers after a moment that Namjoon is no longer beside you. A wave of nausea rolls in as you try to swivel your head and locate him. A distant shout sounds out from beyond the open office door. It’s punctuated by several shots of gunfire. Someone’s calling your name you now realize. It pierces through some of the haze, bringing your focus into a little clarity. “Yoongi?” you croak, seeing a blurry figure appear in the doorway.

“Oh holy fuck, holy fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” The voice sounds like Yoongi’s but your eyes won’t focus enough to see the face that looms before you. “It’s going to be okay, princess, I’m here. Oh, gods, I’m here!”

Your cry turns into a wet cough when you’re lifted from the hook. A burning tingle creeps into your fingers before lighting up the full length of your arms. You try to suck in gasping breaths, the pain nearly making you pass out. “Yoongi?” you try again.

“It’s me. I’m here, I’m here.” His voice is choked. “Hang on, I’m going to get you out of here.” You’re faintly aware of him cutting through the duct tape on your arms and ankles. More echoes of gunfire and yelling echo through the doorway from beyond.

“Where is he?” you ask in a strained whisper.

“Ran,” Yoongi offers in a short response. “There were guards, a crew out back. But, don’t worry, I’m getting you out of here…no matter the cost.” He strips his purple dress shirt off and helps you thread your arms through it. His white undershirt is stained with big red splotches.

“What happened?”

“Later. We’ll talk later, I promise. For now, let’s go. Can you walk?”

You nod but it must not convince Yoongi. He scoops his arms under you, cradling you to his chest. This close, you’re finally able to get a good look at his face. There is a cut along his right eyebrow, dried blood on his chin. “You came for me,” the words ghost out of you with a sense of awe.

He only spares a second to look down at you. But it’s enough. You see everything so plainly on his face. “Of course I did. I love you.” It’s like a glimpse into his soul. Raw, unfiltered, and devastatingly Yoongi.

His focus changes, going back to high alert as he carries you to the office door. Looking out, checking both ways, he takes a tentative step forward. There are distant sounds of yelling, a few screams, but no more gunfire. It must be good enough for Yoongi, he begins to jog through the warehouse, aiming for a propped-open side door. You pass a few bodies, men in suits and others in full black tactical gear.

You can see out the door now. It’s dark but there are beams of bright headlights, like the cars were left with their lights on as people poured from them. Just as Yoongi approaches the doorway your world tilts sideways. You have that gut-wrenching sensation of a roller coaster drop as you’re dislodged from Yoongi’s arms before slamming painfully into the unforgiving concrete.

“She’s mine!” It’s a roar that you’re sure would rattle the windows if there was any glass left in the panes.

Namjoon and Yoongi grapple just a few feet away. You watch it, almost in slow motion, as Namjoon gains the upper hand. He lurches to his feet with Yoongi caged to his chest. The glint of metal catches your eye, Yoongi’s pocket knife fisted in Namjoon’s hand. Snarling, he presses the blade to Yoongi’s throat, effectively cutting off his struggle.

“Just let her go, Namjoon, your fight is with me,” Yoongi grunts, his hands latched onto Namjoon’s forearm where it bands across his upper chest.

“She needs to suffer! How can you take her side after what her father did to our mother!” The rage in Namjoon is palpable, suffocating.

“It’s not like that, it’s not. I have proof it’s not like that, you just have to trust me. Let her go and I promise…I promise, Namjoon, I’ll make it all okay. We can take him out together, the real reason mom’s dead.”

“Him? What? Why should I believe you?!” You watch the knife tip dig into the side of Yoongi’s neck, just below his jaw. A small stream of red streaks down the column of his throat, disappearing below the collar of his shirt only to soak into the fabric a second later.

“Deep down you know it’s true, though. None of it makes sense. Suicide, really? Netty wasn’t that kind of woman, she wouldn’t have done that to us,” Yoongi explains, his words not wavering in the slightest. It’s like he’s done this song and dance before, he knows how to tame the beast that is Namjoon. You hope it works.

With slow movements, you shift until you get your feet under yourself. As you begin to push up to stand, your hand brushes over your thigh…across a hard object you had forgotten all about. A ragged breath empties from your lungs at the realization you still have it. Namjoon never bothered to remove the rest of your dress or even bothered with taking his knife to your legs. You distinctly remember him spouting off about wanting you to match the ugliness Yoongi keeps hidden under his shirts.

Yoongi is still trying to talk Namjoon down. His constant stream of words keeps the attention focused on him. Your hand trembles as you slide it under the soaked fabric of your dress, trailing up your thigh until it meets the rough case of the holster. It’s not lost on you that you probably only have one shot at this. If you don’t make it count, it’ll not matter anyway. His words might be aimed at Namjoon, but Yoongi’s eyes are cut to you, watching as you gingerly withdraw the pistol he made sure you had strapped to your thigh.

“…brothers mean more than this because…” His warm brown eyes meet yours as his words to Namjoon trail off.

“Because why?” Namjoon prompts from Yoongi. “Because why, finish your fucking sentence!”

“Because sometimes in life we have to make hard decisions. Decisions we know will hurt, even if we also know they’re the right ones to make. Life isn’t always fair, in fact, most of the time it’s a pure bitch. But, what matters, in the end, is that we tried, we did what we had to do, and we did it with no regrets because it was the right thing to do. The. Right. Thing. To. Do.” He gives you a nod, a sad smile on his lips. “It’s okay, it’ll always be okay.”

It’s a slight possibility, being able to shoot Namjoon without also hitting Yoongi. Even if you had hours of gun range experience under your belt, which you sorely don’t, you know it’d still be a slim chance. Yoongi is telling you it’s okay, he understands and you have to do this even if you don’t want to.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Namjoon grunts, forcing the knife harder against Yoongi’s throat.

“Love doesn’t have to make sense.” The words are whispered. Yoongi’s eyes are holding steady on yours as you raise the gun, take aim, and pull the trigger.

Next Chapter⇾ ⇽Previous Chapter ◅ Back to chapter list

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ssixely · 24 days

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Which apps would I recommend? (3)

It's a bit long, bear with me. I tried to give as much info about the apps as possible. Reminder that I have an iphone, n one app isn't available on google play. I did try to find a alternative that seemed good enough from the pictures of it. 2 of these apps go straight to the point, 1 app is an alternative for people who can't have obvious apps on their phones.

Hope you guys do find this useful !! If you want more apps (or more specific themed apps), you can comment it n I'll try my best to find a good useful app for it.

MyNetDiary

app store, google play n website (n apple watch)

MyNetDiary is my favorite out of them all. It's already pretty popular between in the pr0 - 3d community! It has an app n a website version, which means: wherever you go, MyNetDiary is always with you! You can also download it on your apple watch (n log your w31ght through it or log 'quick c4ls', see your c4ls of the day, ect). DM's r open if you need help figuring out the app (since it took me a little to figure it all out lol).

With MyNetDiary, you can: - log your consumed food, keep track of your consumed c4ls, set a c4l budget, scan food labels (only available on the app) - log your w31ght, get a chart of your w31ght over the past [days, months, year, ect] - set your gw n set a target date you wanna achieve it by, - keep track of [carbs, protein, fat, ect] - connect your account to your health app (like 'apple health' on iphone) - so much more.

Intermittent F4st1ng Tracker

app store (n apple watch) google play alternative: 'FastEasy'

Intermittent F4st1ng Tracker is, as the name implies, an app for f4st1ng. I've been using it for a while n am pretty satisfied w it!

With Intermittent Fasting Tracker, you can: - set lots of different 'f4st goals', like 13:11, 16:8, 18:6, 20:4, 23:1 (OMAD) - set 'f4st goals' over 24 hours (you can set one up to 1 week) - log your w31ght - get an overview of your f4sts (how many hours, ect)

Structured

app store, google play (n apple watch, macbook)

This one is more for the people who have to keep it more hidden for privacy. Structured is a simple day planner, not made solely for losing. But! It is useful anyhow, especially if you do not want apps on your phone that give your journey away. (I can name a few people I know w strict parents, who's check their phones.) DM's open for this too, always willing to help you get a good layout on the app for this.

How would this work? Well, you can use Structured for: - logging your f4sts - logging your c4ls n w31ght everyday - putting your c4l budget to "apply entire day" so you have an overview - N more!

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piastrinorris · 2 years

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busy streets and busy lives • ralph penbury x reader

A strange day at work gets even stranger when you meet a man who claims he's from 1926. With no certainty as to when he can get back, you decide to take him in until that time arrives.

masterlist | prev. | next

Tags: Timewasters (series), modern!au, slow burn, mutual pining, idiots in love™, fluff, some angst, swearing and mentions of adult themes throughout, eventual adult content, alcohol content, penbury is a fanon surname

Word count: 9.2k

A/N: Thanks for being patient! I know this one took longer than the other two, but yeah. Back pain is no joke, and also, as you can see, this became somewhat of a monolith lol. This whole fic is my most favourite thing to write. I hope you enjoy this chapter! <3

Also, apologies for the horrific photoshop job I did trying to recreate a certain social media layout, lol.

The first few weeks of living with Ralph are certainly… An experience. You’re able to teach him how to cook basic freezer meals, how to use a hob and the importance of never taking your attention away from food when you’re preparing it. He’s got his favourite TV shows, especially now that you’ve trusted him with access to your streaming services, too - though you did have to make him a separate profile on your account when your current obsession had been drowned out in your Continue Watching queue by Ralph watching half an hour of whatever was showing up first, giving up and moving onto the next thing. He’s got a rapport as “that eccentric young man who lives in flat 912”, who befriends all the local outdoor cats and bows to everyone he makes eye contact with. Plus, with all the extra attention Ralph gives them while you’re not there, your plants have been thriving more than ever.

Another morning of waking up on the sofa. You reach blindly for the pain relief and water bottle you now keep close to you and chug them down before peeling yourself away. At least today is a day off. Except it isn’t really, as you’re reminded when you hear the shower going. You’re still a full-time Ralph-sitter. You decide to treat the pair of you to a full breakfast, something that your new housemate had considered “grotesque” as “grease is not a food group”, but you’d acclimated him to it eventually. As long as you cut him some bread soldiers to dip into the yolks of his eggs. That’s his favourite part.

You scroll through Spotify on your phone to see what playlist you’ll ask your Echo to play for you. It recommends, based on your recent listening (by which it obviously means the battle your algorithm faces trying to find common ground between your music taste and Ralph’s), an electro-swing playlist. Excited, you ask Alexa to play the playlist as it’s titled, and start bouncing along to it as you get everything out to start cooking.

Ralph emerges, hair still wet, with a smile on his face. “Good morning!” You understand and appreciate his efforts to try and blend in a little more aesthetically, but arguably the worst thing your friends have convinced Ralph is that he looks better with a bit of facial hair. Which, of course, is true, but that’s what makes it so terrible for you. “What is this?!”

You shrug, “Dunno, it said electro-swing and I figured that sounds like the perfect mix of both of us. You like it?”

Ralph nods, “I mean, it’s certainly not the classics, but I could definitely get used to this!” He starts moving his feet in very deliberate ways, and you smirk at him.

“Did you ever learn how to swing dance, by any chance?”

“Guilty!” he lilts, rolling his eyes up. No matter how much he may try to look like a 21st century man, he’s still unmistakably Ralph. “Yes, Mother got Victoria and I enrolled in a school to get us out of the house. Father wanted me to join some new-fangled group, the Scouts?” You’d think you’d be used to all the culture shocks by now, but hearing that Ralph could have been one of the first ever Scouts still knocks the wind out of you a little. Ralph, completely unaware, continues rambling, “Yes, but it was all… Swimming and climbing and… Outdoor survival,” he shudders. “So, Mother sent me away with Victoria to her dance classes.”

“Were you any good? Or did you enjoy it, at least?” you ask.

Ralph smiles as his head bobs with excitement, “I was rather exemplary, yes! Ms Lillian often paired Victoria and I together, knowing we could practise at home as well, though when we got to a… Certain age, Victoria decided she would rather have other male partners.” You can tell from the sadness in Ralph’s tone what he’s about to say next. “And, well, she was on such good terms with the other girls in the group that… Well, none of them wanted to be paired with little brother Ralph, so the teacher was my partner. ‘Little brother’, I ask you, only by twelve minutes!” he starts to mutter under his breath.

An urge swells within you to find Homeless Pete, insist he find a way to fix that time machine up as soon as possible, and travel back to that time just to shove every one of those rich little brats. Instead, you focus that energy on comforting Ralph, reaching your arms around his shoulders in a quick hug. “I’m sorry, mate. Though, I don’t suppose you remember those moves you learned?”

His eyes light up. “I certainly do! Did you want to learn how to? The teacher did say I was quite the natural, I could teach you if you wanted!”

You grin, “I’d love nothing more.”

You spend the best part of an hour learning how to do things like the Charleston Step, the bow tie and the one that Ralph calls one turns, two turns, which you can tell is his favourite based on the smile he gets when it’s his turn to get twirled around.

Eventually, you heave with exhaustion. “Well, that’s worked up the old appetite, though I dunno how I’m gonna cook when I can barely feel my legs!”

Ralph giggles, “Oh, please, that was nothing! Ms Lillian would have you in tatters.” You give him a death stare and he stops laughing immediately. “Would you like me to get us something from the baker’s? I could get you some of those doughed nuts that you enjoy.”

“For the last time, Ralph, doughnuts don’t actually contain nuts and you can have some yourself, too!” you groan as you start replacing everything you’d taken out of the fridge.

Ralph tuts, shaking his head. “I have no interest in your nuts, thank you.” That’s one to send to Scott and Connor later, you think to yourself as you open up your phone and add to the note “Ralph Quotes”. “Perhaps the nice old lady who calls me chap will be there,” he muses with a small smile, “I like her.”

“Hop to it, then, old sport,” you say in a mock-posh voice, earning you a glare from Ralph, which only makes you laugh as you make your own way to the shower.

When you’re out and dressed for the day - in the clothes Ralph had worn on his first night with you, but only because they’re your go-to comfort clothes anyway and you don’t exactly plan on leaving the flat - you go through your usual routine of checking the news app for the headlines, and then the trending topics on Twitter, just to see if there’s anything your friends will be talking about.

You giggle at the fact that the name Ralph is trending, screenshotting it to send to the group chat later. Out of curiosity as to which Ralph the internet is obsessing over today, you tap it and scroll through. It’s mostly people in fandoms, making threads called ‘[series] as ralph tweets’. The “ralph tweets” in question seem to be of someone tweeting as though they think Twitter works in the same way as Google.

Your stomach drops as you realise some of them look a little too familiar. Almost as though you know a Ralph who’d be this far out of touch with the modern world. Almost as though you could track the very conversations that would lead to some of these to that particular Ralph.

You click through to the profile @RalphOnTwitter and scroll all the way down to see exactly when he must have gotten an account:

You send a single message in the group chat: GROUP MEETING, MY FLAT, ASAP. ALL MUST ATTEND.

Your friends all arrive relatively quickly after that. You simply herd them all onto the sofa one by one until the last of them has arrived, but just as you’re about to lay into them, the man of the hour arrives, having fumbled with the lock for a good minute with his arms full of baked goods.

“Ah, good morning, all! It’s a good job you’re all here, it was that young woman serving today and she always gives me extra food even though I don’t ask for it or pay for it, I don’t know why -”

“It’s ‘cause she fancies you, mate,” Connor grins, causing Ralph’s ears to turn a vibrant shade of red.

“Can we please discuss Ralph’s love life another time?!” you interrupt. “I need to know which of you is responsible for giving him access to a Twitter account.”

You know Anna’s in the clear, you’d been helping her in the kitchen, but the other three look at each other shiftily. “Well, it was sort of all of us? We just thought it might be fun to teach him,” Grace explains. “It’s not often you meet someone who’s never heard of social media.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, squeezing your eyes shut. “Ralph,” you call out, eyes still closed, “what do you do when you need to know the answer to something?”

“I do what you taught me when you first gave me my phone,” Ralph answers, perplexed. “I tap the very last square, I type in my question and I wait for an answer. A lot of them are just people being rude, but eventually someone will be helpful.”

“Sounds about right,” you groan, rubbing your face.

“Wait, you mean, you still do that even after we put - you didn’t think to just move one to the -” Scott’s eyes widen. “Oh, god.”

“Why would it move?!” Ralph asks, taking a bite out of his favourite pastry and chewing anxiously.

Anna starts giggling as she scrolls through his account, “Aww, but it’s so funny! And it’s not hurting anyone, what’s the damage in it?”

The fact he’s not supposed to be alive and yet he’s suddenly very much perceived, maybe? The fact he could accidentally tweet something that would give him away? The fact he could tweet something vastly inappropriate at any moment?

“Yeah, you could really capitalise on him while he’s here,” Connor smirks. “Get him on Instagram, too, get those brand deals coming.”

“Yeah! Ralph On Twitter’s face reveal, make it a whole thing,” Grace grins.

You sigh. “I dunno. It feels like a really bad idea.” You look at Ralph, who looks blankly back at you. “But… Maybe we could make something of you. As long as I’m your PR manager, obviously, and you don’t go talking directly to anyone.”

“I don’t think I know how,” Ralph shakes his head, “I thought it was the searching thing that you’d told me about.”

“Good. Never learn,” you point at him, “and give me your phone.” Your friends all cheer as they crowd around you, watching you download Instagram onto his phone, as well. You give him the handle @ralphoninsta “to keep the brand alive,” you explain as you set up his profile.

“Now we need a good first photo,” Scott holds his fingers and thumbs up in a rectangle shape to frame Ralph in his own field of vision. “Let’s get him into some good lighting.”

Sitting him in the best-lit corner of the flat, Scott insists on playing photographer, telling Ralph to sit and smile. However, Ralph does not seem to do well in front of the camera. He sits bolt upright, every part of him looking stiff and uncomfortable, and his smile isn’t right. It’s far too forced, it shows all his teeth and yet somehow the smile itself stretches beyond them. “Maybe we should take him out and about, get some candid shots of him,” Anna suggests.

You groan, having just started on your second doughnut. “Fine! I’ll leave the house today, but I won’t be pleased about it!” You shake your half-eaten breakfast at your friends, who laugh. “And you guys better come eat these, too, Ralph wasn’t kidding about these freebies.” You hold out another doughnut and wave it in Ralph’s direction, “Sure I can’t tempt you with one?”

He leaps onto his feet and backs away from you, “How many times must I ask you to keep your doughed nuts out of my face, please!” As expected, Scott and Connor crease up in laughter.

“You’ll love ‘em when you try ‘em, Ralphie,” you grin, taking another bite of your own, but Ralph isn’t as amused by it all.

Once you’re all adequately full, you begrudgingly throw on a hoodie and go out with everyone else, trying to find the right lighting, the right backdrop. Even with everything, Ralph just doesn’t seem to pose very well. His posture becomes so much more awkward and his facial expressions just aren’t… Ralph.

When he starts to express his apathy for the whole thing, you think of one more thing that might help. Standing him in front of a brick wall, you position Scott and set his phone camera to video, earning you an, “Ahh, good shout.”

Scott starts recording as Ralph stands in place, looking over at all of you. “So, what is it I’m supposed to do, now? Do I have to pose again? How?”

You shrug, “I dunno, just… Be Ralph. Stand however you want. Look however you want. Just, keep it moving around, yeah?”

He may still look a little awkward but you’re able to get him to do plenty, at least. Getting him comfortable is easy enough, you start getting him talking about his new favourite TV programmes and he very vaguely - and mostly not entirely correctly - describes the plots of them, with all the excited sincerity of a lifelong fan. Grace also asks him about his favourite local cats he’s befriended whenever he’s been out and about, which he lists happily and extensively.

When Scott feels as though he’s got some good angles, he stops recording and you all crowd around him to review the footage together. While you all have different opinions on which angles are best, you can all agree on one thing - Ralph certainly photographs far, far better candidly. You all eventually settle on pausing and screenshotting at two specific moments, though Ralph is still perplexed. “But I’m not posed for either of those pictures, doesn’t that make them bad? I mean, I’m not even looking in that second one!” He points to a shot where he’s looking down, itching his jaw.

“No, trust me, it’s fine, they’re great,” you insist, maybe a little too quickly. Nobody seems to have noticed, though. Thankfully.

“And in this one, the sun is in my eyes! I’m all squinty!” He frowns, swiping to the previous shot.

“That’s called a smoulder, babes, everyone loves a smoulder.” You watch in amusement as Ralph’s ears turn pink at Grace’s words. No matter how many times you’ve told him that Grace calls everyone by that name, it still gets Ralph all nervous to be referred to by it himself. “You’re a natural, when you’re not actually trying.”

“Is that a good thing?” Ralph asks, his eyes darting around the group to gauge everyone’s reactions.

Anna nods, “It shows promise, right, Scott? Scott’s big into his photography shit, he’s got a proper camera and everything, don’t you?”

Scott nods. “If you ever wanted to try and get more comfortable with it, we could definitely shoot together sometime.”

Ralph shuffles over to you to whisper in your ear, “What do guns have to do with -”

You interrupt him to quietly explain, “You shoot photos on a camera.”

“Ah. Thank you.” Addressing Scott, he smiles and claps, bouncing on the balls of his feet, “If I am still around, I should rather enjoy that!”

“Fuck, I forgot we’ve only got you on borrowed time,” Anna complains, before gasping and clapping her hands, addressing you. “This is your weekend off, right?!” You nod, and she squeals, holding her face in her hands. “So, we have to show Ralph what a good night out is, right?!”

Excited reactions from the entire group, except one, obviously, but the others seem too keen on planning tonight now to respond to any of his reactions. “So, do we just take him out, or out-out?” Connor asks.

You look over at Ralph’s face, trying not to laugh too loudly at him looking as though he’s been asked to solve quantum equations in his head. “You trying to figure out the difference there, mate?” you ask, and he nods. “Right, so going out usually means just to the local pub, pretty casual attire, you say you’re only going for a couple of beers but then it’s approaching midnight, the poor sod behind the bar is calling last orders and you’re five deep, trying to gather everyone for the walk home where you drop them all off one by one. Going out-out is dressing up, it’s going into the city itself, it’s going to bars and nightclubs and getting super overpriced cocktails until it’s 3am and you’re sat outside a McDonald’s waiting for a taxi home with whichever stragglers you’ve managed to hold onto by the end of the night.”

“Dressing up, you say?!” Ralph lights up at the idea, but you put a hand on his arm.

“Not in the suit and tie way, I’m afraid.” You frown, “I don’t actually know if we’ve got any out-out clothes for you at home, you know. I haven’t had a chance to get you to any shops where you can try nice clothes on yourself.”

With a collective gasp, Grace and Anna each loop an arm around each of Ralph’s, with Scott joining in their chorus of, “Shopping trip?!”

You groan, “Can I at least go back and get changed if you’re gonna keep making me leave the house?”

“I mean, you don’t have to come with us, if you want a break,” Anna suggests. “You trust us with Ralph, right?”

“So what, just the four of you will be going, then?” Connor asks, to the others’ groans. “Oh, come off it, what use would I be?!”

“Connor,” Anna starts. “How often are we ever likely to ask you for your opinion as a straight man again? You need to come with, for your people.”

Connor sighs in resignation, though he can’t fight his own smile. “Alright, fine, but you lot are buying all the coffees I’m gonna need to get through this.”

You slip Ralph your bank card, mutter to him that the others will teach him how to use it, and salute the others as they all make their way to the high street before turning on your heel and heading back to the sanctuary of an empty flat.

Straight away, it feels too empty. Too quiet. Sure, you’ve trusted Ralph to just pop across the road and back, but you’ve got way more alone time now. You ask your Echo to play your favourite playlist as you make a start on the chores you normally can’t do with Ralph around.

Though you expect that to take up until they return, you’re done before the hour is up. You let out a long exhale, tutting through it as you look around your little living space and wonder what on earth to do with yourself. You start watching the next episode of the show you’d been watching, but even that didn’t feel right without the constant interjections, feeling as though you have to explain who characters are, what plots have already happened and why certain scenes are especially important.

You text the group chat a few times, but only Connor ever responds, and as is on brand for him, it’s always a sarcastic comment about how Ralph is obviously going to show up in the most garish outfits known to man. You take comfort in Connor being the one to make those jokes, at least, as if anyone else were to, you might be more inclined to worry that Ralph’s own tastes might just be a little too eclectic for the South London nightlife. At least Connor will be there to talk him down into dressing somewhat appropriately.

You also ask Scott to send you the photos for Ralph’s Instagram profile, telling him you’re happy to edit them to pass the time before eventually getting them onto Ralph’s phone to upload them. He sends you the screenshots, along with the video itself. One little watch, you tell yourself. Then to editing.

An indeterminable amount of time later, you’re replaying a part where you’re constantly correcting Ralph on the actual plot of Gilmore Girls versus what he seems to have retained that it’s about, where you’ve reached the point of uncontrollable laughter and he’s laughing at your laughter. His smile is so pure when he’s genuinely happy, and yet it’s so rare to see it that way. Even without his manufactured pose, when he’s smiling amongst you and your friends it still feels stilted. You often wonder whether he misses the familiarity of home, whether you’re doing a good enough job at helping Ralph to fit in. But seeing that look on his face, it fills you with an overwhelming sense of relief. It’s the first time you’ve been able to really notice him looking comfortable. You take a screenshot of that moment, but not necessarily to add to Ralph’s profile. Maybe this one stays as a memento of Ralph’s time here, just for you.

When you get the text in the group chat letting you know that a) they’re finished, and b) everyone’s getting ready at Grace’s since her housemates are all out for the evening, you hurriedly edit those two photos Scott sent, empty your wardrobe of all your “out-out” clothes into a duffel bag, throw in whatever toiletries and cosmetics you can find and make your way over there.

Scott, Anna and Ralph are nowhere to be found, at first, but Grace assures you that they’re simply helping him “look the part”. You’re more worried about checking in with Ralph, seeing if he’s overwhelmed at all, and most importantly, making sure he hasn’t blown his cover.

Grace is more than happy to help you pick out your outfit for the night, while Connor’s input remains a constant and totally helpful series of grunts without even looking up from his phone. Grace helps you get your face and hair ready, too, though not without scolding Connor for not participating either way, despite his constant rebuttals that he is taking care of “the most important thing”. You quickly shoot him a text thanking him for helping to take Ralph off your hands for an afternoon, and reassuring him you’ll buy him a drink to show your appreciation. The absolute wordsmith that he is, Connor sends a thumbs-up emoji in response.

There’s a ring at the doorbell, which even Grace is puzzled at. That fills you with a sense of concern, too - if Grace isn’t expecting someone at her door, who could it be? Connor seems pretty confident at going to open it, though, and you see why when he eventually shows up with the pizzas that he clearly ordered. “You didn’t have to be so cryptic about it!” You shake your head at him as you make sure everyone has drinks made up as well.

Scott’s head pokes out of a door to ask, “Everything okay? Who was at the door?” You and Connor both point to the food and Scott grins, “Ah, nice! Right on time! Okay, folks, are you ready to meet The New Ralph?”

The three of you clap and cheer as Scott and Anna make a big show of revealing Ralph, and thankfully you weren’t holding any of the glasses you were making drinks in, or you’d have surely dropped them. Wearing a dark fitted polo, very well-fitting jeans and some crisp new Adidas trainers, Ralph stands between your friends, looking around at the three of you. When he catches your eye, he only makes very fleeting eye contact before looking your own outfit up and down and then hastily looking back at the others. He rubs at the tops of his ears - you can’t quite see from this distance, but you wonder if he’s blushing, and whether he’s doing it over everyone’s reaction, or just yours.

You set everyone’s drinks up around the living room, deliberately seating you and Ralph together. “I wasn’t sure what kind of fancy-schmancy drinks you’re used to, and none of us exactly have champagne on tap, but I thought you might like a martini?” You say to him as he takes his seat on the sofa next to you.

Ralph’s eyes light up. “I do rather enjoy a martini!”

“That’s my guy!” Connor cheers from his corner, raising a slice of pizza in a toast of sorts. Ralph tentatively takes a slice and does the same, but you hurriedly follow it up by grabbing a plate and holding it beneath Ralph’s slice for him.

“Don’t want to ruin your nice outfit before you’ve even been seen out in it, do you?” You fuss, and Ralph nods, taking the plate from you and holding it directly under his chin as he eats, which makes you laugh. He could literally look like anyone in the world, but little mannerisms like that will always tell you that that’s your Ralph.

When he’s had enough to eat, you take the plate from him to take it out to the kitchen, though Grace is quick to whip it out of your hands, too. That’s when you notice the plate seems to have moved something underneath the collar of Ralph’s shirt. You move it aside slightly and, with all the might of keeping any kind of flustering behaviour at bay, you ask, “Is that a neck chain you’re wearing?” Is this what manifesting is?

“Yes! Do you like it?” Ralph scoops it out into view with his finger. “Just a plain one, but Anna said it really brought the whole outfit together, didn’t you?” He asks her excitedly, and she nods back.

“She’s got a good eye, that one,” you grin. “You look so good, Ralph.”

“As do you,” he mutters, gesturing quickly to your outfit. “I see what you mean about dressing to the nines, now. It’s nice to see this side of you, too. All of you, really,” he stammers, looking around.

“Right, last minute hair and make-up touches and then I want photos of all of us!” Grace announces.

Ralph’s face falls as he asks you quietly, “Would you like to teach me how to take them, since I’m not good at being in them?”

“Don’t be silly,” you nudge him. “We’ll get some good ones of you tonight, trust me. And if you wanna see a bad photo, wait until you see the atrocities this lot take by the end of the night.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. We’ll prepare a slideshow of your finest moments for him, shall we?” Scott retorts, to both yours and Ralph’s laughter.

“Maybe we should save that for a special occasion. A birthday, perhaps?” Ralph asks with amusement.

“Yes, Ralph!” Connor and Scott cheer in unison, both slapping his shoulders excitedly as you gasp in mock offence.

“The betrayal!” You can’t actually be mad at Ralph, though, not with how good he looks when he’s this happy. It’s even more captivating in person.

You shake your head as you go to make sure you’re all freshened up after your meal. You can’t keep thinking these things when you’re sober, or else who knows how that’ll manifest when you’re less so.

Your friends all love learning how to get Ralph distracted enough that he doesn’t even realise half the time that his photo is being taken. Scott, being the photography setup genius that he is, even gets his phone out, sets it on a timer, and manages to get Ralph laughing while looking at the camera, in the middle of the group, all while successfully running into the shot himself. Everyone’s in love with that photo, even Ralph, and when Scott sends it in the group chat, you promise him you’ll print one for the flat, and an extra one just for his room.

“What about the other ones that everyone else took?” Ralph asks. “Could I get those ones on my phone, too?”

“I’ll do that tomorrow. Ooh, speaking of! Before we go! Gimme, gimme,” you make a grabby hand at Ralph, who eventually takes the hint that you want his phone as he hands it to you. You send over the two edited shots - and that’s all - and, on his phone, successfully upload them:

“No caption?” Anna asks, looking over your shoulder.

“Well, it’d look a bit dodge if he’s tweeting to ask his phone to stop changing his words for him, but then he’s a total whiz at Instagram, wouldn’t it?” You explain, to everyone’s agreement.

Finally, you’re all piled into an Uber and on your way to your favourite bar. It’s in the car, cramped between you and the door, that Ralph realises something in a panic. Frantically tapping your arm, he whispers, “Won’t they ask me to prove I’m of age to drink there?”

You shake your head. “Don’t sweat it. The staff know us like the backs of their hands, they’ll trust us that we’re not bringing in some teenager. Besides, you look far less baby-faced now,” you wrestle your arm out enough to ruffle the beard he’s starting to grow with your fingertips. “So we’ll be fine. Promise.”

Ralph, too, wrangles a hand out to hold his little finger towards you. “Promise?”

With a small laugh, you link your own with his. “Yes, but less of that around the people we have to convince that you’re not a kid, okay?” Ralph nods with a very serious expression, and you copy him before settling back into conversation with your friends.

It takes a few bats of the group’s eyelids and some convincing c’mon, mates but the bouncer soon lets Ralph in with you all, to which he enthusiastically thanks them over and over again. You hurriedly rush him in ahead of you before he arouses too much suspicion.

Connor makes a point of letting Ralph know where the toilets are, and Ralph immediately disappears off into that direction. You ask the boys if one of them should make sure he’s okay getting there, but everyone scolds you for fussing over him too much and moves you along with the rest of them to order everyone’s drinks. You want to hold onto Ralph’s for him but, as Scott reminds you, it’s safer for him to, so that you can look after your own. Just in case.

Soon enough, as with every night out, the group starts to scatter. Scott is happily chatting between Connor and a girl you don’t recognise, most likely playing wingman. You can spot Anna and Grace in amidst a small group of people whose heads are turned away from you. Still no sign of Ralph for a while. Ringing his phone does nothing, but the music is quite loud, he might not be able to hear. The bar is small enough, you tell yourself. He’ll find you eventually.

As you’re craning your head around the bar one more time, you don’t realise anyone is in your immediate vicinity until you almost trip over someone behind you. They catch you with a, “Whoa, easy there! How many have you had?!”

“Barely any, that’s the scary thing!” You laugh.

The man smiles at you. “Sounds like I ought to buy you one then, eh?”

You shrug, “Sure, what’s a free drink?” You gesture that you’ll walk up to the bar with him and order your drink. He tries to make small conversation, and you start to get into it a little, until he starts trying to flirt. He’s not exactly your type, anyway, and his total lack of game really doesn’t help matters. You try and get away with a simple thank you, a promise that you’ll find him later to buy him one back but you really must get back to your friends.

“Ah, what’s the rush? Surely it’s easier for them to come and find you if we stay here, right?” He asks. You look around desperately, trying with all your might to use some of that manifesting power you seemed to have earlier to will one of the boys back, both to rescue you and salvage Ralph.

~~~

Ralph was having quite the experience. Having heard the other boys talk of the bathroom, he assumed that was a prompt for everyone to go, but only once he could see the door to it did Ralph turn around and realise he was completely on his own. Suddenly, the atmosphere changes. What seemed dimly lit now appears almost pitch black. There are lights of all colours shining everywhere. Music that doesn’t quite sound like music thumps in the background. Twenty conversations happening around him turn into white noise, until someone approaches him. A total stranger. Two of them, actually.

“Alright, mate? Do me a favour?” One asks, despite Ralph’s expression clearly being one that should let anyone know that he is in no position to be giving out any favours. They continue anyway, “Look, I have to draw something, and you have to guess what it is, okay?” Ralph, still bewildered, does not respond in the slightest, but before he knows it, the other person has turned around so that their back can be used as a surface. The original asker now splays a napkin of sorts against their friend’s back as they try and draw something.

Ralph tries his absolute hardest, but as no amount of squinting and focusing can help him, he tells them, “Oh bother, I’m terribly sorry, chaps, I’m honestly trying but I’m really coming up trumps, I do apologise.”

They give him looks of confusion and concern. “Are you on something?”

“Why does everybody assume that of me, just because I’m ever so slightly more well spoken than the average resident here?!” Ralph complains with a frown. “Can this not just be how I talk?”

“Oh my days, you’re a right laugh,” the other grins. “Here, come and do a shot with us, you have to!”

“I- Do I?” Ralph asks, and they nod. “Well, I really should get back to my friends -”

“Oh, c’mon, one shot and we’ll help you find them. Deal?” They ask.

“Well… Alright,” Ralph sighs in defeat. If he can’t find you, he can at least find a constant to anchor onto in the meantime.

“Oi, lads!” The two call out as they approach the table they’re leading Ralph to. “Time out on that game for a minute, we’re doing shots with this legend!” They both look at Ralph expectantly, waiting for him to introduce himself.

“Oh! Yes! Hello, everyone. My name is Ralph. Fabulous to meet you all,” he smiles as he looks around the table.

“Isn’t he sick?!” The artist of the pair grins at his friends.

“Quite the picture of health, actually,” Ralph retorts with a side glance.

“Oh, isn’t he a cutie,” a girl coos from the table. The other of the pair starts to clench his jaw.

“Oi, come off it,” another comforts from around the table. “Any bloke that uses the word fabulous isn’t exactly stealing your girlfriend, is he.”

Ralph’s not even sure how to answer to that, but he isn’t given much time to, either, before being whisked away to the bar with this new group. They hand him a tiny glass filled with clear liquid. Ralph wonders if a shot is perhaps some sort of palate cleanser, a mouthful of water between drinks.

The fiery sensation that travels down his throat as he drinks teaches him that it certainly is not. But once the unpleasantness clears, the strange comfort of alcohol starts to fill Ralph with warmth. It’s certainly happening a lot faster than he’s used to, but then these drinks are far stronger than Ralph’s usual tastes.

Briefly forgetting his own arrangement, he returns from the bar with his new acquaintances - and another martini in hand - and sits back at the table with them as they continue playing their game. It’s played on one of their phones. Someone taps through prompts and reads them aloud. Sometimes it’s challenging a player to do something themselves, sometimes it’s challenging them to approach a stranger, as they had done with Ralph. Sometimes it’s asking them completely arbitrary questions to vote upon amongst the group. They all certainly seem to be having a great time playing, anyway.

Once they declare a round over, they ask Ralph if he wants to join in the next one. “Oh, I’m rather… Old-fashioned, I don’t think I’d be a good fit for this, but I’m sure my friends would love it! Shall I go and find them?”

“More the merrier,” one shrugs.

Ralph excitedly jumps up and starts patrolling the bar to find a familiar face amongst the crowd. He’s yet to see any at all, until one makes his heart drop. He sees you, in the arms of another man. Ralph had really been priding himself on repressing his feelings around you. He wasn’t going to repeat what happened with Lauren. He wasn’t going to scare you off too soon. He was going to keep it to himself. He had tried so hard. And yet, this sight is truly unbearable.

Biting at his quivering lower lip, he storms back into the direction of the bathrooms and keeps going, shoving the first door he finds open as he tries not to cry.

His sorrow is quickly replaced with horror as he finds several women all standing in various places around the room. Some just standing and chatting, some calling to friends in the stalls, some checking themselves in the mirror. After the scene finally sets in for Ralph, he lets out an ultimately high-pitched shriek, swivels around and immediately starts scolding himself. “Oh, bother and blast! Please, forgive me, girls, oh, what an absolute cad I am, I’ve truly disgraced myself, just when it couldn’t get any worse!” His voice gets shakier with every word, and he flinches when a hand appears on his shoulder.

“Sorry!” One of the girls apologises hurriedly. “I just wanted to let you know it’s okay. Are you alright?”

“Please do not ask me if I have taken any sort of drug just because I am well-spoken!” Ralph half-cries, and the hand squeezes him comfortingly.

“We won’t, promise. Did you need a wee, or just a wind down?”

“I’m not sure, I just… Ran. I’m terribly sorry,” Ralph sighs.

“It’s fine,” the voice reassures. “Wanna turn around and talk to us? I promise, there’s no better therapy than a night in the girls’ loos. Right?” A chorus of agreement fills the room.

Ralph slowly turns around to see an awful lot of smiling faces. He sniffs harshly and nods, “Good evening.”

“Hi!” The one who had approached him smiles. “I’m Lauren!”

Of all the names! “L-Lauren?” Ralph practically squeaks out as he feels himself start to well up, and her own face falls in some kind of realisation as she shakes her head.

“Or Loz! Just call me Loz! All my friends do! Forget the other name entirely. Sound good?”

Ralph nods. “I’m Ralph. A pleasure to meet you, despite it being under my most horrific actions.”

The other girls introduce themselves, as well. “So, Ralph, this, uh… Girl With The Forbidden Name, is she why you’re all upset?”

“Is she?” One pipes up from the very back. “Because you point her out and I’ll sort her out, no holds barred.”

“See, this is what I tell you, you get like two vodka red bulls down you and you’re ready to throw hands at any inconvenience,” her friend groans next to her. Ralph very quickly taps the square with the bird on it and types a message out to ask the internet “why do people throw hands at each other”, quickly followed by “what sort of hands do people throw”. He decides he’ll check people’s answers later, so as not to appear rude.

“Look at him, though!” The more hot-headed one gestures to Ralph as he wipes away the tears that had been threatening to fall. “Look at those eyes! Like melted chocolate, they are. What kinda sadist would possibly make that happen?!”

“Oh, it’s nothing, it’s all futile,” Ralph shakes his head, but his new friend Loz points at him.

“Oi. Nothing’s futile here. This is a safe space. Let it out.”

Ralph starts to explain that he had fallen for a Lauren, dove in headfirst, had his heart broken and vowed not to let it happen again, but that seeing the housemate he cared so deeply for in the arms of another just brought all of that sadness back up again. The girls are all very sympathetic, and very good at knowing exactly what to say to make Ralph feel better. The rather boisterous one keeps trying to speak negatively of you, but Ralph won’t have any of that. You’re your own person, and it’s up to Ralph to get over his own feelings. The girls commend him on his emotional maturity. Apparently not a lot of men have that.

They ask if he wants to talk it through with you, but he shakes his head, telling them that he isn’t certain how long it is before he can go home again, and so he doesn’t want to commit to anything or risk either staying with you with such an emotionally charged elephant in the room at all times, or being turfed out indefinitely.

"That's quite the predicament you've got yourself in, Ralphie, babes," Loz hugs him arm, and he allows himself the comfort of leaning against her.

Suddenly, a stall door swings open violently, and a whole new girl appears, holding her phone up to her face. Before anyone else can ask if she's okay, she gasps loudly, "I bloody knew it!"

Everyone looks at her quizzically, including Ralph, and she continues. "Well, I thought, guy called Ralph who sounds really old-fashioned, I wonder if… And then some of the things he's said kind of sounded like those tweets, have any of you seen that Ralph On Twitter guy?"

A few more gasps of realisation dot about the room. Ralph's ears turn pink as he recognises the word Twitter from the conversation you’d had with the other four this morning. Loz frowns, "Are you sure it's -"

"Is this your insta?" She turns her phone around to show Ralph her screen. It says Instagram on the top, so Ralph takes out his phone and presses the square that also says that, showing it around to see if that's right. Excitedly, all the girls crowd around to make sure they get Ralph's handle right so they can follow him.

One girl - Ralph's already lost track of them, honestly - announces, "So what I'm hearing is, girls' room photoshoot with Ralph from Twitter?!"

Ralph laughs nervously, "Oh goodness, I'm flattered, but those are all taken candidly, would you believe! I am certainly no poser, I have been told this enough times today already."

"Bollocks to that!" The loud one shouts. "We'll teach you how, won't we, girls?"

Before Ralph knows it, he's squatting amongst all his new friends who are trying to teach him how to do the smoulder look he was doing in his photo on purpose when the main door opens to reveal you standing there, looking absolutely bewildered. "Oh my god, Ralph! You're okay! Thank fuck for that!"

As you frantically update the group chat that you’ve found Ralph safe and well, Loz reaches for his hand to squeeze it. The loud girl starts to tense up behind him but Loz waves her down from behind his back. “Yeah, he’s just been having some drunk girl therapy,” she explains calmly.

“God, I could do with some of that right now,” you groan. “Honestly, you trip and fall onto a guy one time and he thinks you’re soulmates, it’s horrendous!”

Ralph’s face lights up all of a sudden. “You’d… You’d fallen on him?” Concern falls back onto his expression. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, physically, I’m fine, but I don’t know how I’m going to mentally recover from listening to one man talk about himself so much,” you groan into your hands as you hold your face. “I forgot why I stopped dating in London.” You notice that one of the girls puts her arm down after having held her phone up at a particular angle. “Oh my god, wait, you guys were taking photos together?” A few of them nod. “Would you like me to take them for you? Rather than one of you trying to fit everyone in at arm’s length.”

“Oh my god, would you?” one of them sighs with relief.

You nod, gesturing to Ralph to hand you his phone again.

Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the presence of so many other people in the photo with him, but Ralph blends in so much more naturally in the photos you take now, even when you suggest different poses and expressions. One of them - Ralph quickly introduces her as Loz, and no other name - asks around for phone numbers of the girls that, you assume, had all just met and bonded over whatever Ralph was in here for. You take over the role of adding everyone’s numbers into Ralph’s phone, and see that Loz adds him to a group chat that she names “Ralphie’s Angels”. You laugh at the name, and send all the photos you’ve taken into the group chat.

“Right, I can feel myself sobering up now, and we can’t have that,” one of them calls out, making the rest of you laugh. “Shall we all go and face the music?”

You pull a face, “Ugh, that means I have to go back and face… Him.”

“Nah, you stick with us, hun,” the one who seemed hostile with you at first suddenly seems to be fighting your corner now. “He even looks in your direction when I’m around, I’ll make him wish he didn’t.” You give her a comforted smile in response and the whole horde starts making its way out of the bathroom.

Your friends also catch up with you at the bar, grateful to see Ralph’s face again, too. Grace is hanging off some new guy’s arm, Anna is half-present in the whole conversation but also half-texting somebody, and Scott is catching up with Ralph. You spot that Connor isn’t talking to anyone and head over to him, “What are you drinking?” you ask loudly over all the music. “I still owe you, remember!”

Connor shakes his head, “Nah, don’t sweat it. Ralph’s a good’un, it was no bother.” Speak of the devil, Ralph excitedly hands you and Connor drinks that one of his new friends insists on buying for everyone, then grabs his own glass from Scott who’s followed him to clink against yours and Connor’s before hurriedly rejoining his group. You and your friends laugh in unison before Connor downs his martini, gives you a quick hug and heads home for the night. Grace and her new friend are the next to leave - you never did catch his name, and you’re not sure you’ll have a reason to remember it anyway.

You dismiss Anna and Scott, telling them that Ralph will probably be a while yet, and that they don’t have to wait up for him just because you do. At first they insist on staying with you, but eventually tiredness consumes them both and they bid you goodnight.

As though preying from afar - because that’s most likely what he was doing - your admirer from earlier appears as soon as your friends are out of the door. “Well, well, we meet again.”

Your eyes narrow as you groan out a breath. “Yeah, hi -”

“I can’t believe your friends would leave you alone like that,” he shakes his head.

“Oh, they haven’t, I’m still waiting on -” Your knight in 21st century armour, Ralph, walks over to the pair of you. “Ah, there he is! Are we going home now?”

“Would you like to?” Ralph asks, concern in his eyes, and you nod with fervour. “Then yes!”

The other man pulls a face. “Wait, sorry, you’re going home with - who the fuck is this?!” He gestures at Ralph, a nasty expression on his face.

Thankfully, Ralph’s cavalry come to your defence, led by none other than an incredibly loud, “Oi, dickhead! Who the fuck are you?! Fucking look at my friend like that again, see what happens, yeah?” Despite being perhaps half a foot shorter, Ralph’s most fiery friend easily squares up against him.

You tap her shoulder in thanks, take Ralph’s hand and guide him out of the bar. The cool air outside hits your face, but the alcohol in your system acts as a blanket around the rest of you. “You good?” You ask Ralph, and he nods. “Good. I’ll call for an Uber.”

Ralph frowns, “But aren’t those taxis, parked up over there?”

“Well remembered! Yeah, but a drunk girl once told me that those charge extra for all the time they’ve spent sitting there, and I’ve never felt bougie enough to spend the money to find out if it is true, so I like to play it safe.” You book an Uber that says it’s four minutes away and sit on the edge of the path. Ralph joins you. “Sorry we lost you, earlier, by the way. I did keep trying to look for you.”

“Pah! My own fault, really. I got all frazzled, you know,” Ralph’s eyes widen as he gestures wildly, making you laugh. “I still feel a tad so now!”

“It helps to kind of start resting your head for a bit. Here,” you pat your shoulder and Ralph takes the hint, tucking himself inwards to rest his head on your shoulder. Yours head falls onto his instinctively, and you set your phone to the front camera. You see Ralph’s small, contented smile, quickly plaster one of your own on and snap a photo.

Ralph then frowns, “Oh, no! I wasn’t prepared!”

“Exactly. Look,” you say fondly as you show him the photo. Both of you looking happy and comfortable, despite some bumps in the road. A perfectly normal first night out for Ralph.

“Can you put that one on my phone too, please?” he asks sleepily.

Reluctantly, you push his head away from you. “Yes, but c’mon, sleepyhead. We still have to get home.”

Ralph doesn’t make it the whole journey home, his head once again flopping against yours in the back seat of the taxi as he sleeps. You manage to prod him awake once you’re back outside your block of flats, though, and he trudges along behind you into the lift and along the hallway until you’re back in the safety of the flat again. “Gimme a minute to grab some PJs for the night, yeah?”

“Of course. I think I should use the bathroom properly now,” he nods.

You pull a face, “Yeah, the fact you’ve gone the whole night without it is honestly impressive!” You hear Ralph chuckle under his breath as you go back into your room, blindly head to your pyjama drawer, take out the first top and bottoms that you can feel, regardless of whether or not they match, and head back into the front room, opting to duck beneath the kitchen counter to change.

Ralph re-emerges a few minutes later, his voice drawling wearily as he asks, “Would you like the bed for tonight? I can’t imagine the morning should be pleasant for either of us.”

You walk over to him and put your hand on his shoulder as you chuckle, “It’ll be fine. You probably need it more than I do, that was probably heavier than what you’re used to.”

“I had a shot tonight, you know,” Ralph tells you with intrigue.

Your eyebrows shoot up, “Oh, yeah? And how did that go for you?”

“Absolutely awful,” he replies simply, pulling a face of disgust, and you both laugh.

“Yeah, you’ll definitely need the bed, then,” you nod. “Did you have a good time, though?”

“Oh, most certainly!” he grins. “I’ve made so many new friends! And I really rather think I’ve made a good impression on your friends, as well.”

“You know they’re your friends too, right?” you ask, cocking your head. Ralph tries to wave you off, and you pull a face of disbelief. “Come off it, they love you! I bet you had a great time with them earlier, didn’t you?”

“Oh, yes, absolutely! Um, but… I did… Um… It wasn’t quite the same without your presence there,” he mumbles.

You frown, “Did you say anything about your past?”

“Oh, no, that never came up! Just… Oh, ignore me, I’m dreadfully tired,” Ralph rubs his face wearily.

“Yeah, you’ll be thanking me for the greasy-ass breakfast I’ll be making us in the morning, so get ready for that,” you grin at him before pulling him in for a goodnight hug. He may smell like a fragrance store with all the proximity he’s had to several perfumed people, but there’s still something comforting about being able to bury your face into his shoulder and taking a deep breath in. Ralph’s arms tighten around you as you do so, as he allows himself the luxury of squeezing his eyes shut and just enjoying the moment.

You eventually pull away with a yawn, “Alright, I think we’re both about to fall asleep standing up, so… Night, Ralph.”

“Y-yes. Of course. Goodnight. Pleasant dreams,” Ralph smiles awkwardly at you before walking quickly to the bedroom.

You set yourself up on the sofa and start looking through the day’s photos. Ralph’s little instagram photoshoot doesn’t feel like it was only this morning, and you can’t help but let yourself fall into the trap of looking at the photo of him laughing again. Shaking your head again, as though that’ll do anything at this point, you scroll through to the photo of all six of you in Grace’s house and set it as your lock screen. You keep scrolling through hurriedly to your other favourite photo of the night, and, while it may be a little delusional, you set the photo of the two of you at the end of the night as your home screen. You’re used to being into people who you can’t have, be it from their disinterest or other reasons, so what’s the harm in indulging yourself a little by imagining a world where the two of you could always be like that?

That’s what Ralph tells himself too as he stares at the photo on his own phone screen until the need for sleep finally takes over.

next chapter

#ralph timewasters #ralph timewasters x reader #ralph timewasters x you #ralph timewasters fanfic #ralph timewasters imagine #ralph penbury #ralph penbury x reader #ralph penbury x you #ralph penbury fanfic #ralph penbury imagine #ralph timewasters fluff #ralph penbury fluff #bsbl #fic: bsbl #*myfics

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mysecretlittlelibrary · 2 years

Text

Wash Day With Matt Murdock

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Black!Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: none what kind of warnings would I even need here hehehe

Genre: fluff of course

Summary: What wash day looks like when your boyfriend Matt surprises you with a visit

***

The familiar knock on your door as you walk from your bedroom to your bathroom stops you in your tracks. Your boyfriend usually knocks in a particular patern because he knows how unlikely it is for you to open the door when you're not expecting company. You detour to your apartment door and swing it open for Matthew.

"Hey Matty." You say with a smile.

"Hey, I hope it's alright that I uh came by... are you doing something with your hair? It smells like that... oil you usually put in like once a week."

"I didn't expect to see you today but it's totally fine that you came over. You know you're always welcome here baby, and there's probably some oil on my fingers I just took my braids down, I was planning to wash my hair today." You tell him, grabbing his arm to lead him into your apartment. You know very well that he's familiar with the layout of your place but you like to use guiding him as an excuse to touch him.

"Oh- sorry I disrupted your plans I- I would've called first but I just thought I'd come by for dinner since it's been a few days since we've spent time together. I've been so busy with this latest case I-"

"If you're going to apologize for having to work darling you don't have to. You also don't have to apologize for 'disrupting'. I'm always happy to see you." You cut him off.

"I mean if you have to wash your hair though-"

"If you can entertain yourself for an hour, I'll be yours for the rest of the night once I'm done." You kiss his cheek.

"An hour?"

"Yes, I'm sorry. It takes a while. Do you want an audiobook or something?"

"An audiobook? Did you get new ones?"

"I did yeah, here I'll get the kindle."

"Just pick a random one for me!" Matt calls out as you head to your room quickly. You set up a book and pass it to Matt.

"Alright, I'll be back in like- an hour." You kiss his cheek.

"Should I order food?" Matt asks.

"Oh I've got a pizza I was gonna make but if you'd like to order something else be my guest." You say going into the bathroom to wash your hair. Between shampooing, conditioning, and detangling your hair the process can be pretty lengthy. On a good day it takes 45 minutes but if the tangles are particularly tough or you need to do multiple shampoos you could easily be in there for almost 90 minutes total. The universe and your tempermental collection of curls seem to be very much on your side today as you're out of the shower in just less than an hour. You wrap a shirt around your hair and dry yourself off before going to your room to put on lotion and find something to wear. You throw on a pair of sweats and a shirt before padding back out to the living room to Matt.

"You're done?" He asks passing the kindle to you. You pause the book that you'd played for him and set the tablet on the table beside the couch.

"Yep, just to dry it now." You hum.

"I ordered takeout while you were in there by the way." Matt says gesturing towards your coffee table where an unopened bag of food sits.

"Oh! Cool, well let's eat then." You say sitting beside him on the couch and opening the boxes. You hand Matt his food and utensils before tucking into your own order.

"So- why does your hair take so long?" Matt asks you with a curious look on his face.

"Um- I know I've pretty much always had it in braids every time we see each other but it's actually pretty thick and tangles easily so I have to take some time to work through it or else it'll get real bad." You explain.

"Oh okay, is there a reason you always wear braids then? Is it less maintenance?"

"In some ways. Doing the braids is time consuming but once they're done I can, pretty much not do anything to my hair for a while, besides oil it." You shrug.

"Are you- going to put it back in braids now then?"

"No I actually think I'll wear the curls for a little while. I like my curls."

"Can I- is it okay if I feel your hair?" Matt's question is hesitant. You've told him enough stories of people treating Black people and their hair like spectacles that he knows it can be an offputting request. You giggle a little at him, you're glad he understands the plight but feeling is one of the ways he can see- you'd never berate him for that.

"Well let me dry it a little first and then you can do whatever you want." You say unwrapping the shirt from the top of your head and running it over sections of your hair until it's not so damp.

"Is that- is that a t-shirt? Do you not use a towel?"

"Did you just- hear the fabric against my hair or something?"

"Something like that- why are you using a shirt?"

"Much like your sensitive skin, my hair does not react well to certain things and towels have a tendency to be too harsh. So I use a cotton t-shirt. Like how I wear a silk scarf or a bonnet to bed. My hair has very special requirements." You tell him. The bonnets and scarves conversation had been another interesting dive into Matt's cluelessness but he was nothing if not understanding albiet a little curious about it when he'd first slept over.

"Fascinating." He muses.

"The roots are still damp in some places, it'll take a while for the whole thing to dry, but it should be dry enough for now, just- since I just washed my hair, go wash your hands before they go anywhere near it." You tell him. Matt laughs but stands up and makes his way to the sink without protest. His hands are washed and dried a few minutes later and he's back at your side, gently threading his fingers through your hair.

"It's very soft." He mutters.

"Yeah, shout out to my conditioner." You hum contently. You don't really have many opportunities to have some play with your hair this way, it's actually very soothing from the right hands apparently.

"How often do you have to do this? I can't imagine spending an hour washing your hair every other day is practical."

"That's because I don't. My hair doesn't get greasy the way straight hair does, in fact I have to put stuff in it to make sure it doesn't dry out, so I can go a lot longer than a few days without washing it."

"I should really do some research on this stuff." He hums.

"What for?" You laugh.

"Well I feel silly having to ask you these things I mean- you shouldn't have to sit here and explain how you wash your hair like I'm a child."

"I mean the answers would be slightly different for everybody so the best way to find out about me would be to ask me. Like, I wouldn't go asking Foggy about how you write an opening. You're both lawyers sure but I've seen first hand that your processes are not the same." You shrug.

"I just know that being interviewed about your haircare isn't exactly an enjoyable way for you to pass the time." He frowns dropping his hand as you sit up to cup his cheek.

"Matthew, if I ever have a problem with a question you ask me, I will be the first to tell you it bothers me- but you trying to learn about your girlfriend is not the same as microagressions in the workplace. If you cross a line I will let you know, but I was well aware there were be things you'd probably have to be taught when I decided to date you. There are lines, you haven't even approached them yet." You say looking at him intently, he can't see you but you're positive he can tell.

"You're sure?"

"Listen to my heart yourself if you don't believe me but I'm being honest with you." You say.

"I'll still do some more research on my own I think." Matt says after a moment and you can't help but chuckle.

"Suit yourself baby. For now, you can tell me about the book you listened to." You say, leaning your head on his shoulder.

"Have you not read it?"

"No I bought it for you to read." You tell him. He sighs so sweetly before he launches into a synopsis of what he read. The two of you spend the rest of the evening talking, first about the book, then about work and from there it spirals outward until you're both half asleep shuffling to your bed and falling asleep. You'll admit, dating Matt wasn't necessarily something you thought would go far as your track record with white people doesn't lean positive but you know Matt tries really hard to make sure he's the best partner he can be to you; he insists it's the very least he can do for you accepting his double lifestyle, not that you find that to be something worth complaining about, still it's something others haven't given and you do love him more for it.

***

#marvel #marvel fanfiction #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil #matt murdock x black!reader #matt murdock fluff #daredevil fluff

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silly-inky · 2 months

Text

Hiya! Hello! It's me, ya boi

Updates people Updates!

So I'm making this sort of list of things I am in the process of making or should start working on soon (or things I have yet to post about yet) with little updates about them

Dimentio drawing- this is going alright so far but is a somewhat complicated piece where I will have 2 different end results, one with his mask and one without. I'm on the shaping phase of my lineart which is usually fun for me but I decided to take a small break from it as I was put off by how much time I spent on the sketch (about 30 hours) this does not mean the piece is complicated, just that it took a while to get everything right. I will get back to drawing this soon. This is a digital drawing

You were someone to me a lifetime ago- so for those who don't know I have a fic I'm working on. I released chapter 4 last month and hope to start working on the 5th chapter this month. After the last chapter was posted I started working on the layout of the story as up until this point I was just winging it and going with the flow with not much of a plan, but I know I should have some sort of base to follow in order to keep my writing consistent and have proper flow, because of this I have planned several chapters in advance now, and those who enjoy it will be happy to know that this fic will most likely have more than 30 chapters although I cannot say what number there will be specifically. I want to try and get more chapters out in a short amount of time as I don't want to drag this out but I cannot promise anything

My writing and ideas- so as said in a previous post, I have quite a few ideas that I have had but didn't share in here either because I was too lazy, forgot, or was self conscious. I will probably start to work on a few I already have written out and start to post them, I will also start to post more headcanon posts. Because of all these ideas I have had I actually have some other things that i will be able to share, which lead into..

Mario AU- an AU ( alternate universe) of which I made sort of out of the blue by accident which I have slowly been building on and I even have some doodles to go along with the basic lore of it. What is this AU you ask? Well you'll just have to wait and see, I will say that there is definitely some role swap in which makes things very interesting

Shipping- so for some who may have guessed, I am a multi-shipper, which isn't anything new but I preface this because of me delving into these ships a bit more. For instance me drawing Dimentio has sparked a lot of Dimentio and Dimigi (Dimentio x Luigi) ideas to form and be made, I shipped it before hand but I was and still am focused on booigi. So you may very well see some Dimigi soon as well as your scheduled booigi

Please do keep in mind like I have stated many times before, I struggle with motivation a lot and it can be very difficult for me to get things done, I don't know when any of this will be finished and forcing myself to get it all finished now will only burn me out more. I'm sorry I haven't been posting a lot of content recently as I've been struggling with a few things recently, I'll try and get content out for you as soon as I can and I hope it will make up for it. I was hoping that at least by posting this you will be aware of my plans and what is currently in the works so you guys are up to date

Also I wanted to just say that I appreciate the asks so much, it really means a lot and I love answering them! I do want to add if you are one of the 2 maybe 3 people who submitted an ask a little while ago, I just want to say that I haven't forgotten about them, I wish to draw proper responses for them I just haven't gotten around to it hey, I hope to answer them soon for you though

Have some old pics of my son (ignore how pale I am)

#inky rambles

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hbyrde36 · 11 months

Text

Chapter 16!

Steve Harrington: Vampire Hunter

ao3 link

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12

Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 (Chapter 17 (final) coming soon!)

One of Wayne’s hands landed like a comforting weight on Steve's back. “It’s gonna be alright. Whatever you done, I'm sure there's a way to fix it.”

Steve let out a half hysterical bark of laughter and finally lifted his head from between his shaking hands.

“I don’t know if I can, but I have to try. Can you head downtown? I need you to drop me off somewhere.” Eddie could be anywhere. The theater, the club, or any one of the many other businesses he was involved in, but in any case they would be headed in the right direction.

Wayne nodded and made a u-turn, speeding down the road as Steve picked his phone back up off the footwell and dialed Dustin.

“Hey Steve! What’s up?”

Steve’s heartbeat picked up at the sound of the boy’s voice. How could he ever have put Dustin's safety in Henry’s hands? He felt shame wash over him like a tidal wave, for a growing number of reasons.

“Where are you right now?” Steve asked in a rush.

“Underground still, I just got up. Everything okay?”

“Is Eddie with you? I need to talk to him right away, it’s important.”

“Oh.” Dustin exclaimed, surprised. “Um, is it an emergency? Because he’s upstairs in the theater getting ready for the party and..”

Steve had no idea what party Dustin was talking about but it hardly mattered. He considered trying to talk to Eddie mind to mind, it might be faster, but he was still a few miles away, and wasn’t sure what the range was on that kind of power.

“Yes, it’s an emergency.” Steve interrupted. “No, everything is not okay, I need you to run the phone to him as fast as you can. Please hurry.”

“Shit. Okay, hang on.”

The sound that came through the phone was a bizarre mix of rapidly pounding footsteps and a whooshing so loud it was like he was standing in a wind storm. In less than two minutes the phone was being handed off, and Eddie’s familiar voice filled the line.

“Steve?” The vampire sounded almost panicked, as if he knew that only a matter of life and death would have Steve calling him like this.

“Eddie, I…” He swallowed hard. “There’s… fuck… there’s a vampire coming after you. He’s…” He trailed off again, throat tight as he struggled to tell Eddie what he’d done.

Eddie scoffed. “Is that all? Tell him to get in line behind all the others.”

“No, you don’t understand. I-” Steve took a deep breath and blew it out slow. “Eddie, I gave you up to him. I told him that you spend your daylight hours under the theater. I even gave him the layout of the place. I told him everything, everything. His name is Henry Creel and he’s the oldest thing I've ever met. Older than Billy, older than Anglea, in fact I think he’s Angela’s master. I thought…” Steve sighed, there was no point trying to explain. “It doesn’t matter what I thought, but they are working together. It’s all been a plan to trick me into betraying you and helping them, and I fell for it.”

The silence on the other end of the line was absolute, and he thought Eddie might have hung up on him. He wouldn’t have blamed him if he had.

Steve pulled the phone away from his ear to check but the call was still connected.

“Eddie?”

“You were really going to let him kill me?” Eddie breathed the words, the shock and hurt so painfully clear in his voice.

Steve’s chest began to ache. “You marked me again after I refused. I… you just kept pushing and… I was so mad at you. I… I didn't feel like I had any other choice.” He said weakly, the excuse sounding lame now even to his own ears.

Eddie cleared his throat and when he spoke again sounded a little more like his usual self. “So what changed? Why warn me now if you wanted me dead so badly?”

Steve pressed on, ignoring the way Eddie’s words hit him like a knife in the gut, though he probably deserved the pain. This was too important, he had to tell him their plan. “Henry wants to take control of the city so he can order all of your vampires to kill humans. He means for there to be a massacre tomorrow night. When we met, he told me he thought legalized vampirism was helping his kind to spread too quickly. I agreed with him but I didn't know what he meant to do. He wants vampires to be hunted again. I didn't know this was his plan to discredit them.”

“So that’s it? You are warning me now to save human lives?”

“Well, yes, but…” Steve stammered.

“This is what it took for you to believe I am the lesser evil?”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut, the pain in his chest blossoming to the point that he could hardly feel anything else. Had he just been a scared idiot this whole time?

“I’m sorry.” He whispered it so softly he wasn’t sure Eddie had even heard until he replied.

“It’s okay, Steve.” Eddie said, so much hurt and resignation carried in three simple words. “I will do what I can to save your precious humans.”

“It isn’t like that, please, I’m on my way to you now. I-” Steve cut himself off, afraid of what he was about to say. He started again. “He’s so powerful, Eddie. I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

“I’ll see what arrangements I can make. I’ll put up a good fight at the very least.”

Steve wanted to say- We! We’ll put up a good fight!- But he didn’t think his late show of support would carry much weight with the vampire now. Instead he concentrated on the first part of Eddie’s statement.

“What does that mean? Shouldn’t we just hide you or something?”

“I have an idea, if this Henry will agree to it.”

“And you’re going to do what? Negotiate with him?”

“I’m going to do the best I can with what I have. Send his number to this phone.” Eddie paused before adding. “See you soon, Steve.” Before hanging up.

Steve stared down at the blank screen wondering how the hell they were going to get out of this. He hoped Jane had something up her sleeve.

“Was that your vampire on the phone then?” Wayne prodded.

Steve didn’t bristle at the use of your vampire like he might have before.

He was tired of denying the truth, even to himself.

Look at where it had gotten him.

Look at what he’d done in his denial.

Steve nodded, throat tight. He owed Wayne an explanation, he knew that.

He started to try and talk but Wayne stopped him.

“I think I got the general idea of it, son. You don’t need to explain yourself to me.”

The older man paused, keeping his eyes on the road while he dug through his center console. He pulled out an old pack of cigarettes and shook one out, steering with his knee for a moment as he lit it. Wayne hadn’t smoked for years.

“Did I ever tell you I was adopted?”

“No…” Steve had no idea where this was coming from, or where it could possibly be going, but he wasn’t going to question the man.

“Yep.” Wayne nodded, smiling a little and gesturing with the cigarette as he spoke. “Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, the folks who raised me, they couldn't have any kids of their own. They had these neighbor’s, the Munsons, who were blessed with seven children, including a little surprise newborn me 5 years after their last. They were struggling as it was without one more mouth to feed, so the Thompson's took me in, adopted me and raised me as their own.”

Munson?

As in, Eddie Munson?

“What are you saying, Wayne?”

“I’m saying, I did a little research on my family tree, my birth family, and it turns out that your Eddie is my many-times great uncle. He didn’t have any kids of his own before he died, er well, before he was turned, but his brother did.”

“I don’t know what to say, I'm so sorry. I-”

“It’s alright. You didn’t know, and what’s done is done. I can’t really blame you for how you feel, and there was a time when I probably would have done the same thing as you. I’m not telling you all this to make you feel guilty, I’m telling you so you’ll understand that there is no way in hell you’re convincing me to sit this one out. Your Eddie might not know it, but he's my family, and I take care of my own.”

“Even though he’s a vampire?”

Wayne shrugged, peering at him sideways with a meaningful look. “Nobody’s perfect.”

Steve got the feeling they weren’t talking about his family tree any more.

Wayne blew a long plume of smoke out the window and glanced at him again. “You still think your feelings for him aren’t real?”

“Even if they were, there's a big difference between accepting the fact that your partner leaves dirty dishes in the sink or refuses to take out the trash, and accepting that they, y’know– drink blood and kill people.”

“You sure he’s killed?”

Steve gave Wayne his own look then, feeling mildly justified for it. “He’s several hundred years old and a master vampire so I'm gonna say yeah, probably."

“Okay, fair enough, but, you’ve killed too.”

“That’s different.” Steve said, immediately defensive.

“Is it?”

Was it different? Steve let himself think about it, really think about it for the first time, but how could he really judge? He didn’t know anything about Eddie’s past, had never bothered to ask. He hadn’t thought it mattered. He just assumed all these bad things about him based solely on the fact that he was a vampire.

“Okay, fine. But there's still the marks to consider and-”

“Listen, I get it Steve. Really I do, but wouldn’t it be a shame to throw away something like that if there’s a chance that it is real?”

Steve looked away. He had to. He stared out the window and watched the world go by at 70 miles an hour and wondered what he’d given up by being so close-minded. “I don’t think it matters anymore.” He muttered softly.

He had tried to get Eddie killed, and unless a miracle happened it was likely that the vampire would die at Henry’s hands. And at Steve’s by extension.

It was a hell of a time for him to start accepting his feelings, the same moment Eddie was no doubt learning to hate him in return. They might all be dead in the next twenty-four hours anyway, so maybe now wasn’t the time to be thinking about it

Wayne’s expression turned grim. “Where are we headed?”

“The Corroded Coffin.”

Steve made one more phone call before they arrived at the theater. He agonized over the idea for a few short minutes, but ultimately decided they needed all the help and firepower they could get.

He didn’t exactly trust Nancy, not after she spied on him and who knows what else, but there just weren’t that many people he knew who could go up against the monsters and win. He also knew that as much as she liked to pretend she was in this business for the money, it meant more to her than that. Nancy liked knowing she was helping people, saving people, something she hadn’t been able to do for her childhood friend.

Once he had explained what was going on, and what the city stood to lose if Eddie fell, she was fully on board, contract be damned.

Nancy had a room in the city, so she arrived at the same time he and Wayne did, and the three of them walked in together.

The whole place was fully decked out for Halloween, or more specifically for Mischief Night, or Devil’s Night as it said in dripping letters on the marquee. Even the venue’s sign had been changed for the event. A giant blood splattered sheet had been hung over it, emblazoned with the words “Hellfire Club” and a crude devil’s head logo that all looked like it had been painted by hand.

It was meant to look as though the theater had been taken over by a Satanic Cult for the night, but really it was just a show like any other. With themed cocktails, of course. The flyers for the party advertised all sorts of entertainment, from musical acts, to chainsaw jugglers, contortionists, and fire-eaters. The grand finale was to be a ritual “sacrifice” to the Devil himself.

They had to fight through a thick crowd just to make it in the doors. Steve couldn’t believe how busy it was. Only a few nights ago people had been running out of here screaming after the giant cobra had eaten its trainer. Now it was as if it never happened. Was good entertainment really that hard to come by?

Steve led the way as the three of them pushed inside. He wondered briefly if he would have to seek Eddie out, or if Max or someone else would be waiting for him, but as he crossed the threshold he heard Eddie whisper through his mind.

‘Steve?’

Even as nothing more than a disembodied voice in his head, Eddie still managed to make him shiver.

‘I’m here.’

Steve couldn’t help saying the words out loud at the same time he spoke them in his head, pushing them down the long path of their new connection. For a moment he could feel Eddie’s relief brush up against his own before the vampire’s voice sounded again.

’Meet me backstage, use the door we took to get to the snake. Hurry, there's not much time.’

Steve had stopped dead in his tracks, gripping on to Wayne’s arm as he listened, the press of bodies around them threatening to send him off balance. It was his own fault, if he hadn’t ignored these powers for so long he would be used to this kind of stuff by now and it wouldn't be so disorienting.

Wayne seemed to have caught on to what was happening but Nancy was looking at him curiously. Thankfully, she didn’t ask, just kept her head down and followed the two men as Steve pulled Wayne along behind him.

He had so many questions, but for once he didn’t stop to argue with the vampire or second guess him. If Eddie said hurry, Steve would hurry. He had no doubt he would find out what was going on soon enough.

There were two men standing on either side of the door that would lead them backstage. It took a moment for Steve to realize he recognized them, a pair of the werewolves that had fought side-by-side with him against the snake only a few nights ago. He waited for their snarls, sure that they and everyone here who called Eddie master would know what he had done, but the wolves only gave small nods of recognition and moved aside so that he and his guests could pass by.

Steve took a moment to gather himself before pushing the door open.

Eddie was in there.

Steve could feel him just on the other side, the vampire's power calling to his own, pulsing like a beacon in the dark. He took a deep breath, and prepared to face him.

The wings were filled with vampires and wereanimals, all dressed for the occasion and whatever acts they were set to be a part of tonight. Steve recognized most of them. Jeff, Argyle, and Dustin of course. The rats were all there too, Gareth and Will, his brother and their mom, Joyce, with her first aid kit once again slung over her shoulder, Grant and a few others whose name’s he didn’t know.

There was the dark skinned brother and sister pair who were once again hanging out near Max. When last he met them Steve could’t place what they were, could only feel their otherworldly energy but now he knew instantly that they were werewolves too. His power could now recognize them and their tie to Eddie.

In fact, he could feel the way they were all tied to him, could feel their loyalty to Eddie like an invisible brand and by extension to Steve as well.

If he concentrated, he could sense their people in his mind, could shuffle through them like a deck of cards.

For the wolves, he felt the steady beat of each of their pulses as though his fingers were pressed to their skin. Little flickering flames that represented the lives of each vampire who owed allegiance to them.

The rats were different, he couldn't feel them in that way, as they had no mystical bond with Eddie but they were allies, maybe even friends. That much he could discern.

It was all too much, and Steve slammed his shields harder into place. He didn’t deserve to hold these people's lives in his hands like that. He didn’t deserve to feel connected to them this way. He certainly didn’t deserve to think of himself and Eddie as if they were one, not now.

When he was no longer overwhelmed by his new abilities, Steve’s eyes found Eddie right away, and as usual the sight took his breath away.

Tonight Eddie was not just the owner of the theater, but the star of the show. The leader of the Hellfire Club turned satanic cult. He was dressed for the role, looking every bit the 80’s metalhead persona that he was trying to embody. He wore his hair down and a little more wild than he usually kept it. His black jeans were tight and ripped at the knee giving a peak of pale skin as he moved. He wore a black and white raglan shirt with the same artwork that could be seen outside printed on the front of it. A black leather jacket and an old school battle vest had been thrown over the whole thing to complete the ensemble.

It should have looked ridiculous, and on anyone else it might have, but Eddie made it work somehow. Steve hadn’t even known he was into the bad boy look, but as he stared at the vampire he felt as if he had stepped into another one of his wet dreams.

If only.

Eddie was looking back at him with just as much intensity, though his expression was unreadable. For the first time Steve wished he could feel what the vampire was feeling, to know if all of that simmering want had truly turned to hatred and disgust. He even found himself following the connection, the thread that he imagined joining the two of them together, but he was met with empty air. Eddie was shielding too, and hard.

They stared at each other unmoving for what felt like forever but couldn't have been more than a few blinks when Steve felt a little push on his back.

Wayne.

It made him take an involuntary step forward and he used that momentum to carry him closer until finally he and Eddie were face to face. Steve reached for something, anything to say. He opened his mouth, closed it again. Nothing was right, nothing was enough.

Eddie came to his rescue, again.

“Thank you, Steve, for coming, and for bringing your… friends. I’m afraid we need all the help we can get.”

“What’s happening?” Steve asked.

“Henry and I made a deal, a sort-of compromise. He agreed to battle this out with me face-to-face as long as I agreed to let the fight happen on stage in front of the public as part of the show tonight, so the masses can see what vampires are really like.”

“But, all those people, we can’t put them in danger like that.”

Eddie took Steve gently by the wrist and led him away from the rest of the group all the way past the backdrop curtain. He looked back at Wayne, concerned about leaving him alone with all these powerful strangers but the older man just gave him a nod of encouragement. He’d be fine, even now Nancy was introducing him to Dustin and Steve could see the instant fondness in Wayne's smile.

Steve wasn’t sure where they were going until Eddie opened a door that was all but hidden in the wall. It was a small storage room that mostly seemed to house different color curtains and backdrops and even a few small setpieces. Eddie waved him inside and shut the door behind them, resting his back against it as he finally replied.

“There were very few choices available to me. I raised the same concerns with your former ally and did my best to negotiate on behalf of our human audience. Henry has agreed that the bloodshed will be limited to those who join the fight on the stage.” Eddie spoke softly and Steve realized why he moved them. He didn’t want to be overheard. Something about that fact felt ominous.

Steve kept his voice low as well, aware that almost everyone outside the closet had supernatural hearing. “And you trust that he’ll follow that?”

“He gave his word, and whatever you might believe about vampires we don’t give it lightly. I think he will do what he says. He has also pledged to limit his use of certain powers. He could very likely bring this whole building down around us with a simple thought, but even he agreed that the humans would never blame that on vampires and that wouldn’t exactly help meet his goal.“

“Do we have any hope of winning here? Can we beat him?”

Eddie bowed his head for a moment then looked up at Steve with a sad smile, eyes swimming with something akin to grief as he stepped closer and reached up to tuck a stray hair behind Steve's ear.

“We.” Eddie said, laughing a little bit at himself. “For months I’ve longed to hear you refer to us as a we. I only wish it hadn’t taken such extremes to get there.” Eddie leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. “We will do our best, but I fear even that will not be enough.”

Steve couldn’t take it anymore. He didn't understand. “Why aren't you mad at me? You should hate me for what I did.”

“I could never hate you, sweetheart. I’ve always understood why you felt the way you did, I just held out hope that one day you’d change your mind. That you might, with time, understand me too and be able to accept me and the way I feel for you.”

Steve froze. “The way you felt about me, you mean? I betrayed you, tried to kill you. Surely that has…changed things.”

Eddie dropped his shields then. Not all the way, he didn’t want to overwhelm Steve, he just wanted him to taste the truth in his words. Steve knew all of that in a split second, just as he knew suddenly and without a doubt that to Eddie, this was real. It always had been. The physical attraction was there, intense and undeniable, but nestled in tightly against it was the warmth and sweetness of love. It was all laid out for him, clear as crystal. Eddie wanted Steve in every way it was possible to want another person. Mind, body, and soul.

He saw himself through Eddie’s eyes, and couldn’t believe anyone could see him like that.

As he withdrew from Steve and pulled his shields back into place, Eddie pressed a hand over his own heart like he could feel all that emotion making its way back home to be locked up tight once more.

“How could I ever feel anything but love for you, my beautiful stubborn boy.”

“Eddie, I…”

There was a knock on the door and Dustin called out from the other side of it. “I”m sorry to interrupt but, they’re here, Eddie. It’s time.” The kid’s voice shook and Steve wondered if he knew how doomed they all were.

Eddie smiled sadly at Steve. “Hold that thought, sweetheart. Whatever it is, you can tell me later, if we survive this.”

He turned to leave and Steve couldn't let that be it. Couldn’t let that be their last moment alone together if this all went south. From one breath to the next Steve let his mental walls turn to rubble and fall to the ground. Gone were the massive barriers that once stood tall between them. He’d left a crack open before, enough to hear Eddie whisper through his mind, to receive whatever Eddie might send his way but now he was wide open. Not only to Eddie but to himself. He finally opened the box, letting out all the things he’d been shoving down deep inside since the first time he laid eyes on the vampire in front of him.

Steve saw the moment it hit Eddie, all of it, how he really felt about him.

The fear was still there.

The fear of what Eddie was. The fear of losing himself to the marks. The fear of his feelings not being real, the fear if they were.

His ever present want for Eddie was there too. The desire he felt for the other man was intense, palpable, like candy on the tongue. Eddie was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, something he couldn't quite believe that he was allowed to touch.

In the middle of it all was a love that had spread like wildflowers, growing and blooming since day one, no matter how hard he fought it.

Steve grabbed Eddie by the arm and spun him back around, surging forward to crash their lips together. He used his grip on the vampire to tug him closer, until the front of their bodies were pressed tightly together. Eddie grabbed on to him too, throwing his arms around Steve's shoulders as the kiss turned desperate. Steve wound a hand into all that dark curly hair and couldn’t believe it was the first time he’d ever let himself do it. A pained sound escaped him as he realized It might also be the last.

Steve didn’t break the kiss until he was out of breath and had no choice but to pull away as a sob forced its way out of his throat. A tear spilled over, escaping his eye to roll down his cheek. Eddie cupped his face on either side and kissed it away.

Eddie rested his forehead against Steve’s. There was so much to say, but they were out of time.

“Promise me something?” Eddie whispered, his breath ghosting over Steve’s lips with the question.

“Anything.”

“If it comes down to it… if I… I need you to build those shields up again. Higher and thicker than ever before. Cut yourself off from me as thouroughly as you can, it’ll be your best chance and I… I can’t stand the thought of you feeling me die or of pulling you down with me.”

Steve let out another sob that shook his entire body. He didn’t want this. He wanted to argue, he wanted to rage, he wanted to scream that no, he would be there to the very end. He would not abandon Eddie to be alone in his final moments on this earth.

But Eddie had asked him to promise, this is what he wanted, and Steve had said anything. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak as more tears streamed down his face. Eddie kissed them all away as if he could drink down the very sorrow that caused them and eliminate it.

It was time to open the curtain, and everyone took their places.

There were two raised platforms on either side of the stage facing each other, with a large open space in between interrupted only by the sacrificial stone altar which sat dead in the center of everything.

Eddie took to the platform on their side, Henry on the other, both alone on their daises with their respective armies on the stage below.

At first glance it would seem as though Henry were severely outnumbered. He had only Owens, Jane, and Angela on his side, along with her band of teenage vampires. Four of them total, the two boys Steve and Wayne had faced on the road and another girl with dark hair that he hadn’t seen before, a contrast to Angela’s bleach blonde.

Perhaps the strangest thing though was the fact that they were all in costume. It was nearly Halloween and they were supposed to be putting on a show so Steve supposed it made some sense.

Henry himself was dressed as a southern pastor. His white dress shirt and its high collar were paired with a black jacket, pants, and wide brimmed hat. The visual was striking though of course he carried no bible and wore no cross or rosary. It was the perfect antithesis to Eddie’s Devil worshiper persona.

Owens was made up as Frankenstein’s monster and Jane had gone meta in a very classic and childlike witch’s costume. All of the vampires were all done up in 50’s poodle skirts and greaser jackets, with high ponytails, and slicked back hair respectively.

Eddie’s side of the stage, their side, was comparatively packed.

Steve, Wayne, and Nancy had all suited up in various bits of leather, denim, and metal with as many weapons as each could carry strapped to their bodies. They were dressed as what they were, vampire hunters. Dustin, Jeff, and a few others wore the same Hellfire Club shirts as Eddie, playing the parts of fellow members of the cult. The rest of the home team looked a little like circus performers, lots of spandex and glitter, whatever they had put on for the acts they’d been planning to perform before the show had turned into a war.

Eddie raised a microphone to his lips and with nothing but a subtle clearing of his throat managed to silence the crowd.

As hundreds waited with bated breath, he sent his power through the throngs of spectators, and Steve was along for the ride. He felt Eddie’s influence even as he was unaffected by it. He projected calm into the audience with the suggestion for everyone to remain in their seats no matter what they might see or hear tonight. It was all just a show, after all. It wasn’t done with words, it was a feeling, a planted instinct. Most people wouldn’t even know it was happening but they would follow the subconscious hint to the tee.

“Welcome to Hellfire!” Eddie raised his arm high above his head as he belted the words out.

The crowd went wild. Applause, shouts, and whistles could be heard all around the theater, with many of the patrons even screaming Eddie’s name.

He hushed the crowd and again they complied almost instantly. “You have all come here for a party this evening, for a show unlike any other and I'm sorry to say that our plans for you have changed.”

There were a few grumbles of disappointment, but not much. Apparently the audience trusted that Eddie knew what he was doing, maybe even thought that this was all planned.

“Fear not my friends because tonight you will see something even more entertaining, more dangerous and terrifying than any act of fire or blades. Tonight you will bear witness to a battle for your very lives and for the soul of this city that we all call home.”

He paused again, seeming to bask in the applause that rolled over him from the adoring masses. Steve knew better. He was still wide open to Eddie, and Eddie to him, and he could feel the fear, panic, and dread that threatened to overwhelm him even as he put on this act for everyone else. Eddie looked down from his place on the platform and caught Steve's eye. They exchanged no words, no whispers in the mind, it would hurt too much. But it was there plainly in Eddie's eyes.

Hopelessness.

He looked away from Steve and back out into the crowd as he finished his speech.

“On this, our beloved Devil’s night, the monsters of this city will fight to the death to retain control of it. If we win, then life as you know it will carry on as peaceful as before. If our enemies win, there will be chaos and bloodshed in the streets. They will feed on every innocent human in this city until they are drained dry and lifeless.”

Thunderous applause spread through the theater again. Steve couldn't believe people were buying this, couldn’t they feel the tension on stage?

A second microphone appeared. This one in Henry’s hands as he took his own turn to address the audience. “Tonight, humans, you will learn a valuable lesson. Vampires cannot be tamed, and the monsters are not your friends. It was foolish to think that you could live next to us in peace without consequences. We are dangerous, we are killers, and we will destroy all of you if you let us in. By the end of the night I believe you will all wish to return to the days where creatures like us were hunted, forced to hide in the dark. Please believe me when I say, I am doing all of this for your own good. You will all die someday, would it not be better for your deaths to mean something? To contribute to a better life for future generations?”

The applause was a little more scattered this time, some folks were confused on how to react to the strangers words. Steve turned away, he couldn’t worry about the crowd anymore, didn't want to watch himself fail through the audience's eyes or see their reactions to the very real carnage that was about to happen.

Nothing after the speeches had been planned. It was a battle like any other. Wild and violent.

And they were losing.

In the beginning Steve had run around like a madman, trying to keep his eye on everyone he cared about most all at once, but it was impossible to keep them all in his sights. He was unsurprised to see that Wayne had taken up a post next to Dustin. The kid was a vampire, but an inexperienced fighter. Between the two of them though, with Dustin’s power and Wayne’s skill, Steve had to let it go, and trust that they could keep each other alive.

He lost track of Nancy next, she was taking on Jake and Chad at the same time and had just managed what Steve hoped was a killing blow on one of them when the other female vampire, the one with the dark hair, tackled her and the two disappeared having rolled past the many other one-on-one and two-on-one fights that were happening all across the space.

Steve himself had taken a special interest in Angela. Apart from Henry, she was the most dangerous thing on the stage and therefore his number one target. Jane might have given her a run for her money given the chance, but the young girl was still playing at being on Henry’s side for now.

She was going easy on them though, Steve could tell. He watched her just long enough to make sure she wouldn't hurt any of his people and realized that she wasn’t attacking anyone so much as defending herself when one of the wolves or rats got too close. He had thought about warning Eddie and the others that the witch was on their side but he was afraid of blowing her cover too soon.

Steve managed to hold his own against Angela far better than he had the last time, no doubt having the third mark to thank for that, but somewhere along the line he got distracted by a slashing pain in his chest. He looked down expecting to see himself sliced up and bloody, but he was fine, and Angela wasn’t even holding a blade.

He looked up at Eddie’s platform just in time for it to happen again. The front of Eddie’s shirt had been sliced open, revealing the wounds underneath. This time Steve saw as well as felt it when whatever power that was cutting him like an invisible knife split his skin open again, sending blood spurting from his chest.

Confused, Steve looked to Henry and found him focused on Eddie with a hand thrown out in front of him, curled like a claw. The air between them shimmered with power, like heat coming off a raging fire. Steve was working on nothing but gut instinct as he raised his own hand in a mirror of Henry’s and directed every inch of hate he had at the other man. He mimicked Henry’s own motions, copied his use of power and felt a surge of triumph when he saw red blossom across the ancient vampire's chest.

He hadn’t known he could do that.

His victory was short lived as a second later he found himself falling to the ground with Angela on top of him. She stared down as she held him in place. He struggled in her hold but as strong as he now was, still she was stronger. He didn’t understand what was happening at first, she wasn’t trying to hurt him, just keep him there. Then her eyes burned with hazel fire. He looked into them defiantly, he was three marks in and very confident that she couldn’t roll him anymore, but that wasn’t what she was trying to do. The two points of light grew larger and moved closer to Steve’s face though Angela herself hadn’t moved.

He suddenly remembered the car, all those months ago when similar lights appeared in the color of Eddie’s eyes and had moved towards him in much the same way.

No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening.

No matter how hard Steve twisted and bucked and screamed in her face, he couldn’t get away from the blonde menace above him.

When her second mark hit him, Steve knew he was in deep shit. He felt his connection to Eddie dull, like the volume had been turned down, and he had the desperate urge to check on him. He resisted, because he knew it would be stupid to look away from the threat currently pinning him to the floor.

Because Angela wasn’t done with him. It sounded silly in retrospect but he’d almost expected her to let him go when the second mark was done. Before he could even react she had swooped down and sunk fangs into the side of his neck.

Steve had been unconscious when Eddie gave him the third mark, yet somehow he knew that was exactly what Angela was doing to him now. She drank but she didn’t take from him. It was an exchange. As she sipped his blood it was replaced in turn by her power and his body vibrated with it.

For a second he could feel both vampires in his head equally. If he had thought it was disorienting before, when he only held one other presence in his mind, this was a million times worse. He had no sense of himself, or where he was in relation to the world. For a terrifying moment he couldn’t feel his physical body at all.

When Steve came back to himself, Eddie was screaming his name. He opened his mouth to reply, to scream back, but suddenly he had a mouthful of bloody fingers. Somewhere in all this Angela had managed to bleed herself and she was force feeding it to him now.

A few drops and that was all it took. The fourth mark clicked into place and Eddie was lost to him for good. In his place was the twisted mind of a girl who had died young and yet had also lived for far too long.

Finally she let Steve go, believing that with the fourth mark he was now hers. With them bound together for eternity she was confident that he would fall in line. Steve worked to control his thoughts, his feelings, at the same time he started to rebuild his walls piece by piece.

Angela stood and offered him a hand up. He accepted it and even thanked her. He would have to be nicer to her now that they were tied. He would never grovel and apologize and he could feel that she didn't want him to. She liked that he had his pride, but he would have to prove himself to her somehow.

Now that Steve was on his feet he could see that Eddie had been brought down from his place on his platform and was being laid out across the stone table in the center of the stage. He was covered in blood and didn’t fight back. He was barely alive, and though Henry and Owens stood over him on either side, they didn't even bother to hold him down.

“What’s going on?” Steve asked Angela, though the answer was obvious.

“You will stake Eddie through the heart of course! To show the world how well Henry can control something that once belonged to him.”

“What?”

“Henry thinks he can control you through controlling me.”

Steve could feel how angry she was at the idea. She hated that Henry was stronger than her, more powerful. She'd gotten his far, and for what? Still living under the thumb of a man. She didn't want to be his ally and was only with him because she was afraid of him.

It gave Steve an idea that he was careful not to think all the way through. Angela smiled at him brightly, reading his plan in his thoughts, and the two of them walked to the table together.

“Steve.” Henry greeted him warmly. “Don’t worry, you are already forgiven for your cold feet. It’s understandable. I have to say, it is lovely to see you accepting your new place with us so readily. Come, I have one more task for you.” Henry held out a stake, intricately carved out of hardwood with vines and roses etched all over it, and handed it to Steve.

“You have gotten what you wanted. Angela has freed you from your old master. Now, all that is left to do is finish him off so that we can return the world to the way that it was meant to be.”

Steve gripped the stake tightly in his fist as he moved to the other side of the table, placing himself next to Owens so he could look Eddie in the eye one last time. The vampire’s once beautiful face was badly battered and bruised, but still he smiled when Steve’s face came into view.

Steve’s own expression was impassive, his mind carefully blank save for one thought.

He raised the stake high above his head and brought it down hard, angling it at the last second to send it not into Eddie’s chest, but Owens’.

Steve’s aim was true and the point of the stake sank home. Owens toppled backwards and Steve rode to the floor with him, pushing the wood in further and twisting, not letting up until the only thing coming out of the man's mouth were gurgles of blood.

He left the stake in place and drew one of the long knives that had been strapped to his back. He rounded on Henry ready for a fight, but he found it wasn’t necessary.

Henry was staring at Owens, watching as he died on the floor and was clearly struggling, likely using all of his power to try and keep himself from going down with his servant. Steve had used the same tactic with Billy. Killing Heather had made her master easier to take down. But Henry was far more powerful than Billy could have ever dreamed of being.

Luckily Jane was there using her own magic to hold the ancient vampire in place and dampen his abilities. Angela joined her, using her physical strength to drive Henry to his knees as Steve approached. He thought only of killing Henry as he shoved the blade through the blonde man’s chest. He pulled the knife out only to shove it back in swiftly again at a different angle, to make sure that the heart was completely destroyed.

“You did it!” Angela squealed. “I knew you could do it! Together we will be unstoppable!”

Steve smiled at her and thought of what he would have to do to make sure Henry stayed dead, removing his head, burning his body and maybe even scattering the ashes. He imagined all of that as he locked eyes with Jane, praying she would understand what he was about to do and help the others when it was done.

He removed the knife from Henry’s chest one more time, but instead of slamming it back in, he kicked the man’s weakened form out of the way and stuck it between Angela's ribs all in one fluid motion.

He felt searing pain in his own chest as the blade sliced through her heart, but he didn’t let up, he didn’t stop. He stabbed her over and over until he could no longer feel the handle in his hand over the screaming agony in his body. The mental walls he had been trying to rebuild without Angela’s notice were woefully inadequate to shield him from this.

He remembered his promise to Eddie and tried to keep rebuilding them. Eddie had thought that if Steve shielded hard enough he might survive. But that had been with three marks, not four. Still, he tried. He didn’t want to die, but if that was the price he had to pay to protect those he loved, he would do it gladly.

Steve opened his eyes, unaware that he’d even closed them and found that he was lying on the ground writhing in paint next to Angela's prone body.

He looked around wildly trying to find Eddie. He had to tell him before he died. He had to tell him so many things. That he was sorry, he was so sorry. Had he ever really apologized? He couldn’t remember, everything was getting fuzzy around him, blurry.

Something landed hard close to him. Steve tried to turn his head and look, it was a struggle but he managed and was so grateful when he did because it was him.

It was Eddie.

He’d rolled himself off the stone table trying to get to Steve and was even now crawling closer.

“Steve!” Eddie’s voice was weak and it broke on the single word.

Steve wished they could still whisper through each other's minds, so he could tell him…

“... ’m sorry.” Steve choked out.

He could feel himself fading fast. He was so cold.

“Don’t.” Eddie said, coughing up blood in the process.

“I…” Steve tried to force the words but they wouldn’t come.

He felt a hand on his forehead, and another come to rest on his chest. He couldn’t bring himself to care who it was. Wouldn’t dream of looking away from Eddie at this moment.

It was growing all dark around him but there was a warmth growing in his chest that was soothing and pleasant. He realized that at some point the pain had stopped too.

He felt like he was floating.

Steve’s eyes fell closed, he wasn’t strong enough to keep them open any more.

There was a lot of shouting. He couldn’t understand a word but he hoped everyone else was okay.

The last thing he felt before he passed out was a cool hand sliding into his, fingers entwined.

Chapter 17 (final)

Thanks forever to @penny00dreadful for being the best friend, cheerleader, and beta in the whole fucking world💜

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