#just a bit of self imposed torture

[tipsywench]

ive been forcing myself to wear the wrong prescription eyeglasses all week because I thought I just needed time to adjust to them :(

even the eye doctor was like, "yea no you shouldve come in sooner"

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

famous last words, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader, very brief mention of namjoon x reader

summary: Words that should be written in your obituary but probably won't be: “How the fuck did I get myself in this situation?” Clever, right? No? Neither is fucking a stranger who bursts into tears within the first ten minutes of meeting each other. Ah. Well. Guess those will be your famous last words.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; what should be a simple task ends with fucking no one saw that coming, hehe, get it?; mentions of infidelity / recent break-up / JK crying Q_Q; angst + comfort; smut (fem reader, dom!reader x sub!JK, nipple play, scratching, hair-pulling kink, cock-and-ball torture (dick slapping, ball slapping / squeezing, etc), m-receiving oral, handjob, spit kink, edging / orgasm denial, 69); non-idol!AU, ft next-door neighbor!Kim Namjoon

--

Somebody much wiser than you once said, don’t speak into existence the truth, for it will inevitably prove you right sooner rather than later, or something equally as pompous-sounding, but clearly you never got the memo as you rotted away on your sofa, staring at the red bubble of your unread messages, muttering under your breath, “Surely not every social interaction I have will end in sex,” and yet you still did not open the application. You were saying this to absolutely no one, by the way. You were the only occupant in your apartment.

Some would say by choice.

You would agree wholeheartedly.

What?

Before you could get on that mental hamster wheel, your phone started vibrating in your hand. For a split second, you debated on not answering it, however, the caller was listed under his full name in your phone. That meant it was either your boss or someone of equal importance. Or someone who would not be calling unless it was rather serious. Thus, with a sigh, you pressed the green button to accept the call with a bland, noncommittal, “Hello?”

Depending on the nature of the call, you would decide on how currently busy you were.

“Ah, hello! I’m so sorry to be calling right now,” came the slightly frantic and strangely relieved voice of Kim Namjoon, you next-door neighbor. He fumbled with the words and asked if it was, in fact, you, to which you confirmed, “Unfortunately, still alive and kicking.” This made him laugh for some reason. Perhaps it was your dry delivery. Or because he was nervous, which was a hilarious thought, as Namjoon was over one-hundred eighty centimeters tall with imposing broad shoulders and the chest of an ox. He had said something before about how he used physical exercise as a coping mechanism. For what? Impeding existential crisis from being highly educated? A question of another time.

You snapped out of your sidetracking as Namjoon said, “I was going to text you but then I remembered you said if it was important to call instead.”

You recalled the angry red bubble of unread messages. “Yes, the call was the right move,” you agreed. “Is something wrong? Have you locked yourself out of your apartment again?”

Indeed, there was a reason you had Kim Namjoon’s number. Because despite his towering frame and heavy canvas bags full of self-help books, you had previously found him sitting outside his apartment, looking like a dejected puppy, said canvas bags tucked around him, his pockets inside-out. At first, you weren’t going to ask – quite frankly you weren’t about the people-person life – but it would be a bit weird to just ignore the giant dejected puppy slouched against the unit next to yours. So, you inwardly sighed and walked up to him, asking why he was camping out at his front door.

He had locked himself out.

You nearly facepalmed. This late at night? Of course, the leasing office wasn’t open at this hour. Security didn’t have keys to the tenants’ apartments for safety reasons. You had debated on leaving him there, but it was too late, you had already asked what was wrong and now Kim Namjoon was doing that polite thing of saying he didn’t want to be any trouble, that he would be fine, and before you could remember to be rude, you had invited a stranger into your apartment to rot on your sofa, at least until the next morning when someone could let him into his apartment. Foolishly brave on your part. He could have been a serial killer. Could have bludgeoned you to death with those bags of books, which, considering the current trajectory of the world…

Never mind.

In any case, you didn’t feel threatened. Namjoon had those soulful eyes and double cheek dimples when he smiled, so the probability of homicidal psychosis was pretty low. And you were right. He was just forgetful. How he stayed alive this long was beyond you. Namjoon was the most incapable capable person you had ever met. He was a whiz with public transportation, bus and train. Had a bicycle when he needed it. He didn’t own a car for the good of the people (his words). The second time he had locked himself out, you had joked to Namjoon that he fuckin’ owed you. The third time, you had forced him to make you an extra key and gave him your number so he could call you to let him into his own apartment. He had felt like he owed you and, even though you told him that it would be more than enough if he simply learned to remember his damn apartment key for once, he had taken you out to dinner to make up for it, which surely explained how you ended up in bed with him the next morning.

Listen.

It wasn’t that serious. Really. There was nothing brewing here except wine-induced impulse and a why-the-fuck-not attitude. But all that might explain the awkward laughing. Not because anyone was harboring any secret feelings, just mostly because he was about to ask you for a weirder favor. Sucking his dick again would probably be a more expected ask than what he was about to say next.

“Ahaha, no, um…”

You could hear loud thump-thump noises on the other side of the line. No, not familiar thump-thump noises. You frowned. Was that the boom-boom of bass?

“Actually, I’m by the coast right now. I’m at a welcome party for a wedding of one of my closest friends. Er, what I mean to say is that I’m not close to my apartment right now,” Namjoon rambled, making you stretch your ears to understand. “I’m a couple hours away by train, it’s late, I thought about maybe trying to make it to and back, but I–”

“With all due respect,” you interrupted, realizing he was tipsy, over-polite, and overexplaining. “Can you tell me what you need me to do?”

“Ah, sorry, sorry,” his deep voice quickly apologized. “Could you open the door for my friend when he drops by?”

You raised your eyebrows. “Sure, I guess.”

Before you could ask what said friend looked like, Namjoon let out a whoosh of relief. “Oh, thank you. Thanks a lot. Um, if you could…? Please be nice to him.”

“Have you known me to be a rude person?” you inquired impassively.

He glossed over your question like a champ. “It’s… Complicated. He found out tonight his longtime girlfriend was cheating on him. I wish I could be there. He might not seem like it, but I know he’s very emotional right now. I told him to crash at my place, but if something seems amiss, please let me know, okay? I’m worried about him. I thought about going back, but I’m in the wedding party and…”

Despite everything within you being completely and utterly disinterested in babysitting a grown man with hurt feelings and probably a temporary poor perspective of women, your mouth was saying, “I’ll take care of it, Namjoon. And I will call you if I think it is necessary. You know I won’t let anything get out of hand. What’s his name? What does he look like?”

Twenty minutes later of you standing in Kim Namjoon’s beige apartment inspecting his rather impressive bonsai collection – something you had sadly missed the last time you were here as the living room was not the focus of the night – you heard the panicked smashing of the doorbell, indicating your visitor. You put a little more perk in your step and hurried to the door, opening it to the blubbering mess that was Jeon Jungkook.

You stared at him.

He stared at you.

From your side, you were looking at a rather disheveled man with wide bloodshot eyes, puffy cheeks, and windswept ear-length black hair clutching two big silver suitcases and a huge black duffel bag that looked like he had stuffed every skeleton of his closet into it. He was wearing a big white t-shirt with a big wet spot down the collar, torn-up slate blue jeans that appeared to have come that way, and untied white sneakers that had seen the streets of Seoul way too many times. As Namjoon had informed you earlier, his right arm was covered in dark and colorful tattoos, all the way to his hand, including a crown on his index finger. His big, dark brown eyes were pools of hurt and sadness that quickly twisted into confusion as he saw you. You suddenly realized how this looked to him. From his side, the door of one his best male friends had opened to a woman wearing flared black pajama shorts and a loose white tank top with a single red chili pepper embroidered in the center of the chest.

Which could mean a lot of things.

Or nothing.

“Jeon Jungkook?” you asked as a greeting.

“Uh… Y-Yeah…”

His voice cracked and he shook like a shaken leaf in the last days of autumn.

You waved him in. “Namjoon-ah let me know to expect you. Come in.”

He hesitated. Reasonably so. His ears were red, maybe from running, but a deep flush was developing on his cheeks. You could tell he was feeling somewhat embarrassed about it all. He had a youth about him, both in naïveté and in the anxiety of being ashamed at his emotional state. You softened. You didn’t comment on it. Instead, you said, “I’ll make you some tea. The bathroom is around the corner if you would like to freshen up. Don’t stand out here.”

There was a flash of defiance in his gaze, but it died when you didn’t react in a hostile manner. You simply moved out of the way, holding the door open for him. After an awkward shuffle and dance, Jeon Jungkook and his excessive amount of luggage was in the apartment. You closed the front door behind him, locking it.

“Did…”

His voice cracked. Distraught, he looked away and you politely stared vacantly in the other direction. A little part of you had wondered if Namjoon had put you in an unsafe situation – after all, you knew him but not his friends – yet upon seeing Jungkook, you were getting domestic pet vibes again. Puppy, or perhaps the big-eyed, trembling upper lip expression was giving bunny. He didn’t seem dangerous. Maybe you were being too trusting. Eh. Only one way to found out.

“Did Namjoon-hyung tell you…?”

Your eyes flickered to him. He was staring down at the floor. Damn. You could tell he was trying to put on a brave front as if his face wasn’t splotchy and his t-shirt wasn’t soaked in tears, but it was weak. Broken. He might be a stranger, but his current state was familiar enough to anyone who had experienced crushing disappointment. That was a lot of people, including you.

“That you were staying a while? Yup. Although he didn’t tell me where the spare towels were,” you added distractedly, crossing your arms. “He just told me you could use anything. But now that I think about it, you wouldn’t want to use his bath towel, no matter how close you two are. Hmmmm. I’ll go looking while you get settled then.”

“Are you… his girlfriend?”

You stiffened. You glanced at Jungkook, who was giving you a scrutinizing and halfway-jealous glare. You grimaced, shaking your head.

“No, I’m not. I’m the next-door neighbor. Which, contrary to what bad porn storylines might lead you to believe, does not equate to relationship material. Just a convenient person to ask to keep your spare house key when you constantly forget it,” you lightheartedly replied. “Which is a lot of the time, when you’re Kim Namjoon.”

Jungkook relaxed a bit, but he was still giving you that guarded expression. You realized he must have noticed that you were using rather familiar terms for Namjoon, which was the natural progression after the whole getting naked and sixty-nine-ing incident that he was very likely unaware of. Uh. You sort of hoped he would accept the neighbor explanation, because there was truly not much more to it. You probably wouldn’t have even done it if Namjoon hadn’t spoken so miserably about his last breakup, how he had felt so unloved and like he never mattered, and maybe you had been trying to convince him he did matter, even if only for a fleeting moment, which said a lot about your preferred coping mechanism versus his.

But.

Anyway. Haha. This wasn’t going to become a pattern. Surely.

Ahem.

“I’m sorry…”

You blinked. “Pardon?”

The not-so-strange stranger clutched his duffel bag, fidgeting, his face scrunching up, unable to look directly at you. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this,” Jungkook shuddered, tensing up. His shaking voice struggled to hold itself together. “I… It’s late… I couldn’t… I drove, my parents live in Busan, dunno if I could… I didn’t want to trouble… I’m so worthless…”

“You drove in this state?” you cut in sharply. You snapped your jaw shut, not wanting to scold him. His face looked stricken. Well, you’d been called heartless before, but you didn’t claim the title yourself. You calmed your tone. “Hey, I’m not here to judge you. Look, you don’t have to tell me anything. This is a safe place. I’m just here to prepare you a cup of hot tea. Maybe heat up some hotteok if I can find any in the freezer. Or I can leave you alone, right now, if you promise not to do anything stupid before your friend comes back.”

For a moment, Jungkook didn’t say anything. He was taller, bigger, more muscular than you, but he seemed small right now. The world stilled.

“Be honest… Do I seem like a pathetic man?” he asked in a broken whisper.

You looked at his frail form and answered rather confidently.

“Do pathetic men have the self-awareness to call themselves pathetic?”

Those big bloodshot eyes rose to meet your wry smile.

“Just be sad in peace. Emotions are not an attack on your masculinity.”

You spotted the flash of defiance once again. “What would you know?” Jungkook snapped. Then you could tell he instantly regretted it, shrinking back slightly. He didn’t apologize though. You waited. Minutes passed. The timing became awkward. His eyes shifted, lips quivering, trying to get the words out. You thought about forcing it out of him, but you let him have this one.

“I’m not against you,” you reminded him quietly.

“S… Sorry,” he mumbled, staring at the floor. “It’s… My girlfriend… um, ex… ex-girlfriend. Cheated on me.”

You could tell it hurt him to even say it out loud. His voice was thick and on the brink of tears.

“I… I was going to ask her to…”

He fell apart before your eyes.

“…To m-marry me.”

Jungkook sank to the floor and cried.

You didn’t know what to do.

Well, you did know what to do. It was a matter of whether or not to do it. You had only known Jeon Jungkook for less than ten minutes after all. You hadn’t even known he existed until barely thirty minutes ago. And you didn’t know if he wanted to be consoled by an almost stranger, as he had been holding back this entire time, albeit poorly and without experienced restraint, but who could blame him, his world as he had known it had fallen apart less than an hour ago.

Yeah.

His world as he had known it had fallen apart less than an hour ago.

It was entirely possible that Jungkook would recoil from you, and validly so. You knelt anyway, not yet saying anything. It was pointless to tell him not to cry, for he was already crying. Hell, you would cry too if your innocence was still intact. Deep down, you were glad that he was. It showed that he still believed enough to shed tears over a moment called love. Besides, sadness was better than misplaced anger.

You reached towards him and experimentally placed your hand on his shoulder.

What should have felt solid felt so very breakable under your palm.

“You don’t have to say any more,” you reminded him quietly.

His face was buried in his duffel bag, covered by his arms. A sob ravaged his entire body, possessing him with emotion. Frustration and sadness and regret and shame and self-blame, maybe warranted, maybe not. He was saying something, wetly, something about being not enough, not deserving, unable to make anyone stay. It was a jumbled, anguished mess. You didn’t refute any of his cries, because they were more for him than they were for you to respond to, and because you weren’t even sure he meant to be this vulnerable. You were sure that, at some point in the future, he would no longer relate to any of the statements he was declaring now, but he just didn’t know and couldn’t believe that yet so there was no point in saying it now.

You weren’t good at this kind of stuff, but you simply said what you told yourself when you were in a similar low point.

“These might be your consequences, but these consequences don’t have to define who you are.”

It was several more minutes of sniffing and clutching his duffel bag. You could tell the tears were subsiding though. It could have been what you said. Or it could have been him remembering you were there next to him. A woman he didn’t know was witnessing his breakdown. You almost pulled your hand away, but you sensed a ripple of discomfort in his demeanor, as if to ask, are you ashamed of me? The thought stayed in your mind. You shifted your hand and gently rubbed his upper back.

“Why don’t you take a shower?” you suggested softly, not leaning too close but close enough to be there as a physical presence. “Get into some fresh clothes. I’ll find a towel for you. Take your time. If you still want that cup of tea, I’ll be here to get that ready too.”

It was not your nature to give s single shit about a stranger.

It didn’t seem to be Jeon Jungkook’s nature to accept help either, and yet you felt those strong shoulders slump under your palm, giving up.

“O… Okay….”

-

You rapped your knuckle against the bathroom door.

“Hey, I’m going to put the towel by the sink and leave,” you called, hopefully loud enough to be heard over the falling water. “Take your ti–”

Everything happened very quickly.

You turned the knob with one hand as the other was holding the fluffy white bath towel you had found in the linen closet. Steam poured from the crack through the door, and you felt the heat before you felt the dampness of it. You heard the water shut off. You froze. And then, all of a sudden, the door was yanked open from the other side, revealing a dripping, wide-eyed, unquestionably naked Jeon Jungkook.

You stared at him.

He stared at you.

Was it something about doors or was it something about your poor timing? Perhaps he hadn’t heard you. You were looking up, at his face, by instinct. Droplets clung to his cheekbone and jaw. His black hair was flat against his head and did absolutely nothing in blocking those big dark brown pools of shock who really should not be shocked since he had opened the door on you. Unless he hadn’t known. But then why would he open the door trailing water everywhere butt-ass-naked knowing full well a stranger was somewhere on the other side?

Your eyes narrowed.

His ears were turning red.

The more you looked at his expression, the less you felt that he was inclined to move, hide himself, or literally anything else that would obviously provide the perception that he didn’t orchestrate this moment to some extent. Which is a lot of words to say – he had known you were there. He had opened the door on purpose. As this epiphany dawned on you, you saw his eyes dart. Flutter. He might have known but he hadn’t planned much else after that. You wondered what kind of reaction he had been trying to illicit by this, but the more time that elapsed and the more you thought about it, the more you understood that he was trying to do something reckless on purpose or worse.

Which would make you unintentional – or intentional – collateral to his current skewed judgement.

You didn’t like that.

You unfurled the towel and held it up lengthwise, pinching it by the two upper corners and continued directly staring into Jungkook’s face. With this action, he clearly caught on that you were catching on.

You saw him hold his breath.

You did not look down.

Oh, there were definitely things to look at. Even the hint of his defined shoulders and the toned upper half of his pecs was enough to give anyone a reason to look. But you didn’t, because that was basically the same as taking advantage of a drunk person. Although you didn’t really have qualms about giving the middle finger to other faux pas, questionable consent wasn’t one of them. He wasn’t thinking straight right now or, rather, you had no reason to believe that he was thinking straight because who the fuck is trying to sex up their friend’s next-door neighbor that they just met? He had just been cheated on.

So.

For revenge?

You pressed the corners of the towel to Jungkook’s wet shoulders and curled your fingers around them, touching his skin.

His inhale caught.

He stared into your eyes.

You dummy bunny, you thought.

His body was warm, and he was trembling. You still didn’t look down. You probably would have seen some things. Or one very obvious tent. In any case, you leaned in, not breaking eye contact. Jungkook seemed to realize that your approach was not giving what he thought he was going to be getting. Strangely, you could see a mixture of relief and disappointment in his expression. As if he was glad that you weren’t that kind of person, but also upset that the mere sight of his bare-and-available body couldn’t break your demeanor, somehow making him less in his own eyes.

This wasn’t your first rodeo, though. You’d seen all this shit before.

Maybe even been on his side of it.

Teenagers, right? No? Oh. Anyway.

He smelled clean. Herbal. A hint of yuzu. You synchronized your breathing to his. He didn’t seem to notice, but the shallowness waned. Dampness seeped to your palms. You felt him relax slightly, realizing you weren’t about to have an angry outburst at his appearance or his choice of, ahem, confrontation.

You stared into his eyes.

“You look better when you’re not crying,” you commented.

Jungkook flushed a little. There was good-naturedness in his awkward laugh though. “Uh… Thanks? I’d… I’d hope so…”

Your face was close to his. He seemed to notice it now. You let him have this suspended moment of heated wonder. You smiled at him.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” you asked.

A borrowed towel hung between his wet, naked body and your dry, clothed one.

His eyes held more life to them than before. “Ah… Yeah. Yes. If… If it’s not too much trouble,” he trailed off, embarrassment creeping into the timbre of his voice. “I don’t know… I dunno if there’s any hotteok.”

You held the edges of the towel. “I’ll look,” you reassured him.

He wasn’t looking away.

Your hair was messy from laying around all evening. You weren’t wearing any makeup because, again, it was evening and you weren’t expecting to leave your home. Your face might have been puffy from the salty soup of your dinner earlier in the night but, then again, there was always a little roundness to your cheeks. But Jungkook was observing your face very closely, and you were starting to think it wasn’t because of your appearance.

Or maybe it was.

You cut into his personal space just a little bit more.

“You need to hold onto the towel,” you advised.

Realization lit his ears bright red. You sensed his hands flying up, splaying over the soft white towel and pinning it to his chest, but you weren’t focused on that. You barely noticed. Instead, you were raising your eyebrows at the sound that came out of him.

Almost.

A whimper?

The moment hung into the air.

He knew you heard. You were still holding onto his shoulders. It wasn’t weird. You caught the look in his eyes. Well. You breathed out silently, backing away so he couldn’t feel the weight of your exhale. You had a task. Right. Your eyes connected for a split second. He saw something in yours that you didn’t conceal fast enough. You turned quickly, walking out of the hallway. Here you were, going out of your way for someone you barely knew. Make the tea, find a snack, get out, you told yourself, creating the mental checklist. He probably wanted to be alone to brood and all that. Yeah.

You made your way to the kitchen. Raised your hand to open the cupboards to begin your search for consumable comfort and noticed you were trembling. You frowned.

You smacked the back of your hand.

The shakes disappeared with the sting.

“For fuck’s sake,” you muttered, and prepared the damn cup of tea.

-

Thankfully, the following encounter with Jeon Jungkook didn’t involve a door and an awkward stare-down. You were beginning to think it was going to become a pattern, but thankfully it was only correlation, not causation.

Instead, now the two of you were awkwardly at Kim Namjoon’s kitchen counter. Him sitting. You standing. He was staring at the cup of tea and two circles of pan-warmed hotteok with tears in his eyes.

Improvement.

You cleaned up after yourself quietly, not wanting to make him more uncomfortable by you watching him eating, but you noticed he wasn’t touching the food or drink. After what seemed like an eternity of gazing into the abyss, he gulped down a lungful of air and closed his eyes. He was wearing a faded black t-shirt and a pair of loose blue plaid cotton pants. His hair was still a little damp. As you washed the frying pan, you saw Jungkook scoot closer to the counter and nibble on the hotteok.

Whew.

He jolted a bit at the temperature of the tea but didn’t complain. You wiped down the counters and busied yourself in making sure everything was how you found it. Acquainting yourself with Namjoon’s kitchen was easier than acknowledging the heaviness in the room right now. Not quite between you and Jungkook, but, well, the circumstances in him being here in the first place.

You turned around, washcloth in hand.

Jungkook turned slightly, reached down, and pulled his hand up.

Your eyes immediately followed the movement, even before your registered the emotion in his eyes.

With a sharp snap, a small jewelry box now sat on the grey granite.

Namjoon’s kitchen was set in a C-shape. The refrigerator and stove on one wall, sink and cabinets on another, and an extension entering the living space that doubled as more countertop area that could accommodate two barstools. You had been a little surprised at how little there was in the kitchen, as there had been no special kitchen gadgets or appliances. Just the basics. Still, it was a small space. So, there you were, boxed in the kitchen, looking down at an emerald velvet jewelry box, and Jungkook was on the other side of the counter, chewing on his sweet snack, and looking down at it with you.

You glanced at him.

Emotionless, he reached over. The snake tattoo on his right wrist was what you fixated on, dark and winding and coiled, and you watched his forearm muscle underneath ripple as he cracked open the box, revealing a ring.

An engagement ring, you guessed.

He sat back, hollow.

You looked down at it.

The focal point was a round, clear stone. It didn’t quite hold the intense, prismatic sparkle of diamond, but it was large. Several carats mounted on a shining yellow gold band. Expensive, yet not extravagant or gaudy. Classic. You searched Jungkook’s body language to see if he wanted some type of reaction out of you, but he simply looked deflated. Out of it. Chewing and swallowing and taking another bite until all of the hotteok was gone. He drank the tea as the engagement ring glittered between you and him, now in Namjoon’s apartment, oblivious that it would never grace the hand of its intended owner.

“I hid it in the pocket of the pajama pants I’m wearing now.”

You almost didn’t register that Jungkook was talking because he sounded nearly robotic. Dissociated.

“I didn’t have to worry about her finding it. I always did the laundry. She hated doing laundry.”

You lived alone, so whether or not you hated doing laundry was irrelevant. You still had to do it. Hating it only made the chore worse. Hating doing the dishes was allowed because the dishwasher could do all the hard work for you. Not that any of this mattered. You were trying to mentally distract yourself to avoid interrupting him or forming any opinion.

“I didn’t mind though,” he continued, looking somewhere only he knew. “I like cleaning. I’m good at it.”

You weren’t sure if you liked this version of Jeon Jungkook speaking in complete sentences. His detached tone was becoming disconcerting. He looked somewhere between falling apart at any given moment and hurling the mug in his hand with a torn scream.

“She told me something once. About how my birthstone and her birthstone are the same. Sapphire.” You did the math. September children. Christmas-to-New-Years boinking for their parents. You tried not to grimace so Jungkook wouldn’t notice, although he was rambling to himself and had probably forgotten that you were right there. “I don’t know about that stuff but she showed me and I guess it’s true. I didn’t know they had white sapphires. The jeweler told me they were associated to new beginnings. Perfect for the start of a martial journey, he said. I thought that would be nice, and I could afford a bigger stone too. Girls like that, right? I don’t know. Once I got it, I thought, wow. It would look perfect on her hand. She could show it to all her friends every time she goes out. She loved going out and doing stuff. I stopped going because I felt like I was invading on her special time with friends. Or something. I trusted her, anyway. Right? I should. She…”

His head moved, his dark eyes shifting.

You raised your head, and he breathed out, gazing at you from far away.

“It was my fault,” he said, his voice cracking.

You raised your eyebrows. “I don’t know anything about the situation but I kinda doubt it.”

He looked down. “It must have been. I was too suffocating, she said. Too clingy. Her friends thought I acted too childish. She told me not to care… I could tell she cared. Two years. What was it for?”

You wished you had a good answer for him, if only to ease his misery. The best you could do was continue listening.

“I found out by accident,” Jungkook whispered. Small but enough for you to hear. “She didn’t mind if I touched her phone. She was sleeping, and it kept ringing. I took it to another room and turned off the sound, but someone kept calling. Wouldn’t stop. I knew the guy’s name. I remembered her talking about him before. She had a couple guy friends. She always talked about them just as much as her female friends. I never liked it, but I have to be a grown up about it, right? And then her KaokaoTalk started popping off. She didn’t have an existing thread with the guy. Weird. I didn’t mean to read the messages, but they kept coming one after another, it was just…”

His eyes hollowed again. He was reliving it. Second by second. Minute by minute. Pain clouded his expression. His voice became tight. His hand on the mug clutched hard, knuckles tense.

“He kept warning her he would tell me. Tell everyone. I couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t believe it. Then my phone started going off. Screenshot after screenshot. Messages. Photos. Videos. And she was asking him in all of them. Initiating. Begging. Then her phone was going off again, all the other chats she had. Like a fucking bomb went off.” He seethed, dark brows furrowing, jaw tightening. But then a strange look superseded all of the anger, replacing it with emptiness. “And all at once I felt it.”

He raised his head and looked…

Guilty?

“Empty.”

You tilted your head curiously.

“Nothing,” Jungkook repeated, exhaling hard. “Just nothing. I didn’t feel anything for her. How fucking scary is that? Did I even love her at all? One moment I felt anger, betrayal, hatred. And the next, I felt nothing. I wish I could delete it all. Everything. She had moved into my place, but I don’t even want to look at that apartment anymore. I don’t want the furniture. I don’t want to walk down that street. I’ll pay until the lease is up but I just don’t want to be there. I packed my clothes, my game consoles, my equipment, but anything we shared I left because I don’t want to fucking see any of it. She woke up while I was packing. Trying to act all sweet and surprised. I just shoved her phone in her face and let her deal with that. She was yelling at me, saying all kinds of bullshit, trying to take stuff from my hands, and I told her not to fucking touch me and not to fucking speak to me ever again.”

Well.

Shit.

He glanced at you again. Apologetic.

“Sorry. I’m a bad person. I’m sorry you had to help me…”

You blinked at him.

He couldn’t raise his head.

“You sure about that?” you asked the silence.

His eyes shifted but didn’t rise. “What?”

“You sure I don’t help bad people on the regular?”

He lifted his head and frowned at you, searching your face. You didn’t elaborate. Your hands were on the edge of the counter, away from the sparkly trinket at the center, a symbol of something shattered still so pristine, then it was an empty plate, empty cup, and finally Jungkook, his features contorted, trying to understand what you were saying.

Good luck, because you mostly said it to break him out of his self-pity party. Although, all things considered, it wasn’t a lie. How many good people were there on this forsaken planet, truly? Meh.

“Yeah…” he mumbled. “I don’t know anything about you.”

You shrugged and figured that was it.

“So, tell me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

His brow furrowed defiantly. “Yeah. Tell me.” He repeated himself, sharper this time. You made a face at him. He remained stubborn. “I told you about my life. What about yours?”

You weren’t impressed by his delusions. “Uh, unsolicited, by the way. I didn’t ask. You’re the one who started yapping.”

Jungkook blinked at you, startled by your dismissive tone or perhaps your word choice. You folded the washcloth primly and scrutinized him back. He faltered under your gaze, looking down at the empty light blue plate. There were a few tiny crumbs left, but its purpose had already been served.

“R… Right. Sorry.”

A little thought in the back of your mind nagged you. Please be nice to him. Namjoon’s words rang in your ear. You winced, and Jungkook didn’t seem to notice, too busy being ashamed for himself. There was a brief mental tug of war within yourself before you finally said, “I’m not currently dating anyone.”

His form ruffled a bit but it wasn’t much.

You tried not to roll your eyes. “I’ve had a couple of serious boyfriends,” you admitted. “But they didn’t work out for one reason or another. Nothing dramatic. For example, one of them we simply broke up because his parents hated me.”

“Why?” He perked up and was looking at you now.

You twisted your lip. “Because I’m a whore,” you sneered.

Jungkook blinked at you, taken aback.

“Anyway,” you continued, glossing over it. “It’s not for me.”

“What isn’t?”

“Romance.”

“Why?”

You narrowed your eyes and then sighed. What an exchange. “Because what I want is not something other people want.”

“What do you want?” Jungkook followed up, curious, sitting up in his chair now. “What’s different?”

You rubbed the back of your head. “Different…” You mulled over the word. You looked down at the ring between you and him. “What is this ring to you?”

His eyes followed, downcast. “Uh… well… it means I want to be married…?”

“That you want other people to know, hey, that’s my future wife?”

Something flashed over his expression but disappeared just as quickly. “Yeah. I guess.”

The ring shone, its many facets silvery and sparkling.

“Well, I want to have sex,” you professed.

On cue, Jungkook tore his eyes away from the counter to gawk, startled at your forwardness. You made eye contact. Half-smiled. What? He had a cute face.

“Most people have sex because of what sex means. Then there are people like me who have sex because of what sex is.”

He was staring at you like a fish out of water.

“This ring is an example of the things humans do to create an image for others.” Your finger circled around the ring, toying with light and shadow above the shine. “Which is not a bad thing, to want your bond to be acknowledged by others. It can be empowering. But sometimes it’s not. Sometimes it’s something we do to protect ourselves. Something we do to strengthen the walls of the house that is slowly revealed to be made of cards.” You pulled your hand back. Jungkook’s face fell, gradually understanding what you meant. “Me, I don’t care what the outside of the house looks like. Sure, it would be cool for the outside to be perfected just the way I like it, but ultimately I don’t care. I only care about what’s inside. I find most actions connected to the word ‘romance’ are things we do to be acknowledged by others. There is an unnecessary pressure to fit your story into an ideal that other people need to approve of. And I hate that. So, I don’t pursue it.”

There was a pause.

Through a filtered gaze of his messy bangs, Jungkook asked, “What did you mean?”

“About what?”

“About having sex… for what it is.”

That���s what he got out of that? Still, you raised a hand to ask him a question. “Why do you have sex?”

The tips of his cheeks blushed red. “Uh.”

You started ticking down fingers.

“To express your love to your partner. To feel connection with someone else. To do something for someone that, supposing you both agreed, is an act of service you can’t get anywhere else. To make up for your mistakes to them. To show your worth and value to them.”

Your hand a fist.

“To get off.”

Jungkook’s big eyes shifted from your fist to your face. You hadn’t raised or lowered your hand for the last one.

“Selfishness is usually last on the list,” you said, uncurling your hand. “And the first and main reason why people break relationships. So, it’s bad. Supposedly.” You placed your hand on the cool stone. “And maybe I am selfish, which would theoretically put me at the bottom of the list, since I don’t have sex for other people. I have sex for the act itself. To explore the complexity of physical and mental interacting. To satiate my curiosity in that unique type of pleasure and all the things that contribute to it. To me, sex is pure. You cannot hide. You cannot lie. People try to do both, and I find that type of dishonesty exhausting and ugly.”

You looked back to Jungkook to see if he was following. His eyes were glazing over a little bit, but he seemed to understand the general sentiment. That was okay. It would be better not to spend too long on the soapbox.

“Anyway, it never feels like anyone is fully committed to the act. They are trapped in the reasons of what sex means to them. Or their relationship with sex is more deteriorated than they like to admit. The sex sucks. I can taste that it is tainted, and not in a good way.” You cocked your head. “People tend to seek to replicate what they felt before. Or they want something better than what they currently have. The past and future constantly compete with the present. Achieving orgasm has become more important than anything else. In search of meaning, the fundamentals have become an afterthought. I’m not saying love isn’t important, but I can’t accept that sex plays second fiddle to everything else. That sex needs some other reason than itself to be valid. We’ve lost the damn plot, I fear,” you chuckled, giving him a moment to absorb that.

Jungkook frowned. He didn’t look wholly lost though. “So… Romance isn’t for you because, uh.” He paused. “The purity of sex? Or something?”

You half-laughed. “That and because no one wants to put up with my bullshit.”

A beat before a soft, “Oh.”

His pensive face was rather charming. You continued to smile.

“I kinda agree though,” he mumbled.

“Hm?”

Discomfort invaded his thoughtful demeanor. “Uh… Whenever we had sex… It was on her terms. Because she had to give her consent first. Since I wanted it more than her.” He wasn’t looking at you nor speaking that clearly. Still, you stayed attentive. “I’d… uh. I’d get hard and then put it in her and then finish and… yeah. Yeah. That was it.”

You blinked.

And blinked again, more rapidly this time. “Sorry, what?”

Jungkook grimaced, cowering a bit at your tone. “It felt good. And stuff,” he said defensively.

You felt offended for him. “You’re joking.”

He gave you a sidelong glance and sighed. “It wasn’t good. But I figured it wouldn’t be like the pornos.”

“Well, it’s not,” you agreed. “But sex sure as hell isn’t… whatever fuckery you just described.”

His spine was emulating a shrimp at the moment. “Yeah.”

You looked down at the ring.

“You wanted to marry this woman?”

His eyes followed yours. “The parts of it that were good were good.”

You doubted it but you bit that lackluster lure anyway. “Like what?”

Something in his eyes broke. “Like… We watched the same shows. She loved to dance. Had a great smile, loved to laugh… I used to make her laugh all the time.” His lashes lowered. “In the beginning, she’d surprise me by signing us up for random classes around the city. Pottery, painting, cooking, flower arrangement, making traditional Korean alcohol. We learned a lot of stuff together. It was good,” he breathed out, his hands clasped around each other. “And then… One time, she signed us up for some activity but I already had plans. I didn’t want to cancel them. We argued. I remember she was so uncharacteristically angry about it. She was almost never like that. So, I must have been the wrong one, right? She never enrolled us for another class again. We had fun, until…” He trailed off.

Leaving the empty calendar as his constant reminder, you thought. It was a clever tactic. Even now, he was questioning himself. You narrowed your eyes. Poked the bear a bit. “Sounds more like she dragged you around without even asking you first. Did you actually have fun at any of these things?”

His gaze shifted. “I… I did…”

It didn’t even sound like he believed himself.

You sighed, defeated. “A ring wasn’t gonna save that house of cards.”

His eyes went to the almost-engagement ring. You tried to imagine it. Something so alive becoming so catatonic over time. Trying to do everything you could to resurrect what was lost, only to learn it had been alive after all.

Just not with you.

“No. It wouldn’t,” he agreed hollowly.

Silence.

Back to square one.

You reached over and took the plate and mug. Washed them, lathering up with the dish soap, rinsing it off. Dried them, because you were unsure if Namjoon’s dishwasher was a frequently used appliance or a drying rack. It was empty so it was hard to tell. You squeezed out the sponge and set it back into its niche. Placed the dishes back into their respective places. Dried off your hands. Turned around.

Jungkook was still staring at the ring.

“Life only gets harder,” you said softly.

He raised his head, confronting you with a devastating desolation in his eyes. Part of you wanted to lie. Lie, and say it got easier. Lie, and say he would find someone better. Lie, but what would be the point to lie to someone that had already been lied to so deeply, so cruelly, still bleeding from a wound that would become a scar someday? You couldn’t assure anything. You couldn’t lie. It got harder the more you cared. It got harder the more hurt you had time to witness. It got harder as time slipped away. You just had to hope that random chance and a bit of luck was on your side.

“Could I put it on your finger?” Jungkook asked.

You set down the washcloth. The comprehension of his question sank in. “What?”

He reached down.

Wrapped his shaking fingers around the box, and tilted it towards you. The white sapphire glistened, foreign, beautiful, and not yours. Not for your eyes. Not for your hand. Not meaning anything to you, to that relationship, to anything anymore.

It was another shiny thing that had become dull without meaning.

“Could I put this ring on your hand, please?” he pleaded again. “Just once. Just once since… Since I don’t know if I… If I will ever get the chance to do it.”

You wanted to tell him, of course you will. Of course, being that handsome and naïve and innocent and, goddamn, he has such big wistful eyes, fuck, you thought, taking one step. Two. Three. That was all it took. You looked down at the ring. You saw his tattooed fingers fumble a little with the thin band. It was almost comical. You were in your house clothes. Jungkook was in his pajamas. Namjoon’s kitchen counter was not a place for a not-proposal. Your left hand came forward. Your fingers spread out a little, and Jungkook’s left hand gently slid under, lifting your wrist, warm and careful, and your eyes found his.

A complex maze of emotions met you.

You lifted your ring finger.

Jungkook said your name, very quietly. It appeared that he had finally read those tests Namjoon had sent him ages ago. Probably before or after his shower. You nodded, not really knowing what to say. This wasn’t in the life handbook, per se. And the way he said your name, delicately and with such breakability, made you not want to dispute it.

He looked down and slid the engagement ring on your finger.

Stared.

Pulled his hands away, letting out a tense exhale.

The large stone gleamed.

You moved your fingers ever-so-slightly, and the ring flipped, the stone dropping down to the inside of your hand.

Awkward.

“Oh…”

You used your right to adjust it. “It’s… Sorry. It’s slightly too big for my ring finger,” you muttered, trying to jam the gold band down a bit to help. “Welp.”

“It’s okay,” Jungkook chuckled and, to your surprise, he sounded almost amused. “I just wanted to see what it would look like on you.”

“It’s very shiny,” you admitted. Namjoon’s previous words gave you another swift kick to the pants. “I mean, it’s nice. It’s a lovely ring. You made a good choice.” You held the band delicately and switched it to your middle finger. It fit perfectly, without moving. “Ah, there we go.” You held your left hand up, palm towards you and showed it off to him. “Now you can see it without it slipping and sliding anywhere.”

You stilled once you saw his expression.

A longing for something no longer possible.

And yet there was a ghost of a smile on his lips.

He noticed your focus on him and Jungkook smiled for real, the action not reaching his eyes at all.

“It looks good on you. Pretty hands.”

It was a compliment but he said it with all the joy of one getting their heart ripped from their chest.

A strange surge of protectiveness overcame you.

You had never met Jungkook’s would-be fiancé, but in this moment, if you did, she sure as hell would not want to meet you. You couldn’t keep it in your damn pants, woman? Bitch. You scowled even at the thought. Jungkook was too transfixed on his engagement ring on your middle finger to give a fuck. This whole situation was infuriating. Sure, you were too clinically cynical for a mushy-gushy fairytale but, fuck, couldn’t we bend life’s rules just once for this sucker? You lowered your hands. His eyes followed, dulled in the presence of the sparkle. You moved to take it off.

His gaze snapped to yours.

You stopped.

It was like seeing someone alive and dead at the same time. He seemed to be in the midst of a daydream and a nightmare, thoughts crossed between what could have been and what was lost. You wanted to say something movie-script worthy, something to make it all better, and yet you held back once more, not quite believing in them yourself. The ring seemed unusually heavy now.

“It doesn’t match you though,” Jungkook suddenly muttered.

You looked down at the ring. “No. Not really.”

“White gold would look better.”

He was correct. Maybe he could tell from the small hoops in your ears. “Ah, yeah. I’m more of a white gold girl.”

“You deserve a diamond.”

You scoffed. He caught your eye. For once, you were the one to look away, breaking that contact.

“Hah… No, I don’t.”

Not like you did anything to deserve a diamond. You went to work. Went home, puttered around. Passed out. Sometimes you went out in search of a fuck. Sometimes you traveled a bit to cut through the mundane. But there was no charity work here. For what? To end up like Jungkook? To have your trust broken, shattered by someone you thought would keep it safe? And you couldn’t blame them and take revenge, because the high road had no room for low blows. Supposedly heaven was only for the most righteous, which already excluded you. Might as well live to the bare minimum instead of chasing an ideal knowing you could never be forgiven.

And all that shit.

Somehow your space-out had resulted in you completely losing track of Jungkook. One second, he was sitting in the tan leather barstool in front of you. The next, it was empty. You started, and then turned.

Face-to-face.

Jungkook took your left hand in his right.

Held it.

The conversation had gone on so long that his hair was dry now. A little frizzy from being air-dried. It covered his forehead, but not his eyes. His warmth and yours connected. From palm to palm. Under those big eyes was heavy darkness, hinting at sleepless nights. You paused, unsure of his motive. He seemed to be searching for something.

You caught his wrist.

Jungkook froze in mid-movement, about to lean his head down.

You shook yours.

“Don’t.”

He didn’t advance but also didn’t back off. “… Don’t what?”

You squeezed his wrist. His expression rippled. A sound muted in his throat.

“Don’t do it,” you warned again. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

Contemplation flitted over his face. His eyes went from his ring on your middle finger to you. Tense, elongated seconds passed. You could tell Jungkook hadn’t quite expected that answer from you. He had expected the rejection, and yet. There was a mixture of defiance and innocence in his gaze. You could smell his scent under the body wash he had used. Masculine and earthy.

You inhaled deeply.

Don’t, you thought, but this time it was to scold yourself.

“It won’t make you feel better,” you assured him.

He was more focused on your hand gripping his wrist than your words. You did not let go. In fact, you tightened your hold, your fingers pressing into his tattoos, the ring digging into you and into him. His dark eyes raised.

“You sure about that?” he whispered.

Uh oh.

Jungkook reached up with his left hand and brought your joined hands to his body. For a brief suspended moment, the round cut white sapphire cut into his clothed chest, close enough for you to feel the racing beat of his heart. You let go of his wrist, giving way to the pressure, and immediately he turned your hand, placing your palm to fabric.

Grazed your touch over his quivering pecs.

He sucked in a breath, his expression hazing over.

You stared at him.

He stared back, his lips forming your name.

Your right hand shot up and covered his mouth. You were trembling. You seized up immediately, wondering if he noticed, but at this point what did it matter? His left hand was still keeping yours on his body, pressing your fingers to the contours of his muscle. “What… What are you doing?” You sharpened your tone, trying to drag him back into reality. You almost expected a cliché answer at this point, but Jungkook only replied breathlessly, “I don’t know.”

I don’t know.

For someone that had been practically disintegrating before your eyes minutes ago, Jeon Jungkook was feeling very solid right now. But it was obvious what he was doing. Right? You looked into his eyes but couldn’t hold it. He just wanted comfort. He just wanted a feeling more than anything. He just wanted to prove that he was worthy of some kind of intimacy, any kind of intimacy, and he was using you, but it didn’t have to be you, it could be anyone.

You clenched your jaw, curling your fingernails inward.

Jungkook’s low moan cut through your venom.

You raised your head, turning your head to him. It didn’t have to be you. But he was looking at you like that. It doesn’t have to be you, and you kept telling yourself that, you kept thinking that but Jungkook kept looking at you like you could save him, from the first meeting at the front door to the standoff at the door of the bathroom to the gaze over empty dishes and a sparkling stone, save you, shit, I can’t even save myself, and you were still wearing his almost engagement ring for another woman on your middle finger, a big fuck-you to that shattered martial life, and before you knew it there was a collision of your lips to his. Your right hand had shot up, hooking around his head, and you dragged Jungkook down to your level.

Low, because the high road had already fucked him over.

He let out a startled squeak that you swallowed, consumed, devoured, and you stole every breath he took in lips and tongue, clawing your fingers through his hair. Then your mind caught up with your body still electrified with craving, asking yourself if you should stop, but then you noticed Jungkook’s hands were grasping for your upper arms, dragging you to him. There was a brief thought of how this was not the kind of intimacy he had received in a long time, and so perhaps his hunger was justified.

Truthfully, hunger was putting it mildly.

You bit his lower lip and sucked hard, opening your eyes.

Jungkook was looking back, and he was falling.

You released him, your tongue snaking out, and simultaneous shivers sprang forth from the fork in the road. Your nails raked over clothes and skin, drawing out his gasps like droplets during a thunderstorm, and you gleefully drowned in his sound. Your tongue pressed to his throat, teeth soon after, leaving bruises in your wake, dying for that taste of flushed skin. Bodies close but pain even closer, and there was no good reason that this should feel good which was precisely why it felt heavenly.

You dragged your hands up to his head, caged into his hair possessively, feeling the unrelenting trap of the ring still on your bent fingers.

Your right eye and his left locked as your tingling lips moved against his cheek.

“I’m still wearing your ring.”

His hot, heavy breath radiated against your neck.

“The ring,” he corrected.

The rebellion in his eyes gleamed.

The ring.

Your left hand trailed down, onto his chest, turning your nails inward, and you watched him follow it, fixated on the ring, replacing any former thoughts he had of it with right now, with the way you slipped your fingers under the hem of his shirt, deliberately catching it onto the large stone, all those expensive carats brought for someone else and now worn by a deviant, creeping up his torso, pushing away the fabric between his nakedness and your carnal intent.

Your eyes connected.

You licked the side of your lip, slowly smirking. “Your plan was for me to fuck you wearing it?”

His cheeks turned pink at your teasing.

“N-No, I d-didn’t… I…”

Jungkook sucked in a tight breath as the pad of your finger brushed over his nipple. You did it again. He looked embarrassed. You weren’t. You pressed your other hand against his abdomen and felt him tense, exposing muscle that was surely crafted from long hours at the gym. You dug your nails in. He moaned, and you hissed his name like a fond prayer, mesmerized by the way his hair fell over his eyes, his body bowing towards you. You gripped his shirt in one hand, his pants in the other, and pulled them away from his body, up and down respectively, exposing skin and desperation.

He grabbed the sides of his shirt and yanked it up and over his head.

Your tongue touched his chest, sliding upwards.

His head fell back, black hair flaring, dark eyes half-moons of lust, his mouth open and depraved sound escaping, all the way up his throat until you reached his chin, rising to tiptoes, and then Jungkook returned, catching your lips with a persistent kiss, possessed by instinct.

You thrust your tongue into his mouth and felt his hands slide under your tank top, wrapping around your waist. You weren’t wearing a bra. After all, you had originally intended on not spending much time here. That hadn’t worked out. The looseness of the top had prevented you from revealing any obvious shape and until now you hadn’t given it much thought. You felt Jungkook pinch the edges of the fabric and tug back, shaping the white jersey into the soft curve of your breasts and the peaks of your hard nipples. He was looking too, even with your tongue in his mouth.

He let out a muffled, “Fuck…” in between gasps.

You pulled back with a nick of his lower lip. Entranced, he leaned down, his hands pressing into the small of your back, and you bent into it, arching your spine as you felt warm wetness rub against one of your nipples.

You watched him.

He watched you back, circling the tip of his pink tongue around the nub, soaking the fabric and sticking it to your skin. Sucking on it, sending a flare of pleasure up your torso, his palms solidly in the bend of your waist. Your pulse snaked upwards, catching in your throat, reducing all thoughts to white noise, and you lost yourself in the way his tongue moved, licked, trailing from one nipple to the other, saliva soaking through your shirt and clinging to your skin, painting you in clear lust.

You hooked a leg around his hip and you could feel him.

You reached between your bodies and dragged the hem up your chest, baring your breasts to his eyes and searching mouth. Jungkook didn’t need to be asked twice. It was as if everything he had seen, longed for, dreamed of, all that he had repressed and tried to forget burst up to the surface, uninhibited any longer, and the feeling of his eager tongue on your wet, hard nipples was intoxicatingly electric. Your grip dug into his hair, pressing his head into your chest. Heat rising from your bodies, sparks igniting in your blood at his frantic licks, rolling your hips into his growing erection.

There really was very littler separating his hard cock and your dampening pussy.

Your nails raked over his back.

“Harder,” he groaned, clutching your waist so hard that it was impossible to get away.

You growled and delivered.

His eyes rolled back, his eyelids fluttering, and you had a fistful of his hair, pulling hard. You wondered if this was actually his kink or a product of circumstance. The glazed-over look in his eyes and violent twitching of his hardness between your thighs was hinting towards the former, which wasn’t a good thing.

Mostly because being on the other side of masochism was your kink.

Fuck.

You shoved his face into your chest and muffled his desperate moan as you yanked on his hair again, striking your hips into his hard-on, putting more force in it than necessary. He held your waist and grinded into the dip of your upper thigh. You closed your legs around him. The friction was sending him over the edge, even to the point of you being able to hear and feel the squish of drenched fabrics between you and him. Your breathing was rapid, shallow, thinning.

You shoved him off you.

Jungkook had a moment of disoriented breathlessness.

Your shirt flew off, over the counter and somewhere into the living room. You immediately dropped with such speed that he had no time to react when you snagged your fingers over the two waistbands of his pants and underwear, and yanked them down to the floor. Those big eyes widened, but you fixated on his thick, hard cock that sprang out, the tip dark red and angry. Slick with pre-cum. You would smell him. Heady and needy. He had nice balls, you observed. Supple and full.

Not for long.

You slid your right hand up. Covering his balls with your palm, anchoring his shaft between your middle and ring finger. Raised your left hand, and looked up at him.

Jungkook looked back, mouth open, eyes widening.

You slapped his erection.

Hard.

His entire body jolted and his gasp morphed into a strangled moan. You watched flashes of reaction overtake his expression. Shame. Desire. Regret. Then regret at that regret. Then need, want, starvation, his hands curling into fists, his chest rapidly rising and falling, and you took his breath away by smacking the shaft again, hard. His cock snapped back into place instantly, twitching, harder than before. He sucked in a tight breath, shaking his head with his lips whispering, “P… Please…”

You tipped your head back and slapped his dick, the ring on your hand visible every time you smacked it down.

Ecstasy rippled through his body. You could tell Jungkook could see the whisper of the sapphire too, maybe even feel the gold band, and it was turning him on even more. Due to the placement of your other hand, you could keep him still and increase the force, even pressing your palm into his balls to add further pressure. He fell apart in real time, but in pain superimposed with pleasure, each strike a spike to your core, thundering heartbeat roaring in your ears.

You stopped mid-slap.

Jungkook nearly protested.

Until you swallowed his cock.

You felt him swell and shudder at the contact of your tongue and throat closing in around his girth, and you pushed up, swirling wet muscle around him, covering him in saliva, drunk at the taste and fullness trapped between your lips. Up, down, vibrating the low point of your throat before drawing back, grazing your lips around the head, slow-fucking the tip.

You raised your eyes to stare into his face.

He was looking back, in awe and intoxication. He had fallen over a bit, draping you in shadow, his hands gripping the edge of the kitchen counter, and you sucked lightly, arcing your spine to delight him with the perkiness of your breasts.

“Oh… fuck… O-Oh, god…”

You tilted your head back and took him in deep, circling your tongue around the length before closing in at the back of your mouth and gently stroking the throbbing head with the contraction of your inner muscles. A low groan drifted from his lips, astonished at the precision of your control. You reached up and kneaded his balls, applying even pressure throughout before pulsing tighter. His reaction was immediate, yelping as his eyelids fluttered, letting out a weak and desperate, “A-Again…” You squeezed again, sucking hard in unison. “F-Fuck, again, p-please…”

But you did him one better.

You smacked his balls with the pads of your fingers.

Jungkook threw his head back and bit back an intense moan, his shoulders shaking.

“Holy… w-what…?”

The trick to it was to apply force but immediately cease all movement after contact with skin. His nerves would immediately register the power of the hit while the recoil repercussions would be minimal. His nuts couldn’t handle being a springboard, after all. It took a lot of control, and was easier to do if you angled upwards, as it would prevent your fingernails from getting caught on his balls while also allowing his body to absorb the shock. You didn’t hit him that hard. It was very likely that he didn’t have much experience in this – unless he was smacking his own balls while jacking himself off. Unlikely, though. And this was confirmed by the way he froze up and simply allowed you to choke with dick with your mouth as you smacked his balls. No part of him resisted. He left himself be at your mercy, even asking for more, nonsensical pleas above your head, and you could feel that he was nearing the end, mostly because he was biting hard on his lower lip, his obscene noises even louder despite being stifled in his throat, and so for the very end you switched to keeping his balls in a locked grip, maintaining constant pressure as you focused on his cock, up, down, repeat, over and over, feeling him twitch against your tongue.

His thick cum flooded the back of your mouth.

His head snapped back and Jungkook screamed behind closed lips, orgasming in your punishing mouth in the middle of Namjoon’s kitchen, his pants and underwear at his ankles, his chest beaded with sweat, and his cock jolted again, streaming more down your throat. You swallowed shallowly, and Jungkook’s pitch hitched to pathetic. His right hand flew to his chest and he dug his blunt nails into his skin, scratching down his chest roughly, moaning to the ceiling as your tongue ghosted around his still-hard cock.

You swallowed again.

Jungkook cried out and thrust his hips into your face.

His chin tipped down and you caught his surprised cry, “I… I’m still hard?” As if he wasn’t trying to end your life right here on foreign tile. You grabbed his hips, easing him back a little, then resumed a deliberate, leisurely back-and-forth, watching his every move.

His arm lowered, his dark tattoos glimmering with sweat. Panting. You raised your left hand and spread your fingers along his v-line. Traced his abs with your middle finger, cocking an eyebrow. His eyes chased your actions with wanton fervor. As if he almost forgot you were still wearing the ring, but then remembered once you put it in his vision again. It aroused him. You felt his cock shiver as you touched him. The wrongness of it all turned him on.

A very expensive turn-on, but a rare silver lining of the day.

His gaze shifted to your face, shame clouding his eyes.

You pulled back, resting the head of his cock on the flat of your tongue.

“Tell me you like it,” you ordered, talking around his dick.

“Uh… W-What?”

Your eye-line went from the ring to his face. You pinched your lips around the base of the head, causing him to gasp sharply, before opening your mouth again to speak.

“Tell me you like watching me get you off while wearing the ring.”

His eyes widened.

You slipped your left thumb along the underside of his drenched length and sucked on the head, closing your fingers around the shaft. His breath caught. You pulled your head back, perfected your grip, and started jacking him off.

With that very expensive rock completing the obscene image.

The whine Jungkook made was in between raw shock and intense bliss, gawking at your audacity. Or depravity. Whichever. He was going to need a good jewelry cleaner before selling this ring back, but you wouldn’t mind paying for that. The gold band was slippery with spit and a hint of cum, but you kept your fingers together, preventing the stone from moving, dispersing tight and firm pressure throughout his pulsing hardness, feeling a grin creep onto your lips, relishing in his whimper and panic, betrayed by his body leaning into the punishment.

“I… oh, f-fuck… Fuck…”

You lifted an eyebrow and slowed down just a tad.

“N-No, please...! I… I like it,” he whispered, his normally deep voice strained.

You smacked the front of his balls with the backs of two fingers from your free hand.

Jungkook moaned and crumpled, almost into a ninety-degree bow, clasping the edge of the counter. “A-Ah, g-god… I l-like it…” His eyes swam with desire, ensnaring you in his immoral feelings. “I need it… It’s so fucking hot… You getting me off while wearing the ring I brought for a-another woman…” His voice wavered. He clenched his jaw, tightening his core, giving you more room to continue. “Spit on it. Let me cum on it. Fuck. Fuck, ruin me.”

Your hand was rapidly moving on its own while your lips parted, locked in the twisted passion of this fucked-up context.

“Ruin me.”

Jungkook was staring right at you, an order and a plea in the same breath, his eyes so dark in this shadow that they seemed black. A bolt of sinful pleasure slid down your spine. You gripped his cock, tighter, imprisoning him. Somehow he had become even harder, his rapid pulse against the palm of your hand. You could feel his greed for pain, his appetite for your power, his directed attention locked on you, just you, you and everything you were right now, fighting the burn in your bicep but not stopping, fueled by feral willpower and corrupt adrenaline that was better than any runner’s high.

You smiled, unable to hide your enjoyment any longer.

He saw it, acknowledged it, and shuddered.

“I-I’m gonna cum, oh fuck–!”

You opened your mouth and Jungkook shot onto your tongue. Thick, hot, viscous streaks, the bittersweet taste coating your tongue. Devilishly divine. You pressed the tip to your wet muscle and he whined, forcing his eyes open to watch himself dump his load into your mouth. You rubbed it back and forth, making him flinch all over, and so you subsided in seeing him reach his limit even though his eyes were devouring every second of this wickedness.

You drew back a little.

Closed your knees inward, which lifted up your torso.

And spat onto your hand.

Onto the ring. Coating it in an unholy mixture of cum and saliva over a still glimmering white sapphire and shining yellow gold. Jungkook gasped your name in amazement, speechless at the depravity. You tucked your head back, watching the silky fluids sink in between your fingers, smirking, your skin tingling as you witnessed it.

You looked up at him.

He looked back at you. Jaw slack. Eyes wide. Half-hard in your hand and getting harder as you slowly, deliberately, stroked his cock with the slick, milky, makeshift lubricant. You felt it stick to his balls, run down your wrist, making a mess, the heady scent of his release saturating the air and this memory.

“You’re persistent,” you remarked, ticking your chin to his dick.

A whimper bubbled from his chest. “That’s… That’s n-not me.”

You shot him an oh-really look.

“That’s all him,” Jungkook protested, gesturing wildly to his lower half. “I don’t even… I’m not normally like this!”

“Uh huh,” you agreed dismissively.

“It’s true!”

“Well, I wouldn’t know,” you pointed out.

“I… Oh, f-fuck…”

-

You opened the front door to your apartment to a shirtless Jeon Jungkook with his blue plaid pajama pants so hastily yanked on that you wondered if half a butt cheek was hanging out. Then you wondered what the fuck he was doing here.

You stared at him.

He stared at you.

Out of breath, clutching one side of the doorframe, relief crushing through the panic in his eyes. His hair was sticking up halfway, as if he had attempted do it something about it but ultimately decided he didn’t care. He stood in the dark hallway, the light from your apartment washing over him. You had a good reason for being in your home at the moment. Ultimately the idea of using Namjoon’s dishes to clean off Jungkook’s bodily fluids on a very expensive ring was, uh, too much. Overstepping an unspoken boundary, mayhap. As if having sex with his friend in his kitchen wasn’t. Anyway, you had jewelry cleaner under your kitchen sink. The plan was simple. Get in your apartment, put the ring in one of the shallow metal saucers you had, rinse off your hands while heating up a bit of hot water, wash off the ring with said hot water in the safety of the saucer, polish it up with jewelry cleaner. It was dying on a paper towel in your kitchen right now. Nowhere close to the sink because you weren’t about to lose millions of won that didn’t belong to you to the sewer.

So, yeah. That was why you were here.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you loudly whispered.

Jungkook exhaled hard, his dark brows knitting together. “What? You have the ring,” he hiss-whispered back.

You bristled. “I told you I was cleaning it off.”

His eyes darted up and down, as if disapproving that you had put your tank top back on. Of course you had put your shirt back on. What were you going to do, slink back into your apartment with your tits out and one of your hands covered in his cum? Yes, that happened. After spitting on him, you had put his hard cock back into your mouth, sucked him until about halfway to the high, and finished him off with your right hand, all so you could make him orgasm onto the ring on your left, onto your middle finger, cum sliding down your forearm. It hadn’t taken long. You had pointed that out to Jungkook too. He had told you to shut up, his ears bright red as he did so.

Naturally, you took that moment to hightail it out of there so he could fix himself up in peace and relative dignity.

“How would I know you weren’t stealing it?” he snapped.

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, I’m totally going to drive to the pawn shop with a cum-covered ring and get extra for your excellent sperm sample. It’s time sensitive, after all,” you added sarcastically, not backing down despite his irritated demeanor. 

He flapped his jaw, likely not knowing how to respond to that, and then collected himself. “Well, just because you’re washing it off doesn’t mean you would come back!”

You were personally offended. “I was coming back,” you retorted.

A darkness laced into his gaze.

“I have no reason to believe that,” Jungkook muttered.

Any anger you had dissipated upon hearing his words. Your shoulders slumped and you lowered your eyes. Right. Yeah, obviously. The fight seemed to deflate out of him too, as if you both suddenly remembered why he was here at all, why you even knew who he was, why an almost-engagement ring was sparkling in your kitchen right now. You raised your head, and yet you hesitated at his hunched-up form before you, because in this equation the most probable outcome was you being nothing more than temporary comfort for a temporary wound.

Right?

Yeah, obviously.

Jungkook looked up, meeting your eyes, and, despite your best self-deprecation, something in his expression told you that he didn’t run over here half-naked for the stupid ring.

Your lips parted.

Somewhere down the hall, a bubble of laughter and conversation began to rise.

Panic shot through your chest. He caught on just as quickly, his big eyes widening, half-turning, as if there was time to gauge how much time he had to make his getaway, but your hands moved on their own, snatching him by the shoulders and pulling hard, throwing both of you into the confines of your apartment. His arms flew about like a rag doll. Jungkook stumbled in with a wheezing, “Wah!” You twisted, clearing the curve of the closing door, and pinned his back to it, slamming it shut.

Sudden quiet.

Except for the heightened awareness of your own rapid breathing. You closed your eyes, mentally counting, one two three four, two two three four, taking stock of each inhale and exhale. Shit. Shit, what the fuck were people doing out at this hour? Having fun?! With friends?!? Goddamnit, you thought, hoping nobody saw the shirtless man standing outside your door bickering with you, and suddenly you remembered said shirtless man was in your hands.

You opened your eyes to see Jungkook gawking at you with those innocent-looking big eyes of his.

He didn’t say anything.

You wondered if he would believe you.

“I was coming back,” you repeated, emphasizing it with a nod.

A complicated set of emotions flashed through the shadows of his expression. He nodded back, and you could tell he was doing it only to appease you. You shook him against the door and smacked your hands down on his shoulders, glaring back at him.

“I was coming back,” you growled.

Jungkook looked pained, as if he wanted to believe you more than anything, but just couldn’t.

You sucked on the inside of your cheek and flung yourself from him, spinning around sharply so he couldn’t see your face. You couldn’t blame him. Oh, you had lied before, lied with a straight face and no remorse, but for some reason the idea of Jungkook thinking that you were doing so made you terribly upset. Fuck, yeah, it pissed you off. And it wasn’t his fault, Rome wasn’t built in a day and all that shit, yet some part of you wanted to scream, believe me, please believe me, and you couldn’t for the life of you make heads or tails of why that was, walking in a circle, wringing your hands, rubbing your temples with a grimace, not wanting to take your outburst out on him.

It was such a small thing.

You were coming back, he didn’t believe you, and that was that, you would have to accept it.

But you couldn’t.

You just needed a second to accept it. Right?

“How the fuck did I get myself in this situation?”

You muttered under your breath, abruptly ceasing your pacing and turning around, intending to march over to the ring, drop it in Jungkook’s palm, and shove him out of your apartment. Shove him and his stupid sexy butt into Namjoon’s place to neatly compartmentalize that, so long and goodnight, and promptly flop onto your bed to sleep and forget any of this ever happened.

Except, when you faced him, Jungkook caught you.

You started, not realizing he had followed. One second his hands were on your upper arms, and the next they were wrapped around your back, pulling you to him and trapping you in a tight, encompassing embrace that was not for you.

Your hands instinctively came up to cradle his waist.

He buried his face into your hair and inhaled deeply, holding onto you as if his life depended on it. Almost crushing. You thought he was trembling but perhaps it was just your imagination as you felt each shuddering breath steady against your chest. Honestly, you weren’t the hugging type, but this night was proving to be a night of exceptions. You closed your arms around him, not saying anything, letting him have this. Probably the most normal interaction of the night, truly. Jungkook wasn’t crying. He might have, if you had rejected him, but your instinct didn’t have the heart to. You caressed his back, running your fingers over his soft skin.

You didn’t know him.

He could be a serial killer.

Well, if he was, you were considering to offer to bury the bodies.

“Hey… You shouldn’t…”

Even so, you trailed off. You weren’t sure you quite believed what you were trying to say.

“I don’t care.”

His warm breath haloed the crown of your head. He pressed his lips to your hair.

“I don’t care,” he said again, softer this time.

A small, sweet, wrong happiness fluttered at those words.

“Okay,” you breathed, your lips brushing against his neck. You kissed him lightly. Felt him shiver. You smiled. Truth was, you didn’t care either. That was pretty selfish of you. But he was here of his own volition. And Jungkook held you first. And who the fuck were you justifying this to? I’ve lost it, you told yourself for the umpteenth time as he was turned his head and suddenly his lips were a centimeter from yours.

In shadows, your eyes met his.

“I turned your whole world upside down,” you confessed, warning him that this was a one-way highway and he was breaking the speed limit.

You felt Jungkook smile.

“Thank fuck for that,” and then he put pedal to the metal.

Upon reflection, what the fuck was Jungkook thinking, bursting into your apartment with only pajama pants and a dream? Oh, and some sandals borrowed from Namjoon, which quickly flew off as you both stumbled into your living room, abandoning your clothes at an alarming rate. Your top over your head, your hands down his sides, and he hadn’t even bothered with his underwear, this would be my luck, I would want a lunatic, you thought as his thumbs hooked onto the edge of your shorts, pulling down. All the while with your tongue in his mouth.

Normally you would have a conversation about limits and intent and what this was all supposed to mean afterwards but under normal circumstances you would also never imagine having sex with someone you barely met after watching him cry within the first ten minutes.

So.

There was that.

You felt your panties slide down your ass and you grabbed his wrists, yanking them back up as your shorts and underwear slowly migrated down to the floor.

“Wha… W-What?” Jungkook sputtered, breaking out of the kiss and looking like a startled deer confronted by the headlights of your abrupt shift in body language. You sucked in a breath, your lips tingling.

Taking notes.

He immediately stopped even without you explicitly saying stop. He was not trying to overpower you to coerce you for more, even if he was now explicitly staring at your naked body with a bug-eyed expression. You pushed your hands forward and Jungkook stepped back, not quite understanding and blindly trusting you, which was not indicative of a sane headspace.

“You’ve done this before,” you breathed out, glaring up at him from below.

He shook his head very quickly. “No. Well… I mean… it is n-normally what I search for when I wanna get off, so you’re kinda a dream come true for me…”

You narrowed your eyes. “What are you talking about?”

A flutter of confusion.

“Uh… Being dominated by a hot woman?”

You stared at him.

Jungkook tilted his head.

“That’s not what I’m doing,” you said while gripping his wrists and in command of the situation.

His eyes shifted from side to side. “A… Aren’t you?”

A chill crept up your back. “What did you think I was going to do?” you pressed.

He looked back at you, blinking. “I don’t know,” Jungkook answered, sounding truthful.

You squeezed tighter. He gasped a little, his inhale hitching. You relaxed. He seemed disappointed.

“What’s wrong with you?” you snapped.

He paused for a moment and then replied with, “Trauma?”

Well, he wasn't wrong.

“Get on the sofa.”

“What?”

“Now.”

You had one of those viral extra-comfy modular sofas that could be placed in various orientations. Currently, it was as it always was – all linked together, turning the couch into more of a bed than anything else. Hey, there was a reason you enjoyed rotting on your sofa. Maybe you should have taken him to your bed, but Jungkook didn’t seem to care, reacting immediately when you shoved him. Actually, he seemed to approve of your furniture choices. He sat. You planted your hands on his chest and pushed him down, straddling his waist. He yelped, which you immediately silenced with a hand over his mouth and one on his dick, sliding down the underside and squeezing his balls.

His big eyes got bigger.

You slid up his torso, realizing you where dripping pussy juice everywhere. His hands ended up on your breasts. You raised your eyebrows. Those big eyes pleaded with you. You didn’t say anything, instead tilting your head back and toying with his balls, testing the waters. It was a little distracting with the pinching and rubbing of your nipples, but you took a second to test how much pressure he liked, if he enjoyed scratches (he did), if he enjoyed a tug (he did), and if he was fine with your weight on top of him (he was and he seemed to be trying to get you to move up a little higher for personal reasons). His dick was definitely into it. His stiff length was smacking your wrist. Pre-cum was smearing onto your forearm.

Without much warning, you sat back up, climbed over him, and turned around.

Your knees hit his shoulders. There was a gasping, “Wow, oh my god,” when Jungkook came face-to-face with your pussy. You leaned down to your elbows, hovered your hands over his inner thighs, his erection centimeters from your face, and slapped him extremely close to his balls.

Jungkook let out an inhuman noise and muffled him with your ass.

Hot, wet muscle slid against soaked skin. His arms wrapped around your thighs, his hands on your hips, sending a wave of sparks up your core as you descended, wrapping your tongue around his cock, running your fingernails over his balls, relishing in the sensation of tightened skin, tense muscle, and his taste, oh, fuck, his taste, your tongue running over the swollen tip. You kissed downwards. Your teeth braced around one of his balls, licking the curve while pressing the warm shaft against your cheek, using your palm to stroke up and down. Your hair was getting in the way, annoyingly, so you switched sides and swept it aside in the same movement, practically laying on his hard thigh and your upper arm as you kept a hand around his cock and sucked on one of his balls roughly while pinching the other between your knuckles as you jacked him off.

With your pussy rocking against his hungry mouth, of course.

You felt his tongue hit your clit and your body stiffened from the unexpected burst of concentrated pleasure, but that was soon replaced by his lips sealed around it, desperately sucking. He lacked technique, but then again it probably wasn’t that easy to concentrate either. A perverse sense of accomplishment simmered through you as you realized his blunt nails were digging into your ass, aiding you in the pace and his own suffocation. So, instead of actually getting him off, you edged him.

And continued edging him.

Until he made you cum.

You knew exactly when he was going to orgasm because he would pause, gasping, breaking the seal for a breath, and then at the very last second you would release his cock, making him whine and cry out before planting your pussy onto his mouth again. You did it again, and somewhere in Jungkook’s lizard brain he got the hint, gripping you harder and licking faster with his stifled groans vibrating against your thighs, building heat, the muscles in your back tightening, sucking harder as you felt the coil within tighten, so close, throbbing in your palm, close, the thinning thread almost at breaking point, and you lifted your head, tugging, his wet ball popping out of your mouth, and replaced your hand with your lips as something inside you snapped.

For a fleeting, desperate moment, you were plummeting through euphoric freefall.

The next, your contracted muscles suddenly relaxed with a pins-and-needles sensation shooting all throughout your nerves, overwhelming euphoria almost unbearable, barely registering that it was slippery and sticky between your thighs, realizing that you haven’t moved your head, but Jungkook was gasping, clutching your legs and arching his back so his chest pressed against your stomach. Aggressive flinches shot through his entire body, ricocheting from his core. His cock jerked in your mouth, beginning to soften. You didn’t taste any bitterness. Ah. He orgasmed without delivering any unpleasant package. In the back of your mind, you were relieved. This would have been the fourth nut of the night. It probably would have tasted quite bitter and you weren’t a quitter; you were lucky to be spared this time.

He couldn’t control it but you patted his thigh with gratitude anyway.

When you unpeeled yourself from him, Jungkook looked like he badly needed another shower.

“You okay?” you asked, poking his shoulder.

His chest was glistening with sweat. His hair was a mess. He looked like he was discovering oxygen for the first time. His eyes were unfocused. He didn’t even try to lift his arms, or move at all for that matter.

“Y… Yeah…” Jungkook wheezed.

You sat on your sofa and wondered how you ended up in the same place that you started this night.

-

Well.

As it was with life, things didn’t go as intended and now you were stuck in the usual fuckery. But that was fine. You could go back to your regular life of existing in what would most call a frivolous manner quite easily as long as you could somehow get rid of Jeon Jungkook. Which wasn’t happening. Oh. Great. You nodded at yourself in the bathroom mirror after washing up. Everything is going to be fine, you reminded yourself.

You turned around and Jungkook was standing behind you.

In the doorframe of your bathroom. Of course. You and Jeon Jungkook and doors. You blinked quickly, a little disoriented at how quickly he cleaned himself up in your kitchen. Such was the way of men that you would never understand. His hair was still unbrushed and wild, and he was rubbing his shoulder slightly with a grunt of discomfort, jolting to attention when he realized you were done. He was sans pajama pants. Your clothes were somewhere on the floor too.

“Um.”

You really thought at some moment Jungkook would have this internal revelation and shrink away from you, the burden of the past twenty-four hours finally hitting him, but instead he was in la-la land of following you around. A hair’s breath short of a musical number, probably. Delulu was the solulu. And while you wouldn’t advise the avoidance tactic yourself, you weren’t ready to break his reverie just yet.

But.

Sooner was better than later.

“Do you feel better?” you asked.

The dark cloud poisoned his eyes a little but not as much as before. “Uh… I don’t know.”

You hadn’t expected much of an answer. There was still a little sting of disappointment, though. “Pain is not as bad as everyone makes it out to be,” you said. “And a complicated emotion at that.”

His shoulder leaned against the doorframe but not in the stance of blocking your way out. It was more like he needed something else to hold him up. He still put on a brave face though. “I… I just feel like I wasted my time more than anything else,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair and making it worse. “Shit, even fucking around like this was a million times better than whatever the fuck I was doing for the last two years.” He started, realizing how that sounded. “Not that – Not that this was fucking around, I mean…!”

You laughed.

Jungkook stared at you, his panic frozen.

You shook your head. “It was fucking around,” you said with a smirk.

“No, I don’t–”

You placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. It’s the only way I know how to cope myself.”

The conversation died.

The words from your mouth finally caught up to your brain. You stiffened, shooting Jungkook a flustered look and seeing a reflection of your emotion in his expression. “I mean… Comfort others. No. Well. I… It sounds worse than it is…” You trailed off, making it indeed sound worse than it was. “You’re… You wanted it?” It was supposed to be a statement but it came out as a question.

“Uh, y-yeah. Yeah, I did,” he stuttered, his eyes darted away swiftly, embarrassment evident. “S-Sorry.”

“No, I did too,” you added, and then abruptly cleared your throat. You sighed, annoyed at yourself for making this more difficult than it should be. “I… I really didn’t want you to do anything stupid. You seemed so… so sad. It bothered me. I wanted to do something for you,” you confessed after a pause. You chewed on the side of your lower lip. “Not that anything I’ve done mattered, I don’t think I’m a god or anything, I can’t control your feelings, so…”

“You are… You are probably the closest thing to a god I know.”

You raised your head and Jungkook was trying not to look at you and failing. He was picking at the paint on your doorframe, or at least pretending like he was.

“In the flesh. ‘Cause I guess we can’t really see gods and stuff…”

He was rambling a bunch of nonsense.

And you didn’t know why, but there was this feeling. It wasn’t about if you found him physically appealing. It wasn’t even about how endearing you found his habits, or about how he told you everything while pretending like he wasn’t, or about how you had an affinity for doing things that were not really the hallmarks of a good person. There was just this feeling. This awkwardness that somehow didn’t feel negative. This state of high that wasn’t going away even though you weren’t really thinking about screwing him again. You might never see him after this. You might see him for a little bit and part. These were all probable outcomes. Forever only existed in the afterlife which was why you lived on a false prayer and a why-the-fuck-not attitude. You knew all this.

And yet, the feeling persisted.

“I must say,” you mused, staring at him, this feeling bubbling up your ribcage. “I haven’t done a stupid thing like this since I was in university.”

Jungkook blinked at you.

“Which was years ago,” you clarified. “I thought I was over that phase.”

Your eyes went to his tattoos. Then back to his face. He had a bunch of ear piercings you noticed right now. To be fair, you weren’t exactly ogling his earlobes while he was sobbing into his duffel bag. That would be weird. He noticed you looking. Consciously but trying to play it cool, he shifted his right arm to show off a little more. You pretended that you didn’t notice while totally noticing. This close to an eyebrow wiggle. And then you suddenly remembered something.

“Erm… Where are you gonna live?”

He frowned as if he, too, hadn’t thought that far. “Uh. I dunno. I was gonna stay with Namjoon-hyung a couple days and then look up apartments…” He looked pained. “I might have to rent a room… I can’t go back to Busan. My work is here. Man…”

“Ah,” you timidly agreed. “Yeah. Good call.”

There was a pregnant silence.

“But the leasing office only gives out two keys,” you thought out loud. “And I have his other one. So… I could give it to you. But then you would have to be the one that comes to rescue him every time he’s locked himself out. I guess I could let him stay my place until you arrive. Or maybe you have a flexible schedule, so it wouldn’t be an issue.”

Jungkook rubbed his chest, wincing. “Oh… I’m a videographer. I have a schedule every two weeks, but there are odd call times, especially when we are filming outside… depends on the client and what they need. Uh…”

You coughed awkwardly. “Hm. I work from home. So. I’m always here, basically.”

Both of you were avoiding each other’s eyes. There was another, heavily pregnant silence.

You cast him a sidelong glance.

He gave you a similar hesitant but hopeful look.

“You don’t know me,” you reminded him. “I could be really horrible to live with.”

Jungkook peered over your head to observe the state of your bathroom. He glanced back to you. “Looks clean to me.” His eyes were shining. So bright. So adorable. It was over for you.

“I spend all of my free time rotting on my couch and watching YouTube,” you admitted, weakly trying to dissuade him.

“Me too!” He chimed in, a little too excitedly. He coughed and straightened a bit. “Uh… I cook too. And do laundry. I’m really good at household chores. I can show you. I can clean right now!”

You grabbed his arm before he could shoot away and top-down scrub your apartment at three in the morning butt naked. “Er, we could… Do a trial run. Of you…” You noticed that you had yanked him hard enough so that you were now staring at his chest as you spoke. With each word, you raised your line of vision. From his clavicle, to his neck, to his dark pink lips clearly indicative of shared kisses, to his soulful eyes gazing down at you.

Yearning.

“Living with me,” you finished, loosening your hold a bit. Trailing down to his wrist. “If you want.”

His eyes shifted but he was doing anything but resisting. “You sure… About that?”

You weren’t and at the same time you were.

“It’s only until you get back on your feet.” You tried to sound firm about it but somehow you were holding his hand now, clutching it tightly. “I’m sure you want… More space. Or there will be something you don’t like about this apartment. For example, I only have one bed. And it’s a full-sized bed.”

Jungkook was staring into your eyes and his face was getting closer.

“Sounds nice,” he murmured, his breath against your nose.

“It’s not,” you assured him, and you tilted your head up to kiss him.

--

masterpost

[artofchoisan]

A SPECIAL KIND OF HEAT DELIVERY

Delivery!Boy!Hongjoong x University!Student!Reader

The Plot: The summer heat was getting to you and your fan found the perfect moment to break down, having no other choice, you decided to order an air conditioner online but what you didn't expect was for the heat to make you so horny and needy towards the handsome delivery man with a smirk that never left his lips.

TW: Rough Sex.

Words: 2.4k

► ATEEZ MASTERLIST

In the midst of this scorching summer day, you find yourself trapped in this unbearable heat. Flopping down on the couch, you desperately fan yourself with a magazine, but the thick, humid air offers little relief. “Ugh, this heat is unbearable," you groan, beads of sweat forming on your forehead. "And the fan? Useless. Completely kaput. Can't catch a break today."

Your phone buzzes with a notification that your new air conditioner has been dispatched. "Finally! I can't wait for that cool breeze to hit me. This is torture," you mutter, scrolling through the tracking details.

You were dressed in very light clothes because it was so hot, and you felt self-conscious. The intense heat made you take off some layers, and you ended up wearing a short, light crop top and airy shorts.

Despite feeling a bit insecure about showing your stomach and thighs, the need to cool down was more important, your nipples perking through your light shirt, making you in such a state that doesn't seem to be looking hot, at least for yourself especially how you felt so sweaty because of how God had been generous of you with your breasts.

As you sat there, fanning yourself, a series of knocks interrupted the stillness of the room. Not giving much thought to your exposed and revealing attire, you hurried to the door, eager to thank the delivery man carrying the hefty package. With each step, the cool breeze from the fan lifted the light fabric of your crop top, revealing a hint of your midriff and thighs.

When you opened the door, you saw the delivery person struggling with the heavy package. "Thank you so much!" you said, relieved to have the air conditioner. "I've been so hot, and this is exactly what I needed."

The delivery person, catching his breath, looked up at you and offered a friendly smile. However, his gaze lingered just a moment longer than expected, and a subtle smirk played on his lips. Perhaps it was the revealing attire, or you just hope it wasn't a smirk that made fun of you since your stomach wasn't the most flat, heck it wasn't flat.

"Hey, no problem! I'm glad I could help," he replied, his eyes unmistakably lingering on your exposed midriff and thighs. "It's a scorcher out here, huh?"

You nodded in agreement, still fanning yourself and now it was you who couldn't deny the fact that this man was quite handsome, placing the package down, he lift up his sleeves and holy, those veins and muscles were no joke despite his skinny figure and as your eyes lingered more onto him, that chest was wide, oh fuck the heat was making you too horny.

His dark, tousled hair framed a face adorned with a subtle smirk, giving off an air of confidence. Dressed in a casual yet effortlessly stylish manner, he exuded a magnetic charm with that sharp jawline and imposing aura.

Unable to resist the temptation, you decided to see how your flirtatious efforts would be received, running a hand through your tousled hair and adjusting the revealing crop top that had inadvertently become the center of attention.

"Hey, so, I was thinking..." you began, "I really want to thank you for carrying this heavy package. It's been a lifesaver. How about a glass of water to cool off?"

The delivery person's smirk deepened, and he chuckled, seemingly amused by the sudden change in tone. "Well, I wouldn't say no to that. A glass of water sounds perfect right about now."

As you lead him to the kitchen, you introduce yourself "Thanks again for the delivery," you said, attempting to keep the conversation light while your mind was buzzing with anticipation.

He extended a hand with that ever-present smirk, "I'm Hongjoong. Nice to meet you." The touch of his hand sent a shiver down your spine, you truly need to get laid but then your insecurity of your stomach pouch clouds your mind.

Pouring a glass of water, you handed it to Hongjoong, making sure your fingers grazed his ever so slightly. "Here you go, Hongjoong. Thanks for being my hero today," you teased, a seductive glint in your eyes.

He accepted the glass, his smirk never wavering. "My pleasure. Heroes do enjoy a cool drink now and then."

As you handed Hongjoong the glass of water, you couldn't resist pushing the flirtatious banter a step further. "You have no idea how this heat has been killing me," you confessed, your voice dropping to a teasing tone. "It's like a relentless wave that just won't let up."

Hongjoong chuckled, his eyes holding a knowing glint. "Tell me about it. It's a real scorcher out there."

Deciding to show rather than tell, you moved to the freezer and grabbed an ice cube, a playful smile on your lips. "Watch this," you murmured, pressing the ice cube to your neck. The cold shock made you shiver, and you let out a soft gasp, allowing the ice to trace a path down your neck and onto your chest. The water from the melting ice cascaded down, leaving a glistening trail on your exposed skin and dampening your clothes slightly.

The room seemed to heat up even more as you continued the display, the sensual act of the melting ice becoming a silent invitation. Hongjoong's gaze intensified, his eyes now fixated on the provocative scene unfolding before him. "It's like a sauna in here," you remarked, your movements deliberate as you let the ice cube trace a path across your collarbone and down between your breasts.

Hongjoong's smirk deepened, and he took another sip of water, his eyes locked on you. "You're not wrong about that," he replied, his voice low and husky. "Mind if I borrow that ice cube?" he said, his tone teasing yet filled with a sensual promise.

Your playful smile persisted as you handed him the ice cube. Hongjoong took the ice from your fingertips. He mirrored your earlier movements, pressing the ice to his own neck, then allowing it to trail down his chest.

As the water cascaded over his defined torso, you couldn't help but bite your lip, your gaze fixed on the alluring sight. Hongjoong's eyes locked onto yours, "You know," he began, his voice dropping to a needy tone, "there are more ways to beat this heat."

A mischievous glint sparkled in your eyes as you played along, "Oh really? Care to show me?"

As Hongjoong's hands found their way to your waist then his touch grazed your love handle, and you instinctively tensed up. "Don't be ashamed of that," he whispered, his voice a seductive murmur against your ear. "I love those," he continued, his fingers digging slightly deeper into your skin.

Feeling the heat of the moment, Hongjoong closed the remaining distance between you, his lips crashing onto yours with a sinful urgency. The kiss was a heady blend of desire and passion, and as his tongue forcefully sought entrance into your mouth, you moaned at the intoxicating sensation. The taste of him was divine.

The sinful dance of tongues and the intensity of the kiss left you breathless. Hongjoong's hands explored your body with a confident touch, igniting sparks of pleasure. His fingers traced the contours of your skin.

In a daring move, you broke the kiss, locking eyes with Hongjoong with a sensual gaze. "I think we can find an even better way to cool down," you teased, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. Hongjoong's eyes darkened with desire as he eagerly awaited your next move.

With a provocative confidence, you dropped to your knees in front of him, your eyes never leaving his. A gasp escaping his lips at that. As you knelt before him, "You seemed to enjoy the show," you murmured before mouthing at his clothed crotch to which a grunt escaped his lips.

“Let’s make the show even better.” With that, you quickly get rid of your shirt revealing your naked upper body to him, your chest in full view of him, “I hate my stomach but I’m quite proud of my tits.”

Hongjoong seemed to be in awe at that, he was loving it even with your fats, fuck he was perfect and to reward him, you quickly work on his pants and pulled it down along his boxer revealing his erected cock.

Grabbing your breast, you rub them between your tits as you gave him a sensual look as you continue on working your tits around his cock as Hongjoong throw his head back, “Fuck you’re so good.” Breathing out and panting out, Your boobjob continued unabated. His face twisted into a variety of different expressions.

Satisfied at getting him fully hard and ready, you wasted no time and sealing your mouth around the tip of his raging red cock as his cursed out, your tongue swirling around the tip before laying flat on it before continue sucking on it, your gaze locked onto his whom had his mouth slightly open, head tilted as he looked down on you.

Without warning, you took him whole in your mouth as he cursed out, his fingers gripped into your hair as you began to suck him with much fervor, your eyes never leaving his resisting the urge to not gagged as you continue the harsh in and out motions never stopping as your hand palmed onto his balls, “Fuck, you’re so good at that, your mouth is such a sin.”

Sucking him even harder and feeling his veiny cock to hit the back of your throat as you gagged but your mouth not leaving your new addiction, then slightly bringing in your teeth to graze along the length which seemed to make Hongjoong to see some stars.

“So hungry for my cock huh?” Hongjoong, voice roughened in pleasure. “Like being choked with that? Bet your cunt is just as greedy as your mouth. Gonna fuck—” With that he released all in your mouth as you took everything and licked his cock clean.

Hongjoong gripped on your arm and pulled you up as a demonic smirk played on his lips, “Let’s give you what you want.” With that he turned your around and bend you onto the couch, one knee against the couch as your fingers tug onto the top of the couch, “Fuck you’re such a sight, best delivery of my life.”

Almost ripping your shorts, he quickly ripped off your underwear as it slapped against your skin before ripping. His hand dug as your hip as he teasingly rubbed hs cock against your entrance but you were not up for any foreplay, as you just slammed yourself hard against his cock as you cried out in pleasure as he cursed out, “Fuck, you’re such a needy devil. Let’s waste no time then.”

Hongjoong thrusts upward forcefully, causing you to bounce on his lap, and a high-pitched moan escapes you before he began to mercilessly fuck you hard then his hand reached to grope one of your tits hard as he pinched your nipple as you cried out in bliss, “Fuck fuck fuck….yes please….Mhmmm.”

His clothed stomach pressed against your back as he leaned closer to bite onto your shoulder, he was the true devil here and that made his cock to reach even further inside of you, “Oh fuck, don't stop.” Biting onto your shoulder and sucking as he continued to thrust his hips forward as your eyes rolled back at his animalistic behavior.

Your vision went dark and screamed out as a hard orgasm ripped through you as Hongjoong continue to pound into you chasing his own highs before he remove himself from you and strings of cums landed onto your bared back, “Fuck..” He breathed out and panting out against your shoulder, “You felt so good, fuck, your tits, ass, thighs and stomach, you’re a wonder.”

You couldn't help but to laugh but your body goes limp as you both fell onto the couch, “Well fuck the heat, I’m lucky to have score a man who love all those insecurities of mine.”

The man grinned as he let you lay on the couch as you laid on the couch, “I’m more of a man that prefers to have something to grab.” With that he spank your ass as you gasp as playfully kick him with your leg, “That was such good sex though.”

“Well blame the heat for making me so horny.” You couldn't help but to giggle, “Feel I need to make more deliveries if I get to have you to be the delivery person.” “How about this?” You began to propose an idea, “I don't really do this but you got me curious, how about we exchange numbers so we can do it more properly?”

Hesitant and scared, not sure whether such a man would like the kind of idea you were proposing, this man seemed too good to be true, way out of your own league was what you thought but his praises to you had make you to want to know more about him, “If you don't want to, then all good, we can just consider it a one time thing.”

But his smile that he gave you, erased all your doubts as he landed another spank onto your ass as he chuckle, “I’ll continue to do that if you don't stop looking down at yourself.” He was perfect, “I’d like that, you got me curious as well, maybe then I can praise your body more until you see how fucking gorgeous you’re.”

“Even with my stomach pouch?” You laughed.

He grinned and smack your ass harder as you whine, “I was fucking you hard right? I couldn't care less about that but your tits are so fucking good and I want to grab your handles even more, why you women hate that, I fucking love it.”

This man was a wonder but then a genuine smile appeared on his lips, “Let me take you out? I know this place that’s not hot at all and the food is quite great and if you are still up to it…” His fingers traced alongside your legs, “Maybe we could hit either of our places and try to beat this heat?”

Turning onto your back leaning onto your elbows as you looked at him, you couldn't help but to smile as you wrapped your leg around him, his hungry eyes landing on your exposed chest as you nodded, “Well I would truly like that idea.”

Who knew a simple delivery could lead to that, it started with lust and even if it ends on that, at least you’ll have a great time.

[rootspiral]

hi, hello!! i absolutely adore your deep dive series into the aaa episodes, and i was wondering if you could/would feel like expanding further into agatha’s guilt towards wanda and all the emotion she shows in the first episode, when she sees wanda’s corpse? the way agnes seems to value human life is especially interesting to me, considering how much agatha has killed (and i understand agnes is a character in what’s supposed to be a very stereotypical detective series, but i remember how you said agnes is in some ways agatha at her most transparent). anyways, i thought i’d try to pick your brain a little more on the subject, because your takes are very interesting to me!

Hi hello to you, thank you for stopping by! And also thank you for your interesting question, consider my brain officially picked. I'm gonna ramble QUITE a bit because I want to talk about Agatha and misogyny first (as requested by @leoleolovesdc ) but hold in there, I'll get to wanda too.

To get to the point directly, I think that Agatha's actions are steeped in internalized misogyny, and I think it's something she inherited from her mother and the salemites. It's actually pretty common for marginalized communities or individuals to turn against their own and replicate the patterns of the oppressor, looking to ease their self-hatred or for outside acceptance or a sense of control. Think for example about super conservative wives voting against their best interests, think about all the homophobia and biphobia and transphobia and acephobia (etcetera etcetera ad infinitum) in the queer community.

The persecution of witches was essentially a war on a kind of womanhood that went against imposed gender norms. Witches (in the marvel universe and in real life) were more often than not women who lived independently, who knew herbs, who didn't marry, who worked as midwives etc. And talking about the salemites specifically and the way they treated Agatha: they did to Agatha what the external world did to them, they replicated a pattern. They targeted the odd one out, the woman in their group who was the most different, and called her evil and essentially tried to burn her at the stake.

We don't know a thing about evanora, but I would BET that a lot of her hatred stems from her own internalized misogyny / agatha being born female, and I honestly wonder if Agatha would have found it harder to love a daughter the same way she does Nicky or Billy, without any of her internalized bias kicking in. Since she was a kid Agatha had been hurt and persecuted by other witches, she's pretty much wired to mistrust and hate them. And it gets even more muddled and complicated because she hates witches but loves witchcraft, she hates women but is sexually and romantically attracted to them. She yearns to belong, but she ends up torturing and killing her own community. She allies with people like that disgusting prick who violated Jen.

Enter Wanda, who is essentially Agatha 2.0: she was born doomed by the narrative or, to say it like evanora, she was born evil. Evanora would have had a FIELD DAY with Wanda. The Scarlet Witch? The destroyer of universes? She would have tried to kill her on the spot. There is A LOT Agatha instinctively hates in Wanda, she's a woman, she's a witch, she's dangerous. Agatha does what the salemites did to her and what men did to witches: she replicates a pattern. She punishes Wanda for being too alone and too different and complicated and scary. And yes Agatha is doing it to get her hands on chaos magic and all that comes with that, but this is all the baggage she brings in.

There's the other side of the coin: Agatha hates women and witches, Agatha loves women and witches, and Agatha hates and loves Wanda. She's been essentially killing and running away for the past two centuries, refusing to dwell on the consequences of her actions, but we know that she is no unfeeling psychopath, that's just a role she plays. We know all her actions weigh on her. With Wanda that sense of guilt is even stronger because Wanda is not a random witch she kills and abandons in the woods, she has to live with her and witness all of Wanda's pain up close, how lonely she is, how scared she is, the grief of losing Pietro and Vision, it's all there to torment Agatha. She cannot be a child about it, she can't close her eyes and cover her ears and go lalala until it's over, she has to take it all in order to get what she wants. And what's worse, Wanda is so similar to her that Agatha can picture exactly what she's feeling down to her bones, that's empathy to the max. And she goes through with her plan and does horrible things to Wanda anyway.

Knowing Agatha like we know her now, I'm convinced that her guilt about Wanda is especially hard to deal with, but Agatha has always refused to deal with any of her inner struggles, so Wanda just goes on the pile together with all the painful and complicated feelings she's pointedly ignoring, and which are not haunting her at all, thank you very much!

Except when she's Agnes, because all the feeling are still there but she doesn't know where they come from. I'd say that more than transparent Agnes is unfiltered, she doesn't know she should censor her struggles like Agatha does. Based on Agnes, we can plainly see what the biggest issues on her Inner Pile of Shit and Sorrow are: grief over Nicky's loss, anger and yearning for Rio, extreme loneliness, and guilt over those she hurt, with a particular emphasis on Wanda.

[wheneverfeasible]

Sickness of the Heart

wc: 5.5k || rating: T+ || cw: sexual themes, language, slut-shaming (but for a good cause) || summary: After ending his FWB relationship with a!Eddie, o!Steve must deal with the humiliation of a self-imposed rejection sickness while interacting with the other members of Corroded Coffin. Flight of Icarus compliant. Angst with an open ending. || ao3

Note: This fic does contain a brief summary of Paige’s involvement in Flight of Icarus, so while it does contain some spoilers, this also means that you do not need to have read the book to enjoy this story. Also, while this is technically a Steddie fic, Eddie doesn’t actually make an appearance in the story itself lol.

This fic is partially inspired by @fkinkindagauche ‘s fic The Unbearable Horniness of Steve Harrington in relation to Steve’s rejection sickness. Excellent read if you haven’t yet!

-

Steve was going to murder Dustin.

Or maybe he’ll let him live, he hasn’t decided yet. The kid didn’t really know the whole story, after all, so it wasn’t like he knew how utterly lost and devastated Steve felt right now, the rejection sickness curling through him in sharp pangs and dull aches. He didn’t know how much Steve’s heart was breaking with every step Steve took towards Gareth’s garage.

The only benefit was that Steve knew Eddie was out of town, setting things up with Paige for their chance of redemption. The pretty beta had reached out after the news of Eddie’s trial had made front page news even outside of Indiana, her boss apparently wanting to give Eddie a second chance at making it big in the music industry.

Eddie had been floored, energetic, and even the boys in Corroded Coffin couldn’t fault him if he ditched them again to make a better life for himself. They all knew he deserved it after everything. Except, Eddie had told them point blank that he was never running again, never turning his back on those he cared about. Had agreed to the offer to audition properly, but only if all of Corroded Coffin was invited too. All or nothing, he’d said.

After a bit of back-and-forth, Paige’s boss agreed.

It had been the final nail in the coffin for this thing between him and Eddie.

The facts were this:

During Eddie’s first senior year, Paige, with her fancy music scout assistant L.A. job, had been visiting her family in town and stumbled across Corroded Coffin playing at The Hideout. As anyone with even a passing interest in music could clearly see, she discovered Eddie and was instantly impressed with his talent and passion for music. They had…hit it off.

It had led to an offer to audition. But just for Eddie. And Eddie? Young and stupid and running away from a town that already hated him just for being his father’s son? Well, he had agreed. And then said father had come back and ruined everything, had burned those bridges for Eddie before disappearing once again and taking with it Eddie’s chance of a better life.

Had, in fact, been directly responsible for Eddie getting into drug dealing with led to…everything.

The relationship with Paige had ended messily, but not as devastating as it could have been. At least, that was Steve’s understanding of things. Over the course of his and Eddie’s…thing…the older alpha had talked about his past, slowly revealing all of this to Steve who had opened up about his own traumatic past, about his guilt over Barb, his and Robin’s torture at the hands of evil Russians, and how his parents had never truly loved him, made all that much more obvious when his secondary gender presented as omega.

It had been nice. For a moment, Steve had been able to pretend that it was something more than it actually was. Could pretend that when Eddie called him beautiful as he moved inside him, that the alpha had meant it as more than just what a good lay Steve was.

It had never been more than that, however. No matter how much Steve desperately but secretly wished otherwise.

Helping Eddie recover, then also serving as a character witness for Eddie’s trial, the two of them had grown into something actually resembling genuine friends and not just two people thrown together because of otherworldly forces and trauma. Eddie even spent a large part of his time at Steve’s house as they all prepared for Eddie’s trial, whether with the larger group or just on his own.

And then Eddie’s rut hit, unexpectedly and most likely brought on by stress from the trial, and…well…well Steve actually hadn’t had a decent lay in a while since he’d been dating betas and other omegas almost exclusively since Nancy. He missed being with an alpha. Missed being able to let himself go and fall into omega space, which he trusted Eddie with since he was his friend first and foremost.

The offer had been met with incredulity, but Steve had pointed out that things with the trial and his defense would get messy if Eddie lost control if he either tried to weather it alone or find another omega to share it with, and Steve was game if Eddie was. Purely transactional, just two bros helping each other out, never to be spoken about again.

Except neither had been prepared for how compatible they were with sex, even if they weren’t always compatible in their day-to-day friendship. So, after the embarrassment and awkwardness went away, they settled on a deal. When Steve’s heat came around, Eddie would help him out too. And he did not too long later, and it was just as great as the first time too.

And then they had sex when neither rut nor heat was present.

It was drunken sex, sure, celebrating not only Eddie’s freedom with the long trial finally being over but also celebrating the high school diploma Eddie had received in the mail that day, but it was sex all the same. And then it kept happening. Just two bros helping each other let off steam while enjoying some fantastic orgasms. Friends with benefits and that was it.

Except that wasn’t it for Steve.

No, his days of just enjoying being casual ended when he’d fallen in love with Nancy, when the idea of a Winnebago full of pups had begun to seem like something he could actually have, and he’d been chasing that high ever since. Even when he casually dated after Nancy, it has always been in search of someone to share that future with.

Enter Eddie Munson, a ridiculously nerdy and unhinged alpha who loved Steve’s honorary pups as much as Steve himself did. And yeah, they bickered all the time, clashed and argued and didn’t really have much else in common and sometimes jabbed each other with pointed insults from high school, but the sex was fantastic and Eddie was…surprisingly sweet. Sensitive. Caring. Considerate.

Eddie was annoying and hyperactive and made Steve want to tear his hair out sometimes, but he was also exactly the sort of alpha that Steve had always wanted. Steve wasn’t certain when it actually began, but it was when he was watching Eddie carefully roughhouse with the pups one day that he found himself looking forward to how Eddie would be with their pups.

And that horrifying realization had been the beginning of the end.

He knew Eddie didn’t think about him like that. Honestly, how could he? First of all, Eddie deserved better than the town slut, not that Steve ever felt ashamed about being said slut. He liked sex and he though he eventually wanted a happily-ever-after of his own, he wasn’t opposed to sleeping around until he found it. If he ever did.

Now though, realizing that his inner omega had apparently decided on yet another alpha that he knew he could never truly have, he began wondering if he was just doomed to never being properly mated. But then it wasn’t just his inner omega craving Eddie’s alpha. It was Steve himself craving all of Eddie.

He had fallen in love with Eddie Munson. And he didn’t even know when it had happened.

Which, of course, meant that he had to end things. Immediately.

The rejection sickness he’d gotten after Tina’s party had been…intense. He’d been angry too, or really just heartbroken. He’d only been able to push it down, reason with the sickness, when he decided that it was just the alcohol and the stress and the guilt and had decided to apologize for…whatever he needed to apologize for. And then It happened and the sickness was pushed back even further to deal with everything until…

Well, when he saw Nancy and Jonathan and smelled them, he knew it was well and truly over. Then the sickness hit him back harder than ever. He knew he couldn’t suffer through that again, not like that. And he knew with a certainty that losing Eddie would make his previous sickness feel like a walk in the park if he let himself fall even more deeply in love with Eddie than he already was, if he let his inner omega start even more of the courting process than it had already tried.

It hadn’t been pretty. It wasn’t that Eddie had any genuine feelings for him outside of friendship and lust, but Steve suddenly breaking things off had been…complicated. More than he had expected it to be. But Paige had come sniffing around again by then and Steve knew…fuck, he knew how considerate Eddie was.

If he knew that Steve felt the way he had, that Steve’s omega had already claimed him as his alpha, then Eddie would be a self-sacrificing idiot and give Steve what he wanted even if he didn’t want it. To spare Steve that pain. Especially if Steve accidentally got knocked up, which was seeming more and more of a possibility when Steve’s stupid omega brain kept forgetting to take his birth control because it wanted to be knotted and pupped up.

Eddie had his whole life in front of him, and now a chance to actually make it out of Hawkins and live his big rockstar hero dreams. And the chance to be with the only person Steve knew that Eddie ever had actual feelings for. Steve couldn’t take that from him. So he broke up with him…as much as you can break up with someone who was just your friend that you’re ostentatiously just using for good sex.

Eddie had been rightly annoyed when he’d arrived at their regularly scheduled dick appointment time only to be kicked out with blue balls and told that it was never happening again. Among a few other sharp words to get the point across.

Steve probably should have called him before Eddie made it to his house, before Eddie had paid for the dinner he was bringing that night, but Steve couldn’t bring himself to say the words over the phones that for all he knew were still tapped by the government.

Steve could tell that Eddie had been a bit offended too, and worried. Of course Eddie would worry that he wasn’t doing enough in bed, that he wasn’t good enough in bed, which had to be a kick to an alpha’s ego no matter who it was. Steve couldn’t really just say that he was ending things so that Eddie could get with Paige again and move out of Hawkins, however.

So he played up the angle that he was growing bored, that he was looking for something new now, even as his inner omega railed against such lies. He wanted more, certainly, but more with Eddie. Which Eddie couldn’t give him. Sure, Eddie might stick around like a martyr if Steve flashed him that pleading omega look he knew Eddie’s alpha was weak for, but that didn’t mean that Eddie himself could give Steve what he most desperately wanted: Eddie’s heart.

Which led to now, with Eddie meeting with Paige at her big fancy grownup job and no doubt rekindling old flames, and Steve stuck in Hawkins having to return one of those Dipshits and Dingbats books that Dustin had borrowed from Gareth.

The band was practicing, even without their frontman Eddie being present, and as Steve turned off the engine of his car and grabbed the ratty old book in question, he could make out something over the sporadic noise about behind the scenes footage and their eventual rise to fame.

Which…yeah. Steve knew that it wasn’t a question of if but of when. Metal still wasn’t really his preferred style of music, but he’d gone to some shows, had even been to a few of the band’s practices after he and Eddie started messing around, and he knew the boys were talented. Any music exec would be stupid to pass them up.

He grimaced a little behind his sunglasses when, with a discordant screech of Jeff’s guitar, the racket stopped. The boy in question was glaring at him, which…fair, he supposed, since he was the one that broke off the thing with Eddie, but it wasn’t like it was anything more than just sex. Nothing to warrant the glares he was receiving from the whole band.

But then, they’d never really been too keen on Eddie being friends with him, much less hooking up, and it wasn’t like they could hide that with how their scents had begun mingling. Another sign that it was high time to break it off, before it entered beyond accidental courtship and drifted into accidental bonding.

“What are you doing here, Harrington?” Gareth growled, the scent of annoyed alpha only causing Steve to fumble slightly as he brought up one hand in mock surrender and the other holding the book.

“Henderson wanted to make certain you got this back before you left,” he huffed, pushing his sunglasses up over his head to squint at the trio glaring back at him. He waved the book a little, hoping one of them took it from him so he didn’t have to step further into the garage. No one did.

“Why didn’t he just bring it himself instead of sending you of all people?” Gareth scoffed with a small sneer, never having really been Steve’s biggest fan. Not that Steve could really blame him; he knew people like Steve hadn’t made Gareth’s life easy, including Gareth’s own father.

“Ask him yourself, asshole,” Steve muttered, cocking one hand on his hip impatiently. Though the other two were only betas and thus didn’t have much in the way of scents, their posturing didn’t leave any doubt that they didn’t like him.

He just…didn’t know why. Besides Gareth, the other two had seemed relatively okay with Steve hanging around. Jeff had even once been actively friendly, while…uh…fuck. Steve always forgot the other one’s name. Stan? No. Doug? No. Grant? He was fairly certain that was wrong too. Whatever. Anyways, he had only cared that Steve didn’t get in the way of practice or their non-Hellfire DnD games after Eddie graduated.

Now they all looked at him like how they had at the beginning, when they hadn’t trusted the former jock, when they had only seen King Steve and hated everything about him on principle, only seeing another Jason Carver instead of the dude who had stood up for their friend in trial. Whatever. It didn’t matter. It didn’t hurt.

At least, that’s what Steve kept telling himself.

He didn’t let himself think about how Jeff had once clapped him on the shoulder when he had embarrassedly brought some fudge he had made, trying out a new recipe to take to the Hopper-Byers’ during one of their semi-regular get-togethers that had originally cropped up during preparing for Eddie’s trial. Now it just became a thing they did for fun.

He also didn’t think about the other one (Jesus, seriously, what was his name again?) had jokingly argued with Eddie about what class Steve would be, certain that he’d be a basic fighter while Eddie had been adamant that he’d be a paladin. Steve hadn’t known what any of it meant, but the two of them had laughed at the end and it had been with Steve, not at him.

Even Gareth had, on occasion, been almost nice to him, settling Steve on the worn red couch at the back of the garage with noise cancelling headphones and some magazines of his mother’s when practice had run long and Steve was supposed to pick Eddie up to meet up with Jonathan and the others.

Now everyone just stared at him with unconcealed looks of annoyance and disdain. He hated it. Even though it wasn’t them his omega wanted, he still felt another sharp spasm of pain from the rejection of Eddie’s pack.

It must have showed on his face, or the way his body twitched and the arm holding out the book dropped, because a brief flash of concern whisked across Gareth’s expression and he stood up from his seat behind the drums, his nose crinkling.

“You smell like shit, Harrington,” he stated, moving around the drums to get slightly closer. At least the smell of annoyed alpha was dissipating.

“Gee, thanks,” Steve dryly said with a roll of his eyes. He swallowed against the burn of bile in his esophagus and held out the book once more. “Look, just take the damn book so I can go.”

A part of him was tempted just to drop the book, to let it fall and hit the concrete ground uncaring if the edges got fucked up or not. But these were Eddie’s friends and his inner omega wouldn’t let him do anything that might upset the alpha he wanted as his own. Pathetic as that was.

Gareth moved closer then, and Steve finally thought the younger boy would finally take the stupid thing from him, but instead Gareth’s hand shot out to grab hold of his wrist with a frown on his face. The touch of another alpha that wasn’t the one he wanted sent another roil of nausea through Steve’s belly, and he struggled hard to get his arm released, causing Gareth to simply tighten his hold.

“Let go of me!” Steve hissed. He saw the other two move forward towards them, but Gareth waved them back with his free hand, which they reluctantly listened to, though Jeff frowned as he glanced over his shoulder towards the back of the garage.

“You look sick, Harrington,” Gareth said instead of doing as he’d asked. “You smell sick too.”

“He’s right,” the other one, the bassist, said after a moment of consideration while Jeff’s head cocked to the side, an unreadable expression on his face. “I can’t smell you all that well, but you look terrible.”

“Don’t tell me,” Gareth scoffed, taking a long, deep sniff over Steve that caused him to blanche. “You really have the audacity to have rejection sickness when you’re the one who dumped Eddie?”

Steve pursed his lips and grabbed the book with his free hand to shove it at Gareth’s chest, forcing the younger boy to fumble and take it while moving back a step. He glared at them, wiping at his now freed wrist as though he could wipe off Gareth’s touch. Asshole.

“Don’t be such a fucking knothead,” Steve snarled, and no, maybe he didn’t get to have the intimidation of an alpha, but omegas would be fierce in their own ways. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the others who were more or less gaping at him now.

And he knew, okay? He knew it was weird, being sick when he had been the one to call it off, and it wasn’t like they were even anything other than fuck buddies letting off steam together. There had never been anything but friendship and lust between them. But try telling Steve’s omega that. His nesting had been insane.

It was only by some miracle that Eddie hadn’t been clocked in to Steve’s growing emotions and affections. That he hasn’t seen just how delusional Steve had been for that brief moment when he actually thought, maybe, just maybe, just for once the person he liked might like him back, might see him as something other than a stupid, used up, good for nothing, filthy, dirty, worthless—

“Look, I’m not an idiot, okay?” Steve snapped out, flushing not just in anger this time but also embarrassment and shame at the way his eyes suddenly grew wet. He blinked rapidly, his fingers digging into his biceps. “I knew what it was and what it wasn’t. I know it was just sex for Eddie, okay?”

Steve huffed out at Gareth’s suddenly blank expression, pleased that he had at least gotten the jackass to shut the fuck up and stop stinking the place up with his pissed off alpha pheromones. He deeply sighed, moving his sunglasses to hook in the collar of his shirt to run a hand through his hair before glaring at Gareth who had moved a couple steps to the side. Putting more distance between them maybe?

“I know that someone like Eddie and someone like me would never actually happen,” he muttered, and putting it into words with someone else had the bone deep aches from the sickness sending another wave of pain.

“What do you mean, ‘someone like Eddie,’” the bassist scoffed, his hackles rising, though he exchanged looks across the garage with Jeff. Gareth sneered as well, but there was also a shrewdness in his eyes, his nostrils flaring as he took in more of Steve’s scent.

Steve rolled his eyes, throwing up a hand in frustration. He didn’t know why he was even still here, why he was trying to defend or justify himself, but his omega was telling him that these were his alpha’s packmates and thus deserved the truth.

“Like I said, I’m not an idiot,” he reluctantly said. “Eddie is…Eddie’s…” Steve huffed at himself next, scrubbing his hand over his eyes at the prickly feeling of fresh tears. He normally wasn’t much of a crier, but the hormones affecting him from the rejection sickness had him closer to blubbering at all hours of the day more than he would like.

Worse even than when it had cut through him after Nancy.

“Eddie is brilliant, okay?” he finally managed to get out, even if he was annoyed at needing to say this at all. He wished he could have just dropped the book off and left. “He’s so much braver than he gives himself credit for, he’s amazing with the pups, he’s creative and smart and and considerate and kind and probably one of the best people I’ve ever known. He’s a goddamn hero, whether he wants to believe it or not.”

Though these three had no idea what Eddie had gone through, not truly, they did know that there was more to the story than they had been told. Steve had always been quite vocal about talking about how amazing Eddie had been for the trial, and though he had to flub some of the details, everything he said had been true. Eddie was a hero, even if Eddie himself always denied that.

“And he’s hot,” Steve couldn’t help adding, with another small flush of embarrassment. “He has those stupid doe eyes that you want to spill all your secrets to, and that stupid grin that’s larger than his face, and the stupid way that even when he can’t seem to sit still, his entire focus is on you when you talk…”

Steve scoffed, ashamed of how wet it sounded, and rolled his eyes as he once more wrapped both arms tightly around himself. “And then there’s me. The asshole. The douchebag extraordinaire. The bully. The slut whose only redeeming quality is how easy of a lay I am and daddy’s money, which, by the way, I’m probably being cut off from soon, so really, what else do I have to offer except a used up pussy half the town has been in?” he sneered.

His self-hatred was probably a little too obvious with that, and he didn’t know why he said all of that anyways. Probably it had just been festering away inside of him with no one to unload on, at least no one who wouldn’t try to soothe him and lie to him and say that he wasn’t any of those things.

And yeah, maybe saying he’d slept with half the town was an exaggeration, but he had probably slept with at least half the chicks (and some of the guys) in high school, no matter their designation.

The problem was that Steve’s omega craved human connection. He never really had it growing up, his alpha father too focused on everything wrong with Steve and his beta mother too focused on making certain her husband didn’t stray to inbetween an omega’s legs…again. So Steve found physical comfort where he could, even if it meant opening thighs or mouth for anyone who shot him an interested look.

And then there was Eddie. Eddie, who never treated Steve like something shameful. Eddie, who had admitted he was wrong about Steve, even if Steve didn’t think he had been. Eddie, who even in rut had checked in on Steve and made certain he felt safe and unharmed. Eddie, who for a short amount of time almost made Steve feel good enough.

Which was the problem. Because Eddie didn’t mean it the way that Steve wanted him to, didn’t see Steve as anything other than a friend he could conveniently get off with, an omega who would never form attachments or come up with unrealistic ideas about them.

Except Steve thought he had probably been attached even before Eddie’s rut. Had too many ideas that were beyond unrealistic; they were straight up impossible. Eddie would never want Steve the way that Steve wanted Eddie.

Not when he had someone like Paige waiting for him, not when he had a future ahead of him outside of this stupid town. Steve couldn’t trap Eddie into a life he never wanted.

“So, what, you broke it off because Eddie doesn’t love you?” Jeff finally asked, his voice sounding odd and a bit louder than necessary. Steve wished he’d shut up. “You’re a used up slut of an omega with no redeeming qualities so obviously Eddie would never want to actually be with you outside of sex because he’s such a great guy and you’re not, is that it?”

Steve didn’t know why Jeff was repeating what Steve had said like that, but the words still caused him to flinch back slightly to hear someone else say them. He glared at Jeff, even as he had to hastily wipe away a traitorous stray tear that had slipped down his cheek.

“What does any of that matter,” the bassist asked. “Why would that send you into rejection sickness if you know nothing could ever come of this thing you two had? You were just using him for sex too, weren’t you?”

Steve’s frown cut across to the other beta, brow furrowing. Why did he sound weird, like he was leading Steve to say something he absolutely could not say? Not because it wasn’t true, but because it would break his heart to say it out loud.

“Come on, Harrington,” Gareth took up the goading next, taking a predatory step towards Steve who hastily took a step back. “You were just fucking, weren’t you? It didn’t mean anything to you. You were just treating Eddie like some glorified sex toy to get off, admit it. Just after an easy knot.”

“That’s not true,” Steve muttered, ducking his chin down even as he glared at Gareth with all he was worth. “I would never…” He shook his head in frustration. “That’s not how it was.”

“Nah, I think that’s exactly how it was,” Gareth said with a cruel smirk. “Why else would you have dragged him around, using him whenever you needed a good dicking. You got bored of him, isn’t that it? That’s what you said. You had enough of trailer trash like him, your bit of rough and rumble, and so you booted him so you could move on to the next target. What, gonna crawl back to Hagan next?”

Steve jerked back as though slapped. “That’s not true!” he repeated in a louder shout. “I would never use Eddie like that. He’s not trailer trash. He’s better than anyone else in this goddamned town, which is why he has to leave and never look back.”

Gareth smirked, his scent turning pleased, like Steve had said exactly what he wanted to hear. “So you broke up with him because you thought he deserved better?” he mocked, stepping closer again, though this time Steve didn’t budge. He glared furiously at Gareth, his chest heaving with his fury at the boy’s words. “Why the hell would you ever care about trailer trash like him?”

“Because I love him, dammit!” Steve yelled, eyes snapping with all the pent up emotions he never let himself actually feel, and—oh.

It truly did break his heart to say those words aloud. Steve’s face crumpled immediately, all the tears he’d been fighting back now overflowing his eyes spilling down both cheeks.

Even Gareth reacted, taking a step back and further to the side, obviously putting more distance between him and Steve’s distressed omega smell. The other boys shifted uncomfortably, likewise disturbed even without the superior senses to pick up just how much of Steve’s distress and rejection sickness was eating away at him. God, Steve felt so pathetic.

Hastily wiping at his face (not that it mattered as fresh tears continually replaced those wiped away), nose snotty and leaking, Steve glared as much as he could at the three of them. He was so angry, and so hurt, and so resigned to know that this changed nothing.

“Are you happy now?” he spat out, hating how his voice warbled and cracked. “Do you think I’m seriously stupid enough to think I ever had a chance? That I wasn’t anything more than an easy lay for him too? People like me don’t deserve happy endings. Not like Eddie does. He was going to end things anyway so I just did it for him. Assholes,” he muttered, finally turning away to leave because what else was there to say? How much more could he be hurt?

Steve paused. Right.

Turning back around, he bared his teeth as he pointed aggressively at the younger boys, shoulders back and tone once more falling back into the old familiar role of King Steve, even through the tears. “And don’t you lot say shit about this to anybody. Not to Eddie, not to the kids, not even to your fucking grandmas, are we understood?”

Jeff snorted, and Steve hated him more than he ever had for the amused look on his face. “Oh, we won’t say anything. Don’t worry, Stevie.”

Hurt clawed its way back up his throat, jaw quivering at the old familiar nickname, his sickness sending bile he had to rapidly swallow back down. All he wanted was to crawl into bed and wallow and tried to forget the alpha he wanted more than anything to be his and his alone.

Turning back around, Steve shoved his glasses back on his face before wrapped his arms around himself as he made his way back towards his car, fighting back the sobs that wanted to overtake him as he felt the rejection over and over and over again with every step away from his alpha’s pack.

He almost wished he had never met Eddie at all, had never met someone who, for such a short time, made him feel seen and heard and, biggest lie of all, like he was worth something after all.

As if he could ever be more than the bullshit he knew he was.

~

“You get all that?” Gareth asked finally after the three of them watched Steve’s car drive away. He glanced over his shoulder as Jeff moved around the drum set to the camcorder they’d set up to film today’s practice.

Jeff fiddled with the device that had been hiding in plain sight this whole time, the red light indicating it was recording until Jeff switched it off. He pressed another button and the side popped open, allowing him to pull out the vhs with a triumphant wiggle of his brows.

Gareth grinned at the other two with a pleased set to his shoulders, two matching grins meeting his own. “Excellent. After all, we said we wouldn’t say anything to Eddie. Not our fault if he overhears something he wasn’t supposed to when viewing our practice session,” he said with an easy shrug.

“Thank god, because I was sick of his moping. Should we send it overnight express to him now, or let them suffer a little longer?” Jeff laughed, wiggling the vhs in his hand.

“God, I’d say let them suffer because they are going to insufferable after this, but Eddie would skin us alive if we let his omega suffer like that for a moment longer than necessary,” Gareth grimaced, the others wincing in agreement.

“Ugh. And we thought they were bad before,” came the grumbling response, and Gareth could only snort as he glanced at the boy on the bass.

“How soon until they’re pupped up do you think?” Jeff slyly teased.

“After Eddie sees that tape?” Gareth asked with a roll of his eyes. “Same day, Jeffy. Same fucking day.”

Still, Gareth knew they were all three pleased for their friend, and as they ended practice early to get the tape sent out as soon as possible, he had the distinct feeling that when they left town in a few days, Steve would be with them.

-

Hostage tag: @derythcorvinus

Promised tag: @katyawriteswhump

[horeformilfs]

Dove

Mother Miranda x Fem! Maid Reader

TW: Bleeding, Injuries, Near Death, Major Character Death, Grief, Mentions of Torture, Negative Self Talk

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The grand hall of Castle Dimitrescu echoed with the authoritative voice of Lady Dimitrescu as she addressed her staff, the loyal maids who tended to the sprawling estate. Y/n, a reserved maid with a silent efficiency, stood among them, her gaze lowered as she listened intently.

"In three days, Mother Miranda will grace us with her presence for dinner. I expect nothing less than perfection from all of you. The castle must be impeccable, and any deviation from that will have severe consequences," Lady Dimitrescu announced, her piercing eyes scanning the assembly.

Bela, one of Lady Dimitrescu's daughters, stood by her side, her elegant poise matching her mother's. As the instructions continued, Lady Dimitrescu's eyes eventually landed on Y/n. A subtle nod from the imposing lady signaled Y/n's assignment for the evening.

"Y/n," Lady Dimitrescu's voice commanded attention. "You will be in charge of the kitchen and dining hall during the dinner. After serving the family, you will move to the sitting room to attend to us and Mother Miranda directly."

A murmur of disapproval rippled through the assembly, particularly from the maid previously in charge of the kitchen. She spoke up, "Lady Dimitrescu, it's unfair to have someone else take over our responsibilities. We are perfectly capable of handling the dinner arrangements."

Bela, always quick to defend Y/n, stepped forward, her voice carrying a regal authority, "Mother has chosen Y/n for a reason. She has proven herself time and again with her dedication and efficiency. We trust her to handle this important evening."

Despite the objections, Lady Dimitrescu remained resolute. "Y/n has earned this responsibility. You will respect my decision. The success of this dinner is paramount, and I expect you all to cooperate. Dismissed."

As the other maids dispersed, casting judgmental glances towards Y/n, Bela lingered, offering a supportive smile.

The three days leading up to Mother Miranda's dinner were a flurry of activity within Castle Dimitrescu. Y/n, dedicated to her duties, found herself working late into the night, ensuring that every corner of the castle was spotless. The sisters, keenly observant, had noticed her tireless efforts and sensed the underlying nervousness in her demeanor.

It was in the quiet expanse of the library that the sisters finally caught up with Y/n. As she meticulously dusted off ancient tomes, her eyes betrayed a weariness that didn't go unnoticed.

"Daniela, Bela, look who we have here," Cassandra remarked with a sly smile as the trio approached Y/n.

"Y/n, darling, working so diligently as always," Daniela chimed in, her tone a mix of curiosity and concern.

Caught off guard, Y/n straightened up, offering a polite nod. "Good evening, ladies. Just finishing up some cleaning in the library before heading to the kitchen."

Bela, ever the empathetic one, studied Y/n's face and noted the paleness. "You've been burning the midnight oil, haven't you? Are you feeling alright, Y/n?"

A subtle sigh escaped Y/n's lips as she attempted to brush off their concern. "Oh, I'm fine, really. Just a bit tired. Nothing to worry about."

Cassandra leaned in, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Tired? You look like you've seen a ghost. Are you sure you're okay?"

Y/n chuckled nervously, "I appreciate your concern, but I assure you, I can handle it. Just a little pre-dinner jitters."

Bela, sensing there was more to the story, spoke with a gentleness that contradicted her vampiric nature. "Y/n, we care about you. You don't have to carry all this weight alone. If there's anything bothering you, you can tell us."

Daniela, with a playful grin, added, "After all, we wouldn't want our favorite maid collapsing from exhaustion. It would be terribly inconvenient."

Y/n couldn't help but smile at their genuine concern. "Thank you, really. It's just the pressure of the upcoming dinner. I'll make sure to rest after it's all over."

Cassandra, not easily convinced, poked Y/n's side. "Promise?"

Y/n chuckled, "I promise. Now, I should check on the kitchen. Lady Dimitrescu expects everything to be perfect tonight."

As Y/n left the library, the sisters exchanged glances, silently agreeing to keep a watchful eye on their favorite maid.

The kitchen buzzed with activity as Y/n meticulously checked the final preparations for Mother Miranda's dinner. The air was thick with tension, and Y/n couldn't help but overhear hushed whispers among the other maids. They spoke in low tones, casting furtive glances in her direction.

"She thinks she's so special, getting all the attention from Lady Dimitrescu."

"I heard she only got the key to the distillery because she's the favorite. It's not fair."

Y/n clenched her jaw, choosing to focus on her tasks rather than the gossip swirling around her. As she moved gracefully between counters, ensuring everything was in order, the whispers persisted.

Meanwhile, the entrance to the kitchen swung open, and the room fell silent. Lady Dimitrescu entered, her towering presence commanding respect and instilling fear in equal measure. The maids froze, their eyes lowered in submission.

Lady Dimitrescu's eyes scanned the room before settling on Y/n. "You, come here," she commanded, her voice cutting through the anxious silence.

Y/n approached with a mixture of apprehension and deference. Lady Dimitrescu handed her an ornate key, its design intricate and foreboding. "Take this. It's the key to the distillery."

Y/n accepted it, her curiosity evident. "May I ask why, Lady Dimitrescu?"

The imposing figure of the lady leaned in, her voice a low, confidential tone. "Mother Miranda prefers a particular vintage for tonight's dinner. I want you to fetch it from the distillery. It's crucial that the wine is exquisite."

Understanding the gravity of the task, Y/n nodded. "Of course, Lady Dimitrescu. I'll get it right away."

As Y/n turned to leave, she felt the weight of eyes on her back. The other maids, seizing the opportunity, exchanged subtle glances and sly smirks. They had overheard Lady Dimitrescu's request and saw a chance to undermine Y/n.

In their huddled whispers, they concocted a plan. "Let's lock her in the distillery. She'll be too busy down there, and we won't have to deal with her stealing the spotlight anymore."

Unaware of the brewing conspiracy, Y/n made her way to the distillery, the key in hand. Little did she know that the shadows in the corners of the kitchen concealed the treacherous intentions of her fellow maids.

The dimly lit corridor leading to the distillery echoed with the soft footsteps of Y/n, unaware of the silent trio trailing her. As she reached the entrance, ready to unlock the door and retrieve the requested wine, she turned to find the three maids standing behind her.

Y/n furrowed her brow in confusion. "Is there something you need?"

The maid who had been leading the whispers stepped forward, a sly grin playing on her lips as she swiftly snatched the ornate key from Y/n's hand. "We just thought you should take your time down there, finding the perfect bottles for tonight."

Y/n, taken aback, instinctively reached for the key. "What are you talking about? I have to get the wine for Lady Dimitrescu."

The other two maids exchanged glances, their expressions betraying malicious intent. The one holding the key smirked, taunting Y/n, "Oh, you'll have plenty of time. We're just helping you relax a bit."

Y/n's eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping in. "This isn't necessary. Give me the key, and I'll handle the task."

The maid, now holding the key just out of Y/n's reach, chuckled darkly. "We've decided you could use a break. Down you go."

Before Y/n could react, the other maid forcefully shoved her, sending her tumbling down the narrow staircase. As Y/n descended, the sharp edges of the stone stairs greeted her with a painful collision, her head connecting with an unforgiving surface.

A groan escaped Y/n's lips as she struggled to sit up, her vision blurred from the impact. She clutched her throbbing head, feeling the warm stickiness of blood. Disoriented and vulnerable, she looked up to see the three maids peering down at her from the top of the stairs.

"You'll thank us later for the rest, dear Y/n," one of them sneered, and with that, they abandoned her in the darkness of the distillery, the heavy door creaking shut, sealing her off from the world above.

Over an hour had passed since Y/n was locked in the distillery, and Lady Dimitrescu's patience wore thin. The grand dinner was moments away, and there was still no sign of her trusted maid. The frustration etched on her face, she demanded answers from the other maids.

"Where is Y/n? I specifically placed her in charge of the wine, and she's nowhere to be found!" Lady Dimitrescu's voice boomed, echoing through the hallways.

The other maids exchanged nervous glances, their feigned innocence failing to deceive the imposing lady. "We... we don't know, Lady Dimitrescu. She was supposed to fetch the wine, but she never returned," one stammered.

"What?!" Lady Dimitrescu's eyes flashed with anger. "You had one task. I will deal with you later. Give me those bottles."

The maids handed over the three bottles of wine they managed to retrieve, and Lady Dimitrescu, seething with frustration, appointed another maid to oversee the kitchen. With a curt nod, she left the chaos behind and headed to meet Mother Miranda, her irritation palpable.

As Lady Dimitrescu joined the gathering in the dining hall, Mother Miranda's arrival signaled the commencement of the grand dinner. The opulent table adorned with delicacies lay in stark contrast to the tension in the air. The daughters, however, couldn't help but notice Y/n's absence.

"Daniela, where is Y/n? She should be here," Bela whispered, concern evident in her voice.

Daniela exchanged a puzzled glance with Cassandra, then turned to Lady Dimitrescu. "Mother, where is Y/n? Why isn't she here for the dinner?"

Lady Dimitrescu, struggling to contain her frustration, replied curtly, "I have no idea. She was supposed to handle the wine, but she's nowhere to be found."

Mother Miranda, intrigued by the conversation, turned her attention to Alcina. "Who is this Y/n that they speak of, Lady Dimitrescu?"

Alcina, maintaining her composure, explained, "Y/n is one of our maids, Mother Miranda. She has served diligently for years, but it seems she has encountered an unexpected delay tonight."

Mother Miranda's eyes bore into Lady Dimitrescu. "A delay? Inconvenient. I hope it doesn't affect the course of our evening."

The dinner proceeded, the absence of Y/n lingering in the minds of those present.

Y/n, still nursing the pain in her head, carefully navigated the dimly lit passages of the distillery. The air was thick with the pungent scent of wine and blood, an eerie ambiance that heightened her anxiety. Determined to find an escape, she tiptoed through the labyrinthine corridors, eyes darting in search of any opening.

As she ventured deeper, a faint noise reached her ears. Something shuffling, a low growl, and the clinking of rusted swords. Y/n's heart quickened, and she instinctively sought cover behind a stack of crates, praying she would remain unseen.

Peering cautiously from her hiding spot, Y/n's eyes widened as she saw the Moroaicǎ, grotesque creatures with twisted forms and lethal weapons. Their eerie, guttural sounds filled the air as they patrolled the dark passages, seemingly unaware of her presence.

Suppressing a gasp, Y/n tried to regulate her breathing, her eyes wide with fear as one of the Moroaicǎ turned its head towards her direction. The creature's cold, lifeless gaze met hers, and Y/n's heart skipped a beat. Panic set in as the Moroaicǎ, alerted to her presence, began to move in her direction.

Frantically, Y/n scanned her surroundings for a more concealed hiding place. She darted from behind the crates, hoping to evade their attention. The Moroaicǎ, sensing her movement, closed in, their rusted swords dragging against the cold stone floor.

With a burst of adrenaline, Y/n managed to find a niche in the shadows, holding her breath as the Moroaicǎ approached the spot she had just vacated. Sweat formed on her brow as she waited, praying they would pass without discovering her presence. The dim light flickered above, casting eerie shadows that danced around her, intensifying the suspense of her precarious situation.

The dinner concluded, and the group retired to the opulent sitting room, the daughters casting occasional glances towards the empty space where Y/n should have been. Lady Dimitrescu, masking her concern, informed her daughters of Mother Miranda's extended stay.

"Mother Miranda will be staying with us for a few days. We must ensure everything is in order during her visit," Lady Dimitrescu announced, her daughters nodding in acknowledgement, though their thoughts lingered on the absent maid.

As the night wore on, the maids diligently completed their final duties, a subdued atmosphere prevailing in the absence of Y/n. Lady Dimitrescu, growing increasingly uneasy, couldn't shake off the worry that gnawed at her.

Bela, the ever-observant daughter, spoke up, "Mother, shouldn't we look for Y/n? It's unusual for her to be absent like this."

Lady Dimitrescu considered the suggestion, her brow furrowed. Before she could respond, Mother Miranda intervened, "Perhaps a search is in order. Alcina, it would be wise to find your missing maid. I'll assist you in the search."

Lady Dimitrescu nodded, a mix of gratitude and apprehension in her eyes. "Very well. Bela, Cassandra, Daniela, you will search the upper floors. I will handle the ground floor. We reconvene in one hour."

The daughters, understanding the urgency, nodded in unison and dispersed to their assigned areas. As Lady Dimitrescu descended the grand staircase, her mind raced with worry, wondering what could have befallen Y/n.

Meanwhile, Mother Miranda turned to Alcina. "Let's begin below. We'll search the distillery and the dungeons. Time is of the essence."

With a determined nod, Lady Dimitrescu and Mother Miranda parted ways, each with a mission to unravel the mystery of Y/n's disappearance. The grand castle, once filled with regality, now held an air of uncertainty as the search for the missing maid unfolded in its echoing halls.

Y/n, realizing that hiding was not a sustainable option, mustered the courage to resume her search for an escape route. As she cautiously navigated the dim passages, the oppressive air weighed heavily on her. The scent of blood and wine intermingled, creating a sickening atmosphere that fueled her desperation.

Her heart raced as she stumbled upon the Moroaicǎ again. Panic set in, and before she could react, the sharp swing of a sickle sliced through the air, cutting into her arm. Y/n cried out, clutching the bleeding wound. The Moroaicǎ, relentless in their pursuit, closed in.

In a frantic attempt to evade them, Y/n pressed on, but another Moroaicǎ swung a rusted sword, cutting across her back. The pain was searing, and Y/n staggered, tumbling into the pooled mixture of blood and wine that flooded the distillery floor.

With adrenaline coursing through her veins, Y/n forced herself to her feet, the red liquid staining her clothes. Determination fueled her movements as she spied what appeared to be a potential escape route. The Moroaicǎ, undeterred, closed in once more.

In a desperate bid for freedom, Y/n lunged toward the passage, but before she could reach it, a Moroaicǎ struck her in the stomach with a swift, brutal stab. Y/n crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath, her hands instinctively clutching the wound as blood seeped through her fingers.

The pain was excruciating, and the distillery floor now mirrored the horrors of a macabre canvas, blood and wine blending in a grotesque dance beneath her. In her weakened state, Y/n fought against the encroaching darkness, the world around her blurred as the Moroaicǎ retreated, leaving her battered and bleeding on the unforgiving ground.

The three daughters reconvened in the upper level of the castle, their expressions a mix of concern and frustration. Bela spoke up first, her voice betraying a hint of worry, "I didn't find Y/n. Did either of you have any luck?"

Cassandra and Daniela exchanged glances before shaking their heads. "No sign of her. It's as if she vanished," Daniela replied, her usual playful demeanor replaced by genuine concern.

As they were about to discuss their next course of action, Lady Dimitrescu ascended the staircase, her towering figure casting a shadow over the hallway. "Have any of you found Y/n?" she inquired, her voice laced with urgency.

Bela, meeting her mother's gaze, shook her head solemnly. "No, Mother. We searched everywhere, but there's no trace of her."

Lady Dimitrescu's expression tightened, worry evident in her eyes. "I couldn't find her either. This is highly unusual. Where could she be?"

Cassandra, ever pragmatic, spoke up, "Mother Miranda hasn't returned yet. Maybe she's having more luck. We should wait for her."

Nodding in agreement, Daniela added, "Yes, perhaps Mother Miranda has uncovered something in her search. We can't lose hope just yet."

The group decided to return to the sitting room, a heavy silence settling among them as they anxiously awaited news of Y/n's whereabouts. The grandeur of the room seemed to amplify the uncertainty that lingered in the air, each passing moment intensifying the worry etched on their faces.

Mother Miranda pressed on through the labyrinthine passages of the distillery, encountering Moroaicǎ along the way. Her powerful abilities easily overcame the grotesque creatures, allowing her to continue the search undeterred. The echo of her footsteps resonated through the eerie silence of the underground.

As she delved deeper, she stumbled upon a haunting scene—a lifeless body lying on the wet ground, surrounded by the unsettling mixture of blood and wine. Mother Miranda approached with a sense of gravitas, turning the woman on her back to reveal her pallid face. The pain etched across Y/n's features tugged at Miranda's usually stoic demeanor.

Kneeling beside the injured maid, Miranda attempted to rouse her. "Y/n, wake up. Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters have been worried about you."

Y/n's eyes fluttered open, the pain evident in her gaze. She offered a weak apology, but Miranda hushed her gently, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "Shh, my dear. You'll be okay. We'll get you out of here."

As Y/n succumbed to unconsciousness, Mother Miranda cradled her in her arms, a fleeting but profound feeling of completeness washing over her. With each step, she savored the weight of the maid in her embrace, a sensation as if a missing piece had been found. The dimly lit passages of the distillery bore witness to this peculiar connection between the two women.

Emerging from the depths below, Mother Miranda ascended the staircase with Y/n in her arms. The grandeur of Castle Dimitrescu's main floor starkly contrasted the eerie solitude of the distillery. The daughters and Lady Dimitrescu, anxiously waiting in the sitting room, were taken aback as Miranda, with a wave of her hand, effortlessly opened the door.

The shock on their faces deepened as Miranda entered, cradling the unconscious Y/n. Lady Dimitrescu, momentarily speechless, found her voice, "Mother Miranda, what happened?"

Miranda's gaze met Lady Dimitrescu's, and she spoke with a calm reassurance, "Y/n has sustained severe injuries, but I can help her. We need to tend to her immediately."

With Lady Dimitrescu leading the way, they entered a makeshift medical room within the castle. Miranda gently laid Y/n on a nearby table, the gravity of the situation evident in the concern etched on everyone's faces.

Miranda, assisted by Bela and Cassandra, began to tend to Y/n's wounds. Lady Dimitrescu, ever composed, attempted to console the tearful Daniela, whose worry manifested in quiet sobs. The atmosphere in the room was tense, a blend of relief and anxiety as the fate of the missing maid hung in the balance.

In the hushed stillness of the night, Y/n stirred from her uneasy slumber, pain coursing through her body. The dimly lit room danced with shadows, and a sense of disorientation enveloped her. As she struggled to make sense of her surroundings, a masked figure approached, causing a jolt of fear to shoot through her.

However, to her surprise, Miranda calmly reached up and removed her mask, revealing her piercing blue eyes and chiseled features. Y/n, caught off guard, took a moment to admire the unexpected sight before her.

Miranda, with a slight tease in her voice, remarked, "Dove, it seems you're quite captivated by my features."

Caught in her reverie, Y/n blushed, her gaze dropping to the floor. "I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

Miranda chuckled warmly, her husky voice resonating in the quiet room. "No need to apologize, my dear. It's quite adorable how you get lost in thought."

Y/n's blush deepened, and she stammered, "I didn't mean to stare. I just..."

Miranda interrupted with a gentle laugh, "You have nothing to apologize for. In fact, I find it quite endearing."

As Y/n tried to hide her embarrassment, Miranda's reassuring presence eased the tension in the room. 

Y/n's mind raced, and the overwhelming realization of the events hit her like a tidal wave. Panic set in, and her breathing quickened, chest tightening with anxiety. Frantically, she tried to get up from the bed, but her legs gave out beneath her. In the moment of vulnerability, Miranda swiftly caught her, gently guiding her back onto the bed.

"Dove, you need to rest," Miranda urged, her voice calm but firm.

Y/n's words stumbled out, frantic and desperate, "I... I need to apologize to Lady Dimitrescu. She'll be furious. I messed everything up."

Miranda, recognizing the distress in Y/n's eyes, gently cupped her face, directing her gaze to meet hers. "Listen to me, dear. Alcina will understand. Your well-being is the priority right now. We will face this together."

Y/n, still struggling to calm her racing heart, insisted, "But she trusted me with the dinner, and I ruined it. She's going to hate me."

Miranda continued to soothe her, "Alcina won't hate you. She cares about you. We'll explain everything to her. Right now, you need to focus on resting and recovering. The rest can be dealt with in due time."

Miranda continued her efforts to soothe Y/n, recognizing the persistent anxiety that gripped her. "Dove, you need to try and get some sleep. Worrying won't change what happened, and you need your strength to recover."

Y/n's restless expression revealed the inner turmoil she was experiencing. "I'm just too anxious, Miranda. I can't stop thinking about how Lady Dimitrescu will react."

Understanding, Miranda decided to take a more hands-on approach. She made her way to the other side of the bed, gesturing for Y/n to scoot over. With a gentle touch, she laid down beside her.

Y/n's eyes followed Miranda's movements, curious and apprehensive. Miranda, careful not to cause additional pain, pulled Y/n into her, cradling her in a protective embrace. Y/n, feeling the warmth of Miranda's body, relaxed against her, breathing in the comforting scent of her warm amber perfume.

As Y/n laid her head on Miranda's chest, Miranda's hand stroked her hair in a soothing rhythm. The calming gesture gradually eased Y/n's tension, and she began to drift back into a more serene slumber.

In the quiet intimacy of the moment, Y/n couldn't help but voice her curiosity. "Why are you being so caring, Miranda? Everything I've heard from the other maids told me otherwise."

Miranda paused for a moment before answering, "I'm not entirely sure. There's something about seeing you hurt in the distillery that stirred a protective instinct in me. You deserve care and kindness, especially in moments of vulnerability."

Y/n's heart swelled at the sincerity of Miranda's words. Miranda gently kissed Y/n's head before covering them both with the comforter. The room fell into darkness as Miranda extinguished the single candle, the subtle scent of warm amber lingering in the air.

As Y/n settled into the comforting embrace, Miranda whispered softly, "Rest now, Dove. We'll face whatever comes together." The quiet reassurance echoed in the stillness of the room, offering solace to Y/n as sleep reclaimed its hold on her troubled mind.

Y/n stirred from her slumber, the morning light filtering through the window. Her gaze wandered around the room, eventually resting on Miranda, who was already awake and watching her. As their eyes met, Y/n blushed and quickly looked away, prompting a soft chuckle from Miranda.

Before either of them could say anything, a knock echoed through the room. Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters entered, their eyes taking in the unexpected scene. Cassandra, always one for teasing, couldn't resist making a playful comment, causing Y/n to bury her face in her hands in embarrassment.

Miranda, with a fond smile, gently helped Y/n sit up, mindful of her lingering pain. Lady Dimitrescu, her expression a mix of concern and relief, addressed Y/n, "You've been relieved of your duties until further notice. Your priority now is to focus on recovering."

Y/n, still flustered, stammered out, "I'm sorry, Lady Dimitrescu. I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

Lady Dimitrescu's stern exterior softened, and she placed a reassuring hand on Y/n's shoulder. "It's alright, Y/n. Your well-being is what matters most. We'll address the situation in due time. For now, rest and recover."

Cassandra, with a mischievous grin, added, "Who would have thought our dear Y/n would end up in Mother Miranda's arms?"

Bela and Daniela exchanged amused glances, and Lady Dimitrescu, while maintaining her composure, couldn't suppress a small smile. 

Miranda, after a moment of silent consideration, addressed Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters, "I would appreciate it if you could give us some privacy while I check on Y/n's injuries."

Lady Dimitrescu nodded, her daughters following suit. As they left the room, Miranda turned her attention back to Y/n. "Let me see how your injuries are healing," she said, her tone gentle.

Y/n complied, allowing Miranda to inspect the stitches and bruises. After a careful examination, Miranda offered a reassuring smile. "Everything seems to be healing well. Just be cautious of the stitches, and don't push yourself too hard."

As Miranda finished her assessment, Y/n hesitantly asked, "Do you think I could go for a walk in the courtyard? It might help me feel better."

Miranda considered the request before responding, "I wouldn't want you to go alone. But if you'd like, I can accompany you."

Y/n's face lit up with gratitude. "That would be wonderful, thank you."

Miranda helped Y/n to her feet, offering a supportive hand. They walked together toward the courtyard, Miranda's hand gently holding Y/n's. The castle's grandeur unfolded around them as they stepped into the open air of the courtyard. The quiet sounds of the castle grounds surrounded them, offering a peaceful backdrop to their walk.

As they strolled through the courtyard, Y/n couldn't help but express her appreciation, "Thank you, Miranda, for everything. I never expected you to be so caring."

Miranda, with a soft smile, replied, "Sometimes unexpected bonds are the strongest. I want to ensure you recover fully. You're important to this castle."

The courtyard stretched before them as they continued their leisurely walk, the soft sounds of their footsteps blending with the tranquil ambiance. Suddenly, Y/n stopped, a subtle wince crossing her features. Miranda, ever attentive, noticed the discomfort and immediately asked, "Are you okay, Y/n?"

Y/n, attempting to downplay the pain, forced a smile and replied, "I'm fine, really. Just a little twinge."

Miranda, unconvinced, studied Y/n's expression. "We can stop and rest if you need to. Your well-being is my priority."

Y/n, determined to continue, shook her head. "No, really, Miranda. I'm okay. Let's keep going."

Miranda hesitated, her concern evident, but she ultimately agreed, "If you're sure, but don't hesitate to let me know if you need a break."

As they continued their walk through the courtyard, the atmosphere shifted when Y/n suddenly stopped, her eyes widening with recognition. Miranda, noticing the change, questioned, "What's wrong, Y/n?"

Y/n's gaze fixated on a group of maids, the same ones who had locked her in the distillery. Memories of that traumatic incident flooded back, causing her to step back, seeking refuge closer to Miranda.

Miranda, sensing Y/n's distress, turned her back to the maids, cupping Y/n's face gently. "Tell me what's wrong," she urged.

The maids, surprised by Y/n's unexpected appearance, attempted to approach her, pretending as if nothing had happened. Y/n, however, instinctively moved away from them, drawing nearer to Miranda.

Miranda, maintaining her protective stance, turned around to face the maids. "What's going on here?" she questioned, her tone demanding answers.

The maids, caught off guard, nervously attempted to justify their actions, downplaying the severity of their actions. Y/n, her voice filled with a mixture of pain and frustration, told Miranda what they had done.

In response, Miranda positioned herself in front of Y/n, a shield against the maids. "You locked her in the distillery? Do you realize the danger you put her in?" Miranda's irritation was palpable.

The maids, seemingly unfazed, tried to dismiss the gravity of their actions, claiming it wasn't a big deal and that nobody would have noticed anyway. Miranda's expression hardened. "You could have killed her! Do you comprehend the consequences of your actions?"

Just then, Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters appeared, the maids visibly trembling at their presence. Lady Dimitrescu, with a stern expression, questioned, "What is going on here?"

Miranda wasted no time in revealing the maids' transgressions, explaining how they had locked Y/n in the distillery, putting her in grave danger. The air in the courtyard tensed as Lady Dimitrescu's gaze bore down on the guilty maids, the consequences of their actions becoming increasingly apparent.

Lady Dimitrescu's gaze bore into the group of maids, her towering figure casting a formidable shadow over them. She questioned them with a stern tone, "Explain yourselves."

The maids, now realizing the gravity of their actions, attempted feeble justifications, but Lady Dimitrescu cut through their excuses with a cold precision. "Enough of your excuses. You endangered one of my trusted maids, and for that, there will be consequences."

Cassandra, Bela, and Daniela, standing beside their mother, wore sadistic grins as they anticipated the impending punishment. Lady Dimitrescu's words carried the weight of authority as she declared, "You will be punished."

The daughters, eagerly awaiting their cue, exchanged glances, their excitement evident. Lady Dimitrescu, without uttering a word, nodded slightly, giving the signal for Cassandra, Bela, and Daniela to take charge.

The trio approached the maids with a sinister gleam in their eyes, ready to carry out the punishment ordered by their mother. Cassandra's grin widened as she spoke, "Oh, you're in for a treat."

Bela added, "The dungeon can be quite... enlightening."

Daniela, the youngest but no less enthusiastic, chimed in, "And we haven't had visitors in a while."

The maids, now fully aware of the severity of their actions, cast nervous glances at each other, realizing that the consequences under Lady Dimitrescu's rule were not to be taken lightly. The castle's cold corridors echoed with a mix of tension and anticipation as the daughters prepared to escort the guilty maids to the dreaded dungeon.

Miranda, ever attuned to Y/n's well-being, turned her attention to the shaken maid. "Are you okay, Y/n?" she asked, concern evident in her voice.

Y/n, still processing the recent events, seemed a bit spaced out. Miranda, gently cupping Y/n's face, attempted to bring her attention back to the present moment. "Y/n, focus on me. You're safe now. Breathe."

Lady Dimitrescu, towering beside them, also expressed her concern. "Y/n, are you alright?"

Y/n, with a hint of distress in her eyes, replied, "I never meant for any of this to happen. I didn't think they would go so far."

Lady Dimitrescu, her stern expression softening for a moment, reassured Y/n, "You are not at fault here. The maids will be punished severely for their actions. This was not your doing."

Y/n, still grappling with the aftermath of the confrontation, looked at Miranda and Lady Dimitrescu with a puzzled expression. "I don't understand why you're defending me. I'm just a maid, and my role is to serve the house without questioning anything, to never talk back or question the decisions of my superiors."

Miranda and Lady Dimitrescu exchanged glances, both confused by Y/n's perspective. Miranda spoke gently, "Y/n, it's normal for people to help each other, to care for one another. You don't have to bear everything on your own. We are here for you."

Lady Dimitrescu, realizing the depth of the situation, added, "What you've described is not a healthy way to live. It's okay to seek help, to question things. We're not just your superiors; we're also people who care about you."

Y/n hesitated, realizing the ingrained beliefs she had carried for so long. "I never thought about it that way. It's just the way things have always been for me."

Understanding the sensitivity of the conversation, Lady Dimitrescu turned to Miranda. "I'll give you two some time to talk. It seems like there's much for Y/n to process."

Miranda, sensing the need for a more intimate conversation, led Y/n to a quiet bench where they could sit together. Y/n, seeking comfort, rested her head on Miranda's shoulder, and Miranda gently took Y/n's hand in hers.

As they settled into a moment of shared vulnerability, Y/n began to explain, "I've always felt responsible for taking care of others. It's just how I've lived, and I never expected anyone to take care of me."

Miranda, with a soft smile, asked, "But who takes care of you, sweet girl, if you're always giving yourself to others?"

Y/n sighed, "No one, really. It's not anyone else's job to take care of me, and I shouldn't expect them to."

Miranda's expression softened further. "It's normal for people to care for others and, in return, receive care. You deserve that too, sweet girl." She wrapped her arm around Y/n, embracing her as they sat together on the bench.

They remained in that comforting silence for a while, Miranda providing a sense of security for Y/n. Eventually, Miranda spoke, "We'll work on this together, at your pace. It's okay to let people in and accept help. You don't have to carry everything on your own."

Y/n, feeling a mixture of vulnerability and gratitude, whispered, "Thank you, Miranda."

Miranda pressed a gentle kiss to Y/n's forehead and held her a little tighter, both of them acknowledging the journey ahead, one that would involve breaking down the walls Y/n had built around herself for so long.

Later that night, with Y/n peacefully sleeping, Miranda sat beside her, engrossed in a book. Alcina entered the room, requesting Miranda's presence for a talk. Miranda, kissing Y/n gently on the forehead, agreed before quietly leaving the room.

In the drawing room, Miranda and Alcina sat together. The sisters, sensing the serious atmosphere, joined them, ready for the conversation. Cassandra, with a sinister grin, started, "The maids' punishment has been taken care of."

Miranda, curious yet composed, questioned, "And how was it handled?"

Bela, her tone matter-of-fact, replied, "We tortured them before ending their lives."

Miranda, acknowledging the severity of the situation, simply nodded. "As long as it's been taken care of."

Daniela, changing the subject, asked with genuine concern, "How is Y/n? Is she alright?"

Miranda, a touch of warmth in her eyes, replied, "She's healing. It will take some time, but she'll be okay."

Daniela visibly relaxed, and Cassandra teased, "Oh, Daniela was practically inconsolable when we found Y/n. It was quite the scene."

Daniela blushed, trying to defend herself. "I was just worried, that's all."

Cassandra, chuckling, continued to tease her younger sister, and Bela added, "It's good to see you care, Daniela. Y/n means a lot to all of us."

As the conversation continued in the sitting room, Y/n stirred from her slumber, wondering where Miranda had gone. Following the sound of voices, she discovered them gathered in the sitting room. The attention of the group turned to Y/n as she entered the room, her presence bringing a pause to their discussion.

Daniela, with swift enthusiasm, rushed over to Y/n, enveloping her in a hug. Alcina, ever the protective figure, reminded Daniela to be gentle. Blushing, Daniela apologized, and Y/n reassured her, "It's okay, Daniela."

With a playful glint in her eye, Daniela warned, "If you ever scare us like that again, you won't like what happens."

Y/n settled on the couch beside Miranda, engaging in the ongoing conversation with the sisters. Finding comfort in Miranda's presence, she leaned into her, appreciating the warmth and reassurance. Miranda, in response, gently took Y/n's hand, their fingers entwining.

The sisters, ever observant, noticed the subtle intimacy and exchanged knowing glances. Their teasing remarks prompted Y/n to look down, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Miranda and Alcina chuckled at Y/n's reaction.

Cassandra smirked, "Looks like someone's enjoying the company."

Bela added with a playful tone, "Quite cozy, aren't we, Y/n?"

Daniela, joining in the teasing, teased, "I didn't know maids got such special treatment."

Y/n, feeling the heat in her cheeks, mumbled a response. Alcina, in a motherly tone, playfully scolded her daughters, "Leave the poor girl alone."

As the banter continued, the atmosphere remained light, filled with laughter and camaraderie. Eventually, Alcina and the sisters decided to retire to their rooms for the night, leaving Miranda and Y/n in the quiet sitting room.

Miranda, still holding Y/n's hand, turned to her, "They can be a handful, can't they?"

Y/n, feeling a mix of emotions, smiled and replied, "They're unique, but I appreciate the company."

Miranda, recognizing the lateness of the hour, suggested that it was time for both of them to retire to bed. Y/n agreed, and Miranda walked them to the door of Y/n's room. As they stood outside the room, Y/n expressed her gratitude, thanking Miranda for everything she had done.

Miranda, with a reassuring smile, replied, "It was no problem, Y/n. You're part of this household, and I want to ensure you feel safe and cared for."

Y/n nodded appreciatively but hesitated, a question lingering in her mind. Miranda, perceptive as always, sensed Y/n's uncertainty and gently probed, "What is it, Y/n? You seem like there's something on your mind."

Y/n bit her lip, hesitating before dismissing the thought, "Oh, it's nothing. I'll see you in the morning."

Miranda, not willing to let it go, softly grasped Y/n's hand, turning her to face her. "It's not 'nothing.' Tell me, Y/n. What's on your mind?"

Y/n glanced down, feeling a bit foolish, and mumbled, "It's stupid."

Miranda, with a patient and caring tone, insisted, "It's not stupid, and your thoughts matter. Talk to me, Y/n."

Miranda, unable to catch Y/n's quiet request, noticed the hesitancy in her expression. Gently lifting Y/n's face with her fingers, Miranda asked again, "What is it, dove? I couldn't quite hear you."

Blushing, Y/n repeated in a hushed tone, "I was wondering if... if you'd be willing to stay with me tonight."

Miranda's gentle smile grew, and she replied, "Of course, it's not stupid at all. If it makes you feel more comfortable, I'm happy to stay with you." Her fingers softly stroked Y/n's face, offering a reassuring touch.

Y/n, still uncertain, sought confirmation, "Really? You're willing to stay?"

Miranda nodded with sincerity, "Yes, really. Now, let's get ready for bed."

As Miranda prepared for bed, Y/n settled into the softness of the covers. When Miranda returned, Y/n eagerly cuddled up to her, finding solace in the comforting presence.

Miranda, embracing Y/n, softly whispered, "Goodnight, dove."

Y/n, feeling a warmth she hadn't known before, replied, "Goodnight, Miranda." 

Y/n, waking in the early morning hours, felt a sharp pain in her stomach. Touching the area, she discovered wetness on her hands. Panic set in as she looked down and saw blood, a significant amount staining her clothes and the bed. The realization struck her that the stitches must have ripped.

Freaked out and in a state of shock, she urgently tried to wake Miranda. When Miranda didn't respond immediately, Y/n rushed out of the room, her mind racing for help. Without hesitation, she headed towards Bela's room, knocking anxiously on the door.

Bela, expecting another maid, opened the door only to be surprised by the distressed sight of Y/n.

Bela, concerned by Y/n's distressed state, urgently inquired, "What's wrong? Y/n, please, tell me!"

In shock and unable to articulate fully, Y/n stammered, "Blood... stitches... pain..."

Bela caught the scent of blood and quickly noticed Y/n's clothes stained crimson. Realizing the severity, she tried to keep Y/n awake, urging, "Stay with me, Y/n. Don't close your eyes."

Before Bela could leave to fetch her sisters, Cassandra and Daniela appeared, having caught wind of the situation. Their worried expressions deepened as they saw Y/n.

Bela swiftly directed Cassandra, "Stay with Y/n. I need to get Miranda. Daniela, go get Alcina."

Cassandra, determined to keep Y/n conscious, gently applied pressure to the wound, attempting to stem the bleeding. Concern etched across her face, she encouraged, "Y/n, stay with me. Tell me about something, anything."

Y/n, weakened and in pain, mumbled, "I... I don't know... hurts..."

Cassandra, doing her best to offer comfort, helped Y/n lie down, cradling her head in her lap. "It's going to be okay. Help is on the way," Cassandra reassured, her voice a soothing presence in the midst of the crisis. "Just focus on staying awake for a little longer."

Y/n's voice, feeble and strained, whispered to Cassandra, "I feel... so cold and tired."

Cassandra, maintaining a reassuring tone, replied, "Hey, don't worry. You're going to be fine. You just need to hang on a little longer until Miranda and Alcina get here."

Y/n, shivering, continued, "It hurts... so much."

Cassandra, applying gentle pressure to the wound, acknowledged, "I know it hurts, but we're doing everything we can to help you. Just stay with us, Y/n."

Y/n's eyes flickered, a sign of her weakening state, "I'm scared, Cassandra..."

Cassandra, stroking Y/n's hair soothingly, responded, "I understand. It's okay to be scared, but you're not alone. We're here with you, and help is on the way. Focus on breathing, okay? In and out."

Y/n, her breathing becoming more labored, managed a faint smile, "You're... a good friend, Cassandra."

Cassandra smiled back, her eyes reflecting concern, "And you're a strong person, Y/n. We'll get through this together."

The frantic urgency in Cassandra's voice filled the room as she heard the approaching footsteps of Miranda, Alcina, and the other sisters. "They're coming, Y/n. Just hold on a bit longer, help is here."

Miranda and Alcina burst into the room, their eyes immediately assessing the situation. Bela and Daniela quickly explained the circumstances, with Alcina's gaze narrowing in concern. Miranda, with a soothing yet urgent tone, assured Y/n, "We're here now, dear. You're going to be okay. Just stay with us."

Cassandra, feeling a sense of relief with the arrival of help, informed Miranda, "She just passed out, but she was conscious a moment ago."

Y/n's limp form in Cassandra's lap heightened the sense of urgency. Panicking slightly, Cassandra shook Y/n gently, calling her name, "Y/n, wake up. They're here now."

Miranda, taking charge, directed, "We need to get her to the medical room. Alcina, can you assist?"

Alcina nodded, taking Y/n carefully into her arms. "Let's go," she said, her tone reflecting a mix of concern and determination.

Miranda led the way, with Alcina following, carrying Y/n through the corridors. Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela trailed behind, their worry evident as they entered the medical room together.In the stark medical room, the atmosphere was thick with tension as Miranda, Alcina, and the sisters worked desperately to save Y/n. However, it became increasingly apparent that Y/n had lost an alarming amount of blood, pushing the limits of conventional medical intervention.

As the urgency heightened, Miranda hesitated, grappling with the decision that could either save or jeopardize Y/n's life. The only option left was the cadou, a mysterious and potent solution with uncertain consequences. The weight of the decision hung heavily on Miranda's shoulders.

After a moment of contemplation, Miranda made the difficult choice to implant the cadou into Y/n. The room fell silent as they anxiously waited for any sign of change. However, seconds felt like an eternity, and the anticipated transformation failed to manifest.

A sense of despair settled over the room as Y/n's vital signs continued to decline. The heart monitor emitted a flatline, the sound cutting through the heavy air like a painful truth. The sisters, normally composed and poised, began to lose their composure. The reality of the situation struck hard, and panic set in.

Miranda, her expression pained and defeated, spoke with a heavy heart, "There's nothing more we can do. I'm sorry."

Daniela, overcome with grief, couldn't contain her emotions any longer. Tears streamed down her face as she pleaded with Miranda, "Do something, please! Save her!"

As the sisters reluctantly left the room, Alcina casting a sympathetic glance at Miranda, a heavy silence enveloped the medical chamber. Alone with Y/n's lifeless form, Miranda's emotions erupted in a torrent of sadness and frustration.

Tears welled up in Miranda's eyes as she looked down at Y/n. A mix of sorrow and anger consumed her, the weight of responsibility settling heavily on her shoulders. "I'm sorry, my dear," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "I should have seen the signs, done something sooner. This is my fault."

She sank into a chair beside Y/n's still form, her hands shaking as she reached out to brush a strand of hair from Y/n's face. "You trusted me, and I failed you," Miranda confessed, her voice trembling. "I should have known how fragile you were, but I was too blinded by my own arrogance."

The room seemed to echo with Miranda's self-reproach, and she continued to speak to the motionless figure on the bed. "I've spent centuries, seen so much, and yet, I couldn't save you. I can't forgive myself for this."

Tears fell freely as Miranda took Y/n's cold hand in hers, a futile attempt to warm the lifeless flesh. "You deserved better, my dove," she lamented. "I promised to protect you, and I failed. I'm so sorry." The weight of regret hung in the air, and Miranda's sorrowful confessions echoed through the silent room, unheard by the one person they were meant for.

The days that followed Y/n's passing were filled with a heavy atmosphere, grief clinging to the castle like a persistent shadow. The funeral had come and gone, leaving behind a somber emptiness that seemed to echo through the halls. But for Miranda, the pain persisted, and she found herself drawn to the small secret garden on the castle grounds.

In the tranquil enclosure, hidden away from the world, Miranda sat beside Y/n's resting place, surrounded by flowers that mirrored the fleeting beauty of life. She spoke to the quiet air, her voice a soft lamentation that blended with the rustling leaves and distant echoes of the castle.

"I miss you, my dove," Miranda confessed, her tears falling to the ground like silent prayers. "I never imagined your journey would end so abruptly. I failed you, and I can't forgive myself."

As Miranda poured out her heart, unbeknownst to her, Alcina and the sisters had silently followed her to the garden. They watched from a distance, hidden among the foliage, witnessing the raw emotion that Miranda had kept hidden from the world.

Bela, Daniela, and Cassandra exchanged glances, their eyes reflecting the pain they felt for both Y/n and Miranda. Alcina, usually composed and commanding, couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for the woman she had come to care for in a way she hadn't anticipated.

Miranda's voice wavered as she continued to speak to the silent grave. "You deserved more than this. A life full of joy, not cut short by my shortcomings. I failed to protect you, and I'll carry that burden for eternity."

The wind carried Miranda's sorrowful words through the garden, mingling with the delicate fragrance of flowers. The sisters remained silent, allowing Miranda the space to grieve, understanding that some wounds could never fully heal. 

Miranda's estate, once a grand and imposing structure, now stood as a mere shell of its former self. The emptiness within the cold stone walls echoed the hollowness in her heart. Life had continued for everyone else, but for Miranda, time seemed to freeze in the moment she lost Y/n.

Each week, the journey to Castle Dimitrescu became a melancholic pilgrimage. The once vibrant secret garden now held the weight of memories that refused to fade. Miranda spoke to the silent grave, recounting the events leading to that fateful day, as if reliving the tragedy would somehow alter the outcome.

The hole in Miranda's heart persisted, a constant ache that refused to dull with time. Y/n, who had entered her life so briefly yet left an indelible mark, continued to haunt Miranda's thoughts. The pain she felt was reminiscent of the loss of her own daughter, a wound that had never truly healed.

Miranda found herself stuck in a perpetual loop of grief, reliving the day Y/n died over and over again. The vibrant colors of her world had faded to shades of gray, and the once powerful and enigmatic woman had become a mere shell of herself.

The grandeur of Miranda's estate, once a symbol of her prowess, now mirrored the desolation within. The grand halls, once filled with the echoes of power, now reverberated with the quiet sobs of a mourning soul.

As Miranda gazed upon the cold stone walls of her estate, the pain of losing Y/n weighed heavily on her. The fleeting moments of joy they had shared were overshadowed by the relentless sorrow that now clung to her like a persistent shadow. And so, Miranda remained trapped in the past, bound by the unyielding chains of grief, haunted by the ghost of a love that had slipped through her fingers.

[gilverrwrites]

Forget yourself, surrender your mind.

Black Mask/F!Reader, 2.5K ft. Platonic Jason Todd/Reader AN: So, this is based on a series of frankly depraved, evil, beautiful asks [one], [two], [three], [four]. Thank you so much anon/s! It's been tittering on complete for a while now, but I've been hesitatnt to post if as a I feel like it's missing something, but I can't quite put my finger on it. Maybe I'll post an amended verison at a later date. Hopefully youse don't feel the same, and/or enjoy it anyway. CWs: Swearing, power imbalance, sexual misconduct - Roman is a H/R nightmare, drug use, non-graphic violence, bad drug trip, non-graphic torture, non-graphic blood, manipulation, forced exhibition, public/humiliation, degradation, dumbification/infantilization, a LOT of daddy kink, objectification, isolation, edging, hair pulling, one sided co-dependency, unhealthy coping mechanisms, self-destructive behaviours, very abusive relationship. I am being way over-cautious with this, but basically DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT!

“He makes my fucking skin crawl.” Your lips are pulled into a tight scowl as you read the latest text from your boss Roman. “Look at this shit.”

Wear something extra pretty for your shift tomorrow, doll. I have something special planned for you.

Maybe you could understand if you were one of his working girls, you presume they're being paid to fuck him as well as the clientele, but you’re his fucking club's accountant. Despite this, or maybe because of it, he seems to get his kicks trying to coerce his way in your pants, and the more you reject him the more it spurs him on.

Jason considers the message with a frown before snatching your phone and scrolling up. The more inappropriate messages he sees, the more pissed off he looks. Most of it is much of the same, comments on your body and attitude, sometimes it’s worse, pure and unadulterated filth. Occasionally he throws in a legitimate work-related message, which requires an urgent reply. You’re certain he only does the latter to ensure you’re still checking each and every message.

“I told you not to take the job, and I keep telling you to quit.” He finally replies, handing back your phone and crossing his arms. The stormy expression and his imposing stature might be enough to scare anyone else into caving, but this is Jason. Your best friend Jason. You’d been through thick and thin. You’d watched him drunkenly recite Jane Austen in nothing but socks and a fuzzy pink towel for Christ's sake. He doesn’t frighten you. “He’s a creep, why do you keep working for him?”

“The pay is insane.” You reply instantaneously because it is. You’ve almost paid off half your student loan in a matter of months. And that’s on top of all the gifts. You know you shouldn’t take them, blood money and ill-gotten gains blah blah blah but some of it was just too good to turn down. Not to mention the dope. The perks of the job really outweigh the cons, you can deal with Romans vulgar attitude towards you, at least until your loans are paid and your savings account is bloated.

You love Jason dearly, but he’ll blow a fucking gasket if he found out you were taking bribes and drugs from Black fucking Mask. For a casino owner, he’s always been a bit of a stickler. So, you keep that secret for yourself, and you don’t feel bad about it. He has his secrets too. Unfortunately, real life isn’t like an episode of The Sleep Over Club.

“I worry about you.” Jay is still looking at you with that scrutinising glare, too bad it won’t work on you.

“I can handle Roman.” You roll your eyes as you attempt to reassure him. “Really Jay, I promise. He’d have to kill me before I would give him what he wanted.”

That felt so long ago. A far off memory that you hadn’t thought about since before the turning point in your relationship with Roman. It was laughable really. Kill you? Roman saved you.

He’d told you Red Hood was responsible, but you can’t really remember. You’d been high on a bad trip; a newbie had cut the stuff wrong apparently. All you can recall is being lost and alone, unable to command your own body when a bright light hit you out of nowhere, your ears were ringing, and then there was a gun in your face and finally Roman, your knight in a skull-shaped mask.

He’d made let you watch when he’d dealt with the idiot who fucked up the formula, and again you don’t want to remember much, just all that blood, all the screaming, and the thought that you never wanted to be in that position. Red Hood on the other hand was still at large, still a risk, but you weren’t scared of him. Why would you be scared of him when you had Roman. To protect you of course.

All he asked for in exchange was your unwavering submission loyalty.

It was good for you, Roman had helped you in a lot of ways. Keeping you safe, taking the weight off your shoulders. He’d made you realise what an uppity bitch you’d been.

It had been hard at first, accepting what you really are, who you belong to. It went against your core values to swallow your pride and comply to his whims, but you learned that he knew what was best.

The drugs help too. They make it easier to ignore the looks you get. At first, they made you uncomfortable; pitying glances from your former co-workers, judgement and disgust from strangers that cut deeper than you’d thought, mostly lust-filled leering from Roman's followers and his business associates.

But your objectification made Roman happy, and a happy Roman kept you safe happy.

You’re not sure when it happened but eventually, you stopped working, and not worrying about all those numbers felt good. “Don’t think about the money baby just pick whatever you want.”

After numbers came reading, “Those are some big words, why don’t you just point to the pictures.”

Then Roman cleverly pointed out that you didn't need a phone. Carrying around a phone usually meant carrying around a bag, and the ugly old bag you'd had since college really clashed with your pretty dresses.

Besides, what would you do with a phone? Text? Words are hard. Videos? Too much fake news out there, it would only scare you. Call someone? Who? You had everything you need right here.

Giving up decision-making came so naturally after that. “Don’t worry Princess. Daddy knows what you need.”

Roman Daddy helps a lot, he keeps you in line, reminds you of your place. Sometimes you need a firm hand and he’s never been afraid to give it to you. But mostly he just keeps you grounded.

Like now. It would be easy to focus on the hard sticky floor digging into your knees. To feel shame at wilfully allowing someone to treat you like this, at the idea of being watched in such a degrading position by the patrons of the bar or the man on the other side of the table. But you have Daddy to keep you focused. The scratchy feel of his slacks on your cheeks, his fingers in your hair, petting you like a good girl.

The best part is the muskiness of his crotch against your nose. He smells so yummy! It’s a challenge not to stick your tongue out and taste him. The last time you’d done that you’d gotten carried away, drooling all over him, making a large wet patch on his expensive trousers and getting drool everywhere. He’d punished you by having you clean up as much of the remaining excess with your mouth. That meant sucking at the velvety pillowed fabric of the chair and licking the filth-trodden floor. You’d hated every second, but you’d been happy to do it, eager to convince Daddy to keep you.

And it worked!

The memory of it, helps you to stave off the urge to make out with his clothed groin right now. What doesn’t help is the throbbing clit between your legs. Daddy edges you multiple times a day but rarely does he let you cum, that way you’re always wet and needy and ready for his cock. The punishment for trying to get off without him? More proof of Daddy's brilliance. The thought of it dampens any impulse to alleviate the constant ache. You’d broken down and apologised before it even began, begged him to make it stop but he’d had you sit through the whole thing; an hour with your legs open, completely exposed to the False-Facers. No fucking, but otherwise they could do what they liked, touching, slapping, pinching, spitting, and that they did. Your lesson had been learned; that your pussy wasn’t yours. It, along with the rest of your body belongs to Daddy, not you and he can do as he pleases with it.

The hand in your hair suddenly tightens its grip, drawing you from your thoughts and guiding your head back to look at Daddy as he asks; “What are you think about baby?”

“You!” You smile at the sight of his handsome mask.

Cold glass brushes against your lips and you open up, tilting your head back to allow him to pour the sweet liquid in. It burns as it passes through your throat and makes your eyes water. You think you didn’t like cocktails like this before, but Daddy says you love them, and Daddy is always right.

“Good girl.” He coos, making you feel all warm and fuzzy with pride. “You’ve been so well-behaved today, why don’t you come sit on my lap and meet my new friend.”

“Thank you, Daddy!” You clamber to get closer to him, sitting across his lap and leaning the side of your head against his chest. You’re enjoying his warmth and the feel of his hands on your body when you hear something odd. A deep voice shouts a word you recognise but can’t define and it pings around the empty walls of your tiny brain.

“This is Jason Todd.” Daddy’s still talking, big words you don’t care about like ‘shareholder’ and ‘investing’ as he finds a place to settle his wandering hands. One supports your weight, cupping your ass. The other shamelessly gropes your breast, twisting and pinching your pert nipple through the sheer fabric of your dress. A loud, pornographic moan escapes your glossy lips as you relish in Daddy's attention until you hear that word again.

“It’s me. It’s Jason.” It’s the same voice, chipping away in your unconscious. “It’s Jason Todd.”

Jason. Jason Todd. Another sound that you can’t quite put your finger on.

Jay-son Todd.

Jay-son.

Jay.

Finally, you look at the stranger, his mouth is moving. It’s his voice you’d heard before, he says the word again and you think you should know it, but you can’t quite grasp it.

“Have you met Jason before, baby?” Daddy's hold on you tightens, biting into half-healed wounds partially hidden by your clothes.

At the same time, the stranger barks, making you jump. “What the fuck?”

And then that word again and this time it clicks.

It’s your name.

You forgot your own name.

Shame hits you like a bucket of ice water. Trickling through your body in waves as it all comes back to you. And the man, that’s…

“Jason!” Your best friend Jason. “What are you doing here?”

God, what must he think of you; doing tricks like a damn dog for Daddy a man you swore you’d never let touch you.

“Looking for you.” He’s on his feet and towering over you in seconds. He has such a substantial frame. You always thought you’d recognise it anywhere. “I haven’t heard from you in months.”

Months? Had it really been months?

“Your phone line is dead. I went to your apartment and all your shit was on the curb. You’ve not been paying your bills or watering your plants. I thought you were dead.”

Concern is etched into his blue-green eyes and it’s too much. The indignity of your behaviour, the guilt at making him worry, making him come here looking for you, all those words. So many words. Roman says your brain isn’t meant for lots of words.

Jason grabs you, his meaty hand clutching onto your upper arm and attempting to pull you toward him. It does not have the desired effect, the rational part of your brain snaps under the stress of the overwhelming situation like he’s shining a spotlight on you in your most vulnerable moment, like he’s attacking you, and you can think of nothing in this world you want less than to go with him.

“Daddy!” While Jason’s tug is enough to send a jolt through your body, to your relief it isn’t enough to pull you from Daddy's arms. Instinctively, you pull his arm closer for comfort, unaware of how you’d been digging your nails into the sleeve of his suit jacket until you utilise it as a safety net. “Make him stop.”

The look on Jason’s the man’s face is that of pure horror. It hurts to look at, so you nestle deeper against Daddy's chest, soothed by the way it shakes as he chuckles, despite the evident venom lacing the sound. His neck is a deep shade of red. Angry veins bulge with each beat of his battery-powered heart. “You heard her, kid. Take a hike.”

“I’m not leaving without her you sick fuck.” And then the man puts his other hand on you, this one cupping your face, encouraging you to look at him. He’s trying to console you. Instead, he frightens you. “You don’t have to stay here. Whatever he’s got on you, we...”

You let the words pass in one ear and out the other, with no desire to retain any of it.

Daddy is not going to like this. Not only had the scary man tricked him, but now he’s touching you. Trying to take you away. Daddy is really not going to like this.

The man tries once more to snatch your body and this time he succeeds. You squeal as your body harshly lurches forward. Your fears are cut shut, however. Daddy protects you, grabbing you ruthlessly by the throat and kicking the back of your heel. You go limp, allowing his vice-like hold on your neck to lead you back to the floor.

"You Wayne's think you own every fucking thing." Daddy strikes the table with his fist, and something wet slashes into your face, followed by a loud shattering sound. You don't care.

"Don't compare me to him. He's got nothing to do with this."

"Like father like fucking son. You're under my roof boy, and you have the nerve to put your hands on my shit!"

It’s becoming a spectacle. People are watching. You don’t want to look, don't want to listen.

Closing your eyes, you kneel in front of the booth, settling your head onto the warm space where Daddy had been sitting.

They’re both shouting, it makes your head hurt. Something cool is seeping down your face. What sounds like a gun goes off. Once, twice, three times. You don’t care. You don’t want to care. You want to go back to ten minutes ago when your head was empty, and your Daddy was happy.

His lingering scent helps you find that headspace until he returns.

“Look at me.” Once again, he uses your hair to yank your head back, directing you to face him. Despite the way you wail in surprise, the sting is a welcomed reassurance that you’re where you belong. Dark red blood mars his white suit. You don’t look for a body or an injury. You just keep looking at Daddy. “Oh, my poor baby, you’re shaking. It’s okay, Daddies here.”

Daddy puts you at ease.

[cherryjuicegf]

"What's that thing you keep saying to Yarpen everytime you meet?"

Jaskier's face, buried into the crook of her neck, surfaces for a moment to look at her questioningly. Yennefer does not grant him a glance back. Only, her hand continues to stroke at his hair absentmindedly as she stares out the window, at the setting autumn sun.

He knows at once, of course. There are few things that torture him in his life, but few as they are, they leave little room for mercy.

He sighs. "Well," he mutters, somehow unwillingly, "it happens to be my full name."

Yennefer's eyebrows raise in amusement, the corners of her lips slightly twitching. He thinks of kissing them, the way he has done and will do, soon, but perhaps not now, for he has settled warmly in her arms and the curious scrunch of her nose is far too endearing from down here.

"Hm. You're a funny little thing..." Her fingers scratch playfully at his head and he feels himself blushing. Then, finally, she looks at him. Daring. "I want to hear it."

His heart drops to his stomach, just a little, and he suspects she feels its absence under her hand because she keeps on staring, waiting. Her eyes glint with unspoken thirst, gentle like that of a little kid discovering a shell buried underground.

A shell, maybe, of an old self. One that he shies away from now, before her. He shakes his head.

"Ah, it's not important." What's gotten into her now to unearth this, of all things? "It's ugly anyway."

Yennefer rolls her eyes, fond, insistent.

"Come, now," she prompts and her voice is oh, so soft that his heart almost crumbles back to its place, just to feel the sound vibrate on her skin. A cunning smile. "Do I not have the right to know my husband's name? I may even use it."

At once, he laughs. Silent, surrenderring, certain there is no escape and it's so unfair and so, so sweet, the way she forces his own hand to dig inside his chest.

His face returns to its hiding place into her neck.

"Julian," he says, a bitter taste. "Julian Alfred Pankratz."

She hums, satisfied. Now that she's seen it, the relic, she averts her eyes.

"Why use it, then?"

Jaskier muffles a chuckle against her skin, trapped. He considers not answering. But it's not like she will not know anyway. And maybe he has been alone in knowing for too long.

The images of another life flash before his eyes and he winces in distress.

"Perhaps," he swallows, shrugs, "it sounds more imposing." Fraudulent attention, false power, enough to feign importance. Reeking more than royal. He smiles. "At least, I thought so when they called me that. A bit scarier."

He thinks, the name of a flower is not always heavy enough to rock the ears, and this is why he chose it for himself. Only, perhaps other ears are more welcoming to what is heavy to the tongue.

Then, again, it didn't make much of a difference, did it?

Yennefer sighs, brows slightly furrowed as though pensive, working it in her mind. It's almost a relief, the lack of impression it's left on her.

"Julian..." she whispers after a while, not so much calling him by his name as feeling it on her tongue, letting it flood her mouth. His whole body shivers in her arms. Soft, light, like a feather's caress, she feels it, dusts it like she would a rare finding settled between her hands. She squints her eyes, picks apart every sound. "Julian, Julian..."

A lump is suddenly choking his throat, and he can't help but smile, let out a breath that has been weighting on his chest.

"Strange," he breathes, laughs. "It sounds beautiful when you say it. It sounds..."

"Important?" Yennefer smiles faintly and meets his gaze. He smiles back, grateful. Nods. "That's good," she shakes her head, lowers her look just a bit as a thought clouds her eyes. "It's good... to hear your name uttered like it's something precious."

Jaskier parts his lips to say something but forgets it at once. He stays there, still, staring at her face and the way the evening paints her eyes in a deep haze, and makes her look even softer than he could ever have imagined her. Glowing, like a gleaming stone. That's what it is, then.

He grins and sits up to look at her properly, to take her in.

"That's right, Yennefer of Vengerberg," he whispers, slow like a prayer, tender like a poem, and brushes her hair back, finds her eyes.

Then, he holds her face gently in his hands, and she leans into the touch to lay her own name between them in return. And he kisses, at last, the smiling corners of her lips.

"Something precious indeed."

[deeppenguinstudent]

A little draft I typed up last night for shits and giggles, please read the tags

The grating of Andrew's knife against a wooden stake reverberated against the walls, enclosing them. The entirety of the cabin was downtrodden, and Jean wondered when was the last time the Minyards entered this forsaken place. The smell of sulphur and decay was an unwelcome presence in Jean's nose, and he resisted against the urge to lurch at the familiarity of it.

"We don't have all day, witch," Andrew's tone was sharp yet held no hositily. He was unlike his partners, who were truculent and had mouths that made angels weep at their vulgarity.

Andrew Minyard was an infamous hunter within the supernatural world; eloquent and agile yet as lethal as a Basilisk. Beside him were his partners, the two that Andrew clung on and never let his sight drift from them: Neil Josten and Kevin Day.

Neil Josten was another of Andrew's kin; a human that had conjured up the strength to fight beside him after the death of his beastly father. A man who was an extremist in all his ways and butchered both monsters and humans alike just to satiate his own glee. Jean had heard the tales of the wretched man by Riko. He only did this to assuage that Jean would never be able to escape his destiny as the Moriyama property. That Riko had the means to send such a vermin to drag him back by his hair.

Kevin Day, the name whispered within Jean's mind with such bittersweet nostalgia, was a demi-god. The bastard child between the Goddess, Kayleigh Day, and human hunter, David Wymack. A son born out of sacrilege and his mother's love for humanity. She loved her son in earnest yet was sanctioned to eternal suffering for defying the self-imposed rules forged on a scribe as God's will.

Let all hell rein to those that were foolish enough to even lightly graze those two; Andrew would be sure those that were guilty would suffer a fate worse than death under his hands.

Jean, by comparison, was worth less than wet dirt. He was just a measly witch who was forced to learn sigils and magic to cater to Riko Moriyama. A man that had shown Jean the true terror of a demon's innovative ideas for complete submission. Tormenting Jean's mind until the only thought that had arised in his mind during those monotonous days were the sweet promises of death soon enveloping him.

And now here he was, drawing sigils with his blood to summon the fiend that tortured him mindlessly while laughing at his screams.

He glanced over to Andrew when he felt a heated gaze rake over his body. He felt shivers at his stare and lightly clutched on the charmed rosary given to him by Renee.

"Quit your staring."

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Andrew narrowed his gaze. He was now sitting on a backwards chair, stake stowed away within the harness of his right thigh.

Jean scoffed, affronted by Andrew's comment. Although he was a witch, he was a fucking skilled one. The time with Riko had surely been diabolical, but Jean had garnered skills every witch could only dream of acquiring. Summoning a demon was nothing but a cinch for Jean, and he didn't need a hunter in denim making jibes at the only thing Jean had to his name.

"Yes," Jean bit back, "I don't expect a hunter to understand the delicacy of witchcraft. All you do is flail around your knife like a barbarian and hope it lands on the critical point of your opponent."

"Watch it. Kevin's still a call away."

Jean huffed before wiping his palm that was flowing with blood. The stupid hunter had been threatening him with that statement ever since Jean was shoved into his car. It was effective yet immensely vexating.

Jean had been residing with Andrew and his other two partners for two weeks at most. Renee, a pacifist witch with rainbow tips, had rescued him from the trenches of Hell on her duly visit for medicinal herbs for her stepmother, Stephanie.

Hell was not as the fables made it out to be. It needed to have sustenance so that demons could prosper. Since they were abnormal creatures, their medicinal herbs had unimaginable healing qualities, therefore being an invaluable ingredient in many healing potions prepared by witches. Renee had nursed him back to health and promised to fight against the wrath of Riko to protect him.

Renee was almost like an informant to many hunters alike, so it was evident that Andrew and his partners would eventually visit her when a new case was brought up. Unluckily for Jean, Neil had seen his form retreating into Renee's bedroom and pulled him by the neck where he met green eyes that were like a whirlpool of bottomless guilt.

One thing led to another, and before Jean knew it, Renee had wrapped a necklace with a formidable protection charm around his neck alongside a lingering kiss on his cheek as a goodbye. He followed the hunters back to their lodge and felt a gnawing ache at his stomach at the prospect of Riko.

Riko was hell-bent on bringing travesty to Jean, but he held an even higher determination to retrieve Kevin from the clutches of Andrew. Kevin was smart: he had run and never looked back. Jean was an idiot who was still trapped in the cage that Riko had forced him into.

For that reason, Jean beseeched Andrew to accompany him to destroy Riko. Andrew perked up his eyebrow at his brusque attitude, but Jean promised him that he had the means to put an end to Riko. All Andrew would have to do was lie to his partners and take him to a secluded area so he could conduct the ritual.

Jean was surprised that Andrew believed his jackanory readily.

"Remember, don't do anything that would break the spell," Jean gave Andrew a curt look. He stepped into ceremonial circle and began to recite in an old transcript lost in time.

Time stopped. Candles flickered. Sweat trickled.

A sinister smile filled with sharp teeth appeared in front of Jean. Gleaming red eyes that were bathed in the blood of millions of mortals shone and struck Jean to his core. He shuddered and plucked out a match from his pocket before lighting it and dropping it to the ground.

A circle of flames now surrounded them with Andrew's inquistive peer scrutinising them.

"All this for me?" Riko drawled as he leered at Jean with a lazy smirk, "You know, I'm just a demon; why go through the trouble of setting up an angel trap? Are you gonna ask if it hurt when I fell from heaven next?"

The heat of the flames consumed Jean as he ignored Riko's mockery and willed himself to stop trembling.

"I want to make a deal."

"Oh, Jean, there is nothing you can offer me. You're just so infuriatingly worthless to me." Riko's expression morphed into faux sympathy, his hand patting lightly on his own chest, "I've seen every expression you can make, heard every scream that left your lips. You're nothing but a washed-up, used toy."

Jean tried to force out the memories of his tortured screams. He couldn't let Riko play him like a fiddle again. He needed to domineer over the conversation; luckily, he had a trump card.

"I heard that Kengo is dead. Congratulations." Jean deadpanned and took pleasure in seeing Riko's smooth face crinkle in irritation.

"Since when did you turn into such a brat?" Riko scorned, his facade dropping, "Yes, Father is dead, and Ichirou is missing so naturally, I'll assume the throne of King of Hell."

Riko stepped forward. Jean remained still.

"Why don't you start early and bow down to your future King?" Riko's tone was grating to Jean's ears, and he gasped in terror as he felt claws grazing against his shoulders, "Maybe if you beg me nicely and say please, your punishment for running away would be much lighter."

A knife was flung towards Riko's hand, making him retract it away from Jean, "Don't use that word, I don't like it."

Riko seethed and bared his teeth towards Andrew, who seemed unperturbed at his advances.

"Did you know that God has played us all for a fool? He was never missing," Jean recited, making Riko tear his gaze away from Andrew, "He has abandoned this world and moved on to the next. God never had a plan. It had all been trial and error for him; a sick game where we were the pawns."

Jean felt both Andrew and Riko's eyes on him. He licked his lips before he continued.

"Demons and angels are at war with each other with humanity caught in the cross-fire. They are killing off each other, and soon, there will not even be a kingdom for you to run."

"So? What's your point?" Riko rolled his eyes. This was basic knowledge that had come to light ever since Kengo had taken the throne, and he pushed his ideals of blasphemy to all his creations.

"The archangels know a way to birth a new God; but they are not the only ones that have acquired this knowledge. A demi-god must kill all the 7 arch angels and injest their souls to reach pure divinity. No sentient being can live without God, but birthing a new God means birthing a new world."

Riko let out a guttural laugh as his shoulders shook with effort, "Did all the torture finally render you insane Jean? Which psychotic individual did you get this moronic story from?"

"Kayleigh Day."

Riko stopped chuckling and reached for Jean's neck, squeezing it hard. The rosary had a defensive charm that burned those with malicious intent from harming the bearer. Riko didn't mind sizzling palm as he choked Jean with a rigid crush that had Jean grappling for air. Andrew tried to intercept, but the roaring flames were an impenetrable border that grew more ferocious as Riko grew more aggressive.

If Jean died, the flames would swallow him up whole so Riko let go of Jean, watching him stumble back with a bored look.

Jean gasped for breath.

"You know better than to fucking lie to me, Jean," Riko shook off his burning hand from the stinging pain, "When the hell did you speak to Kayleigh Day? She was sentenced to purgatory right after her baby was born."

"I was sentenced to open the door to purgatory. Master deemed my life valueless, so I was chosen as a sacrifice in the event a Leviathan got ahold of the gate opening." Jean reached for his neck and tried to regulate his breath, "I was young, so it took me long hours of concentration that made the Master restless; he left us both alone as he went away to soothe his unease. That is when she spoke to me."

Riko glared down at him before kicking him in ribs and grabbing Jean's hair roughly, "Why are you telling me this? You're not making any sense, and I hate it. Do not make me lose my patience, Jean. You will pay for it with your blood."

This time, the sharpened stake was flung dangerously close to Riko's eyes in warning. Riko paid it no mind as he continued his tantrum.

"I'm giving you one last chance, Moreau. Stop beating around the bush and talk."

Jean detested himself for submitting to proclivity and replying to Riko almost instantaneously; the dormant fear erupting into a stream of lava when Riko spat his words vehemently.

"Ichirou is a demi-god, as you know," Jean snuck a peek at Andrew, embarrassed at his watchful eye at Jean's capitulation, "Kengo's essence was also bestowed to him as a gift to his first son. He was last seen having a conversation with Azarael, who has now been found dead along with his blade missing; the blade that is capable of killing angels."

"Stop," Riko blinked rapidly, his distress obviously palpable in his voice, "Ichirou is trying to ascend to God hood? He's insane. He has absolutely lost his mind."

"I'm afraid a world where your brother is God, he would not spare any of us - especially you."

Riko cut him off with a glare as he paced around within the ceremonial circle, hands tugging roughly against his own hair. His eyes twitched as thoughts roamed inside his mind, and he glanced to Jean's kneeling form before settling into a look of resignation.

"So then? What's your deal, crone?"

Jean unclasped the rosary around his neck and flung it out of the circle; the inferno around them let out a guttural cry before engulfing the necklace and producing a shock wave. The force knocked back Andrew roughly against a neighbouring wall and rendered him giddy at the sudden attack. Good, he needn't know of the half-witted decision Jean was about to make. It wasn't as if Jean was planning to stick around after the deal was made.

"Possess me," Jean's heart quickened as Riko titled his head before he simpered at Jean's desperation, "I shall lend you my body, and in turn you will not lay a finger on Kevin."

"Your body?" Riko let out another overzealous laugh that rattled Jean's bones, "You don't hold a candle to Kevin's prowess. He is a demi-god. You are nothing but a whorish witch that spreads your legs for the lowest rank of my demons for survival."

Jean stood up on shaky legs and lifted his shirt to reveal a plane of marred skin and an Anti-Possession tattoo lying on top of it.

"You can say what you want of me, but it does refute the fact that I am priceless to the Minyards." Jean met Riko with a challenging glare; this would be the tipping point of the iceberg to follow. "Andrew wouldn't have marked me if he thought of me as indispensable. They would stop the pursuit of your demise if you held my body for ransom - maybe reach a truce to take down Ichirou together."

"What can a bunch of measly humans do against my brother?"

"You and I both know what they are capable of; they are the cause of death of many immortal beings. They will make your rein as King of Hell absolute."

Riko eyes furrowed as he pondered. Jean could see himself drawing nearer to Riko's favour - he had to continue, he was so close.

"The demons don't see you as your King yet. They are still waiting for Ichirous appraisal," Riko flinched at Jean's remark, "If you return to Hell with your brother's head on a stick, they will finally bow down and accept you as their new successor."

With that, Riko let out a snigger and approached Jean's frame. He leered at the mark on Jean's stomach before pressing a caustic hand against his tattoo.

"Try not to scream."

Treacherous pain enwrapped Jean's being as he felt the burning of his flesh whitening his vision. His mouth clamped shut as tears prickled at his eyes; he cursed himself once again for unequivocally following Riko's orders like it was second nature. Riko poked at Jean's forehead before trailing his hand to grasp the side of his cheeks roughly.

Jean saw his true form phasing in. Black eyes met Jean's, and Jean voluntarily opened his mouth to allow the gust of smoke to enter his body. The world went blank as he clenched onto his stomach bruisingly, wrenching from side to side as he felt a claw carve lines from inside of his body.

When the pain finally subdued, his eyes landed on the branded mark of a Raven replacing the mark Andrew had painstakingly tattooed onto him at Kevin's behest.

Next to him, Andrew crouched beside his curled up form, the flame now washed down to a pile of ashes surrounding them.

"You have a lot of explaining to do, witch."

[sparrowsupportgroup]

Thinking of Kuras’s playful, whimsical side and it makes my heart 💓flutter💓

Like we all know he’s done really bad, heinous things, things that might be unforgivable - but he still has a right to have fun.

The most he can do is (subtly) screw over the Senobium a little bit and run away chuckling as they hunt him down. But he ultimately gives into their needs everytime because they hold something unsavory over his head, and it’s in his best interest to behave, even if he despises them.

But I feel Kuras is definitely weary of it all, no matter how well he hides it. For centuries now, he’s life been just work and suffering; yes, his obligation to serve the impoverished people of Eridia’s Lowtown is self-imposed out of his guilt but he takes his duty very seriously. Kuras cannot afford to move so carelessly and freely like everyone else; deep down, he feels like he doesn’t deserve any happiness or enjoyment in his life at all.

So with that in mind, it makes running away from that Senobium cleric with Kuras much more special, because not only is he giving into his frequently repressed desire to be playful, he got to it do with US, his most fascinating patient.

For the more lighthearted parts of his route, I think he can live out the plots of his beloved pulpy murder mystery novels with us being his sidekick - we’re the Watson to Kuras’s Holmes, so to speak - and just help him discover and solve the mysteries of Eridia and the wastelands and Fogfall, all while giving him a renewed passion for living again.

How he looked into our eyes after he caught us in his arms…it was like it was dawning on him that life doesn’t have to be full of suffering, that he can have a companion that WANTS to stay by his side, that he can have fun and be happy after so many centuries of self-inflicted torture, that he can finally have something belong to him after giving so many parts of himself away in his futile search for forgiveness. Looking into our eyes, he finally felt the long-forgotten rays of tentative hope blossom inside him, thinking “what if…what if good things can happen to me?”

But because he still believes he doesn’t deserve good things, Kuras ultimately lets us go, even though he wants to keep holding onto us, no matter what.

[thepapergirlandthespiegelman]

On Aventurine and Sunday

Spoilers for Honkai: Star Rail "Penacony" arc below the cut

The Aventurine-Sunday conflict scene is so wildly misleading for what happens moving forward. Aventurine is portrayed as this jaded (pun intended) victim of circumstance who questions why the gods allow terrible things to happen and how he can be considered to be blessed with luck when his entire tribe and family were exterminated, while Sunday is portrayed as a rigidly virtuous religious zealot who wants to impose his extremely dogmatic Path on to everyone and harshly punish those he views as sinners.

But then later Aventurine is like "Actually I just have to accept what happened to me and hope it makes sense someday, and also I just have to continue to endure constant misery so that I can make my family proud who told me to have faith and be good" and Sunday is like "I Will Kill the Gods With My Own Hands and Build a Paradise for Humanity with Their Remains" like okay?????

Aventurine is built up as this person who defies destiny but then just ends up completely accepting his destiny, meanwhile Sunday actually tries to change the course of the universe and everyone else is like NO, things can NOT be better, suffering and capitalism are Inevitable and how Dare you suggest otherwise, you deranged maniac

We're encouraged to think of Aventurine's position with the IPC as sort of a status condition, a semi-convenient vehicle that belies his true personal ambitions. In contrast, when we first meet Sunday, he IS the Family for all intents and purposes, and we assume that he is the primary defender of Penacony's status quo, including all the capitalism, commercialism, and exploitation. Aventurine is framed as heroically investigating the murders and trying to give voice to the voiceless, while Sunday is framed as an oppressor who abuses his power for his own petty satisfaction.

But when everything shakes out, that's not how it is at all. In the end, everything Aventurine did for the greater good was meaningless, because the murders weren't really murders, and they likely would have come to light through Gallagher's interventions regardless of Aventurine's actions. Sure, he disrupts the status quo of Penacony, a bit, to make the Family look bad, but any noise he made completely pales in comparison to what Sunday ends up doing anyway. So the only thing he accomplishes that actually ends up mattering is sneaking the three cornerstones into Penacony, allowing the IPC to gain a foothold, specifically via his two colleagues, who, unlike him, are never framed as anything but essentially loyal to the IPC and its imperialism. Even if you hold that Sunday is evil and that what he wants must be stopped (which I obviously don't, but that's a discussion for another time), and that Aventurine's actions may have indirectly created difficulty for Sunday in that regard, Aventurine cannot be credited for helping to prevent it because he did not know that it was going to happen.

Meanwhile, Sunday is framed as cruelly torturing Aventurine, but how did that turn out? Sure, it was painful, but when you look at what actually happened, the Harmony basically gave Aventurine therapy, allowing him to reconcile with his inner child and future self, resolve his internal conflict and resentment, and face the uncertainty of the future with bravery. And can we really blame Sunday for hating Aventurine? First of all he's just lost his sister, but moreover, from Sunday's perspective, Aventurine is just another oppressor from the IPC trying to steal his planet—which he in fact is, it's just that we're encouraged to think of this as sort of a lesser/necessary evil because obviously Sunday and the Family suck.

But Sunday doesn't represent the Family or the status quo. He doesn't want things in Penacony to continue as they are, with Dreamchasers' fantasies being exploited for profit and stowaways selling body parts for a chance at an okay existence. There's no way to say it without sounding a bit ridiculous because of how cynical we've all become at the idea of utopia but—truly, all Sunday wants is for everyone to be happy forever. And he's perfectly fine shaking things up or breaking ties to make that happen, breaking the Oak Family off from the other Families, being willing to throw his foster father under the bus at the first sign of disagreement if it means protecting his sister, not even being loyal to the Aeons from whom he draws his power. Sunday's loyalty is to himself and humanity alone.

I feel confused and, frankly, a little bit lied to. I still like both characters and think that their portrayals are complex and nuanced; but it's more so the way that the narrative contorts around them in order to frame Aventurine as a hero and Sunday as a villain that annoys me. You can tell me that this is so all you want, but I have my own eyes and brain and this is not the conclusion that I would draw.

[spinchip]

Turn You to a Colder Summer

(a/n: I wrote and edited this during my breaks at work, don't judge my grammar mistakes too harshly hehe)

(Warnings: frostbite (descriptions of numbness), violence, blood, injury, torture, mentions of past self harm, mouth trauma, threat of potential death. Kai does not have a good time, but he lives. The Ice Emperor is a Bad Guy)

(Wordcount: 2600)

Cold fingers drag along Kai's cheek in painful friction, ice crystals cracking and cutting into his skin like nettles as the hand arcs up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear. The Ice Emperor's eyes are uncanny where they piece Kais gaze- black sclera where there should be white, burning electric blue where there should be warm sky, little flecks of gold that shift in and out of existence in the glow of the ice spires around them. No love. His expression is blank but not in the way Zanes usually is. It's cruel, clinical, and coldly detached.

Kai is bound in the floor, laid sideways to avoid the throbbing agony of brushing his frostbitten shoulder along the too-cold stone beneath him. That mark is hand-shaped, pressed brutally into his skin with a purposeful touch because Zane's ice couldn't get past the fire in his blood normally, not without excessive force or access to unlimited power. The ice blocks binding his arms behind his back and his ankles together don't sink frost as deep as when the Ice Emperor had torn him from his friends with an iron grip around his bicep. Their ambush failed. They were trying to escape, back through the tunnels Krag had shown them but he hesitated to follow, a part of him wanting to try and succeed where Lloyd had failed and draw Zane from the tyrant wearing his face. Kai knew better, he knew he couldn't get caught.

But he did, and now the Emperor is crouched over him with strange eyes and snowflakes trickling from his palm.

"He's not himself." Lloyd had said after stumbling back into the village- he’d left to look for the land bounty and had stayed gone three days, "If he catches you, he'll kill you." He promised, the sash from his ninja suit rewrapped tight over his belly and stained with his blood. The Staff of forbidden spinjitzu had a blade, after all. The Emperor was not afraid to use it. It was pure luck Lloyd had avoided the thick of the blade and hadn’t dropped his guts on the throne room floor.

To further prove his point and to save a life, he'd been dragging behind him a girl with each of her limbs encased in ice and delirious from blood loss, her mouth smeared with red where she'd coughed up bits of her lungs. He’d tapped her- just a tap against her sternum, the barest of hits that she’d nearly dodged, and he’d pushed ice into the delicate capillaries lining her lungs and frozen her blood half solid. The first breath she’d taken after had been agony, the second had torn. Akita. Lloyd had to tell them her name because she had passed out not long after arriving in the village- and when she tries to speak she was too out of it to form the right words. The blood flooding in her mouth wasn’t any help, either. Her body gave out once they began to chip her limbs free of ice, exhaustion claiming her. She was holding on to her life by a thread. Zane had done that.

No, the Ice Emperor had done that. It was an important distinction.

Kai, who'd just gotten his power back- the weak flicker that it was- had gone and gotten himself caught by the man.

The Ice Emperors eyes cut paths along his face, searching for something he knows is there but can't quite place. He'd been pacing around Kai for a long while, agitated and upset as he stared daggers at his prisoner. The frost on the edge of Kais cold and chapped lips reminds him not to speak. The Emperor has no qualms about forcing his silence. At first he’d thought the man was guarding him, too worried about the threat his powers might impose to regulate him to a typical cell under the palace. He was wrong. The Ice Emperor has no fear of him at all. Now he's so close Kai can smell oil, tracing burning cold lines into his skin as if finding the right path across his face will reveal what he's looking for.

Kai prepares for the eventual question. He also prepares for the scenario where the Emperor asks no questions and freezes his heart in his chest, but he hopes it doesn't come to that. He imagines what the Ice Emperor might ask- what the part of Zane still alive in him might push him to ask. There's no doubt that Zane still lives, because if he didn't the Emperor would have no reason to take any interest I'm him at all. He'd have been dead ten times over. Maybe he'll ask who are you? Or how do I know you? Or how do you know me? And Kai can explain to him that he loves him, he loves him, he loves him and that will make everything okay. It will. It has to.

Another long moment passes where the Emperor is crouched over him searching. Kai searches him too. Looks at everything in hope of finding the piece of the puzzle he can use to slot everything back into place. He's wearing completely different robes than he was before he was struck by the staff, white and gray and hand embroidered with diamonds made to glitter everytime he moved. His armor is growing fractals of ice in a messy, unkempt way. There's a patch where the icicles have been meticulously chipped away, but that chore was dropped and now they've been left to grow rampant. His face is dented and there's a patch of ice that's holding his jaw in place- an ugly crack from the corner of his mouth, a gap, and Kai can see where the connection between his mandible and skull has been snapped. The lopsided frown makes the break even more apparent.

The hand on his face is covered by a pure white glove. The hand on the staff is bare other than a thick case of ice, and Kai can see clear through it to the mess underneath. The titanium casing on his hand has been split apart to reveal his skeletal structure below. Kai has spent enough time in Jay and Nyas' mechanic lair under the monastery to have at least somewhat of a grasp on the basics of Zanes parts, so he knows what he's looking at. More specifically, he knows what he's not looking at. Wire- important wires, the ones Nya complains about because they have to special order them and they take ages to come- are missing. Not torn out, but neatly trimmed down near his wrist. The structure boning for his pinkie is gone, removed in the same clean fashion. There's more- Kai only knows so much, but he can tell the machinery underneath looks far more barren than a few wires and bone. Lloyd told them about the message in that cave, where he'd tried to fix the mech.

Kai can see it clearly in his mind. Zane, desperate and alone, taking the edge of a ninja star and sliding it along the near Invisible seam holding the casing of his hand together and shoving, cracking the connection points until it pops clean off. He and the mechs used the same type of wiring, after all.

The Emperor's voice is quiet when he speaks, the unfamiliar deep grit softening in the question meant just for the space between them, "Why do I hate you so much?"

Kais heartbreak over what might have happened in the cave stalls, every part of his mind thrown off rhythm with a question he never would have guessed he'd be asked. He can't articulate a response because he can't understand why Zane would hate him, and why that emotion would be leaking out into the Ice Emperor now.

"Zane-" He starts before his mouth is sealed shut with a layer of ice. Brain freeze hits first, sharp and cruel and like an icepick up through the roof of his mouth. Frost invades his mouth and glues his teeth together, crawling halfway down his throat. It hurts all the way to the roots of his teeth and he thrashes on instinct, bouncing his head off hard stone before he can control his reaction. Every part of his face hurts. There's a terrifying moment where the ice spreads over the back of his throat and seals off his sinuses and he's certain the Emperor has finally decided to kill him by suffocating him to death.

But the ice recedes almost as quickly as it came, though the Emperor keeps his hand over Kais mouth as a reminder not to slip up again. That was worse than the first time he'd done it, Kai doesn't want to know how bad it might be next.

The Ice Emperor's face is terrifyingly blank, a mask that gives absolutely nothing to Kai, so empty it scares him more than anything he's done so far. The interest in his eyes has fractured, and underneath is a hatred that makes the black of his pupils seem darker.

"You and your friends," his voice is still gentle, chillingly calm, "I hate all of you so much. I do not know why, but I do. I want to punish you."

Kai’s heart is jack rabbiting in his chest, beating at his ribs as adrenaline floods his system with nowhere to go. Fight or flight and he can't do either.

He takes his hand off Kai's mouth, "Speak." He orders.

Kai is woefully unprepared, stumbling over himself to try and come up with some way to remind Zane who he is. Lloyd told him that Zane said he loved them in his goodbye video. Why did that change? Was it the staff corrupting his mind? But the staff can only feed feelings that were already there. Did some part of Zane, some small part, really hate him?

"You're sick," he tries, his tongue darting out to try and wet chapped lips but its been hours since he's had a drink and his mouth is dry, "The staff is altering your mind, Zane. This isn't you. We're all friends! We love you!" He isn't above pleading and he pours desperation into each word, "You have to remember! I love you!"

The Emperor tilts his head inquisitively to the side as his expression flickers along the edges. Kai still knows Zane well enough to pick up on the minute changes- not a hint of it is kind. Whatever Kai said picked something loose, but not enough. Not enough. The light In his eyes changes but not in any way Kai can understand. He presses his finger to Kais mouth and seals it with another layer of ice, stopping his words. The air is thick, fraught with a tension so strong Kai can barely breathe through it. The Emperor looks at him. His eyes are so dark. He can still see Zane in everything the man does.

"I waited for you," the Ice Emperor speaks slowly, sounding out the sentence as if reaffirming its truth. A piece of Zane, just a sliver- a curiosity for the man crouched before him. It's a feeling, a certainty of a grievous crime, "And you never came."

It's bone chilling hatred.

It's betrayal.

Kais heart drops through his stomach and cracks to pieces on the icy floor. No no no-! He can't wrench his jaw free of his muzzle but he tries desperately to. He tries to scream, to howl and pour heat into his mouth- fire reacts to his devotion to his family, rushing through his body but again Kai is not enough.

We didn't know! We couldn't have known! We came as soon as we could! He thrashes on the floor, tries to bash his jaw down to shatter ice. He wants to grab the Emperor by the shoulders and shake shake shake him until his head pops off. I would have torn apart the sixteen realms to get to you! He's crying and the tears sting where they drip down his face. I would do anything!

He slumps, boneless and sore where his skin bruises on stone. He's thirsty, he's starving, and he's so so cold. The fire flickers out of him back down to an ember, faint and comforting if not much else. He blinks the wet from his eyes and sees the Emperors white white robes are stained with blood at the bottom. Above him, the tyrant moves.

Kai pushes himself back, the reality really sinking in. He was going to die here. No! he couldn't! He couldn't let Zane do this because when they got him back- and they would get him back, Kai has to believe that- he would never forgive himself. His back hits a pillar of ice and he looks around wildly, trying to figure out some way to get out of this, a smoking gun, a dues ex machina- anything! To stop what's coming.

He can do nothing. He squeezes his eyes shut as the Ice Emperor cups his cheek gently- but there's no ice stabbing into his brain, no agony of a literal ice pick lobotomy. The Emperors thumb wipes away an errant tear. A heartbeat passes before Kai hesitantly looks up at him.

The Emperor's face is still and serene, "I am not going to kill you, Kai." There is a moment of relief, even an inkling of hope before the chill comes.

It seeps into his skin from the Emperor's hand, down down through his face- It pours like slush through fat and muscle, cutting through his cheek to burn his gums and freeze the nerves in his teeth. It gets colder. Kai tries to dislodge his hand but the Emperor jerks forward and slams him down, holding his head against the stone floor as he pours ice into his blood faster, more brutal. Kai can't scream, his jaw locking against the bite of frost. It gets colder. It burns like the road rash he’d gotten the first time he’d wrecked his motorcycle, but a million times worse. Pain overwhelms all of his senses until he forgets how to breathe, hyperventilating and trying miserably to suck in enough air through his nose. His mouth is still sealed shut, he can't get enough air- he can't- His vision flickers with black spots.

It gets colder.

Feeling stops, numbness spreading like a balm over dying nerves. He stops struggling, taking advantage of the respite to catch his breath. His chest hurts with how hard his heart beats. His head is spinning. He looks up at the Ice Emperor with exhausted eyes and finds no pity, and especially no mercy. As Kai had struggled and sobbed in agony, he’d watched it all happen. He’d just watched. Kai is aware of the hand in his face by pressure alone, feeling blissfully gone.

The Ice Emperor takes his hand away.

He lays there and breathes, a tingling feeling spreading over his cheek. Pins and needles that turn sharper and sharper. With the loss of cold, feeling creeps back in and Kai is slowly aware of every inch of dying skin the frostbite has decimated. It hurts- it hurts like nothing he's ever experienced. He can't comprehend the pain, his mind blanking out as the blood roars in his ear. His vision goes gray at the edges as he struggles to stay awake. He can't pass out- he has to bring Zane back. He has to. He can't let him hurt the others. He can’t fail him like he did with the fight against Aspheera. Kai has to be enough. Please let him be enough.

The Emperor cards a hand through Kai's bangs, deceptively gentle as he wipes sweat slick hair off his forehead.

"I want you to suffer."

[moonshynecybin]

For the ship ask, Pecco/Lucca please!

HI.... two bitchy old queens that on the outside look VERY put together and competent and like they have it together, but then you walk into their apartment and its an absolute mess.

i DO like this ship cuz i think pecco is WAYYYYY too in his head about everything literally ever until the end of time (him being like well outside pressure doesnt effect me because i beat myself up enough that i have become tough :) girl WHAT). versus luca who i think actually has a normal and measured take on things. an ability to separate himself from it all. a little bit similar to alex in that hes grown up in a competitive insane sport kind of aware that he wont ever measure up to his brother (a violently humbling experience, ESP when vale has literally been that famous his entire lifeeee) but he LOVES his brother so he isnt really too bitter about it. but it still niggles. so i think LUCA has mental fortitude and PECCO just self flagellates and then represses it. and neither of them are overly expressive people so i think its easy for them to get locked in these assumption patterns about what the other is thinking that are uh. kind of wrong. ESP with luca sort of disengaging with the academy and moving to lock himself in the self-imposed honda experimentation torture tunnels.... IDK i think they have a lot in common and theres a lot of fun narrative threads to pull at (what happens when the guy you like WORSHIPS your brother/is your brother's successor/and is probably generally closer to BEZ. who hes known for a shorter amount of TIME....). its FUN !

[justatalkingface]

The Dabi Benchmark of Insanity: A Helpful Guide

What is it? Why won't I shut up about it whenever I talk about villains?

Yeah; this is largely a reference post, for the people who haven't seen this term before... which makes sense, since I made it the fuck up awhile ago and then never really clarified it again, even though I kept using it. I do that a lot whenever I feel the need, but I think this is the only term I've kept using consistently, and I usually explain what I mean in those posts when I make something up, so the DBI is a bit of an anomaly in that sense. I like to think it's self explanatory, really, so it probably doesn't need explanation, but... eh. I talk a lot. One more post won't hurt.

Fundamentally, the DBI is the idea that there's a... limit to how crazy a character can be and still be sympathetic; after a certain point, it doesn't matter how bad their backstory was, no one is going to like the guy eating babies. Authors can (and often do) try to make a truly fucked up character sympathetic anyways, but once they pass that point the response generally isn't sympathy but, 'JFC, can this guy shut up about how we should all like The Masked Baby-Eater already? That guy's an asshole'.

I say 'crazy' for a reason, BTW. The sheer factual amount of evil deeds a character does only has a limited effect on how readers will consider them; how the character is presented, and how they act as they do these deeds effect that reception as well. An easy example is how in something like Gundam, a character who does something objectively horrible (kill someone, start a war, etc etc), but because of how they're developed, and way they act as they do it, we will still sympathize with them. Meanwhile, if there's a school story, a character who is just rude and cruel can be absolutely loathed, by everyone, even if what they did can't possibly be compared to the Gundam character.

It's not that you can't make a good character if you go beyond this point, it's the opposite really: there's plenty of good, memorable characters who are festering shitholes devoid of positive character traits, but we're not expected to find them sympathetic, just really cool or iconic in some way. Making them sympathetic imposes limits on how out there that character can be.

I call it the 'Dabi' benchmark because I feel like Dabi is the perfect example of an edge case, a person who is horrific and broken, but you can still just feel for him why he's like this. It's core to his fundamental design as a character, from his traumatic backstory, to how he's broken and scarred and barely held together by his sheer will, so that while he's an objectively terrible person, cruel, sadistic, who kills easily and wants only to destroy, the reason he's like that is something intrinsically understandable and thus easy to sympathize with.

(Of course, the problem with Dabi is that, as MHA went on, Hori kept changing Endeavour to try and make him sympathetic, while at times intentionally making Dabi seem more at fault for his situation to mitigate Endeavour's blame, which damaged Dabi's characterization on a fundamental level and makes him less sympathetic... but that's not Dabi's fault, that's inconsistent writing)

At the same time, though, I must repeat that he is a terrible human being who does horrible things, and which puts him at that very edge of sympathy, only being accepted by people by how good his backstory is, how fucked up yet human is motivations ultimately are. If his actions had pushed beyond that point, if, for example, instead of just killing people he cold bloodedly tortured them for no real reason, his reception would have been less positive than it was.

In short? The farther a character goes past the Dabi Benchmark of Insanity, that is to say, the more a character is crazier than Dabi, the more people are going to look at you like you're crazy when you try to make them seem sympathetic to the audience.

[incomescrane]

random AWII thoughts after finishing Final Draft

or: the ramblings of someone who’s thought about this game way too much. Lore, speculations, and silliness under the cut.

Both endings bug me a bit in terms of how Saga acts towards Alan. Now I’m not going to blame her too much- the stress of what the story is doing to her family is enough to make anyone break, and my girl stays strong in the face of all that. But I do think she was a bit too quick to judge him and assume he wrote those details himself, as opposed to the Dark Place filling them in when she was edited into the story (making up a cause to fit the effect, etc etc).

Following that: Saga is probably critical of Alan because she thinks existing and moving through the Dark Place is as easy for him as it is for her- moreso maybe, since he's been there for 13 years and should be experienced. In reality it's the complete opposite.

Exhibit A: After she's thrown in she experiences the same fragmenting Alan does in the Signal + Writer DLCs, but is able to break out of it easily because she has her Mind Place. She confronts her doubts and insecurities without them manifesting in the Dark Place and actually attacking her in the shape of barrels and tires with annoying physics.

Exhibit B: When she meets Breaker and get the page about Door traversing the Dark Place, Tim mentions he followed the instructions but wasn't able to follow the path, meaning the rules Alan follows actually exist and are not self-imposed. Alan had to write the first draft of Initiation to be able to go through Caldera Street Station and arrive at Parliament Tower. If the story doesn't make sense, reality won't shift. Saga in the meantime is able to will the door to take her where she wants to go, because she is a Door. 

TLDR: Saga’s a superwoman genetically engineered to be able to survive the Dark Place.

Alan’s cheeks look very pinchable. I made this known at every possible opportunity to my friends, who I was streaming the game for.

We are now up to 3 types of people with powers: Parautilitarians (can bind and use OoPs, manifest various effects), Seers (can access and make use of a space they manifest in their minds), and what I’m gonna call Plane shifters (like Door and Ahti, can traverse planes of existence with ease). Granted Ahti might just be a straight up god but who knows, the Remedyverse is complex.

I don’t know if/how Ahti knew the original Tom Zane, but I like to think he calls Alan Tom because he’s friends with the Old Gods, and picked it up from them.

Speaking of Ahti, the last time he and Alan meet, Alan takes care to pronounce his name properly. The interactions between those two get me every time cause they show the softer side of Alan still there even after all the Dark Place’s torture.

No seriously, look at his DBD model and tell me you don’t just want to squish his little face.

Zane in Room 665 doing the exact same dance as Scratch from AWAN, to the exact same music, cannot be a coincidence.

After Alice supposedly offed herself, Barry was left to pick up the pieces and empty out her apartment- that’s why we see the Blessed company boxes there.

Speaking of which: I need an Alan-Barry reunion yesterday. Or an Alan-Jesse team up to deal with Chester Bless and break my boy Barry out of his cult. Control 2 when?

If the Clicker is an OoP then the Angel Lamp might also be one. Heck they might be two bits of the same OoP. Is there a plug somewhere out there that also has a power? Or a lampshade?

After years of references to Campbell’s monomyth, from AWI, to the lyrics to Sankarin Tango, to AWII, the moment Alan calls himself the master of many worlds broke me to tears. Like hell yeah Alan, you go babygirl, you deserve it!!!

[seigephoenix]

The Not Finale 1

Since The Final Shape has been released for a while now, I can finally post Siobhan's journey through it. I do have a story coming that's going to show her past with Crow/Uldren but it's a slow process. I wanted to go through this story as the Final Shape brought up a lot of emotional shit for Siobhan. It'll be like 4 parts (maybe)

Art is by: @/commander-sarahs-art

Content Warning: grief, heavy loss mentioned, trauma is explored and worked through, game typical violence, surgical stuff is mentioned in somewhat detail

Siobhan looked down at her ship’s console as she flew towards the Traveler, her fingers tapping the keys needed to land the ship in a dance committed to memory.  She’d answered Nevia's call for help when the Witness threatened the Traveler, together to the end.  They’d faced down countless enemies of the Traveler together.  Nothing could break their bond.  Siobhan sighed and leaned forward, resting her forearms on the steering column of her ship.  She’d always come if Nevia called, even if it did require her to face him again.  She hated thinking of that last confrontation but it haunted her nightmares.  The ice and venom in those golden eyes would remain in her memory for a long time, but she deserved every bit of that betrayal and ire.  She closed her eyes as they approached the coordinates.  Unwittingly the memory of that argument rose up in her mind, her lips thinning as their voices played in her head.

You knew who I was this entire time!?  Did it make you laugh to see what had been done to me?  The abuse hurled at me?  Sneering at how naive I was to trust you.  You, the one who killed me.

I didn't do it on purpose Crow!  Being a Guardian means you get a clean slate with your life!  None of your past deeds are weighed against you!  Why do you think Commander Zavala extended his hand?  He’d never have done that if he didn’t understand that our past sins have no bearing on us as Guardians!!  And I never laughed at you!  Not once!  I was glad you got that second chance!  You deserved it!

You mock me still?  I remember the cold look in your eyes when you pulled the trigger.

Then your memory is fucking faulty!  I begged you, begged you to stop!  I pleaded with you to come with me!!  I'd drop everything I was to join you and help you find your sister!  I made a fool of myself but it didn't matter.  Only your obsession did!  That damned corruption took over and the Uldren Sov I knew was no longer there.  So yes, I pulled the trigger.  I chose my duty over love!  Do you not think I've tortured myself these all these years over it?  No one can make me feel worse than I make myself.

Quit with the excuses.  I don't want to see you any longer.

Done.

Siobhan sighed as she remembered Arawn transmatting her to the ship despite Glint's protesting.  She'd kept her word.  To the Vanguard's alarm, Siobhan kept herself to a self-imposed exile.  Her Fireteam had new partners they had watching their backs, they didn’t need her.  She did feel a little bit bad about leaving them, but both had understood her reasonings.  Nevia never understood but Siobhan never told her about the confrontation.  Siobhan knew Nevia had come to her own peace regarding Crow and what his actions as Uldren did.  Siobhan just couldn’t bring herself to tell Nevia what she and Crow argued about that day.  She was too ashamed.  Deep down she knew no one would understand, they’d argue she could’ve found a way to save Uldren, to not pull the trigger.  Siobhan couldn’t shake the thoughts and the guilt she harbored weighed her soul down.  “Well Arawn.  Hopefully Crow can put aside his feelings on the matter so we can work together.  He certainly didn’t keep that argument of ours quiet.  Did you see we got an email from the queen herself?”

“I remember.  She said that the Awoken people forgave you for killing Prince Uldren.  Didn’t she?”  Siobhan nodded and scoffed at the memory.  As if she needed an email like that.  From her memories of her past life, she understood it was Mara’s way of trying to assuage the guilt she carried.  Mara had always treated her with respect as Selene, and that extended to Siobhan now.  She still didn’t have to like the pandering that went into the email as Siobhan understood there was no way to truly forgive her.  She’d taken away Uldren.  Siobhan knew the anger lingered deep within Mara for that move even knowing how much the act tortured Siobhan’s soul.  “Be nice.”

“Look, I don't hate her.  I never did hate the woman.  I only said those names to rile up Uldren and it worked.  I just don't trust her.” Siobhan sighed and looked up as her ship pulled up next to Nevia's.  The ever familiar decals of the Queen of Hearts were as familiar as her own ship.  Siobhan smiled when she heard Nevia’s voice over the comm line.  “Here we go.”

“Ready?”  Siobhan shook her head as Nevia's face appeared on the screen.  They were both apprehensive about this mission, how could they not?  A direct threat to their Light was here, one that was stronger than any foe before them.  They’d faced down gods, fought for their Light, fought without it, had stood time and time again against the Traveler’s enemies.  Each time they’d come out of it, each bearing a new scar from it whether it was on the body or the soul.  This time…  Siobhan had a gut feeling she wasn’t going to make it out of this one intact, and she felt at peace with it.

“Ready as I’ll ever be. And with that, I mean no but I will do it anyway.”  Nevia’s answer resonated within Siobhan and they looked towards the pulsing heart of the Traveler.  She did find a smile tugging at her lips.  This reminded her of the time they went to Oryx’s dreadnaught.  They seemed to always face the impossible tasks together, with a few minor exceptions.  Siobhan wouldn’t have it any other way.  There was only one woman she ever wanted by her side if it came down to their last fight, and that was Nevia.  For her and for her fireteam, Siobhan would claw her way to the end.  No matter the cost.

“Off we go then.  To the end together?”  Siobhan didn't recall when they started using that phrase with each other.  It was a promise, to her at least, to always stick together.  Thick or thin, Light or no, nothing would tear their bond apart.

“Together.”

In the Heart of the Traveler

Siobhan huffed as her feet touched down inside the heart.  She was mildly irritated at the loss of her ship but understood it was a necessary sacrifice.  She looked around her and the quiet unnerved her.  Siobhan expected the inside of the Traveler to be tranquil and the quiet serene.  She could sense the underlying Darkness like an oily aftertaste.  It twisted her stomach and her irritation at the Witness snapped to the forefront of her mind.  She wouldn’t let that bastard get to the Traveler.  Arawn floated by her head as she continued on, hoping to get to the meet up point with Nevia.

“Ah geez, I hate being separated.  But we needed to cover more ground,” Siobhan grumbled as she marched across the former landing of the old Tower.  She remembered these grounds so well, the many times she ran from trouble, the day she got back from the Black Garden, walking along after the Vault of Glass.  The first time he’d held her hand had been here, and the first time he’d said how he felt about her without all the jokes.  She could still picture his face in her mind, even after all these years.  Some said that the faces of those lost would fade from memory, but Siobhan could still see Emyr’s face.  The quick grin had had for everyone, the quicksilver eyes that crinkled at the edges when he smiled.  Siobhan never forgot the way he held out his hand to her whenever she was feeling down.  Heya short stack, what’s got that mopey look on your face?  Her heart clinched at the memory and she struggled to tamp down on the burning lump in her throat.  Still too painful to think about, even after all the years later.  “Ah look at me, getting all sad because the Traveler crafted this from memory,” Siobhan laughed and looked up at the sky.  “I wish you could bring him back too…”  Arawn floated beside her struggling to find a way to comfort his Guardian when he realized they were getting a call.

“Siobhan.  Chia told me that Cayde is here.” Siobhan paused mid-step and looked at her Ghost.  She jerked her head towards the sky before back to her Ghost.  Did the Traveler hear her or something?  If so, she didn’t mean Cayde, but…  Siobhan knew it was entirely unlikely that her words brought Cayde back, not when she had another face in her mind.  Except.  She knew what this would mean to Nevia, and if it brought something of a smile to Nevia’s face then Siobhan would gladly have Cayde take her wish.  Though, logically, she knew that her thoughts didn’t bring him back.  Still, how in the hell was Cayde alive?  And more importantly, why was he in the Traveler?  Was that where all Guardians went after they died their final death?

“What!?”  Arawn nodded and relayed what Chia told him.  “Well geez.  They'll need some privacy for sure.  I guess we can head on for a little bit and then wait.  Ugh, what a sticky situation this turned out to be.  Wait, is Crow with them?” Arawn shook his head and she let out a frustrated groan.  That meant only one thing.  Given his history of doing reckless shit in the past.  Conveniently forgetting her own dumb stunts, Arawn wanted to add.  “Which means he’s gotten into stupid shit.”

“Are we going to have to rescue him?” Arawn asked as Siobhan kicked at a rock out of pure exasperation.  The sound of it pinged throughout the entire area and she wanted to scream.  She didn’t want to.  The man hated her, for good reason, and she had to work with him.  With Nevia and Cayde having their reunion and whatever unbidden feelings come up from that…  The entire thing was going to be awkward.  Siobhan wanted to whine about it all, she hated being confronted with her feelings and guilt and all the complicated relationship crap.  In the end, she knew what the answer would be and she groaned out loud.

“Yes,” Siobhan whined as Arawn laughed.  “Don’t laugh at me.  Well, whatever.  Do we have a read on his coordinates?”

“No, but I am picking up something from Glint.  Patching it through.”  Siobhan listened and shook her head.  Exactly like a fucking Hunter.  She didn’t quite approve of him leaving Glint out, but understood his hesitation for Glint’s safety.

“Reckless shit.  What did I tell you?” She shook a fist towards the sky.  “Relay the message to Chia, will you?  I'll meet them at the coordinates.”  Arawn agreed and sent the location to Chia.  He and his Hunter headed out to go rescue Crow.

After Reuniting Crow and Glint

Siobhan stepped away as they all spoke, just being close to him was enough to have her bristling.  Especially when he kept looking over at her, it wasn’t her fault they were going to be working together.  If anything, he could pin it on the Witness for forcing her to be here.  She would simply go where she was pointed, that would be the most ideal solution to this shitshow.  She huffed at her own despondent thoughts, those never got her anywhere.  Siobhan leaned against a rock with her eyes scanning the horizon for any traces of the Witness’s forces.  A sparkle caught her eye and she focused on a little ghost shell, one that looked too much like Byron’s.  As she reached for it, a sudden suffocating darkness swallowed her up.  Her senses were dulled as if she was drowning in a sea of clouds.  “Ah piss.”  She held the side of her head as she waited to see what the Witness would say, Siobhan didn’t think it would be anything else besides that smarmy bastard.  As if she was in the mood to hear whatever bullshit he was going to give her.

“I can grant you what you desire.”  She saw the image of herself and Uldren in front of her and the sight had her belly clenching in dread.  She sat with her legs crossed, lounging on the decadent throne with Crow kneeling beside her, her hand held in his as if in reverence.  The sight was enough to turn her stomach.  “He shall be utterly devoted to you.”

“Piss off.” Siobhan snapped and she sensed the surprise.  Did the Witness think they’d take whatever it offered?  Like some eager puppy dogs eager to please a master?  She wanted to put a bullet in the image in front of her, the urge to run clawed at her heart like a raging beast.  “Like I haven't been tempted before.  I'll give it to you for being original but fuck right on off with your bullshit.”  She heard the Witness hiss in displeasure and heard Arawn fight back against it.  The cracking sound coming from her Ghost’s shell alarmed Siobhan and she reached for him as he floated down after shattering the illusion the Witness crafted.  She cradled her Ghost to her chest, keeping him safe from any threat.  She ran her thumb over his shell and tears welled in her eyes as she saw how much pain he was in.  Arawn was the best part of her and to see him like this, it drove a spear through her soul.  Nevia crouched by her side, calmly placing her hand on Siobhan’s shoulder.  “Oh Arawn, you shouldn't have done that.  It cracked your shell.”

“I'll be alright.  I didn't want it to hurt you.”  Siobhan smiled at Arawn and let him disappear inside her Light to rest.  She turned to Nevia and saw the concern for her in her friend’s face.  She rubbed the back of her neck as she tried to think of what to tell Nevia.  Her eyes darted back over to Crow and Cayde before she decided to be cagey about what exactly she saw.  No one needed to know that.

“Ah, the Witness tried to tempt me.  I wasn't buying it though.” Siobhan waved her hand dismissively and tensed her shoulders when she heard Crow approach.  What was he going to say to her now?

“You shouldn't be so flippant about the Witness.”  Siobhan moved her lips as if mocking Crow, earning a stern look from Nevia to which she only huffed in return.  Siobhan crossed her arms and turned her head away from both Nevia and Crow.  She was allowed to be childish and immature in this case.  She did give Nevia a sideways glance when the other Hunter patted her shoulder.

“Flippancy is how I deal with stressful situations.  Arawn’s shell is cracked thanks to his fighting back against the Witness’s power.  I don’t know if I can fix that and what kind of pain my partner is going through.  Pardon me if I do what I can to cope.”  Nevia laid a hand on her shoulder, but Siobhan jerked it away.  She didn’t need to hear any lectures about her attitude.  Not now and not when it came to Crow.�� She’d done everything he wanted when it came to staying out of his way.  “I'll be waiting over here for the plan.  Before I go though.”  Siobhan walked over to Cayde only stopping when the toes of her boots bumped his.  She narrowed her eyes at him in warning.  His optics flared in alarm at the look on her face, he knew that look well.  He also knew what followed it usually.

“Now wait, I already got an earful and a headache from those two.”  Cayde pointed before he held up his hands.  As if that was going to stop her.  He yelped when Siobhan kicked his shin.

“That is for making Nevia sad.”  Siobhan turned on her heel and walked away leaving Cayde shaking his leg out to ease the sting.  He sighed as he knew he deserved it and likely more for what he’d made everyone go through.  Nevia and the Vanguard weren’t the only ones affected by his death and he knew the burden this Hunter carried as Nevia told him Siobhan had avenged him.  What kind of wound did that put on her soul?