#long-awaited merger

[mooncalfed]

Succession (i. Price)

after a significant professional milestone, your bodyguard rewards your handsomely

[bodyguard!Price - fem!reader - spitting - fingering - rough blowjob - car sex - reader is confident and a brat]

You are veritably buzzing with adrenaline when you leave the meeting room. 

Hot on your heels to your right hand side is your bodyguard John Price. He hands you your Chanel blazer and with ease you give him your briefcase while you slip your arms into the supple tweed material. 

Heart racing, pulse thrumming, the click-clacking of your stilettos echoes your heart rate as the two of you stride out of the office and make your way to the elevator. It seems to take so long that you feel you might explode in the process. The glee you feel seems to expand within you by the minute, and you fear you might explode at any moment.

You can’t keep the grin off your face, and even your usually stoic bodyguard can’t help but crack a smile at your expression.

Ding!

John holds out an arm to prevent the doors closing as you step in. Turning, you and watch as John presses the button for ground floor, and then in the blissful silence of the empty elevator you release a maniacal scream of pure delight.

“I did it! I did it! John I fucking did it!”

You dive into his arms and squeeze his thick middle as hard as you can, and relish in the rumbling chuckle that is emitted from the warm man in your embrace. You breathe deeply and try to imprint this moment into your brain. Woody, earthy, clean, male. This is what the moment will smell like to you.

“‘Course you did, love. Never doubted you for a second.” John's eyes are warm with mirth and appreciation, and you feel a wave of affection overcome you.

You push yourself even higher on your toes and crash your mouth into his. It’s clumsy with dry lips not really meeting and far too much teeth and you end it before John can really reciprocate, but neither of you are fussy about it because the moment is perfect enough.

John’s hand is hot where it’s landed on your hip, and he gives it a firm squeeze as you start to rattle on about how major this new contract is for you, as though he weren’t there with you every step of the way.

You take a quick breath and pull your head slightly back to lock eyes with him.

“I think I deserve a reward now, don't you think?”

John’s eyes narrow. “Now, darling? Hardly think the lobby of your new corporate partner is an appropriate venue for me to lick your cunt clean.”

Ding!

You pout and step away from him. Once more at a respectable distance despite the utter debauchery running through your head. 

The elevator doors open and the wall of people waiting for your elevator puts a rest to your returning remark, though you have enough time to send John a prissy little glare.

People make way for you, because you’re important and you’re young and you’re beautiful, but most especially because you’re fucking good at what you do. There are more than a few respectful head nods at you on your way out, and though the contract and merger were meant to be a well-kept secret, loose lips are easily found where money is and no doubt word is getting out about your impressive gamble and venture.

There is no one happier on Earth than me right now, you decide.

There’s an extra pep in your step as you and John exit the premises and to your awaiting Daimler. As always John opens the door for you and lends you his hand as you get in the car. His grip is dry and warm and calloused and makes your insides squirm. 

Nothing gets you hornier than success and a gentle man to rough and tumble with.

John gets in the car on other side and you open your mouth to spew forth your wicked thoughts, however upon his entry you notice that he’s holding your phone out.

Kate, on speaker, he mouths, and passes you the phone.

“Kate!” You squeal. There is no better person to share wonderful career news with than Kate Laswell, your mentor. 

When you entered the workforce you had singled her out - easy to do since she was a rare woman amongst many, many men - and practically ran her ragged with your constant questions and polite - if persistent - inquiries. Years later and now she is a close friend and confidant. John Price actually came through her recommendation, which makes today’s success feel somewhat of a family affair. 

“I hear congratulations are in order.”

Your cheeks are beginning to hurt from happiness.

John leans to the driver and murmurs, “Partition up Garrick, and take the long way back to London.”

“Who knew your scrawny self would get to this place?” Kate teases.

“Actually I believe you did,” you say, reaching your arm out to allow John to take off your blazer, "I do recall you saying that come hell or high water, I would go the distance". You kick off your heels and wriggle your stockinged toes. 

“As humble as ever. Yes I did know. You really deserve this. I can’t imagine it’s been easy in the least.”

“Yeah, I think this job was by far the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.” You think about the months and months of negotiating, the endless back and forth, the two occasions where things almost fell through and the awful insomnia that followed. “I can’t believe it’s really done...”

“Things are going to change for you now.”

John’s large warm palm lands on your thigh as he settles into his seat.

You look over at him and cup his jaw with your hand, brushing a finger over the delicious beard that almost hides his lips. When your thumb brushes them, he presses a kiss to the pad of your thumb.

“Yeah,” you say, smile disappearing, “they will.”

“But John will be there with you,” Kate reminds you, “every step of the way.”

You lock eyes with him. 

“Yes he will.” You whisper.

John’s eyes glitter, and your previously calming heart rate skyrockets when his hand begins to travel up your stockinged thigh. Yes yes yes yes yes, you chant mentally. This is what you’ve been waiting for. You drop your eyes to watch his beautiful hands push your black tweed skirt up. 

Your heart is in your throat. You wore a new black garter set with the hopes of John discovering it and as much as you adore Kate, you want him to have your full attention when he drools on your thighs. 

“Will you hit the ground running or will you take a break before it all begins? Both are solid options.”

“Hmmm…” you murmur, pretending to consider what Kate is saying to you though your brain is practically dial-toning as John’s palm just begins to touch lace.

He pauses, and so does your breathing.

He makes the last push a little firmer, and you lift your eyes to look into his. 

Your breath is stolen from you. John’s pupils are dark and blown and the animal is loose in him and holy fuck you don’t know whether you want to eat him up or for him to devour you (with teeth), but once the lace is well under his palm, John fingers begin to squeeze and you grow so, so wet.

“I think,” you swallow, “I think I’m going to take a quick break. Or maybe just get straight into it. You know, to not lose momentum.”

John’s lips quirk up at the side. 

Against your safer instincts, you tilt the phone away from you to lean forwards and lick the corner of his upturned mouth. 

You hear Kate laugh. “You didn’t answer my question, but I can guess why.”

You’re impervious to her teasing. You want John’s taste, his sweat, his musk, his everything. You can taste it. God, do you want it.

“I’m guessing you guys are taking the long way back to London.”

“Yes we are,” John purrs into the receiver, and takes it from you. “Thank you Kate, we’ll drive safely.” 

He hangs up without waiting for an answer.

The phone falls to the floor as you collide with him in a dirty, sloppy kiss. His beard is sort of in your mouth and your arm is wedged awkwardly between your chest and his, but you couldn’t care less because his right hand is digging dangerously close to your cunt and surely he can feel how it pulses right? Surely he knows how absolutely wet and ready you are for him.

John’s left hand grips the back of your neck and pulls you back.

“No!” You whine, and lick your lips. “Why?”

“Because love,” the hand under your skirt slides higher and finally you get to feel the press of his hand against your hungry cunt. “Because we’ve got a long ride back home and I want to play with you.”

“Okay, yes, I want that.” You pant.

John’s head cocks.

“Do you, pet?” Two fingers stroke slowly up and down your slit and both of you sigh at the sensation. “So wet, always so wet.”

“You know I’m always wet for you,” you say, tears already appearing at your eyeline. John’s throat bobs. He loves it when you cry and you swear you’d spend the rest of eternity weeping as long as you could have his cock in one of your holes at all times.

He leans in and you, thinking it’s a kiss, lean in too. 

But he stops right before your lips touch his and you, desperate to make the distance, struggle against the firm, tight grip he’s got on the nape of your neck. You fail to close the gap. 

Fuck, it’s going to be like this.

“Fuck!” You gasp as he pushes his fingers into you slightly, the resistance of the stockings preventing him from going any further. “Yes, yes, yessss.”

“No love,” John whispers. You can feel his hot breath hit your lips and dry them. You lick your lips and see his eyes flit to them and lick them again. You want him to crack and just kiss you but you know this man has an iron will.

John’s tongue darts out and traces the edge of your upper lip. You struggle against the hand that holds your neck because you want to taste his tongue, but his grip stays and you have no choice but to wriggle in place.

His thumb joins to press against your clit. He gives your pulsing clit a few gentle swipes, and suddenly you’re extremely annoyed that you didn’t have the foresight to take your stockings off. You’re so turned on you could come now if you wanted to.

“Stay still for me, love.” John shifts closer, thick thigh pressing against yours. It allows him to put more pressure on your cunt and gives him a little more height, which he uses to support your head in his hand. His thumb presses into the base of your skull, creating a delicious warmth where you have been tense for weeks on head.

John leans down slightly and gives you a small kiss. Too small to deepen, too short to stay. 

Then he pulls back for a moment and returns to kiss you once more. Same as before, short and horrifyingly chaste.

You squeak. You don’t care how juvenile you sound, but he won’t even kiss you properly and that just won't do!

He chuckles and you tighten around nothing. You love that sound, that warm, chocolatey resonance that drives you absolutely insane. 

You want more.

“Please kiss me…”

John smiles but doesn’t acquiesce. His right hand stills its movements though he keeps the pressure, and instead he leans in to swipe his tongue fully across your lips. Your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Stick your tongue out, darling.”

You do, and John squeezes your neck. “Look at me.”

You do, and John smiles. 

“Swallow.” He says, before opening his mouth and spitting slooooowly onto your eager and awaiting tongue.

You do.

“That’s it, pet.” John murmurs, watching you hawkishly as you open your mouth again, gasping for air.

“Please John,” you’re crying real tears now, “please either fuck me or kiss me, please, please. Just give me something. Don’t leave me like this.” There’s nothing more you want right now than his fingers in you, his cock in you, his–

You gasp. John watches you intently.

“I wanna suck your dick.” He raises an eyebrow.

“Please! Please. When we get to London you can’t get out of the car with a hard on and I promise you can do whatever you want to me when we get home but please let me have this! I want to taste you, I want you to come down my throat, I really want it, please, please please.”

You watch as John’s nostrils flare. His gaze quivers and you know you’ve won.

The moment his hand releases your neck, your hands are on his waist and frantically unbuckling belt.

John’s hand falls to your back, doing slow strokes up and down as you lose your composure inches away from his dick.

Belt loose and trousers unzipped, you decide to take your time with the last bit. You love seeing the shape of John’s cock in his briefs and have often tried to picture the shade of his erection before you take it out of his pants.

You run a finger over the curve of his cock and dart your eyes up briefly when you hear his slow inhale. John’s generally unflappable, but you know how to play your cards right.

You push down his underwear and relish in the way his cock bobs slightly. It’s a gorgeous shade of flushed pink-red, deeper at the cockhead and base with a mouthwatering vein that starts just under the head and curves to meet the root. 

You open your mouth and let a mouthful of saliva drip onto his hot cock, and giggle when it bounces slightly. 

John lets out a slow sigh as a hand slides into your hair and fists the roots. 

Too impatient to wait, you give the slit a coy lick and hum at the taste of precome on your tongue. Before John can draw another breath you take him as deeply as you possibly can, hands curling around the last few inches you can’t get in.

A sharp groan punches the air as you begin to suck and bob. 

You’re desperately horny and you don’t want this to be drawn out. You’re especially careless with how deep you take him and choke on what seems like every other downstroke. Above you, you can hear John’s breath stutter and you can feel his stomach clench against your side, but all you can smell and taste is his sweat and musk and come and you want him to remember this day as much as you will. 

You clamber clumsily up onto your knees to get a little more leverage and immediately choke when the movement sends John’s cock hitting the back of your throat. You gag and splutter and watch as saliva drips down into his pubic hair, but that just eggs you on. You slow down slightly because what you’re about to do requires finesse, and you were thoroughly punished once for being a little too careless. Twisting your torso slightly so that your lower teeth find John’s vein, you give him just a little scrape of your teeth as you slowly take him in. 

You’re exceedingly rewarded by the loud moan above you.

And you’re terrifically shocked by the slap on the arse you receive in return. 

Arse-cheek smarting, you pull away from John’s cock to snip at him only for the hand in your hair to force you back down. 

You squeal around him, at first in annoyance but soon in satisfaction as John’s wandering hand returns under your skirt to rub roughly against your slit. He’s inaccurate with it and hits your clit randomly which annoys you and makes you suck him more vigorously. If he’s going to be this way, then you’re going to suck his brains out.

You begin to hum and moan as you suck, enjoying the consequential tightening of John's fist in your hair. You alternate between taking him as deeply as possible and as quickly as possible, just enjoying the burn of your throat and the cramp in your jaw. John tastes salty and bitter and his smell is getting stronger in your nose and the scent is just scrumptious. You would wear it as perfume, if you could. 

One of your hands releases the base of John’s cock to cup his balls, and you play your winning card by ever so lightly running your sharp nails down the curve of his balls. 

John comes with a shout and his dick punches your throat as a jet of thick come pours into your throat. Your nose burns as you try to swallow and breath at the same time but despite your best efforts you manage to let a little come slide down his softening cock. You lift up and breathe deep before returning to lap up the salty, bitter liquid.

“Fucking hell pet,” John rasps. You barely have time to even look smug before suddenly his clumsy, thick fingers are dead precise and he pinches hard at your covered clit.

“Ah!” You cry, lurching forwards. John catches you with his right against your chest but his left pursues its target and he pinches and squeezes at your poor, aching clit.

“John,” you sob, gurgling through a sore throat. “Please!”

Your hips roll and buck and circle as they try to find a rhythm but John is cruel and unrelenting. His dick is still out and you seek comfort in it as you lean your cheek against his soft, sticky cock. 

And then John does something cruel.

He stops altogether.

“What! No, why!” Your head lifts but you’re stopped by a rough hand over your mouth.

“Careful darling, else Garrick will hear and will want in on the fun.” John gives you a gentle kiss on the forehead but that is absolutely not what you want. 

“Turn around and lay on your back for me,” he purrs, “such a pity I haven’t even seen those delightful tits of yours.” 

You scramble to move, undignified and uncaring. “Let me have a look and I’ll give you what you want.”

Back on his lap, you unbutton your blouse with shaking hands. Vaguely you remember choosing this shirt for a reason, but in your desperation to have his mouth on you your cock-addled mind can’t cobble together a single memory as to why you chose this finicky piece of cloth.

You’re wearing a lacy black bra, a matching set to your garter. Your nipples are hard from arousal and visible through the delicate fabric. They ache for his touch and you arch your back in invitation.

John’s grin is wolfish as he reverently pulls down the left lace cup. Even the glide of expensive material almost hurts you, and your legs fall open in anticipation of what is about to happen.

John dips his head and bares his teeth as he closes around your nipple. You gasp and try to hold still even though you can feel his hot panting warm your chest. He gives you a slight bite and you moan loudly. 

“God yessss.”

That breaks the dam and John drops his head to swallow as much of your breast as possible. His tongue flicks and flirts with your nipple as his teeth graze your skin and you yelp and sigh and squeal at the mouth watering sensations.

John pulls up slowly, teeth grazing your nipple and pulling it up slightly before releasing. It hurts just enough for your cunt to release another wave of wetness, and he seems to know this because his left hand returns to your legs just as his right cups your right breast.

This time though, the hand in between your legs manages to shove the tight underwear to the side and finally you get skin on skin as he sinks two fingers easily into your sopping cunt and his thick thumb locates your clit.

John makes no bones of fucking you immediately, drawing his fingers in and out as his thumb bullies your throbbing clit. He dives down to your chest again to bite and suck and blow on your breasts while his right fingers firmly twist your right nipple.

Your mouth is wide open and the sounds you make loudly and ghastly and animalistic, but you can’t help it - this, this is what you deserve, this is what you’ve waited for. Words escape you are you are held down and subjected to pure feeling.

Sooner than you’d like you feel your climax spiral from your stomach to your chest and when you come your entire body stiffens as your orgasm rips through you. Your hips buck and chase John’s fingers until you can’t decide whether you want more or less, and in time the calloused thumb on your clit tips a little closer to pain and like a marionette with cut strings, you give one last sigh and fall loose-limbed into a semi-nude heap.

Above you John Price looks inordinately pleased with himself.

You’re sure you’re a sight to behold - covered in lace and clothed almost everywhere except your swollen and chafed nipples, and likely with lipstick smeared and come on your chin and neck on top of that.

John lifts your head slightly so that you don’t cramp your neck and gives you a fond smile. In return you shuffle slightly on to your side and give a quick kiss to the exposed skin on his wrist. You look down at his soft dick and stroke it gently, with tenderness. Your mouth waters while you look at it and you swallow again, delighting in the soreness of your throat.

“Love, you’re insatiable.” John huffs, slightly disbelieving.

“Can you blame me?” You can’t stop looking at his beautiful cock. Your hand wanders up his chest and your eyes follow until once more you’re swimming in the beautiful browns of your bodyguard’s eyes.

“I am so glad we’re taking the long way home. I was promised some cunt-licking.”

[lowkeychenle]

And Then It Was [ZCL] (M) fic teaser

Description: After your marriage with Chenle was arranged by your parents for a company merger, things with him aren't quite like you expect. In your life full of obligations, he's determined to finally give you the ability to make your own choices.

Genre: Smut/Fluff/Angst (arranged marriage!au, rich families using their children as business mergers yk) (no actual smut in the teaser but the tension kinda wild lol)

Content Warnings: Not sure of any in the teaser, but in general content warnings will be rich, generational family trauma, mentions of pregnancy and heirs (no actual pregnancy in the fic), reader feels obligated to do literally everything and Chenle's like yeah that's not really cool, umm if I think of more I'll let y'all know

Expected Word Count: 20-30k

Teaser Word Count: 789

Release Date: 8pm EST 2023.3.22

READ HERE :)

Taglist: Open!! Please let me know if you want to be tagged when this comes out <3

Pairing: Zhong Chenle x fem!Reader (features the rest of dream!)

Juliet's Masterlist | Tell me what you think? :)

“Chenle?” you call out.

When he appears in the doorway, his shirt is absent, and you were pretty sure he’d been wearing a belt before. His arms are crossed over his chest as he leans against the frame, awaiting you to tell him what you need.

You don’t have to actually speak. Instead, you turn your back to him and pull your hair over your shoulder. He hums behind you, keeping a respectable amount of distance before he grips the zipper.

“What did you do before me?” he asks, hesitant to pull it down.

“Staff.” You shrug. “But I mostly wore things I knew I’d be able to—”

The familiar sound and the rush of cool air against your practically boiling skin as he reveals more of your skin has your breath catching in your throat. You cut yourself off, immediately reaching up to hold the dress to your chest.

“I’m a very accommodating man, (Y/N).” His voice sinks into every inch of your skin. “If you need something, tell me. I’m your husband. It’s quite literally my job to ensure you’re happy, darling.”

The warmth radiating from his bare skin so close to yours has every thought in your brain flying away. Logically, there’d be nothing wrong with giving in to your temptation. It’d been a long time since anyone had touched you, and the man behind you is your husband. Physical attraction had nothing to do with emotions or feelings, so it was okay. One thing you’d never be able to deny is how he’s one of the most beautiful men you’d ever met. Your parents could’ve chosen much, much worse for you.

His voice centimeters from your ear startles you out of your trance. He says, “I wonder what you’re thinking about. You seem a bit distracted.”

“Wouldn’t you love to know.”

“Truly.”

“I need to change.”

“Do you?” He trails a finger up your spine. “You’re so soft. What an odd comparison to that steel wall you’re forcing yourself to keep up.”

“I think you’re forgetting your own boundaries.” You clench your fist into the fabric of your dress. “This wouldn’t be real.”

“What even is this?” His breath fans across your neck, and you’re sure you feel the sublest brush of his lips on your skin. “Tell me where you think this is going. After all, I’m helping you with your dress like a good husband.”

“My dress was dealt with minutes ago.”

“Darling.” He tsks. “If your dress was dealt with already, it would be long, long gone.”

Even like this, you refuse to let him win. If this were to be the extent of your relationship with Chenle, you’d be fine with that. You crave satisfaction, and you also know this is a means to an end. This may be the key to giving your family those fucking heirs they want so badly.

In a bold move, you release your grip on the fabric and allow it to crumple at your feet.

“What?” You tilt your head, grinning when his breathing halts. “Are you the only one who can deliver?”

He places his hand on your hip. “Can I touch you here?”

“Mhm,” you inhale sharply when he squeezes, trying your best not to roll back against him.

“Here?” he whispers, splaying his fingers out along your stomach.

“What’s your goal?” you ask, looking back at him over your shoulder. “You seem like you want something from me.”

His face is much too close to yours, but for some reason, it does little to bother you. When his lips part, you don’t mean to squirm in his touch.

His eyes sweep over your expression, his touch edging just a little further downward until he can play with the lace hem of your panties.

“I’ve told you what I want already.” His gaze locks on your mouth. “Everything. I want it all.”

You gulp, unable to speak for fear of making a fool of yourself.

“What about me makes this hard for you?” he asks.

Despite the softness of his voice, your proximity to him means you see the hint of hurt swimming around in his dark irises. The heat of his bare skin on yours has everything inside you awakening, but you can’t give him what he wants.

“The choice is yours.” He takes a deep breath. “Going forward, the choice is always yours to make. I’m yours in any way you want me.”

The atmosphere around you is so hot, charged, you can’t help the way you struggle to breathe. You lean closer to him, and when your lips brush his, his grip around you tightens.

Before he’s able to initiate a real kiss, a knock sounds on the bedroom door.

[slowd1ving]

Hiiiii can u write Kim Dokja x Goth!Male!reader this sponsor constellation is Apollo and The reader is a simp for Dokja ( I love this man )

LOVE LIKE BLOOD ・゜゜KIM DOKJA

“The life is short, and I’m running faster all the time, Strength and beauty destined to decay, So cut the rose in full bloom.” By chance you meet him, by chance you become his friend, by chance you stay by his side; until it cannot be called fickle, capricious chance any longer, but an example of the inevitable law of universal attraction between two starving masses. art by @ 1L9l2Aa8UCL0IGJ (blackbox) on x! also thank you anon this ask was so big brained I yapped on for like 5k words (very sorry if you wanted headcanon/drabble form I got the most profound inspiration for this at like 3am :3) also damn you have no idea how many song titles I was perusing trying to find a suitable one for this... pairing: kim dokja + male goth reader warnings: pretty graphic metaphors, child abandonment/implied parental death, child neglect + abuse, alcohol, smoking, depression + bullying, hurt/comfort, injury, violence (as it's orv), does 10+ year long pining and oddly tense homoeroticism need a warning, anon I hope you ENJOY reading because I enjoyed writing wc: 5.6k (YAP because i love this silly man, I've never written so much for a request before lmao)

ORV MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Fundamentally, you and him are the same. 

There’s a sense of loss that’s too heavy for either of your bodies to comprehend. Rather than a heart, there’s a black hole right where the organ lies; so greedy, so hungry for acknowledgement. Born blue into this world—deprived of oxygen yet wailing, screaming for your voice to be heard—it’s little wonder you’ve always been avaricious for the love your parents could never give. The hands cradling the babe were never loving; they were clinical, they were covered in sterile blue gloves and they smelled only of caustic antiseptic. There was no kiss on your slimy, puckered forehead. There was only the sting of alcoholic sanitiser. 

Kim Dokja is similar, yet his parents wouldn’t (rather than couldn’t, for in your embittered mind the two concepts were so different as to be alien) spare him scraps of care. Rather than press a kiss to their son’s awaiting cheek, only bruises blossomed where the love should’ve been. No flowers were given for Children’s Day—only oily blood spilling and macerating against his chubby hands as a last, vibrant gift for their son. 

These two black holes sputtered on their axes while they spun round each other: gluttonous, esurient for care that didn’t come with bruises and wailing grief. 

Seoul had been unusually cold; blue afternoons spanned across the school rooftops. They were frigid and foggy—perfect for avoiding detection. Thus, the boy without kisses (only contused skin) encountered another like him on the rooftop that day. Against the haze, your own cigarette smoke had dulled the edges of what he saw—a boy canted against the railing with rippling earphones and a head tilted so far back he could taste the polluted mist. 

A merger had occurred. 

And though neither of you said it, there was an unspoken recognition of each other’s greed in that moment. Your eyes, ghosting over his injuries while the heavy bass played and the prussic wisps trailed around him: deep reverberations sounding a bit too like his careening heartbeat—as he made sure no one had followed him up here, that he was safe. And his umbrous eyes—honed in on the cigarette wedged between your lips, now stained black from the gloss decorating your humourless smile.

Maybe it was just that inherent feeling of kinship that came with avariciousness: a snarling sort of camaraderie that snagged at your skin with its claws. The wounds left behind were tender, but tender was precisely the adjective you were looking for—as was he. 

And so, Kim Dokja found himself coming to this particular rooftop the next day. When his breathing came ragged and his vision began to swim, he instinctively sought the numbness the frigid azurine firmament would bring. Like a wounded animal, he sought safety. Flight over fight—a lesson he’d learnt too late. Bruised fists would never save him. 

There you sat—eyes closed and lips still glossed in modest black. There were silver rings on your hands; rings he’d seen flashing before his eyes before he was hit, that those people no longer sported. Quietly, he matched up the scrapes on your own knuckles to the ones decorating their faces: to their unusual sullenness today. They’d furtively sequestered themselves in a club room all break, touching their swollen lips and eyes with bruised fists. Bruised fists. Like trophies, the achromatic metal glinted against the cobalt haze, and for once, his heart didn’t skip any beats at the sight of the gleaming metal. Neither did you acknowledge his presence nor their sins, but still, he sat on the same bench you were sprawled upon: hugging his bag to his chest while he scrolled the hallowed pixels of Ways of Survival. 

There was no grand exchange of words, no heartfelt conversations between Kim Dokja and the boy with a messed-up uniform. 

This was how tentative company was kept for a fragile week. 

Tuesday was the day that fragility finally shattered. He still remembers every detail about it—down to the particular cigarette brand you’d purchased that morning, down to the chips in your dark nail polish, down to just how many rings you’d worn on your left hand (three—it was three rings). Tears had spilled down his cheeks that afternoon; they warped and distorted the words that had saved him thus far, evoked from the pain in his purple ribs and his empty stomach. Somehow, the salt he’d kept tightly bound had been coaxed by your cold presence—perhaps, knowing your indifference made it easier to cry pathetically in front of you. 

You still didn’t speak, but you did hand him a tissue. You still didn’t speak, but you did press your shoulder to his own trembling one: smelling of caustic smoke, and something rich and sweet lingering beneath the plumes. You still didn’t speak, but your rings clinked on your left hand as you unhooked the earbud in your pierced ear and offered it to him: fingers brushed against his palm as he was forcibly shocked out of crying any further, like a blubbering child faced with such a conundrum that their little brains focused entirely on that rather than the reason for their tears. 

Melancholy had streamed out of the device. Doleful chords twined against threnetic voices—which he could not translate nor understand but could feel in pulsing waves. 

In that short whorl in the great machine of time, in the chill of the blue hour, he could not help but feel warm.

And thus, that Tuesday changed the trajectory of this merger somewhat. A deafening hum had finally blossomed from the gargantuan event; your presence could no longer be described as distant. 

When he went to class the next day, you were in the seat next to him: a mirage brought on by his lack of food, no doubt. He limped to his desk, but there your corporeal form remained: this time with silver chains lining the base of your throat and a dry, sharp grin decorating your face. Sure, he knew there was a student that never showed up in his class, but he wasn’t expecting it to be you: your name now a permanent fixture in his mind. 

There was a new name for this phenomenon: friendship. 

The boy, with the pensive music and trophies stolen from Dokja’s tormentors, smiled up at the reader staring at him. It was an inviting gesture: the proverbial hand reaching out, the hand which he took.

You weren’t a particularly talkative friend at first: preferring to simply share your music rather than speak much. That was fine with him—it wasn’t like he wasn’t used to reading alone. Then, you started bringing boxes of food alongside your cigarettes: containers that lacked the refinement of store bought meals. One for you, and one sheepishly thrust out to him with a smile bright as burst yolk and as messy as it too. Consequently, he returned a wobbly, unsure smile back at you—not mentioning that the vegetables were slightly burnt, slightly too salty. But that was fine. The more lunches you brought, the more skilled your hands became—until he never felt truly full unless he was eating what you gave him. 

In return, he cracked open his soul: pried its rusted walls with bleeding fingernails in a gesture never before seen, not since his childhood when he still knew what hope meant. Dokja for once didn’t blubber apologies and pleas for mercy—but became a teenager rather than a groveller. He complained about teachers, he discussed Ways of Survival at length (noting how you listened even when you showed no particular interest in reading it), he finally developed his own, modest aspirations for his own life. Lying in his bed in his lonely apartament, it suddenly didn’t feel so claustrophobic (yet somehow far too big for one) when you were there with your shoulder just brushing his own. 

You were not as cold as you seemed: though this was always obvious from that fateful Tuesday. You made fun of and empathised with the eternal regressor; you diligently stood at his half-broken stove frying meat and vegetables; and you talked at length about whatever band you were currently into—“I’ll take you to one of their concerts when we’re older,” leaving your lips, for your dense black-hole hearts did not conceptualise a future where the other was not present. He saw your loneliness—heard the rumours of you bouncing around from orphanage to orphanage, roaming the streets and working nights rather than return to that boreal home. 

So, more nights than not, he woke up from his nightmares to see you sleeping on the small couch in his home—legs just about peeking over the armrest, for your avarice didn’t only cover the abstract but the heaps of food you swiped from the canteen (and over the past two years he’d known you, you got your growth spurt far more obviously than he had). It partly contributed to almost skittish aversion his tormentors had of him—one you never did acknowledge, and so he learnt quickly to not mention it either. In this way, he too never mentioned why he invited you to sleep over more nights than not. And so, neither of your selfish hearts ever spoke a word of pity, but rather conveyed an unspoken understanding that bound the two of you in this merger. 

This routine continued.

He enlisted after graduating from the local university, and so did you—suffering the eighteen months of hazing with the smoke lingering on your skin and that same, humourless smile he first saw on your face. Frigid mornings turned his own lips as blue as the sky, yet he found it was harder to feel the chill when he saw you. Just like back then, you wore the same smile that brimmed with such colour it was practically incandescent with its heat. 

Two outcasts. It was hilariously terrible. Two outcasts, still sharing a pair of earbuds that had seen better days—blaring out the dolorous music that had grown on him, that described this situation perfectly. Stars were strewn in the fabric enveloped around you: memories that would continue to shine even after the world slowly marched towards its apocalypse. 

In that cramped bunkroom, it had been just like school—blue nights with the moon just barely peeking through the window, with your leg still hanging off the side of the bunk and within his field of vision. And he still found the steady rise and fall of your breathing far more comforting than any white noise: like a guard dog, almost, you still shielded him by his proximity to you throughout the brutal eighteen months of mandated service. 

Adulthood had crept up unbidden. In his single-room apartment, he sat on his couch with your legs sprawled just as lazy as they had been eight years prior. Though, your appearance certainly had changed—beneath the loose material of your tank top, he could see the ink seeping and decorating your skin. He’d gone with you to the underground artists right after the discharge: worriedly biting his lip while you simply grinned at him as if there wasn’t a needle pressing into you. And despite his initial concern, he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away—sneaking glances even as he browsed through job sites since the winding patterns under the fabric and silver jewellery was oddly entrancing to the eye. 

In the end, he applied to the same company you had done on a whim: Minosoft, where you carefully wiped off the black residue on your lips and the smudged pencil round your eyes. You still shared your earbud with him on the subway (though you’d sent him your playlist aeons ago), you still smoked the same brand you did eight years ago, you still occasionally put on those rings you’d kept as prized trophies, you still made two sets of lunches for work. You still listened over drinks while hammered Dokja updated you on the latest update of Ways of Survival. You still angled your body just so, so that you would bear the brunt of Han Myungoh’s scolding rather than him. 

You hadn’t changed. 

But in some ways, he could no longer see the same boyish guy who’d awkwardly offered him his earbuds nine years ago. The look in your eyes was far more intense, the messy smiles splitting your cheeks were sharper, more overwhelming, and there was no longer any clumsiness in your movements from your sudden growth spurt from years prior. Even the very hand that occasionally clasped his shoulder, even the legs that you still casually flung over his on his beaten old couch, were far more scorching than he remembered. 

You had changed. 

And in the end, it was him who was left behind. 

Eternal loser, Kim Dokja. 

Though, he could never find fault with you for that. Not when you leaned over the tangle of limbs on his couch, not when he caught the thread of oud lingering beneath the smoke on your throat, and not when you thrust your phone screen at his face with that stupidly boyish grin that only peeked out when you brimmed with excitement—with a “look, I finally got us tickets for this festival!”. And he knew at that moment that you weren’t leaving him behind: stretching out your rough palm just like you had more than a decade ago. 

He let you tousle his hair to give it more spikes. He let you dress him up in your clothes—they sat too large on his frame, but he found himself unconsciously burying his body in the fabric that smelled like your laundry. He let you slip your rings onto his fingers: slender digits jolting at the sensation of the cool metal and the action itself. 

Finally, he let you rub your dark pencil on his lashline—lids fluttering up at yours while he did his best to not avert his stare. His gaze traced the bold lines of your brows and eyes, and finally onto the dark stain on your lips as you bit them in concentration. “There,” you’d murmured, gently grasping his chin. “That looks pretty.” 

And just like the loser he was, he felt his chest tighten at the casual compliment, for seemingly no reason. 

Over the din of the hall, he could barely hear the ebb and flow of music. Goth chords jostled him, weaving past the throes of post-punk and metal as band after band took the stage. In this crush of people, he was more focused on how your index finger threaded through his left-most belt loop; linking the two of you just enough that he wouldn’t get thrown into the mosh pit. No doubt the buzz of cheap liquor contributed to his distracted train of thoughts—he never was the best at handling alcohol. His hazy gaze distorted his view of your side profile; in the dim lights, obviously the wide smile (yolk-like, as was your grin years back) couldn’t possibly be that bright. 

It was at this moment that sentimentality got to him. He was thankful that his friend had stuck by his side for so long: gazing so softly at your happy expression he was unaware of his look himself. 

This was the night before the apocalypse began. 

When the crowds trickled out, when the reverb of bass still played through the club, you hugged him tight for coming with you. Outcast with the outcast, you’d thought introspectively. There were cheap spirits clouding your mind that night—a hangover would surely strike you come morning—which was why you weren’t as reserved as you usually were. As you leaned down to press the man into your arms, your lips had brushed past his cheek accidentally, and you could feel the black hole in the centre of your chest constrict. 

Profanities had whirled through your mind when the dark smudge remained on his cheek, and especially so as he made no move to wipe the umbrous gloss off on the subway back. Or maybe he just hadn’t noticed—not with the flush on his cheeks from the alcohol in his system. There was a terrible, discordant crescendo to your pulse as you gazed at him. The gloss, from where it smeared slightly past the boundaries of your lips, burned your skin. But you made no moves to wipe the corners either—for this night only, there was something linking Kim Dokja to you. 

Thus, for the first time since he was a mere babe cradled in his mother’s arms, there was a kiss planted on his cheek that wasn’t from a fist. An accidental one, but one that could not be considered devoid of affection. And though neither of you remembered it after the hazy stupor faded, it did not change the fact that it happened nonetheless. 

A small snippet of joy in the bleak landscape. A caesura found within the long, winding elegy of this world. A reprieve before tragedy. 

It was a fitting conclusion for the night before the end. 

✦ . 　⁺ 

[The free service has now been terminated.]

Back in the carriage, wedged between Yoo Sangah and Kim Dokja, the two of you had shared a glance confirming the unspoken truth. Minds intrinsically linked together—he did not need to speak for you to understand his thoughts immediately. And Yoo Sangah had recognised this—as did she remember the devoted gleam in your eyes whenever you spoke to or of the man seated adjacent to you. Yet ultimately, her lips would remain closed. 

When the scenarios began, it was Kim Dokja’s turn to repay you. He would be your shield moving forward—protecting your messy smile even as the world burned away. He vowed this to himself, and though the promise was heard only by him, it did not change the fact that the constellations watching him and his companions could see the oath brimming from him as he put you first. 

[Almighty Sun has sponsored you.]

Even when Apollo chose you as his incarnation, even when you were just as capable as you had been before the cataclysm occurred—he could not help but feel his fists clench as you put yourself in danger. 

“Hold on,” you’d murmured, rings flashing as you’d caught his wrist in your firm grasp. Even with his coins improving his stats, he still felt so much weaker than you—still the boy who ran to the rooftops while your fists bruised against the faces of those who tormented him. 

Had your touch always been so scalding?

Privately, he thought Apollo had chosen the right person—smile bright as the sun, skilled fingers deft enough to play the electric guitar you’d bought on a whim, presence practically a healing balm for his soul. 

“You’re injured, Dokja-ya.” And the words had made him shiver as the syllables ghosted over his flesh—your face was too close to his chest where he’d been slashed by a monster, while the affectionate tone added to his name made this situation far worse than it was. Secluded like this, in an abandoned corner of the station, it was easy to misread the situation; this was the only reason his face flushed red. His friend was far too close. When those aforementioned fingertips brushed over the wound—just grazing the wounded flesh—he jolted. From the pain, of course. 

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire has sponsored 200 coins.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire would like to see more action.]

“Steady.” You eased him against a pillar while ignoring the message—ignoring how your pulse was now leaden in your mouth, how the golden gleam stitching flesh back together seemed far more shaky than usual. Though, you couldn’t ignore the pain you felt as you saw the rise and fall of his torso grow shallow; you were useless when it counted—arrows meeting their target far too late. 

“Dokja-ya,” you breathed, sweeping the hair that plastered to his clammy forehead. He didn’t meet your eyes, and the heavy feeling in your chest grew more burdensome. He was supposed to tell you what was wrong; as his best friend, you duly heard his complaints and dealt with them where you could. More often than not, you could intuitively tell what bothered him; much like you had from the very first day you saw him all those years ago. And as time passed, the object of your adoration only grew easier to read. 

But he was never avoidant like this. 

What happened? As you watched him leave with heavy steps and not a glance spared back, you could feel the crushing weight of the sky drop back down on your shoulders. Fuck. Burying your face in your hands, you barely registered the message that popped up. 

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire expresses her sympathy.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire says she knows how the two of you can make up.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire sponsors 69 coins.]

[The Almighty Sun tells the Demon-like Judge of Fire to not be stingy.]

[The Almighty Sun sponsors 6969 coins.]

[The Almighty Sun empathises with a lover’s quarrel.]

“Shut up,” you seethed, and the bad mood carried on late into the night. It was obvious to anyone with eyes; the conjured lamps lining the perimeter of camp had seethed with you. Gold had been interspersed with bleeding red—crackling like true fire, though it was anything but. Even the tattoos that lined your skin had begun eroding into ember-like patterns, as though lava was breaking through the dermis of your skin. 

Unsurprisingly, it was Yoo Sangah that had approached first: past the harsh glow of your lamps, gracefully weaving through the brightness with the light steps that belied her nebula. She’d taken a glance at the incandescent splintering of your body, your hands furiously working away at the guitar plugged into your practically-bulletproof earphones, and finally the imposing frame of Yoo Joonghyuk only a few metres away as he stood guard tonight. 

But when you paused, when you hastily yanked the buds from your ears, she could also see the wobble in your lip. The furrow in your brows wasn’t angry, it was anguished, while the fearsome glare in your eyes contained only pain. If she was being honest, it was hard to approach you at work and even nowadays—with ease, you picked off enemies from a distance and your longbow conveniently morphed into two curved daggers when it came down to it. You were a maelstrom with the capacity to take lives—stained with blood as you bared your proverbial teeth at any threats to Dokja. But it was precisely that that allowed her to see your stupidly blind adoration of this man. 

(“Your devotion will only hurt you,” she says, as if that will dissuade you. You’ll take whatever feeling he gives you: greedily swallowing each and every morsel of emotion. Tender is your heart, but tender is good. It means you aren’t going mad over the situation you’re in.

“Yoo Sangah, I appreciate the advice,” you reply politely—you do respect her, after all. “But I do not mind that.”)

Yoo Joonghyuk had bemusedly watched as she left: staring the the dim red tattoos strewn across your body as if they could possibly help him decipher the fool in front of him. His Sage’s Eye flashed as golden as your lamps for a brief moment—detecting that your statement had, in fact, been true. 

Fool, he’d said as your hands flew over the fretboard once more. Fool, as you disappeared up the stairs to the rooftop. Fool, when your lips had pressed together tightly against one another. 

You did mind, even when you thought it was the unequivocal truth that you didn’t. 

Maybe it was futile to even think it, but he thought that idiot didn’t deserve the long-standing care in your hands, and the veneration in the timbres of your voice. It was pointless to get attached to someone like that—especially when the end of the world was upon you. 

But you wouldn’t know that, since you could not read his mind. But you wouldn’t know that, since he would never explicitly say it. But you wouldn’t know that, since you’d long-since accepted your self-torture as perfectly and utterly a part of what came with knowing Kim Dokja for as long as you did. 

The rooftop was like all other rooftops. Similar. The same. Azurine fog was at your fingertips: just like that day all those years ago. Except this time, Kim Dokja was not in your sights, and you were left alone with wisps of smoke trailing from your lips and no other company save the glowing stick in your fingers. Just like it had been; before you met the boy with a heart as greedy and all-consuming as yours. Before the merger between two black holes occurred. Before he ran up to the rooftops with bruises on his face and placed new stars in the endless vacuum of your universe. 

There was no charge in your phone, but the song that played that day still rested heavy in your neurons as you sprawled out on the bench. Mindlessly, you summoned the lyre-turned-guitar: doleful chords germinated, flourished and withered away once more under distressed fingertips. It was a night between scenarios; another caesura in this ceaseless tragedy. Though those days were filled with an empty stomach and an endless struggle, they were your halcyon days. 

Just like that time almost twelve years back, it was a blue Monday once more. 

Just like that time almost twelve years back, you didn’t hear the heavy run of footsteps through the heavy burr of music. 

Just like that time almost twelve years back, Kim Dokja’s black hole heart pulsed with each discordant twang of chords—though this time the link was acutely clear to him. 

The boy who once tasted the mist and tilted his body into oblivion was no longer there: replaced by a man who’d faithfully stayed by him for more than a decade. Though you hadn’t changed, not at all; not when he could still see the rings you took off his bullies, gracing your fingers just as they had back then. A trophy, dedicated to his protection. When his plans involved his sacrifice, you were the first to reach him. Your face was the first he saw, tears brimming from your lash line. For despite how you’d grown into your looks, you wore your emotions clear on your face. Your heart had been taken from the cavity in your chest and replaced with a dense core that greedily always wanted; yet it had been sewn messily onto your sleeve rather than discarded. 

Kim Dokja suddenly remembered another interlude. A club, where the amorphous ebb and flow of bodies could not sweep him away from your side—since you kept him there, treasured his presence enough that you hooked your finger firmly into his belt loop and rooted him there. An anchor: you’ve always been the rock beneath his shaky feet, after all. He remembered that, and not the endless churn of music that made your face glow with happiness. 

(A black smear of gloss left on his cheek. His hands, carefully wiping eye pencil away yet not touching the remnants of your lips—not until it smudged away on its own, forgotten for all of time but this day.)

A sun of his own. The reader trod his slow orbit around you long before he could conceptualise the gravity that drew two masses towards each other. Newton’s theory of universal gravitation be damned; you were the only centre of the universe, the only body that ever existed to draw others towards your brilliant light. 

His eyes flickered over the smoke in your lips: the dim embers of a glow from the lines in your skin made it seem as though you were alight yourself. Instinctively, physically, he was compelled towards the patterns just like he had been all those years ago: your music, your stupid piercings and your stupid discussions about bands and the stupid way you listened attentively to his yapping about Ways of Survival. Stupid, because why did you do that? Why did you convince him to make a shrine for you in his heart? Stupid, because why is it only now that he can see what exactly lays atop the stone altar?

“Kim Dokja,” you spoke through your plumes, formal in the way he knew you spoke when you were upset and trying to keep it together. He swallowed, and he could feel the same pitter-patter of his pulse as he did all those years ago—heartbeat colliding loudly in his ear drums while he steps towards you, unsure. You didn’t let up with the strum of strings: electric in the drizzle of rain and wind and cold Seoul air. 

For once, he was the one looking down at your impassive face. He was the one brushing his fingers through your hair, he was the one whose hands made themselves comfortable on shoulders—for it’s always been you wrapped around him, you whose legs wedge on top of his domestically on his shitty couch in his shitty studio flat. 

“It’s Dokja-ya,” he corrected: tongue thick and leaden. It constricted his larynx and made his cadence oh so small at this moment. Tentative. Because he was your close friend and you his. He was the one who knows all your expressions—even the ones you deliberately tried to hide from everyone. He was the one who’s been with you the longest: always staring up at the muscle of your back while you act as his shield. He was the one who’s been blind. 

Your fingers halted against the strings and the instrument dissolved into the wind; the concert for two had reached its conclusion, just like it had all those months ago. For despite being packed full of people, the club only ever had two people in it for him. 

Lazily, those same hands that have bruised for him—but somehow had a touch that was far more painful than any torment that was physically inflicted on him—wrapped round his own that rested neatly on your shoulders. 

“Dokja-ya,” you answered, and the axis the world tilted on is finally righted. This man, Dokja thought—and his umbrous eyes traced down the warm lines of your face, stopping on your lips. Bittersweet. 

“Don’t leave me,” he all but begged—voice only a whisper. Don’t die on me, the black hole wanted to say instead; selfishly wishing for you to always be by his side so he doesn’t see you depart this world first. That would end him more than anything else. 

“I can’t leave you,” you murmured, and oh, the hand brushing his tear-stained cheek suddenly made more sense. “Dokja-ya, I should be telling you that.”

He pressed his face into your warm palm—scorching even with the boreal damp settling over his skin. There was something twisted within him that revels in your admission: that you, too, feared him abandoning you just as he feared you leaving him behind. 

“Idiot.” And he twined his fingers in yours, seeing the surprise on your face bloom—for he’s already established that you’re ever so easy to read. Idiot, because it’s ludicrous to even think that he’d ever willingly walk away from you like that. 

“You’re the idiot,” you whispered as your phantasmal hand ghosted from his cheek to his collar, yanking him so he fell onto the firm sprawl of your legs—in a way he’s never felt. So warm, he thought through the haze as he straddled your languid body—fit so right against you that there was none of the tension nor the anticipation that he might’ve felt. His hands splayed out onto your chest, feeling the steady beat of your heart, tracing the glowing lines he adored on your body. 

So warm, he thought as your hands gently cupped his face—for you’ve never been anything but soft with this stupid man perched on your lap. 

So warm, as your lips met his and he melted into your body. He could taste the acrid smoke on your tongue, but he could also taste the food you’d prepared earlier for him, and the traces of whiskey you’d scavenged. All traces of you; his insatiable heart could not help but want to merge into you. 

So warm, as your tongue melded against his and he could feel the seam of his mouth against yours grow ever more ragged and messy. His hands desperately curled into your shirt, and he could feel your palms pressing harshly against his waist and canting his torso into yours more—something which his avaricious heart eagerly swallowed. 

On a blue Monday just like this one, two boys met for the first time once more on a rooftop just like this one. 

Again. Like and like created a merger for the second time, or perhaps it was already the third. Or fourth. Or the thousand-eight-hundred-and-sixty-third time this has happened—over and over and over and over. 

Fate has a funny way of bringing people together, or maybe it’s just the intrinsic law of gravitation that binds two black holes in a binary system. 

Blue Monday. What a silly notion, when the man beneath Kim Dokja is as warm as the brilliant sun. 

✦ . 　⁺ 

Fellas is it gay to pine after your best friend for over ten years and have oddly homoerotic moments with them

✦ . 　⁺ 

EXTRAS

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire returns from her work and asks what she missed.]

[The Almighty Sun keeps his lips shut.]

[The Abyssal Flame Black Dragon stays silent.]

[The Prisoner of the Golden Headband, perhaps not fearing his imminent hair loss, opens his mouth.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire promptly goes catatonic and explodes.]

[thedamselzelda]

Break Into Chains

Featuring: Fyodor Dostoevsky & Beast! Dazai Osamu

Summary: Waiting... watching... done. Perhaps, playing this role was meant to take lesser time? Who could know now? Nevertheless, it's a role you must play out to its finale. Who knows what the end might be now? If only your part had been planned out better...

word count: 9.2k+, fem!reader, HOTD!reader → pm!reader (perhaps?), nsfw (domestic abuse [possessive Fyodor, very unhealthy relationship]), reader referred to with other names (no use of y/n), reader's eyes described as violet, Russian words used (general meanings at the end), slightly proofread

Author Note: Dear lord have mercy. This took wayyyyy too much time and for that I am sooooo sorry. I wanted to have this out last week, but the first scene DRAINED ME. I want to remind, or warn readers, this is a Dazai x reader fic, so Fyodor is not painted in good light.

ᡣ𐭩 There's also an additional part at the end since this part has been so delayed. The time is slightly ambiguous since I can't quite say when Dazai becomes PM Boss

previous part ~ next part | LBH masterlist | BSD Masterverse

Weeks had passed without a word from Fyodor, lulling you into a false sense of security. Yet, you knew better. His rats - Nikolai chief among them - lurked in the shadows, their watchful eyes ever-present. The unsettling thought that some of your own staff might be secretly under his command gnawed at the edges of your mind. But with the immense pressure of your new responsibilities, you couldn't afford to dwell on such paranoia.

Crisp crinkles echoed through your office as you shuffled through the papers littering your desk. Your eyes darted from document to document, meticulously ensuring everything was in order for the weeks to come. Invoices for food and excess liquor orders were neatly stacked, the staff schedule awaited your final approval, and ornate invitations for a masquerade party - Kōyō's insistence for after the Star Festival - had been prepared. The merger with the Port Mafia had transformed The Midnight's Caress into a whirlwind of activity, far beyond your initial expectations.

A weary sigh escaped your lips as you massaged your temples, the beginnings of a headache pulsing along your brow. A lit cigarette dangled precariously between your fingers, and you took a long, desperate drag, hoping the nicotine would quell the growing tension. The smoke curled lazily in the air, a stark contrast to the frenetic energy that now permeated the club.

When you agreed to sell to Osamu - to the Port Mafia - you hadn't anticipated this surge in business. Moreover, you'd agreed to the club becoming a front for trade, strictly in jewels. It was an additional burden, one you tried to distance yourself from, clinging to the illusion of separation from Mafia affairs.

Thankfully, Osamu had been true to his word, respecting your wish for distance from Mafia affairs. Yet, he kept you informed of pertinent matters, treating you with the consideration typically reserved for a high-ranking executive within the Port Mafia. This delicate balance he struck only served to underscore the undeniable shift in your relationship.

What had begun as harmless weekly chess games had gradually evolved into something more intimate. Weekend dinners became a regular occurrence, followed by conversations that stretched into the early hours of the morning, ending only when dawn threatened to break the night's spell. His presence, once a distant memory, now constantly permeated your thoughts, even in sleep. In your dreams, Osamu appeared to you, gentle and caring, showering you with the kind of love he insisted you “deserved.” These nocturnal visions left you feeling both comforted and conflicted, a stark reminder of the complex emotions that still lingered between you.

The lines between past and present, professional and personal, had begun to blur, causing you to find yourself navigating through an increasingly complicated emotional landscape. Osamu's actions spoke of a desire to rebuild what was lost, while your own feelings remained a tumultuous mix of longing, caution, and the ever-present awareness of your true mission.

Your weary eyes drifted to your phone, its white light a stark contrast to the warm yellow glow of your desk lamp. A message from Osamu illuminated the screen:

Osamu:Hey, I'm sorry. I ran into some issues here. I'll be there soon. Did you decide on a place yet?

A small smile tugged at your lips, the domesticity of the message both comforting and unsettling. You extinguished your cigarette in the overflowing ashtray, ash and butts a testament to your increased stress. With a deep breath, you reached for your phone, fingers hovering over the keys as you contemplated your response. The soft glow of the screen illuminated your face in the dimly lit office.

Still settling everything for Kōyō's party in the upcoming weeks. I picked dinner last week, so I'd say it's your turn. Surprise me.

The smile lingered on your lips, a small content sigh escaping through. For a moment, the weight of your responsibilities seemed to lift, replaced by a warm anticipation.

"Who's got you smilin' like that?"

You whipped your head around, heart leaping into your throat at the unexpected voice. Nikolai stood in the shadows, his lanky form materializing as if from thin air.

"Fuckin' shit, Nikolai!" You breathed, slamming your phone screen down upon your desk. Your smile instantly vanished, happiness evaporating. "I have a fucking door!"

You shot your hand up and gestured at the door, only to freeze as it swung open. The atmosphere in the room shifted palpably, the air growing thick with tension as Fyodor entered, Dimitri closing the door behind him with a soft click.

"Fyodor!" You plastered on a smile, rising to your feet. You felt Nikolai watching you, stepping back slightly to allow you to approach the front of your desk.

Fyodor's hand rose slowly, a silent command for silence. His eyes, cold and unreadable, refused to meet yours. "Have you been having a good time, moya zhena? I see you are quite busy."

He gestured to your desk in disarray behind you. You cocked your head, clinging to your facade of innocence. The words fell from your lips quickly, showing your anxiety from the sudden, unexpected intrusion. "Admittedly, business has increased dramatically, which is why I haven’t been regular in our correspondences—"

Nikolai's sharp laughter cut through the air. He held up a champagne bottle, a mocking toast.  "No need to be so anxious, Marena. We simply came to... ‘surprise you’, seeing as you sold The Midnight’s Caress and still have ownership. That’s quite interesting."

You shot an irritated glance at Nikolai, who fell back onto chaise with infuriating casualness. Closing your eyes, you shook your head, trying to regain composure. Your eyes fluttered open to look back at Fyodor. "I only sold it to get closer to him. He thinks you're abusing me. I'm using that to our advantage."

"But why would I harm you, moya dorogaya zhena?" Fyodor's gloomy expression finally rose to meet yours, his eyes boring into you with unsettling intensity. His eyes shimmered slightly, as if trying to coax you into a sense of security. "I love you."

Irritated by his selection of reply, your eyebrow twitched involuntarily. His cold tone a stark contrast against his words. "Of course, moya lyubov'. I know that. Just as I love you."

Fyodor moved towards you, his gaze never wavering. Your body reacted instinctively, inching backward till you brushed against your desk, betraying your mind's attempt at control. "Yet, you cower from me."

Your eyes darted between his, desperately searching for the motive behind this unexpected visit. Panic rose in your throat; Osamu would be arriving soon, and Fyodor couldn't be here when he did. "I just… feel your impatience, moy dorogoy; your unrest. I assure you; I’m working my way back in. The Book will be ours."

Fyodor’s lips curled down; you could see he was no longer interested in your promises, your efforts. "Still, I see no progress from you. You have yet to even pass through the threshold of the Port Mafia’s doors."

"I—"

Before you could explain yourself, Nikolai's voice cut through, uncharacteristically low and ominous. "The rats have watched you, Marena. And unfortunately for you, they've whispered of your betrayal in the dark halls."

Your jaw clenched involuntarily as he continued, "Fyodor doesn’t exactly see your late-night rendezvous with Dazai as productive.” Nikolai's lips curled into a cruel smirk. "Who knows what the two of you have been up to?"

The implication hung heavy in the air, a deliberate attempt to unsettle you and sow further doubt in Fyodor's mind. You fought to keep your expression neutral, acutely aware of the growing tension in the room and the dangerous ground you now tread.

Your chest heaved with each breath, anger and fear coursing through your veins. But you refused to continue to cower before them. "Of course you've been watching me. Whispering lies into my husband's ear." You raised your chin, forcing steel into your gaze. "You have been envious of me since the moment he brought me in."

Your ears began to ring loudly from Nikolai’s boisterous laughter. You gritted your teeth, becoming increasingly irritated by his presence. Nikolai’s laughter faded into a malevolent grin. "Envious? Oh, Marena, don’t be absurd! Who could envy a woman who clings to men who see her as nothing but a tool?"

You remained silent, taken aback by his venomous words. A flicker of hope prompted you to glance at Fyodor, expecting him to intervene, to silence Nikolai's disrespect. But as your eyes met his impassive gaze, the harsh truth crystallized - Fyodor was no longer your ally.

The realization hit you like a physical blow. Months of delayed progress, your prolonged failure to retrieve The Book, had worn Fyodor's patience. Nikolai, ever the opportunist, had seized upon this, whispering doubts and suspicions into your husband's ear. Now, standing before you, Fyodor was a stranger; his former affection now completely erased, replaced by cold calculation.

You felt Nikolai's gaze bore into you, his words continued cold and calculated. "Dazai’s affection doesn’t make you special. To him, you're just another expendable pawn in his grand game. And Fyodor," he gestured towards your husband, "anyone could see he doesn't favor you out of love; he pities you! You're nothing more than a tragic puppet, dancing on strings held by men who will never see you as their equal!"

Your eyes fluttered, a tempest of emotions raging behind them. Frustration and anger simmered in your veins, not just at Nikolai's cutting words about Osamu - words you knew to be far from the truth - but at your own naivety. The realization crashed over you like a tidal wave, leaving you clear minded for the first time in ages.

Fury ignited in your gaze as you locked eyes with Fyodor. "Is that so?" The words escaped as a low, dangerous murmur. You searched his face one last time, hoping against hope to find a glimmer of the man you thought you had married. But there was nothing - only a cold, calculating stranger stared back.

"It makes so much more sense now," you continued, your voice gaining strength with each word. Fyodor's head tilted slightly, a flicker of intrigue crossing his otherwise impassive features. He seemed curious about the conclusions you were drawing from Nikolai's taunts.

"I was a girl wanting freedom and you saw that dream in me, and so you seized the opportunity. You wanted to dangle me in front of Dazai this whole time," you spat, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place with sickening clarity. "That's why you insisted I return home! So you could give him a taste of something he couldn’t have. You lulled me into a false sense of security, fed me morsels of affection to temper my cravings, all to push me towards retrieving The Book! Not for us! But for you!"

Throughout your revelation, Fyodor's expression remained stoic, unmoved by your piecing together of his elaborate scheme. His lack of reaction only confirmed your suspicions, twisting the knife deeper. You were intelligent - Fyodor had always known this. It was inevitable that the facade would eventually crumble, that the truth would come to light.

You took an intentional step forward, and it was now Fyodor who took a slight step back.

"Now, you cower from me." You laughed, a sound tinged with both bitterness and newfound resolve. The sound cut through the tense silence, causing Nikolai to stiffen slightly in the background. Your eyes never left Fyodor's as you closed the distance between you, each step deliberate and measured.

You stopped mere inches from him, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath. The familiar scent of his scent, once comforting, now seemed nauseating and oppressive. Still, you didn't flinch or back away. Instead, you tilted your chin upward, meeting his gaze with unwavering defiance. Your proximity forced Fyodor to look down at you, a subtle shift in the power dynamic. Despite the slight height difference, it was clear you were not intimidated. Your body language radiated confidence, a stark contrast to the meek subordinate he had expected you to remain.

Your lips curved into a smirk, a dangerous glint in your eyes. Fyodor mirrored your expression, his own smile cold and calculating. The air between you crackled with tension, two predators sizing each other up. Your voice dropped to a menacing whisper; each word laced with deadly intent.

"You gravely misjudged me, Fyodor. You saw a vulnerable girl to be manipulated, a pawn in your grand design." Your eyes narrowed, boring into his with unwavering intensity. "But soon, you'll witness the true nature of the Port Mafia's Izanami. And you'll realize just how badly you've miscalculated. With every new life you assume, ty chertov ublyudok, I will find you and kill you, again and again, until the day comes when you can’t tell where you end and the life you stole begins."

Fyodor's lips curled into a cold smile. "Eto tak?" he replied, his voice dripping with mockery as he echoed your words. His eyebrow arched, a gesture of casual dismissal that belied the tension in the room. "Well, Izanami, I think that you'll find that your role here is not quite yet finished."

As Fyodor spoke, his lifeless gaze slid past you, settling on Nikolai. The abrupt shift in his attention left you reeling, a sudden vertigo gripping you. An icy tendril of dread snaked down your spine as Fyodor turned away, his lack of retaliation more unnerving than any threat.

In that disorienting moment, the gravity of your mistake crashed over you. You had fixated on Fyodor, forgetting the other dangerous player in the room. The air grew thick, almost suffocating, as time seemed to stretch and warp. Your instincts screamed a warning, every nerve on high alert.

It happened in the blink of an eye.

A whisper of movement behind you sent alarm bells ringing through your body. Pure instinct took over, your mind barely catching up as you spun around. Your eyes widened in horror as they locked onto Nikolai's form. His face wore a sadistic smile, eyes glinting with cold purpose as his arm arced through the air.

Desperately, you threw up your arm in a futile attempt at protection. However, it did no good as the champagne bottle connected with brutal force, shattering against your skull with a sickening crack. A shower of glass shards rained down, mixing with the sticky liquid that now saturated your hair and trickled down your face. A sharp, burning pain lanced through your forearm where the bottle's jagged edge had sliced into your skin.

The world lurched violently, your vision swimming in and out of focus. Agony exploded through your head, each pulse sending waves of nausea and pain radiating outward. You staggered, your legs threatening to give way as your senses overloaded, struggling to process the sudden assault.

Across your back, you felt the sharp, stinging pain of multiple lacerations. The acrid smell of champagne mixed with the metallic tang of blood, confirming your suspicions about the source of these new wounds - the shattered remains of the bottle that had started this brutal assault.

Nikolai then seemingly darted around you with intentional speed, exploiting his ability to materialize in your blind spots. Your eyes desperately tried to track his movements, but he always seemed one step ahead, vanishing and reappearing like a malevolent specter. The sharp sting of alcohol assaulted your vision, and as you struggled to blink away the burning sensation, a sickening crack echoed through the air.

A crushing force collided with your right arm, the impact reverberating through your body. Your mind reeled as you imagined the bone splintering beneath your skin, fragmenting into a thousand jagged pieces. A guttural cry escaped your lips as your arm went limp, hanging uselessly at your side. Before you could process the agony, another vicious blow struck the same shoulder, intensifying the waves of pain coursing through your body.

Despite the overwhelming pain, survival instinct kicked in. You fought back with desperate, uncoordinated movements. Your uninjured arm flailed wildly, fingers grasping at the air where Nikolai had been just moments before. If you could just make contact, just brush his skin with your fingertips, you knew it would all be over. Your ability would cease this nightmare. However, Nikolai was too quick, too practiced. He danced just out of reach, leaving nothing but empty air in your grasp. Your frustration mounted with each failed attempt, the realization of your powerlessness adding a new layer of anguish to your physical torment. The bitter taste of failure mingled with the blood in your mouth. As your body screamed in agony as the assault continued, hit after hit, a different kind of pain blossomed within your chest. Resentment bubbled up, hot and caustic, directed not just at your attackers but at yourself.

You wrestled with the dawning realization, desperately trying to silence the insidious voice in your mind. It whispered at first, then grew to a deafening roar with each passing moment of agony. "You fool," it seemed to taunt, the words reverberating through your battered psyche. "Look at the mess you've made of things."

Your thoughts drifted to that sun-drenched day at the quaint café in Italy, the scent of espresso and freshly baked cornetti, and the charming smile across from you still vivid in your memory. But no, you sowed the seeds of your downfall were planted even earlier. You recalled the day Osamu approached you, his eyes a frenzy of emotions, seeking reassurance as he grappled with the weight of his sudden succession. Instead of offering support and feeling relief at the resolution, you had chosen indifference, allowing bitterness to take root in your heart. Was it not you who had longed for it more?

It seemed trivial now to dwell on the chain of decisions that had led you to this moment of reckoning. Yet, as your body gave way and you crumpled to your knees on the cold, unforgiving floor, these memories were all you could cling to, a lifeline in the sea of pain and regret threatening to drown you.

"Please..." The word escaped your lips as a barely audible whisper, a final, desperate plea. Despite its softness, it was enough to give Nikolai pause, his imposing figure freezing mid-motion.

Fyodor's voice sliced through the tense silence, calm yet commanding. "I do believe that gets the point across. Thank you, Nikolai."

As the tears cleared your vision and burning, you saw Nikolai step back, lowering his improvised weapon—an ornate, silver candelabra from your office, now stained with crimson. A bitter chuckle escaped your lips, bordering on hysteria. Your hand had gone numb, and a vice-like pressure tightened around your chest. It took every ounce of strength to keep your head lifted as Fyodor approached, replacing Nikolai's looming presence.

He crouched before you, raising his hand to thread his fingers through your matted, sticky locks. "Moy malen'kaya mysh'," he murmured.

A solitary tear escaped as you attempted to turn away in disgust, but Fyodor cupped your cheek with unsettling tenderness, like a lover trying to soothe your pain. His thumb gently wiped away the tear threatening to streak your bruising skin. He shushed you softly as your lip quivered, unable to contain your anguish.

"I will give you one more chance, moya samaya bol'shaya lyubov'. Perhaps this will help get you through the guarded gates of the Port Mafia." Fyodor said, his voice a velvet caress as he stroked your head. Despite his gentle demeanor, the weight of his power over you was palpable. Your breath caught in your throat at his next words. "But if you fail me, I will have that detective you are so fond of gutted."

Your eyes fluttered as fresh tears welled up and spilled over. You shook your head weakly, your pleas barely above a whisper. "No... no, please."

Fyodor's smile was soft, almost benevolent, as he leaned in to press his lips against yours. You squeezed your eyes shut in revulsion, forcing yourself to return the twisted show of affection. As he pulled away, he hovered mere inches from your face, his breath warm against your skin. "I hope you're creative with my death this time," he murmured, his words laced with dark anticipation. "Just one page, moy dorogoy. That's all I need. Bring me one page from The Book within a month’s time, and perhaps, I'll reconsider the detective's fate. Fail me again, and... well, let's hope it doesn't come to that."

You remained motionless as Fyodor rose, your eyes tracking his every movement as his attention shifted back to Nikolai. Each breath became increasingly laborious, pain radiating through your body in waves, discovering new territories of agony with each passing moment. The metallic taste of blood lingered on your tongue.

As Nikolai moved to open the door for their departure, Fyodor's gaze returned to you, his eyes glinting with a mixture of possessiveness and cruel amusement. His voice, smooth as silk yet sharp as a blade, cut through the heavy air between you.

"Despite Nikolai's charged words, Dazai evidently still harbors feelings for you. But, moya dorogoy zhena," he paused, "he will do what he must to achieve his goals. You are nothing more than an obstacle for him, a fleeting distraction."

Fyodor's lips curled into a smile that never reached his eyes as he delivered his final, chilling statement. "To me, you are everything, moy angel smerti. You would do well to remember that."

The words hung in the air, as stale as the empty promise of helping you. As the door closed behind them, leaving you alone with your pain and the weight of Fyodor's threat, you couldn't help but feel the noose of circumstances tightening around you.

You winced, a sharp hiss escaping through clenched teeth as you gingerly cradled your broken arm, drawing it close to your body. The initial surge of adrenaline began to ebb away, leaving in its wake a tide of overwhelming pain and exhaustion. Your eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment, the world around you starting to blur at the edges.

From somewhere far away, as if through a thick fog, you heard the faint buzzing of your phone vibrating on the desk. Osamu calling, no doubt. A part of you yearned to answer, to hear his voice, but your limbs felt leaden, unresponsive. In that moment of weakness, you found yourself hoping—praying even to whatever cruel deity might exist— that Osamu would somehow sense your distress and come to find you.

As your eyes fluttered closed, fresh tears carved warm trails down your cheeks. Fyodor's words echoed in your mind, a haunting refrain. Even in this dire situation, with your relationship to Fyodor taking this twisted new turn, you couldn't bear the thought of Oda becoming a target. You tried to steady your breathing, pursing your lips with each labored exhale as you tilted your head back, fighting against the encroaching darkness.

The phone continued to buzz, the sound becoming from further and further away. With immense effort, you attempted to rise, to crawl towards that lifeline. But your body betrayed you, and you pitched forward, your cheek connecting with the plush fibers of your new rug. Another one to be replaced… Your vision narrowed to a pinpoint, then faded to black. The last vibration of your phone became nothing more than an auditory ghost, dissipating as consciousness slipped away.

Osamu, what did I do…

Osamu's leg bounced incessantly as he sat in the back of the sleek black car, the soft leather seat doing little to calm his fraying nerves. He cursed under his breath, pressing his hand firmly against his thigh in a futile attempt to still the movement. The usually composed Mafia executive was irritated with himself, his calm facade cracking under the weight of his tumultuous thoughts.

Neon lights from the bustling Yokohama nightlife flashed across his face in a dizzying array of colors, muddling the conflict swirling within his mind. Tonight. It had to be tonight. The mantra repeated in his mind, a mix of determination and barely contained anxiety. He was going to ask you to return to the Port Mafia, to come back to his side where you belonged. The very thought sent a tremor through his body, a potent cocktail of exhilaration and terror coursing through his veins.

God, how he hoped you had sensed his intentions during the past weeks—surely you must have. All those carefully orchestrated conversations, the gradual sharing of executive-level information... He'd watched you absorb it all, your eyes lighting up with that familiar spark of intrigue and excitement. If anything, that light seemed even brighter than in the other universes he glimpsed in his dreams and visions.

Osamu's mind reeled, memories from alternate realities blurring together in a kaleidoscope of possibilities. In every version, you were there, a constant by his side across the multiverse. Here, now, in this world - why should it be any different? It shouldn't. It couldn't be any longer. The separation had gone on far too long already.

But what if...? No. He violently shoved the doubt aside, refusing to let it take root. You'd been so receptive, so eager to engage with Mafia matters again, even if there had been initial hesitation. Surely that meant something. It had to.

He needed you back. The Mafia needed you. But if he was honest with himself - a rarity for the guarded man - he longed for your return on a level that transcended mere organizational goals. You made him feel... whole. Grounded. Like the best version of himself, a feeling he'd been desperately missing since your departure.

What if he pushed too hard? What if this was the mistake that finally drove you away for good? The thought made his chest constrict painfully, his breath catching for a moment.

No. He couldn't think like that. In every universe, in every reality, you belonged at his side. This one couldn't be the exception. He wouldn't allow it to be.

His hand moved instinctively, reaching into his breast pocket to retrieve his phone. With slightly trembling fingers, he punched in your number, holding the device to his ear. The monotonous rings gave way to your familiar voicemail greeting: "Thanks for giving me a call! Sorry I can't get to my phone right now!"

Osamu frowned, a new thread of worry weaving its way through his already tangled thoughts. Why weren't you answering? Surely, you were just attending to matters within the club, your phone left behind in your office. Yes, that had to be it.

"You 'ight, boss?"

Osamu's gaze snapped up to the rearview mirror, meeting Albatross' concerned look. He cleared his throat, forcing himself back to the present moment.

"Yes, Albatross," he replied, his voice steadier than he felt as he closed his phone with a swift motion. "Our ETA?"

"Just under two, sir."

He hummed in acknowledgment, his fingers seeking out the familiar texture of his silk scarf, fidgeting with it to channel his nervous energy. As his eye darted about the passing streetscape, he fought against the nagging thoughts threatening to overwhelm him.

For what if you refused, purely out of fear of Fyodor retaliating? Or what if...? No. Here he was once more fighting himself. He couldn't let himself go down that path. You would see reason. You had to. Because the alternative – a world where you weren't by his side – was simply unthinkable. Especially now, with the clock ticking relentlessly on his grand plan. Osamu was acutely aware of the limited time he had left in this world, and he was determined to spend as much of it as possible with you. Every moment was precious, every shared experience a treasure to be cherished before the inevitable end. He needed you back, not just for the Mafia, not just for his plans, but for himself – to make these final chapters of his story truly meaningful.       

Osamu exhaled sharply through pursed lips as Albatross brought the sleek black car to an abrupt stop outside The Midnight's Caress. The club's neon sign bathed the street in a garish blue glow, highlighting the queue of patrons eager to enter your establishment.

"I'll only be a moment," Osamu said, his voice taut as he slipped his phone back into his jacket pocket. His fingers curled around the door handle. "We'll be going to Azamino Ukai-tei once I return."

Albatross let out a derisive snort, his eyes meeting Osamu's in the rearview mirror. "Azamino Ukai-tei? Seriously, boss? Taking her to such a fancy place?" He shook his head, not bothering to hide his disdain. "What's next, gonna get down on one knee? Oh wait—" He paused for effect, his lips curling into a smirk. "Forgot she's already got that rat bastard."

Osamu froze, his knuckles whitening on the door handle as he shot a sharp glare at his subordinate. The caustic comment struck a nerve, but he couldn't entirely fault Albatross for his opinion. The other Flags shared similar sentiments about you.

"That's enough, Albatross," Osamu warned, his voice low and dangerous despite the turmoil roiling within him.

Albatross raised his hands in mock surrender, but the sarcasm in his voice was palpable. "Sure thing, boss. Just remember, some stray cats ain't worth bringing home, no matter how pretty they are."

Osamu gave a heavy sigh, too preoccupied with his own emotional storm to properly address Albatross's insolence. "We'll be down soon," he muttered, yanking the car door open and slamming it shut behind him, the sound echoing in the night air as he tried to push Albatross's words from his mind. Damn that man and his sharp tongue. It was an unwelcome reminder of how The Flags disapproved of you, a fact that had been a constant thorn in his side even before your departure.

He couldn't help but recall that day - the five remaining Flags and you, standing in his office with heads bowed in shame. The memory was etched into his mind, a permanent reminder of the crime committed within Port Mafia walls. What had been done was done. All six of you bore the consequences of your actions from that day forward, and he knew he couldn't fix what had been permanently damaged, no matter how much he wished otherwise.

Shaking his head to escape his thoughts, Osamu strode towards the club's entrance and was recognized immediately. The doorman stepped aside with a respectful nod. Osamu returned it with a curt nod and faint smile of his own, passing the threshold of curious onlookers. His eye took in the full crowd before him, an impressive amount on the Thursday night. He searched among the throngs for any sign of you, desperate to catch a glimpse of those amethyst eyes he knew so well. But among the bustle of staff and club-goers, he found no trace of you. Strange, he thought. He'd expected you to be downstairs, if not waiting for his arrival.

Without your guiding presence, he found it oddly difficult to navigate the crowd. To the drunkards and oblivious patrons, he was no one important - a foreign feeling in a city where nearly everyone feared the Port Mafia's presence. As he moved through, his gaze caught a few staff members whispering and glancing his way. Their eyes held judgment and cruelty, something he hadn't seen in them before tonight. It was as if he was unwelcome in the building he'd visited so many times before.

The longer he watched, the more they seemed to scurry away, like rats exposed to sudden light. Shadows darted across his peripheral vision, always just out of sight when he turned to look. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach as he approached the first flight of stairs. Something was wrong here; he could feel it in the oppressive silence and the stale air that clung to his skin. But what exactly? And where were you? The questions echoed in his mind, amplifying his growing anxiety.

His feet carried him upward as quickly as his thoughts raced, skipping up the flights with increasing urgency. The banister felt sticky beneath his palm, and he could have sworn he heard whispers emanating from behind the peeling wallpaper. His breath came in short, sharp bursts as he climbed higher, the pit within his stomach churning with each step.

The stairwell seemed to stretch endlessly before him, twisting and turning like a maze, though he knew it wasn’t so. Dim, flickering lights cast grotesque shapes on the walls, transforming innocent shadows into menacing silhouettes. He pressed on shaking the visions from his mind, driven by a mixture of fear and determination, his senses hyperaware of every sneer and whisper within the building. If he hadn’t been able to negate other’s abilities, he would assume these visions to be the works of another ability user. Unfortunately for Osamu, they were common works of his own mind, something he hadn’t quite yet become familiar with as negative thoughts poured in to drown him.

Alarms rang within his ears as he yanked himself onto the third landing, his bandages feeling damp and sticky against his skin from the sudden exertion. His unbandaged eye immediately locked onto the empty door frame of your office, conspicuously devoid of Dimitri's imposing presence. The door was slightly ajar, a sliver of darkness visible through the gap, but not enough for him to peer inside.

He swallowed hard as he caught his breath, the taste of adrenaline bitter on his tongue. His hair, slightly damp with sweat, fell slightly into his face, obscuring his vision. With trembling fingers, he ran a hand through the tangled strands, pushing them back. His other hand reached out tentatively to tap the door open.

As the door widened with an ominous creak, his worst fears were justified. There you were, motionless in the dim light filtering through the blinds drawn over the office windows. Your name fell from his lips, quietly at first, a desperate whisper in the silence. Then, as his leaden feet carried him forward, your name escaped louder, echoing off the walls in hopes of rousing you from your unnatural stillness.

His eye roved over your still figure, taking in every detail with growing dread. Your head was slumped forward, a curtain of hair cascading down to hide your face from view. Your back was pressed against the front paneling of your desk. In your lap, you cradled one arm, the angle suggesting injury or worse.

"Bella?" Osamu's hands trembled as he gingerly brushed your hair from your face, his nostrils flaring at the pungent scent of alcohol mingled with something metallic. His unbandaged eye roved across your features, his heart clenching at the sight of fresh crimson droplets and forming bruises marring your skin. As his fingers found purchase upon your cheeks, he released a shaky sigh of relief when you grimaced, your eyes slowly fluttering open.

"Osamu?" Your voice, barely above a whisper, sent a jolt through him. He watched, transfixed, as tears escaped from your eyes, leaving glistening trails down your battered face.

He managed a weak smile, feeling his own eyes well up. Internally, he cursed as the bandage over his left eye became damp. The urge to protect you, to shield you from further harm, overwhelmed him. Before he could stop himself, he pulled you toward his chest, wincing as you let out a sharp groan.

"I'm sorry, I..." Osamu's voice trailed off, the words catching in his throat. Seeing you in such a state was excruciating, and the weight of guilt pressed down on him. He should have been there, should have prevented this. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been here sooner.”

Your hand found his cheek, and he leaned into your touch, savoring the warmth. His forehead touched yours, as he inhaled sharply to calm himself. It grounded him, a reminder that you were still here, still fighting.

"Osamu... I just want to go home. Please take me home..." The desperation in your voice tore at him. He gazed into your bloodshot, teary eyes, his chest tightening at how small and vulnerable you looked. It was a far cry from your usual commanding presence, and it shook him to his core. You gasped as more tears fell, "I can’t take this anymore."

"Of course. Of course, cara mia..." Osamu's mind raced, considering the implications. The guests couldn't see you like this - he knew how fiercely you guarded your image. And the staff... a cold realization settled over him. Despite your careful selection, he was now certain they were plants, watching your every move.

With slightly trembling hands, he fished out his phone. "I'll call Chūya... and Doc. You'll need to see Doc." He hated how rushed and unpolished his words sounded, so unlike his usual eloquence.

Your vigorous refusal caught him off guard; you shook your head and weakly pushed away from him. He watched, heart in his throat, as you tried to stand, only to pitch forward dangerously.

“Stop,” he scolded gently, your name a worried hiss on his lips. "You'll surely only hurt yourself further. Chūya will clear the club, but you need to see Doc."

As he cradled you against his shoulder, dialing the phone, Osamu felt the weight of responsibility settle heavily upon him. Your whispered words about them, The Flags, wanting you dead sent a chill down his spine, but he pushed the thought aside. Right now, getting you help was all that mattered.

When Albatross answered, Osamu steeled his voice, pushing down the worry that threatened to break through. "Albatross, I need you to go get Chūya and Doc. Bring them here immediately." As he spoke, he tightened his protective hold on you, silently vowing that no further harm would come to you on his watch.

"Course, Boss. We'll be back in five."

Osamu closed his phone with a soft click, his attention immediately falling back onto you. His hands, usually so steady and sure, trembled slightly as he pulled the maroon silk scarf from around his neck. “They broke your arm...” he muttered, his voice low and seething with barely contained rage.

With an attempted gentle precision, he wrapped the silk around your forearm, fashioning a makeshift sling. Each wince or groan you let out cut through him like a knife, and he found himself whispering "sorry" with every slight tug and pull. Osamu tried his best to be gentle, but his anger made his movements less fluid than usual. His mind raced with violent thoughts of retribution against Fyodor. If he had the time, if it fit into his plans, he would kill the man without hesitation. It was only your voice, weak but present, that pulled him back from the brink of that consuming rage.

"Why would you command them to help me? It just further cultivates that issue. I can't take back what I did to Piano Man, and they will always hold it against me."

His eye found yours as he reached up to tie a knot of silk behind your head. The warmth of your gaze steadied him somewhat. I would like to think... we've all grown since that day," he said softly, hoping his words held more truth than he feared.

You rolled your eyes and sighed heavily; the sound filled with a weariness that made Osamu's heart ache. He carefully maneuvered behind you, leaning back against the front of your desk. His hands, gentle but insistent, urged you to lean back, to rest against him as they awaited Albatross and the others.

He cradled you close, his arms forming a protective cage around you. The fear of losing you, of you slipping away from this world and leaving him behind, gnawed at the edges of his mind. Your head fell back upon his shoulder, and you looked up at him, your eyes capturing his in a moment of shared vulnerability.“I don't think Chūya's grown at all... especially height wise.”

Osamu felt you give a pitiful huff of a laugh, your lips curling into a weak smile. Despite the gravity of the situation, he couldn't help but feel a small spark of relief at your attempt at humor. It was so quintessentially you, finding levity even in the darkest moments. He allowed himself a small chuckle, the sound rumbling in his chest against your back.

"Perhaps not vertically, no. Though his ego has grown to compensate. It's a wonder he can still fit through doorways."

Osamu felt a warmth bloom in his chest as he heard you manage a weak laugh. The sound, though faint, stirred memories of happier times, of shared laughter and stolen moments before everything had fallen apart. His lips curved into a bittersweet smile, unseen by you but evident in the way his arms gently caged around you. He finally allowed himself to savor the feeling of you in his arms, finally returned to him, and despite everything, still able to laugh at his quips about Chūya.

🎹 𝒮𝑜𝓃, 𝒞𝒶𝓃 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒫𝓁𝒶𝓎 𝑀𝑒 𝒜 𝑀𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓎

Your head quickly bowed down as the slam of the double doors reverberated behind you, the sound adding to the tense atmosphere of Dazai's office. In your peripheral vision, you saw Lippmann jump slightly, his eyes squeezed shut and slightly puffy from what you assumed was a mix of stress and sorrow.

You closed your eyes, taking in a deep breath that did little to calm your nerves. The scent of polished wood and old leather filled your nostrils, a familiar smell that now seemed tainted by the gravity of the situation. You knew nothing productive would come of this; it wasn't exactly your fault. However, if Dazai didn't take action, it would only solidify the views, the opinions, and the overall stance that The Flags and the Port Mafia held of you.

Dazai swiftly passed all six of you who stood before his desk, his coat billowing slightly with the rapid movement. The sound of his footsteps on the hardwood floor seemed unnaturally loud in the silence. Chūya was the first to break the oppressive quiet, his voice tight with tension, "Da—Boss, you have to know this wasn't our fault."

Your head shot up, eyes darting over to him, a mix of disbelief and anger flaring within you. "Why? Because you'd claim it was all me?" The words came out sharper than you intended, laced with bitterness.

Chūya's bi-colored eyes met yours, a challenge evident in his gaze. "Well, if you wanna admit to it?" His tone was equally caustic, the underlying tension between you palpable.

Your lips parted as you attempted to shoot back at him, but you were cut off by Dazai’s booming voice.

"Shut up! Both of you." Dazai's angry tone cut through the air like a whip, emanating from behind his desk. He was leaning over, hastily flipping through the report, his movements jerky with barely contained fury. The atmosphere in the room grew even heavier, if that was possible. It was clear that Dazai was beyond angry - this kind of infighting was unacceptable, something even Mori wouldn't have tolerated.

"I honestly don't care who started it," Dazai said, looking up from the papers, his single visible eye scanning the group before him. "I just want to understand what happened to cause this. I shouldn't be standing before the six of you with a member of The Flags, a member of the Mafia, dead within my building."

All of you stood in uncomfortable silence. For once, Albatross, usually quick with a quip or comment, was silent, seemingly at a loss for words. Doc kept his gaze fixed on the floor, anxiously pushing and pulling his IV drip beside him, the soft squeaking of its wheels the only sound in the room. Iceman, true to his taciturn nature, remained stoic and silent, having been merely a witness to the events that had unfolded.

"So?" Dazai's eye scanned all of you again, his gaze falling upon you last. You steeled yourself, looking back at him, unflinching. You could feel the pain emanating from him, see it in the way his eye closed momentarily, his head falling into a slight shake of disappointment.

Unsurprisingly to you, it was Lippmann who stepped forward, the movement causing you to roll your eyes. You knew him well enough to anticipate what was coming - some elaborate story crafted to soften the blow, to shift blame or minimize the severity of what had occurred. As he composed himself and opened his mouth to speak, you braced yourself for whatever tale he was about to spin.

"Boss," he began, his voice a perfect blend of concern and disappointment, "I'm afraid what we witnessed today was a grave lapse in judgment and control from our... esteemed colleague."

He gestured towards you with a subtle, dismissive wave. "Piano Man, while admittedly agitated, was merely expressing concerns shared by many within our ranks. His approach may have been… unorthodox, but his intentions were rooted in loyalty to the Port Mafia."

Lippmann's eyes darted to you briefly, and you furrowed your eyebrows causing him to refocus on Dazai. "Unfortunately, instead of de-escalating the situation as one might expect from a sub executive, Izanami here resorted to... extreme measures. Whether this was due to a lack of proper training, an inability to handle pressure, or perhaps," he paused meaningfully, "other motivations, I cannot say."

His voice lowered, taking on a conspiratorial tone. "It pains me to suggest this, Boss, but we must consider the possibility that this incident was not entirely accidental. The speed and finality with which Piano Man was dispatched raises... questions about intent and premeditation."

Lippmann straightened, his expression a mask of regret. "I fear this tragic event may be symptomatic of larger issues within our organization. Issues of favoritism, perhaps, or the granting of positions beyond one's capabilities. It's not my place to question your decisions, Boss, but for the sake of the Port Mafia, we must address these concerns."

Your eyes flashed with anger as you stepped forward, turning to face them all, ignoring Dazai's growing protests. "Is that how you would describe Piano Man's unprovoked attack on me? As 'expressing concerns'?" Your voice trembled with barely contained fury.

"As I've said countless times before, though I was born and raised in the Mafia, I still worked and earned my position. My role began long before Dazai stepped into his position as our boss."

You looked among the group, your gaze lingering on each face - men you once respected, now twisted by their silent misjudgment and apparent willingness to see you harmed.

"I will not apologize for defending myself against Piano Man, especially if this is how the five of you choose to twist events - painting me as some sort of liability or threat to be eliminated." Your voice rose, filled with indignation. "I have never once plotted against Dazai or the Port Mafia, nor will I ever. My loyalty to this organization goes far beyond the petty jealousy and baseless accusations you're throwing around."

Your eyes locked onto Lippmann, your words sharp and precise. "Your insinuations about 'favoritism' and questioning my capabilities are nothing but thinly veiled attempts to undermine my position. I've proven my worth time and time again, and I won't stand here and let you rewrite history to suit your narrative."

The room fell into an unbelievable silence, the air thick with tension. Even the usually persistent squeak of the IV pole's wheels had halted, as if the inanimate object itself was holding its breath. The lights dimmed dramatically, casting long shadows across the faces of those present, as your words hung heavy in the air.

As one, you all turned your attention to the screen that had silently lowered before the windows. The footage flickered to life, replaying the incident in the hallway with stark clarity.

There you were, walking purposefully down the corridor, your stride confident until the moment Piano Man and the other Flags called out to you. You watched yourself turn to meet them; your body language open, ready to converse. Yet, even through the silent playback, it was clear how quickly the conversation soured.

Piano Man circled you in the video, his movements predatory. As you watched, you relived the moment in your head, the echo of his insinuated insults ringing in your ears. His lips moved, forming words you could still hear clearly: accusations of your rapid rise through the ranks being due solely to your relationship with Dazai, claims that his love for you was a weakness.

The footage showed you lunging at Piano Man, your face contorted with rage at his comments. Immediately, all the men around you raised their weapons, causing you to freeze in place. You watched Piano Man's lips move again, hearing his taunting words from just hours before: "Let's see how fearsome you are, “great” Izanami."

Your gaze flickered away from the screen to Dazai. He was lounged back in his office chair, a cigarette dangling precariously from his fingers, its ash growing long and threatening to fall. You gritted your teeth, a mix of emotions swirling within you. How did you get here? Looking toward your lover for some form of help, even as you knew it would be considered unwise for him to play favorites. Yet, you could admit he always did. The easier jobs, the safer ones, always fell to you. He had ensured you were fully moved into the penthouse with him, safe from anyone who would attempt to harm you otherwise... well, in hindsight, you hadn't expected this.

Your attention reluctantly returned to the camera feed. You watched as Piano Man swiftly moved to wrap the piano wires around your throat, the thin metal glinting in the hallway light. A part of you wondered if he would have actually killed you, or if this was all some twisted hazing ritual to force you to stand down from your position. It didn't matter now.

The final moments played out on screen - you, standing before Piano Man, blood pouring from his eyes and ears. It seemed surreal, like watching an out-of-body experience.

"From what I can tell... she was provoked into attacking." Dazai's voice cut through the tense silence, startling everyone.

No one said a thing in response. The men only looked back at you, their gazes a mix of fear, disgust, and something akin to awe. To them, you were an unnatural anomaly that shouldn't have existed.

"I expect this to never happen again. Do I make myself clear?" Dazai's voice cut through the tension, stern and final. Yet Chūya, his face flushed with anger, still felt the need to avenge his fallen friend.

"That's it?" Chūya's voice was loud and rough, grating against your ears like sandpaper. "She gets no punishment?"

You scoffed, your patience wearing thin. "Here I was going to let this go, but what about you five getting punished? You all ganged up on me! Watched him and let it happen!" You took several purposeful strides toward Chūya, getting close enough to see the flecks of gold in his blue eye. "You are just as much of a guilty party as I am!"

"You privileged ass bitch; you better get out of my face!" Chūya's words were laced with venom, his body tensing as if ready to strike.

You puffed out your chest, outstretching your arms in a challenge. "Or what, Chūya? Gonna finish the job?!"

Before either of you could make another move, Dazai was between you, his movements so swift you hadn't even seen him leap from his seat. One hand gripped your wrist tightly, the other pressed firmly against Chūya's chest.

"This is done, now!" Dazai's voice was sharp, brooking no argument. You huffed as his grasp on your wrist tightened, a warning. His gaze scanned yours, which was still locked in a fierce staring match with Chūya. A guttural sound of frustration escaped Dazai's lips as he looked up at the remaining Flags. "Leave!"

They scurried out quickly, but you barely noticed. Chūya was all you could see, red clouding your vision like a bloody mist.

"You get off scot-free while my friend is dead! All 'cause you fuck the boss!" Chūya's words dripped with accusation and bitterness.

In a moment of blind rage, you spat in his face, mentally thankful for Dazai's unyielding grip on your wrist.

"I oughta kill you and get your misery over with!" Chūya snarled, his hand twitching towards his hat.

"Chūya!" Dazai's voice cracked like a whip as he pushed hard against his chest, forcing him back several feet.

"Why don't you then? Huh? You'd be doing me a big favor if I never have to deal with you again!" The words tore from your throat, raw and angry.

Dazai hissed your name, pulling you from Chūya's line of sight. You tore your arm away, huffing as you stormed over to the bookshelf, seeking some semblance of calm.

Your eyes darted over the book titles, desperately trying to settle your frayed nerves. Behind you, you could hear hushed murmuring interspersed with Chūya's occasional outbursts. You narrowed your eyes, attempting to stay focused on the shelves before you. Your fingers traced along the spines, the familiar texture of leather and cloth a small comfort.

Suddenly, your finger grazed a book spine that felt off - lighter, newer. Curiosity piqued, you tugged on the random book, one you wouldn't normally notice, and found it wasn't actually a full book, but a façade hiding something behind it. Leaning in, your nose brushed against the edge, inhaling the scent of old parchment. Your eyes widened as you spotted another book tucked behind the others, almost out of sight. Its stark white cover was a stark contrast to the darker tones surrounding it, with golden details catching the light just barely.

You turned back, seeing Chūya storming out of Dazai's office, his departure punctuated by the slam of the heavy doors. Quickly, you returned the shell book to its original position, your mind racing with questions about the hidden tome.

Dazai turned to you, sighing your name heavily as he began to walk over. "What a mess."

A thousand responses flitted through your mind: Wouldn't have happened if you didn't kill Mori. If you had only let me take the position I always told you I wanted. If… if… Maybe I should have left with Oda when I had the chance. But you kept every racing thought to yourself, only offering a noncommittal hum in response.

He stopped before you, his unbandaged eye looking weary and tired. With a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the earlier violence, he cupped your cheek, leaning down to press his forehead against yours.

"You did nothing wrong," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

"I'll let our maker decide that," you sighed, grasping his hand. "You need to stop coddling me. It's inadvertently led to this."

His breath fanned over your lips as he pressed them against yours. The kiss, once a source of comfort and passion, now felt tainted with bitterness. Yet, you returned it, your love for him still present, even if battered by recent events out of his control. This test of your relationship was something you hadn't anticipated, its ability to strain and potentially break your bond a sobering realization.

He frowned as he pulled away, still holding you close. "Only if you stop asking people to kill you."

You forced a smile, the expression not quite reaching your eyes. "The only way I'm going, amore mio, is if you're going with me."

previous part ~ next part | LBH masterlist | BSD Masterverse

Author Chat: I think after this part I might take a little bit off from writing, but trust: the next part, I'm excited for. It's just being a dog mom, nursing student, and person in general has drained me slightly and I want to give my all towards writing because I love it as an outlet.

Also, I want to mention, it hurt to write The Flags in this way, but with reader being ambitious while also having a romantic relationship with Dazai, I saw it as a reason that could anger some of the members, especially if Dazai dotted on the reader (which let's be honest: Beast! Dazai and Main Story Dazai would def do.)

If you liked, feel free to like and reblog! I always appreciate everyone who interacts! ᡣ𐭩 ~DamzelZelda

Song Inspos: Haunted- Chris Grey Dark Bloom- Amber Run Runaway- Aurora Piano Man- Billy Joel (Lyric Only)

Russian Word "Dictionary" (Curtesy of [unreliable] Google translate):

moya zhena: "my wife"

moya dorogaya zhena: "my dear wife"

moya lyubov': "my love"

moy dorogoy: "my dear"

ty chertov ublyudok: "you fucking bastard"

Eto tak: "Is that so?"

Moy malen'kaya mysh': "my little mouse"

moya samaya bol'shaya lyubov': "my greatest love"

moy angel smerti: "my angel of death"

[lostheretics]

PLOT TWIST (6)

▸ chapter 6; bonnie, clyde, and the others on the side

pt. 1 || pt. 2 || pt. 3 || pt. 4 || pt. 5 || pt. 6

✵ cast : jung wooyoung x fem!reader, kim hongjoong, lee juyeon, kim younghoon, ateez, mentioned oc and many kpop artists name or group

✵ genre : romance, marriage life, eventual angst, smut, mafia!au, non idol!au

✵ summary : there's you, and me, and us, and oh wait. perhaps there's more.

in which marriage is not always a paradise, honeymoon avenue somehow is far behind as you look through the rearview mirror. and beware of the road ahead, for accidents might happen. road work, traffic jam,

or some stranger trying to get a lift, perhaps for a permanent front seat.

✵ notes : 6k-ish. thanks for waiting, to those whoever awaits i guess. PLS REBLOG (i will appreciate this sm) AND GIVE SOME THOUGHTS IF U HAVE THEM. ENJOY

WARNINGS BELOW CUT

☒ warnings: bad words here and there (it's life, but still minors dni) but do remind me if i missed something.

☒ i do not condone mafia acts nor any acts that goes against the law at all. everything mentioned are just purely fiction, made to entertain myself and fellow readers in this particular platforms.

☒ do not repost this on any other platform without my permission!

✓ reblogging, liking, and commenting this post in tumblr (through comment or askbox) are very much appreciated.

i don’t know how exactly to start this one. 

but it’s about younghoon, the crown prince of seoul, the heir of the seoul kim family and the huge problem he’s facing right now. he’s in a deep shit. the shit being the problem that could swallow him whole. the huge problem being falling in love. 

how is it a problem? one might ask.

well, he fell in love with a woman he’s not supposed to fall in love with. for god’s sake, it was supposed to be just a one night job. a good friendship, a good business partner if it goes for more. but he overstepped. he couldn’t help it. not to mention the woman he fell in love with is already tied down to another man. 

simply put, he somehow fell in love with jung y/n. 

and most of all, over a single fucking ice cream night. 

as he laid on his bed, his mind could only go back on repeating the moment, on and on again. 

you were such a good dancer. 

you’re a really good dancer. 

younghoon’s brain kept on saying so as each of his hand held your waist and hand, guiding you through a dance in one of mrs. han’s party that you got yourself into. 

he still couldn’t believe how easy it is for you to get an invitation over a single lunch and conversation with mrs. han. 

safe to say you had charmed the lady. 

and not long into the party, you had once again charmed your way into her heart. and her daughter’s heart more importantly, with the talk of younghoon’s brother, the main target of the whole operation. you charmed them so much to the point that mrs. han had set a formal date to meet both the families up. of course, with the thoughts of marital proposal and possible mergers of the two powers. 

the outcome of it might still change, but you still got the two families to meet up with each other and that alone is impressive enough to him. 

that’s why you and younghoon spend the rest of the evening dancing and chatting. the job is practically finished, and what’s left was easing up to each other. 

“i owe you for this one. a promise and more, i think. you’ve landed my whole family a new ally, and my brother a possible wife. in less than a month, i might add.” he had said while leading you on a dance. 

you’ve found that younghoon, more than just a charming man, is also a good and down earthed one. 

you smiled at him, “it’s a possible outcome, but not yet certain, mr. kim.”

“younghoon.”

“huh?”

“younghoon. it’s kinda too fast, but we’ve come this far and i think it’s safe to say we can certainly be on first name basis now, y/n.” he said, “only if you’re comfortable with it, of course.”

“…if you say so, younghoon.” 

younghoon smiled back. it might sound awkward still, but for that, time can be the cure. not everything can be done instantly anyways. 

the dance stopped after a while. younghoon and you had several rounds of conversations around the room, keeping the couple act up. his hand would be guiding you by your back, fixing your dress or holding your drink or handbag whenever you need the help, including you in every conversation. 

he truly is a gentleman. 

mrs. han, as the socialite she is, invited many important guests. though filled with other socialite wives, there are some prominent figures like deputy chief of the police, in which younghoon is close to, several high ranked people from ministry of health, or even other well-known and successful businessmen and businesswomen from all around the country. everything fell like a domino effect to you, just by knowing younghoon alone. 

after a while, you and younghoon came to the realization that you both were not a fan of the crowd. hence, you both decided to shy away from the crowd and opting to sit by the empty gardens, a bowl of ice cream in on one hand and your champagne glasses on the other. 

quietness filled you both as you enjoy the way the star shone that night, while munching on the vanilla ice cream you got from the ice cream bar inside. 

“this reminds me of the first time i met you, you know.” younghoon broke the silence. you turned to him with a raised eyebrow, telling him to elaborate. 

“i was getting away from the crowd in juyeon’s party so i went to the gardens. instead of watching the sky, i had to watch this lady fainting in the middle of the garden in a party—“

“ugh.” you groaned. 

“—and i had no choice but to help her, because i’m such a gentleman.” he jested. 

you closed your eyes. “that’s the most embarrassing thing to ever happen in my entire life.”

“imagine the shock when i learned this lady who fainted would soon become my business partner? and great one at that?” 

“great one? i’m flattered, younghoon.”

“and you should be. with the amount of achievement? so many in so little time.” younghoon said. 

you chuckled lightly. you looked at the hem of your dress, playing with it to satisfy your fidgety urge. 

“i had to. you know, for the family. for my husband, given the state we were in.” you murmured, “i only want stability, if not with peace.”

it wasn’t the first time you mentioned your husband’s name to him. some people in the mafia know that you are jung wooyoung’s wife, and he your husband. younghoon knew that too. but most of the times you were with younghoon, you never failed to mention your husband’s name. him being a great caporegime, good strategist, good husband who took you to meetings, et cetera. and always with a smile on your face. it never failed to amaze younghoon just how much love you have for him. 

“how does it feel like?” he blurted out suddenly. 

“huh?”

“to be married. to be in love in this… society of ours.” he said. “you seemed to be in love with your husband, which isn’t an everyday thing that happen here, you know? ‘cause most relationships are… benefit based. arranged marriage, forced ones… so how?”

“oh, that.” you smiled. “because there isn’t any benefit. we’re just… in love with each other. i didn’t came from any mafia group or family, it just happen that i worked for one without knowing they’re one, and i just met wooyoung. just like that. it’s unlikely in the mafia world, and the ways are also unlikely to happen in a normal world. but we dated, we fell harder, and decided to settle down.”

“and to me, at least, it feels great. i don’t think i’ll ever feel this way again. not before him, not after him.” you had mouthed in the end, unconsciously pouring up some of you heart contents. 

younghood sighed. “must be beautiful.”

“you could’ve got all of it, you know. just now.” 

“how so?”

“the arrangement with the han’s daughter. might be an arrangement, but a good and stable one at that. i mean, you’re the crown prince of your family. you have power. just treat her right, and tell her to treat you right, then you wait for the love to bloom. might take time, might not be the same as mine, but a win win solution still.” you expressed. “why giving it all away for your brother? no offense, he looks like a great guy like you, but why?”

younghoon chuckled. the usual question. after all, who in their right mind would give away all powers like just that? 

“hm, where do i start?” he murmured to himself, then continued.

“to put it easily, i’m here, but i don’t wanna be here. my heart isn’t fully in this. despite my rank, birth and responsibilities, my brother is more suited for this job. that's why he's always around me, i might hand him this job. hence, the arrangement and all."

“what is it then, the thing you want to do the most?”

he leaned back a bit. eyes looking up, seemingly thinking and lost in his thoughts. you stared at him, stared at the way his eyes mirror the twinkling of the stars, and the way he tugged his lips up. 

“a doctor.” he quietly said, after a while. “a real one. not for my family’s business. going all around the world as a volunteer, and actually helping actual people in need.”

“when i was in uni, i wanted to pursue a med career. but my dad didn’t really approve of it— of my future career choices in med as a volunteer. and med field are most held by my uncle and his children. so my dad offered me a chance for a med career, just not in the actual med field, but more on the business site. so i took law as my major and business as my minor and took over one of our hospitals.” he explained, before continuing, “but, i still make the best out of it. i volunteered a lot in uni, and my hospital is one of the best hospital in seoul in its practices, and we have a lot charity events to help people.”

you stared at him, awed. there was no words that could describe how amazed you are. 

“wow.” was all you could say. 

silence filled the both of you for quite some time. each of you let the conversation sink in deep, trying to understand each character, though perhaps in a light that’s slightly different from the usual one in the underworld. there were no hostility, no walls kept up too high, no tactics. 

just two people in a mellow moment, enjoying each other’s company and in harmony. 

following your own question, he then asked.

“what about you, y/n? what kind of life do you want to live?”

now, it was your time to be the one deep in thoughts. the one who stare at the stars, humming to yourself, thinking of the right answer. 

“not a mafia one, to be honest.” you murmured, “but… ever since i met wooyoung, i feel like… i’ve lived my life. that i’m living in the life that i want,” 

”with the one that i love most.”

somehow your words seemed so sincere to younghoon’s ears. so pure, so innocent, and so dreamy. something that he once dreamed of, something, or dare he say, someone that he wished for. 

and somehow, you left younghoon star struck. 

how will he ever move on? how will he ever find someone if he set such standard for his love life? a fairytale like love life, in this kind of environment. 

he wondered about the life that you have with wooyoung, wondered if he ever will have those life. he wondered what if he was the one you met instead of wooyoung. 

wishful thinking, eh?

but that’s all they are; thoughts. his gentlemanly self wouldn’t have it in his heart to steal like that. to take someone else away just for his own. no, he’s not that kind of man, and he stood by that. 

yet it didn’t do anything to erase your pictures from his mind. at least for the night. it doesn’t lessen the warmth bubbling in his gut as he type his message to you in his phone; the eagerness to see you as soon as possible. 

me: evening y/n. is tomorrow’s plan still up?

younghoon put his hand down, tapping his phone against his bedsheet as he anxiously wait for a reply; if any would come. the clock on his bedside table showed the time. 1:47 am. you must’ve fallen asleep, right?

right. 

ding. 

jung y/n: wouldn’t miss it. see u soon, hoon

younghoon think he might need to see a doctor now. his heart’s beating way too fast. 

you: woo you: i dont think i can send lunch today cause im visiting the kims at their house. im sorry :(((((( you: pls dont miss lunch ok i asked the butler to send u some food. ilysm you: also idk when i’ll be home, so pls sleep early. i promise u’ll see me in ur dreams xo

you sighed, just after your thumb clicked on the send button for the last message. 

sending lunch for wooyoung is one of your sacred daily routine ever since marriage, and this would be the first time for you not to do so. you sighed again, trying to get the uneasiness to subside so you can focus on your job today. 

but it’s still there. prickling you slightly from the inside, initiating the thoughts and realization that you haven’t met wooyoung that much these past few days. 

waking up today, you could only share a quick peck as wooyoung was in a hurry for a mission, so he said. last few days you could only drop his lunch and left as quick to continue your own job. suddenly everyone everywhere needed you. 

you miss him.

last night you were together, you remember as if it was just yesterday, you recalled how you were talking about this exact problem, this exact thing. it fears you of how fast it came true to life. and you fear even more if it ever will go even further. 

ding

woo: im gonna cry woo: jk but it’s ok babe i’ll be on a mission anw today, i dont know when i’ll be done. but i’ll be home tonight woo: come back fast if u can, ok? i love you too

just as you finished reading his replies, a sound of horn blasted as a black shiny car pulled up in front of you. the door to the driver side opened up, and you were gifted with the sight of younghoon emerging from the car, offering you a bright smile.

“ready?” was all he said while opening the passenger door, inviting you into his car. 

you nod and said a small yes, entering his car. you stare at your screen for a little while, before typing a quick response. 

wifey: i’ll try my best. 

a sigh escaped through his lips after your last message to him. putting his phone back to the slot beside him, wooyoung could only stare far into the dark alleys in front of him. his mind filled with you it made his heart heavy. 

it was never a problem before, when he had to go far or for a while on missions away from you. you’d miss him, he’d miss you, but right then he knew that whatever the circumstances, when he came back home you’ll always be there. 

it’s not the case now. 

he’s away for missions, and you’re away for business. when you’re home, he might not be home, and when he’s home, you might not be. 

for that, he feels the subtle ache in his chest. 

his fingers mindlessly tapped against the wheel of his car, before he was pulled back to his senses. the passenger door opened, showing jiwoo and her smile. 

and her tight red dress. 

“take a picture, it’ll last longer.” her snickers made him clear his throat, looking somewhere else to avoid jiwoo’s playful glint. he mentally slapped himself for even staring at jiwoo, but as a man, how could he not?

her neck is on display, as were her long legs. the dress short, but long enough to keep the gun and some knives hidden away. and with her features, anyone would be swooned by her presence. 

maybe that’s why she got assigned for this mission, and again, with wooyoung. 

what the fuck am i thinking? i have a wife.

“what takes you so long?” 

“chill, i was getting some snacks for us. you said we’ll be spying and tailing a lot, so i figured we’ll be staying in the car quite a lot.” 

“nah, change of plans.”

“what?”

“san called. seonghwa said we should go undercover into the club and get the stuff ourselves. so i’ll go as a gambler and you,” he eyed her up and down, “you, conveniently, will be enough as a distraction. did you knew we’re doing this for the mission?”

“nope, i was just feeling myself with the dress.” she shrugged. wooyoung raised a brow, but found nothing came up into his mind nor out of his mind, so he just started driving, wanting nothing more than to finish the mission. 

“so what’s the stuff we’re getting?” jiwoo asked as they parked a few buildings before the club. the car came to a halt, the sight of the dimly lit club welcomed their eyes. 

“san said it’s a ledger.” he got himself ready, “hongjoong needs something in there. it’s a proof, list of government officers getting involved in the human trafficking ring.”

“that’s terrible.”

“there are better words to describe how disgusting that is, but sure. now,” he turned to jiwoo, “i’ll go in, act kinda drunk and gamble some money for the ledger. you’ll be the distraction and a plan b; should i fail in getting the ledger, you should be the one getting it. okay?”

“okay.”

parting there, wooyoung got out of the car and walked to the club. 

so here’s the thing about missions. they can be safe, they can be risky. zero to two means safe, something like spying or just plain investigating. on the other hand, field missions can have more risks, depending on the type of job. whether you have to stay low, or to kill as little as possible, or to not be seen yet has to be there on the spot. it depends. 

and on a scale from one to ten, wooyoung is absolutely fucked. 

it was supposed to be a ‘get in, get out’ type of job and without being seen. yet he managed to make a group of 10 people running after him in the club, after he tried to trick the dealer, a.k.a the owner of the club —the stupidest thing he's ever done in a mission.

“stop right there!” 

a gunshot was heard, luckily not hitting wooyoung anywhere. but guns are out, which means his had to, whether he liked it or not.

he ran in between the crowd of people dancing and getting high, staying as low and as unseen as possible —which, he kinda failed in the first place, but he did his absolute best—, and he took out his glock from his hidden holster, shooting enemies in his sight. thankfully the music is loud enough to cover the sound of his gun. the ledger is safe in the bag, but if he’s not, then there’s no point in doing the mission any longer. but he had to hold on. 

all while he ran and shoot, he cursed jiwoo for not holding them for long. she should’ve been a distraction, but perhaps not distracting enough. 

“fuck!” he shouted.

and right after, the power went out in the whole club.

all the lights, all the music suddenly died, and the party goers could only ah-ed in unison clearly disappointed at the outcome. wooyoung couldn’t see anything in the dark, and had to stop for a while. he looked around, and found the group of men running after him starting to turn on their flashlights. he was about to run when suddenly someone grabbed his hand.

“it’s me, jiwoo!” the voice whispered loudly. wooyoung looked up and found jiwoo holding him, pulling him away from the crowd. she handed him a shirt and a new hat, rushing to cover him with it.

“let’s get out.”

jiwoo guided him out, away from the prying eyes in the darkness, before the power went back on. the backdoor was empty, leaving only wooyoung and jiwoo. jiwoo kept holding onto wooyoung, pulling him as they ran for their car a few blocks down. wooyoung almost threw himself into the car, sighed loudly when he felt the leather seat touched his back.

“what the fuck was that?” he spat out to jiwoo.

“you tell me! how’d you get chased by those guys? i thought we’re doing this quietly?” she spat back.

“that was the plan, but you failed to hold them back.”

jiwoo rolled her eyes. “no, you failed to realize that they have more security than what you think.”

“the fuck was that supposed to mean? i had mingi and san check everything before we go in. and they're doing a bidding for the ledgers anyways.” wooyoung hit back, making her sigh before explaining.

“you were already far into the club when i found out that the bidding is for tomorrow, so the ledger being there was still a top secret until tonight. reaching out would be risky, and i couldn’t explain it that fast, so i had to do plan c.”

“plan c?”

“i broke into their cctvs and jammed the whole thing so there’s no track of you, then cut out the power to get you out of there.”

he contemplated her answers for a while. sighing again, wooyoung laid back to his chair, trying to ease his breathing. 

“thank you.” he said defeatedly. 

“we’re partners. i protect you, and you protect me woo,” she shrugged. “now move your ass and let me drive. you’re hurt.”

“huh?”

he glanced towards his body trying to find the hurting part. he reached behind his shoulder, wincing when felt a cut wound along his upper shoulder blade. blood was evident on his fingertips when he pulled them back. it must be enemies’ knife cutting through when they fought, and didn’t realize up until jiwoo point it out. 

“just a scratch.”

“yeah well that scratch probably needs a few stitches. c’mon.”

jiwoo moved into the driver’s seat, then drove the car away from the chaotic club. for a while, no one said a word, except wooyoung when he gave a call to san about the mission. the sight of endless trees and dark road made him drowsy, and soon he fell into his slumber. 

“hey, wake up.”

wooyoung jolted awake, blinking his sleepiness away after jiwoo woke him up. he looked around in confusion, realizing they’re not back at their base.

“where are we?”

“other town nearby. let’s be safe and make sure they lost our tracks completely,” she pushed his seat back to create more space before shimmying herself into the tight spot. “take your shirt off.”

“w-what?”

the comical look in his eyes made jiwoo laughed as she reached for his shirt.

“yo! yes you’re hot–“

“i’m hot?” she chuckled.

“yes, no– shit– i got a wife ji–“ 

“’m not trying to fuck, silly. i’m trying to fix your wound. now take the damn shirt off.”

with jiwoo's determination, he had no choice but to take off his shirt hesitantly, glancing back to jiwoo, “look away.”

“shut the fuck up i've literally seen your body when we spar.”

off his shirt goes, showing his skin that glows under the yellow lights. jiwoo handed him a soju to distract him from the pain as she stitch his wound up. he winced a couple of times when the needle poked through his skin, but he held on.

jiwoo’s fingertips are cold, soothing to his hot wounded skin. despite the harsh words, she’s light with her hands. the sound of his and her quiet breathing filled the air.

“the pharmacist said there’s a motel just down the road, maybe we should crash there for the night.”

maybe it’s the soju he downed to the last drop. maybe he lost too much blood because of that wound. maybe it’s the fact that he’s half naked, tipsy, and jiwoo is wearing a red, absolutely sexy dress, but holy fuck, did jung wooyoung just glitched in the brain at the mention of a motel and staying the night out with another woman. 

“why?”

“it’s almost 2 in the morning.” she murmured. “the drive to the base would take 2 to 3 hours, and honestly i’m tired. you’re wounded and no doubt tipsy, i’m not about to let us crash somewhere down the road.”

that makes sense. but he had other ideas, as he reached out to the console, trying to find his phone. maybe someone could fetch them up, wooyoung thought. he tapped on the screen a couple of times, clicking on the power button but to no avail. the screen stayed dark.

“shit, my phone’s dead.” he glanced towards jiwoo who just shrugged.

“mine’s dead too.”

and no one thought of bringing a charger with them.

he groaned, leaning back to his seat. after a few beat of silence, he just nodded. “well, i guess we have no choice.”

somewhere in him, it feels wrong. like something is poking through his chest as jiwoo drove down the road, right to the said motel and parked the car. like there’s an unseen stop sign in him, reminding him to not to do it as jiwoo pulled him to the motel room.

but what could go wrong? wooyoung doesn’t like jiwoo in that way.

not even the way she took her dress off carelessly in front of him, opting to change into a bathrobe that’s not even tied properly. not the way he clearly saw her pair of underwear.

shit.

but no, he doesn’t like her like that. and he’s sure of that. yet, the blaring sound of siren kept playing in his mind, reminding him that this isn’t right. 

but perhaps it’s the soju that calmed the siren down, as he doze off into his slumber once again.

jung wooyoung woke up that morning, with a headache and pain on his shoulder. and that dull thing poking through his chest, and the same siren blasted again in his head when he saw himself; splayed on the bed half naked, with jiwoo and her loose robe, limbs tangled with each other underneath the sheets.

nothing happened last night, he's damn sure of it and remembered every single second that passed before he fell asleep.

yet, still, he doesn’t like this feeling. 

“are you okay?”

younghoon nudged you, who immediately woke up from the empty daydream you had just now. 

“huh?”

“you’ve been out of it for like, a solid 5 minutes. are you okay? did my father say something to offend you?” 

“no. nothing important.”

yes. it was something that could change her whole life.

you sighed, “it’s just… i forgot to tell wooyoung that i’m staying out last night. he hates sleeping alone.” she lied. though, not entirely. she did forgot to tell wooyoung about the whole staying out for the night last night. wooyoung would absolutely gone batshit, but judging from the lack of his messages on your phone, he might not have known it yet. which is strange. 

guilt bubbled up in younghoon, easily seen through his eyes. “i’m really sorry about last night. my father… tend to get too friendly and would sometimes step over the boundaries, like insisting for you to stay the night. i should’ve said no and took you home. god, he even made you stay up late.” he grumbled.

“it’s okay, he meant well. i just forgot to tell wooyoung, that’s all.”

“when i drop you off, i’ll explain everything to wooyoung and hongjoong, so they won’t have any weird ideas about it.” younghoon said, “you’re a married woman after all. we don’t want any trouble.”

you smiled and nodded, “thank you for the offer. i’d be thankful.”

younghoon smiled back, and continued driving towards ateez mansion, as you fall back to yet another set of daydreaming, or, more specifically contemplating your whole existence after the talk with younghoon’s father last night.

over some of his words.

01.59 am

a sigh almost left your mouth, along with a yawn, but you held back as best as you could. after all, you’re presented before kim younghoon’s father, the senior in kim’s family and not to mention one of the prominent figure in the business.

but you have no regrets, all the time passed wasn’t for nothing. and he’s a pleasant man.

“you work diligently, younghoon have said this a lot. he’s not easy to get close with,” the man chuckled, “well, it’s a shame that you’re married. i would’ve offered my son to you, he seemed intrigued.”

“you flatter me, sir. and more often than not, younghoon is the one who helped me a lot since i got into the business.”

he smiled, putting down his cup of tea. “so i’ve heard. ah, didn’t you meet younghoon through the lees?”

you nodded, “yes. lee juyeon, to be precise. though, i don’t know what younghoon has told you about it…”

“he told me everything. of why juyeon gave you to us, what you want and what he wanted. that boy,” he shook his head, tsk-ing, “ruthless as his father was. the whole people in the business had to tip toe around him if they want to be alive. jiyoung would never do that.” then he proceeded to say something that made you raise a brow.

“her child would never.”

“i thought that was just a rumor?”

the man smiled knowingly. “well, sweet lady, this old man here has a reason for supporting lee jiyoung when the sibling war happened, and still is, until now. i know a secret or two, things that others don’t know.” mr. kim explained with a longing gaze. “she’s my best friend, after all.”

“like, a secret marriage?”

you shoot your shot. 

“i was one of the few to witness her marriage. she loved seo rim well, despite the fast that he’s just a bodyguard. going against his elder’s wishes of marrying someone more prominent in the business to secure her safety and her throne, me being one of them.” 

“and now for that, she had to lose everything. but whatever people say, it was a lawful marriage.”

“seo rim?”

mr. kim laughed, “oh, oops. the name’s out i guess.”

you pressed him again, shooting your shot one more time. “but, what about the child? was it a girl or a boy? where are they?”

but to that question, mr. kim just shrugged. he downed his tea before filling his cup again. “dunno. but if i do, i’d protect them with all i have.”

you closed your mouth, only nodding to his answer. you laid back to your chair. the new information filled your head so it all circled your mind. secret marriage, possible offspring of lee jiyoung. seo rim. the name echoed in your mind. a name you never know before,

but now you do. 

mr. kim hummed, staring into the fire in front of him, seemingly in his own mind. you stared at the old man, a few white strands of hair on his head, several lines on his face, and you wonder, what does it feels like to witness a war and survived. he lived long, enough to know the lee jiyoung, to witness things that others don’t. long enough to know people, wise enough to know what to do and what not. 

hence the question.

“why me?”

“hm?”

“why did you tell me this? we just met today. and even if you do know me, it’s only from younghoon and that’s not even enough.” you murmured, “so why are you telling me this?”

the man hummed again. “because i know,” he said, making you raise a brow. he continued, “i know i can trust you.”

“where have you been?!”

san’s screeching voice was the first to greet wooyoung when he stepped out of his car with jiwoo. the said man had his hands on his hips, eagle eyes staring down judgingly at the two partners.

“bed’s empty, no note, car gone! you could’ve died!”

wooyoung massaged his temples. “now’s not the time to quote some harry potter line, san.” he groaned.

san shrugged. “it was a moment. and seriously, where have you been? you two! not even a text or a call, we were about to hunt you down!” he accusingly said. “you and y/n both, woo. thankfully y/n told us her whereabouts just this morning. but you? radio silent.”

“my phone died, and so did jiwoo’s.” wooyoung lifted his head when he realized san mentioned your name. “y/n did what?”

slowly, san lowered his hands from his hips. his eyes starting to grow wide with confusion in it. “she didn’t tell you?”

“tell me what?” wooyoung pressed.

“she’s staying out last night as well. at the kim’s.”

his brain short circuited, trying to process san’s words a couple of times. when he finally processed the whole sentences, it left him utterly dumbfounded.

“what?!”

just after he screamed, a black car stopped behind them. the sight of kim younghoon getting out of the car greeted them, along with you, whose door was held open by younghoon. 

“speak of the devil.” san blurted.

wooyoung ignored his remarks, opting to trot his way to you. he threw a look on younghoon, before pulling you away from him.

“you didn’t come home last night? why? why didn’t you tell me?” he pressed, his hand still circling your wrist.

you quickly felt guilty. “i’m sorry love, it was younghoon’s father sudden invitation. i couldn’t really get my phone, that was my fault.” you ran your free hand over his bicep, trying to soothe the anger away. “won’t happen again. what time did you get home last night?”

“he stayed out as well.” san replied from behind you. your eyes widened, while he freezed.

“what? you didn’t tell me anything about it. what happened? wha-“ your palm acidentally touched to his shoulder blades, feeling the rough bandage underneath it, “were you hurt?”

but wooyoung turned away, pushing your hand lightly. “just a scratch, it doesn’t matter.” he turned his gaze back to you, once again giving you a questioning look. “why didn’t you come home? why would you stay at someone else’s place? baby, you’re my wife. what would other people say?”

younghoon slotted himself between the two of you. clearing his throat, he explained, “mr. jung, that was my fault. my father can be quite pushy, he insisted that mrs. jung must stay the night because he wanted her company and to talk. i’m sorry, i should’ve insisted on taking her home.”

“damn right you should’ve.” wooyoung spat, earning a slap on his chest from you. 

“wooyoung!” 

younghoon bowed slightly. “i’m sorry. i’ll make sure no one knows about this, and i’ll explain everything to hongjoong. if these words ever comes out i won’t hesitate to straighten things up and i certainly won’t let this ruin your or y/n’s reputations. once again, i’m sorry.” the man doesn’t even lift his head, bowing once again. “i’m sorry. excuse me.”

“hoon–“ you tried to call him but to no avail, as the man quickly got into his car and drove away. you watched in guilt as his black car went further. throwing a side eye at wooyoung, you detached yourself from him, grumbling as you walked away. he followed right behind you.

“i can’t believe you just did that!”

wooyoung scoffed. “am i not allowed to do that? you’re my wife, and your husband is questioning why were you staying the night at some other man’s house!”

stopping in your tracks, you turned back to glare at him. “i did nothing with younghoon, heck i even stayed at a different wing in his mansion!” you point your finger, “you were staying out last night as well! with your partner who, by the way is also a woman! did you see me complaining or accusing you of anything? no text no nothing, who knows what you did out there?”

…splayed on the bed half naked, with jiwoo and her loose robe, limbs tangled with each other underneath the sheets.

“how could you accuse me of cheating?we didn't do anything!”

“i didn’t even say the word. you put those in your own mouth.”

“i got injured, she was tired, both of our phones are dead, we had no choice but to stay out!”

“that’s exactly what happened to me! younghoon’s father wanted to speak, yes he’s a fucking pushover and that’s kinda annoying so i had no choice but to do as he says because he’s that important, but i did nothing other than talking.” you half shouted. “kim younghoon is an ally, woo. an important one right now. i’m not doing this for me, this whole thing is a business, but then you shouted at him, being completely unprofessional and irrational, i—“

you bit your lip, trying to held your emotions back. “if something goes wrong, hongjoong’s gonna be mad. i’m trying my best right now to gain his trust, to gain something for us, but y—“ you choked back your tears out of frustration, trying your best not to let out a single drop of it. 

seeing how you almost broke down lessen his anger. 

“baby….”

“you two, enough.” 

hongjoong’s voice blared through the whole hallway, making you both turned your heads. you quickly wiped a single tear, trying to compose yourself. 

hongjoong had his hands on his pocket, eyes icy as he stared down at the both of you.

“how many times do i have to tell you to keep your goddamn professionalism first in the business?” he gritted through his teeth. you and wooyoung could only stare at the floor beneath you. you heard a sigh coming out of hongjoong’s mouth.

“younghoon explained everything to me, even gave me a proof of y/n’s room. i know you’re angry, but you shouldn’t have shouted at him, woo. and y/n you should’ve known better than to stay at someone else’s place. the fuck is wrong with you two? i'm not even married but i at least know this.”

you and wooyoung could only turn away from hongjoong's gaze, clearly lost your faces.

he shook his head, opting to leave the problem behind. “make up later, however it is. now, you both clean after yourselves, especially you, y/n.” he pointed at you, “you have a lunch reservation with lee juyeon. i approved it for you. i’ll pick you up after for a meeting with stray kids.”

“she just came back from younghoon, now she has to go out with another man again?”

hongjoong only stared at him. “i said stay professional.” he said, before he turned back and walked away.

there’s something sour left in his tongue.

he’s fully aware of the cause, he just couldn’t say it out loud. so he just sat there on the edge of the bed, watching as you prepare yourself.

the both of you talked and sort things out, explaining each problems while you changed his bandage for a fresher one. both of you talked about how it was unavoidable, things you’ve said before, just with cool heads.

but it still left something unpleasant.

you were stepping into a nice green dress, zipping it up. you strapped your heels, then fixed your makeup. a little blush here and there, your hand danced oh so delicately across your face, it would’ve make him all giddy if it wasn’t for the fact that you were about to go out with some other man.

you caught him staring at you from the vanity mirror, the hardness on his face was unmistakable. you sighed as you turned around, walking towards him. wooyoung turned his gaze to the floor, so you reached for his hands, cradling in it your own.

bringing his knuckles to your lips, you kissed it. “i know you’re upset.” you murmured. he stayed quiet, so you continued.

“i don’t know when will all of this stop. but remember the promise we made? hm?” you cradled his face. “i’ll do anything to keep us together and safe. because i love you, and i need you to understand that there’ll be no one other than you.” you pressed. 

“others don’t matter. just you.”

you looked at his lips, crouched down to give him a soft kiss. though a little unresponsive, he gave into the kiss. 

“i love you too.” he murmured into your lips.

the same words came from the both of your lips. the both of you truly are each other’s halves, in one heart, in one mind, in one act.

even when the same unpleasant feelings resides in both of your hearts, and you both refused to address it. 

kim younghoon: i’m sorry about this morning.  y/n: it’s alright. i’m sorry my husband shouted at you. we’ve talked abt it tho kim younghoon: it’s okay. he did the right thing.  (typing…) (typing…) (typing…)  kim younghoon: he’s ur husband, i understand y/n: thank you kim younghoon: y/n y/n: yes? (typing…) (typing…) kim younghoon: we’re still up for tomorrow? y/n: yes. i’ll see u soon.

“ah! if it’s not the rising star of ateez.” 

juyeon gleamed as soon as he saw you, smile so wide his eyes smiled with him. and to your surprise, he quickly reached for your hand, planting a kiss on your knuckles.

your husband, who escorted you there was right behind you with hongjoong. both of them were stunned at the sight.

but before anyone could say anything, juyeon excused himself, “i’m sorry mr. jung, i don’t mean anything bad. it’s just, i’m really happy to see y/n. i’ve never been so connected in conversations other than with her.” he grinned, “though, if she was available i’d definitely try my luck.”

he laughed, forcing everyone to laugh with him.

hongjoong spoke, “well, we understand. she’s pleasant to be with, perhaps that’s why our wooyoung loves her so.” he nudged wooyoung, “isn’t that right, woo?”

“yes.” he replied dryly, earning a glare and a squeeze on his shoulder. but he couldn't care less.

“well,” juyeon clasped his hand together, “we should go in. i’m starving, and i wish to have a good conversation today with y/n. if i may?”

juyeon offered his hand to you. glancing between juyeon and wooyoung, you have no choice but to take juyeon’s hand, careful in not looking too eager. you threw a guilty look at him.

while walking inside, you typed a quick text.

y/n: i’m sorry. i had no idea he’d do that, he never does y/n: i’m so sorry baby y/n: it doesn’t mean a thing to me

ding

woo: it’s ok.  (typing…) (typing…) woo: come home whenever ur done.

23.47 pm.

you glanced at your watch, sighing defeatedly. you definitely won’t be home as quick as you wanted today.

you already miss wooyoung. but you have to do this.

the alleyway was dark. the sound of your heels clicking against the pavement echoed in the air. the small restaurant was about to close, the light about to go off altogether. you lightly knocked on the door. “excuse me.” you called.

a buffed looking man came out from the kitchen, a knife on his hand. “we’re closing. what do you want?” he gruffly said.

“uhm, sorry,” you stuttered, “is mr. kim’s soju… no,” you quickly regained yourself.

“i want to talk to the soju maker himself, mr. kim. there’s this… old soju i’m looking for, which i don’t know the brand is.” 

the big man stood there for a while, processing your words. he went back to the kitchen, and you heard some murmurs before he came back outside, now smiling. “mr. kim is waiting for you in the kitchen.”

the man escorted you inside, through the messy wet kitchen up until a door. he knocked on the door, announcing your arrival. “come in.” a baritone voice responded. he opened the door, ushering you to come in, before closing the door.

an old man sat on his study, his white hair tousled and a pair of glasses sat on top of his nose. his weary eyes studied your form.

“it’s been a while since someone used that code. soju maker…” he chuckled. “people usually looks for fresher soju, something done, but now you’re looking for something older. tell me, what are you looking for miss?”

he pointed the chair across him, signaling you to take a seat. putting aside your handbag, you took a seat. there’s a beat of silence, before you let your voice out.

“it’s a who, sir.” you said, before continuing.

“i’m looking for seo rim.”

(to be continued)

—

damnnnn 8 months. i have no words for myself fr😩🤚

i hope y guys still enjoy this. i feel like i should add more things, but i’m afraid it’ll make the whole thing stale ykwim

but we’re getting CLOSER and CLOSER to the main problem, aka the timeline when y/n got shot (mafia!woo y/n caught in the crossfire), which is the very first fic that started this all

anyways. TOODLES. enjoy

[runabout-river]

So now that the Jujutsu Factions plot point is wrapped up (albeit unceremoniously), the only thing left to worry about is Tengen and her Barriers. It will be interesting to see what happens given that we still don't have a clear assessment of what happened to good ol' Granny.

There are several things that can happen:

1. Tengen is alive. She'll probably end the Culling Games, which would free all the sorcerers from continuing this Death Match. However, her barriers will stay up continuing the optimization of CE in Japan.

This will lead to several countries trying to invade Japan as they see it as a cursed energy gold mine. Powerful curses, sorcerers, and curse users like the Disaster Curses, Kenjaku, and Gojo will keep popping up. This could, unfortunately, lead to new cycles of curses starting and further chaos in the future.

2. Tengen is dead. Her Barriers will come down, which would cause Cursed Energy to dissipate. Depending on how Gege views cursed energy as an element. There are several options:

All the bottled up CE will spread across the world, leading to more sorcerers and curses appearing. However, the strength of the curses and sorcerers will be lower in comparison to past sorcerers fostered in Japan.

OR, the level of CE hits such a low that curses and sorcerers rarely appear in the world anymore. Japan becomes like every other country in the world. This is probably the closet we could get to Yuki's dream being fulfilled without it feeling like an asspull.

3. There's also the third option of Tengen being alive and having a change of heart. She ends the culling games and somehow removes the excess cursed energy from Japan. But honestly, this is my least favorite option as it's too convenient and is too much of a perfect ending.

Good options but I have 2 interjections:

I don't think ending the Culling Games is as easy as Tengen going "Welp, time to finish this" (I need to read up on that whole thing though) but more importantly, I think Tengen is alive but in no state to act on her own at all.

Tengen was an old granny but then she was turned into a baby. (In a metaphorical way, she was turned from evolution through immense age into a devolution into a baby; maybe though the metaphor is meant to say that she evolved so much she turned into a completely new life form that is in its infancy.)

We saw already that she isn't freed from that trapped baby form even after Kenjaku lost his ability to control his CT and her. Instead she went over to Sukuna who had - in Megumi's body - undergone a ritual to house her. There was no indication that Yuji punched her out like he did Sukuna and unlike with Sukuna, Megumi isn't possessed by Tengen anyway.

So it's most likely that Megumi is the one who's pregnant with Tengen right now (Kenjaku even says that Sukuna/Megumi will parent the merger through the CG) and even if Yuji were able to do a c-section on him he might want to reconsider that because Sukuna died during his secession. And even with a proper cut from Megumi, Tengen might still be in that trapped form.

Then again, Tengen's name was heavily emphasised in the last chapter. In other words, next chapter will give us the long awaited answer to all of our questions.

But also, Tengen ending her barriers and suddenly the CE problems go away really is a bad ending. If it had been that simple then Tengen had always been the bad guy in the story and Yuki would've simply killed her to achieve her goal. Geto would've killed her, too.

[v3nusxsky]

Dont tempt me| NSFW

——————————————————————————

Authors note~ here’s some content for my lovely lady lesso. This could be absolutely poor quality as I'm exhausted and it will not be proof read so I apologise for any mistake but they are all mine :)*

Trigger warnings ~ dom/sub begging fingering oral overstimulation accidental mommy kink praise kink degrading kink

Prompt~ "fuck you" ... "would you?"

Since the merger of the school for good and the school for evil, the environment has been reflecting the mood swings of a teenager. Good and evil now learning to co-exist and lean on each other. Baby steps of course. That's where you come in. You were hired to teach literature for both Evers and Nevers. One of the first teachers to have a mixed class. Yet you were thriving. Your students seemed to bond well with you, rather engaging in the lessons as you tried to cater to everyone's interests while sticking to the curriculum. It was truly magical to see the students slowly but surely not want to kill each other. You hadn't been brave enough to assign any mixed group work projects yet tho. That for sure would cause bloodshed, not particularly something you wanted to deal with in your first semester.

With the Evers, professor Dovey stood with them. Her beauty and pristine gracefulness shone through her joyous personality. Truly a joy to be around. Should anyone ever need cheering up, you'd definitely send them to Dovey. Clarissa Dovey, Dean for good used her powers to comfort struggling students the most. Instantly you could spot how certain students would seek her out in a room. She made them feel safe. A smile and a hug could go a long way.

Then there's her counterpart, Lady Leonora Lesso, Dean of evil. Now imagine the complete opposite of Dovey. Yep that's her. Quite a complex human. That's what drew you in if your truly honest. She's so guarded, you just want to know more. Often you could find her staking the halls like a fox hunting it's prey. Despite the merger, students still feared her. You'd heard stories of a doom room. One with some rather interesting attributes. Although probably not the desired effect of the room, you ached to visit, to just experience it one time. Two consenting adults could have so much fun in there. The thought causing a flush to adorn your cheeks. She was a coworker for heavens sake. The thoughts of becoming Lesso's prey only grew with time. Little did you know, you were quite the curious creature to the red head. She longed to clip your innocent white wings, and watch you fall under her spell. This is what leads you to the current moment.

The past few weeks had become some what of a game between you and the dean of evil. It all started when she interrupted a lesson of yours as you were teaching one of your favourite Shakespearean plays. Macbeth. The particular passage where you were asking your class to asses her body language and what that implied. Lesso smirked and offered to give a real demonstration for the students. "After all some students learn visually isn't that right Miss y/l/n"

She revealed in your reaction, immediately starting the cat and mouse game. Or rather the fox and her dove. Pay back had been sweet, of course you had to be mad to challenge Leonora but still you did so anyway. This is exactly what lead you to her office after hours. You should be marking your students essays on Lady Macbeth however, a black raven swooped in, narrowly missing your head while dropping a piece of parchment before leaving again. You carefully untied the bow and instantly recognised the neat cursive penmanship.

Does my dove give up? I've been eagerly awaiting your next move. I expected more of you y/n. At least give me a challenge.

The fox.

As you read you could practically see her lips curling up into her famous smirk. She signed it as the name you'd accidentally given her. In a lesson you had with first years you we're discussing a descriptive words to describe a fox. Only when a few students began to give answers such as "sly" "sneaky" "feisty" "stealthy" did one student stutter "lesso." You couldn't help but agree. She did rather match the description so you wrote it with the rest. At that moment you heard a chuckle. The fox herself stood in your doorway. "Miss y/l/n, you think I'm a fox? Then what are you? The innocent dove?" She taunted you watching the blush appear that you desperately tried to fight off. "Lesso, how lovely of you to join us. Did you need something?" You deadpanned hoping to avoid the feelings stirring in you at the pet names.

You definitely had feelings for the women. But she was infuriatingly untouchable. No matter your best attempts you couldn't achieve the level of flustering her that she did on you. Which is why you decided to get brave. Parchment in hand you stormed your way down to Lesso's office. Anxiety rolling off you in waves at your plan. You were most definitely going to get killed. But death by her stunning hands? Well worth it.

When you arrived at her door you bypassed knocking and just waltzed in. The women sitting at her desk busily working away. She didn't even spare you a glance as you entered. "Now dove what are you doing in here?" She mumbled seemingly very uninterested in your presence. Her eyes never stopped scanning her work and he quill scribbling down words in her beautiful cursive penmanship.

"What is this game lesso? Is it anything to you? Just fun. Why do you keep messing with me during my lesson times. What was with the raven? Miss me that much huh" you were spiralling, desperate for some kind of reaction. "Maybe I'm making you wait fox maybe I'm busy" you finished eyes blaring with determination.

"Miss y/n I'm rather busy-" she tried only to be cut off by you approaching her and crushing your lips to hers in a bruising kiss. Waiting for the moment she was desperate for more. Only then to pull back and completely remove yourself from her. "Oh such a desperate fox" you taunted her watching the frustration and desire fight for control.

"Fuck you dove!" She all but growled at you her breathing heavy.

"Would you?" You retorted unsure where this brass neck of confidence came from. Her eyes darkened in response as she leapt up and stalked towards you. Instinctively you moved backwards until you were pressed between the wall and the fox. Her grin almost sadistic, eyes black with desire. A embarrassing squeak drew from your body as she roughly claimed your lips as hers. Teeth sinking into your bottom lip. The cooper taste mixed with the taste of her causing a low whine to leave you.

Pulling away to gain air, she kissed nipped and sucked all over your neck. The dark purple blemishes already showing. All you could do is whine and whimper at the sensations and desperately pray your legs would hold you up. "Some innocent dove you are" she sneered after a particularly low whine left you as she nipped your pulse point, "such a response slut for me hmm" she all but cooed.

"Please" you begged not knowing if she'd comply. Completely at her mercy was not what you had planned for the night. With that you were lifted into her arms and carried to her bed. Immediately her hands working to rid you of your dress. Desperate for more skin to explore. Months of pent up desire finally coming to head. She moaned out in approval once you were stripped bare and laid out for her. Her hands trailing all over your skin. Feather light and teasing. Hickeys now adorned your neck and the tops of your breasts. Her mouth creating more bruising while her fingers stroking your breast with one had and pinching the bud with the other. Moans were flowing more freely now. But as nice as it was, it wasn't enough. Your hips jerked up in a silent plea. This was torture. You needed her. And now.

However your plea was ignored, simply moving her hand to pin your hips to the bed. You whined in response to her denial of your unasked question. "Now now dove, be a good girl and you'll get what you want. You want me to touch you hmm?" She husked out still completely enthralled with brushing your pale skin. All you could do is nod and try to be patience.

"If you want me to make touch you then I need words my slut" she purred loving how you were responding to her. Who would've knew you would be like this? Some meek little English teacher, not an ever, but not a never but a secret little minx. That fact only adding to the attraction and infatuation lesso has with  you.

"Please, please Nora I -" a moan broke your sentence off as she immediately moved her hands to your soaked folds just teasing never fully giving you anything. "Nora?" The smirk on her lips showing you she liked the nickname. "I wonder how many times you've screamed that with your own fingers between your legs wishing they were mine." She mused out loud before bringing her lips to taste you. Your aching core was dripping and the taste absolutely Devine. Her self control dwindled as she lapped you up like fine wine.

Your orgasm building faster than normal, you were no use anymore. All you could focus on his the pleasure the fox was giving. Feasting on you like there was no tomorrow. Your bundle of nerves reviving the attention it craved. "Please please fuck please I need" you whimpered as you teetered on the edge of pleasure.

"You may dove. That's my good girl hmm. Such a good slut" and with those words she continued eating you like there was no tomorrow. Lapping up every drop of your essence as you tumbled off the edge and into the pools of pleasure. A whine of surprise left you as you realised Lesso wasn't done with you. Her mouth still working diligently between your soaked thighs.

"Fox i fuck what?" Your train of thought completely lost as two fingers were thrusted into your core. Immediately your walls reacting to squeeze the life from them. Fuck this women was going to kill you. She set her own brutal pace as she finger fucked you soaking in every delicious sound you made. Watching as you screwed your eyes shut and flung your head back in pleasure. The whimpers were nearly constant now. All you could do is lay there and mewl at her administrations like a cat in heat.

"Oh fuck mommy!" You all but screamed as another gush of white hot pleasure tore through you. How many orgasms had you had now? Honestly you'd lost count, all you knew was your body called for her. You didn't even know what you said until you felt her withdraw the fingers that has been bringing you pleasure. "Mommy? Oh what a little minx you are young one" she teased as you stumbled over an apology. Why did you say that. God but it had felt so good.

"No no dove don't say sorry I like it."she reassured before going back to business. Her touch was killing you. It was all too much now. You're tired battered body couldn't handle another orgasm but lesso seemed sure on forcing another. She'd rip it from your body despite the fact your exhausted. She wanted one so she'd get one. "Mommy! Please I can't! N-no m-more " you whined. Feeling the familiar feeling of the edge once more.

"You can and you will pretty girl. I want you to cum for me" and with that you tumbled over the edge with a scream of pleasure "mommy! Oh fuck god I"

The room feel silent oddly quick besides the unstable breathing from you both. Did you just? A quick peak confirmed it. You'd passed out. She'd fucked you so well your body physically couldn't handle it and shut down. The fact filling her with an unmatched sense of pride. Quickly but gently, Leonora set to work cleaning you up, carful knowing you would be sore before shifting you into her bed and wrapped the covers over you. Despite not actually being pleasured that was something that Lesso would treasure forever. In fact she wanted more. You were hers now. Her dove and she your fox.

Word count ~ 2118

*Authors note~ I haven’t wrote for lady lesso before but I’m obsessed with her character so I may write some more for her*

[merrysithmas]

When you say Anakin is the primary ego and Vader is the alter ego what does that mean in regards to them being the same person? Are they even the same person? Is it like two personalities in one body? Can one control the other?

the way I see it they are the same person, but his primary and alter ego exist essentially as two personalities fighting for dominance in one body. when one is presenting the other essentially is "dead", absent, imprisoned in the background of the Presenting Consciousness.

For Anakin-within-Vader this means being tortured by what he is witnessing and helpless to stop it no matter how hard he tries or reasons, or, as Vader-in-Anakin haunting the good prime ego with hateful, miserly, lonely thoughts which throws decisions into constant doubt.

they ARE they same person, but they aren't. because when one is in control, the other is mostly powerless. Anakin's ego and superego are very much beings of their own. the split consciousness is Anakin (the id)'s prophecy and struggle ... to create balance between this. a very tormented existence.

and it is very VERY hard - aka almost impossible- for the subdued personality to reemerge. which is why it took YEARS for the most darkly powerful being in existence (Sidious) to coax Vader out of Anakin.

and even then he could only manipulate Anakin with love. not power. not greed. Anakin fell because Sidious finally realized how to weaponize love. the prime (light/Force) ego of Anakin was too good to fall for anything less.

Anakin as a demi-god has essentially a dual-consciousness and this has a TON to do with the magic✨ of the Force. since his demi-god prophesized Force-task was to create Balance - therefore he has two personalities which he is always at odds with. he's not a regular human beholden to regular standards - he's a god struggling to live as a human. a god tasked with bearing the corruptible nature of a human soul. he eventually succeeded.

Anakin was pretty valiant at subduing Vader for a VERY long time - 23 years - and then again overcame Vader at 45 to choose to die as Anakin, rather than live in that everlasting inner war.

Anakin was emblematic of humanity itself, in its constant battle between the ego and superego. it takes him his entire life to realize he is neither not good, not bad, not the War Hero Anakin or the Phantom Vader - but rather a third thing, the id, the balance in between. the responsibility, the guilt, the power, the love, and the pain.

essentially, we all have a Vader and an Anakin inside of us.

Anakin doesn't necessarily have control over Vader (in canon the Dark Side corrupts like a drug to an addict, even when the primary ego longs to escape - giving in to the dark is a spiral not entirely in own's own control). and one's fall can be prompted by abandonment, manipulation, neglect, ridicule, or betrayal. just as in life. none of those things can be seen as someone's "fault". like drops of water they can rust the moral compass.

thus as the subdued Prime Ego helpless to the corruption of the Alter Ego Anakin can't be blamed for everything "Vader" does, but Vader's dominance and existence is still Anakin's responsibility.

just as Vader can't be given credit for Clone Wars Anakin's good deeds - but he is still, somehow, a part of them. Anakin's fear, mistrust, need for love, and thus need for victory and control drove him to save millions of lives in the Clone Wars. those aren't Vader's deeds - but the dark thoughts that helped propel his heroism still played a part.

because in the end they are the same! Anakin, as the Prime "light, pure, untouched, angelic" Ego, must reconcile with the Alter "dark side, corrupted, demonic" Ego. in the end, the "real" Anakin is the merger of the two.

when Anakin dies in Luke's arms, he accepts responsibility for Vader even though he was manipulated by Sidious, and mistreated as a slave, and left wanting by the Jedi. that is what redeems him - the long-awaited merging of the two egos, to finally bring Anakin, and the Galaxy, balance.

that is why Anakin becomes a forceghost: bc he finally fulfills his purpose and reaches Enlightenment.

what happens to Anakin is essentially a microcosm of what happens to the Galaxy (and a great metaphor of the buddhist tradition). Anakin is a demi-god representation of the Galaxy itself. he's connected to everything, and even influenced by the decisions of the individuals in the world around him sometimes more than he is by his own choices.

he's like a living in-universe metaphor for the citizens of the SW galaxy. connected by web and wires and Force and human love to everyone around him like a puppet, but still personally responsible for the safety of all of it.

essentially it's all just a fancy way of saying "he is blinded by his hatred and greed and sadness" but since Anakin is a god i feel like it takes on a little more of a LITERAL definition with having a true split consciousness, where he IS both, but neither can control the other.

it's a lifelong battle for him to "win" it and figure it all out and fulfill his purpose. one that no one can truly understand bc he is MADE of the stars.

he really is a very tortured character until he dies.

[didipromocode]

A Showdown for the Ages: AFL Grand Final - Collingwood Magpies vs. Brisbane Lions

The Australian Football League (AFL) Grand Final is the pinnacle of Australian Rules Football, a day when two of the country's top teams go head to head in a clash of skill, strategy, and determination. In this article, we delve into the anticipation, history, and excitement surrounding the blockbuster matchup between the Collingwood Magpies and the Brisbane Lions.

The Magpies' Pursuit of Glory

Collingwood is a name synonymous with AFL success. They have a rich history dating back to 1892 and are one of the most successful clubs in the league. With 16 premierships to their name, the Magpies are always considered contenders for the title. This year, they have a talented squad led by captain Scott Pendlebury and coach Nathan Buckley, both of whom have their sights set on bringing another premiership cup to the club's illustrious history.

The Rise of the Brisbane Lions

On the other side of the coin, the Brisbane Lions are a relatively new franchise in the AFL landscape, formed in 1996 through the merger of the Brisbane Bears and the Fitzroy Lions. However, despite their short history, the Lions have achieved remarkable success, winning three consecutive premierships from 2001 to 2003. This year, under the guidance of coach Chris Fagan, the Lions have made it back to the Grand Final and are eager to add another chapter to their success story.

Key Matchups

The Grand Final is not only about the teams; it's also about the individual battles that unfold on the field. This year, fans can look forward to some thrilling matchups:

Scott Pendlebury vs. Lachie Neale: Two of the league's best midfielders will go head to head in the battle for supremacy at the center. Pendlebury's class and poise against Neale's relentless ball-winning ability will be a spectacle to watch.

Taylor Adams vs. Dayne Zorko: These two midfield bullies will be pivotal in their respective teams' efforts. Adams' toughness and contested ball-winning skills will be matched against Zorko's agility and creativity.

Mason Cox vs. Harris Andrews: In the forward line, Collingwood's Mason Cox, known for his towering presence and marking ability, will face the daunting task of competing against Brisbane's Harris Andrews, one of the league's premier defenders.

Historical Significance

This Grand Final carries a unique historical significance as it represents the clash between the old and the new. Collingwood, with its long and storied history, is the epitome of tradition and excellence in the AFL, while Brisbane, a relatively young club, symbolizes the league's expansion and growth beyond its traditional heartlands.

Both teams have their own compelling narratives – Collingwood seeking to add to their illustrious trophy cabinet, and Brisbane aiming to establish themselves as a modern-day dynasty. The result of this contest will shape the AFL's history and future.

The Fan Experience

The AFL Grand Final is not just about what happens on the field; it's also a festival of football for fans. Thousands will flock to the Melbourne Cricket Ground (MCG), while millions more will watch from their homes or local pubs, making it one of Australia's most-watched sporting events.

The atmosphere at the MCG is electric, with fans decked out in team colors, face paint, and waving banners. The pre-game entertainment is always a highlight, featuring top Australian musical acts. Whether you're a die-hard supporter or a casual fan, the Grand Final is an event that brings people together to celebrate their love for the sport.

The clash between the Collingwood Magpies and the Brisbane Lions in the AFL Grand Final promises to be a memorable showdown. It's a battle of tradition and history versus modern success and growth, with both teams having a lot at stake. As the teams take to the field, the eyes of the nation will be fixed on the MCG, awaiting the crowning of this year's AFL champion. Regardless of the outcome, one thing is certain – the 2023 AFL Grand Final will be a spectacle of Australian Rules Football at its finest.

[l-1-z-a]

Electronic Arts to Buy Maxis for $125 Million

JUN 5, 1997 12:04 PM

The maker of John Madden Football is buying the maker of SimCity, as heated competition in the gaming industry continues to drive companies into each other's arms.

ELECTRONIC ARTS WILL buy SimCity-maker Maxis in a US$125 million stock swap. The companies said Thursday the transaction will be completed by the end of August, subject to the approval of Maxis stockholders.

The 11-year-old Maxis has been struggling of late, reporting a $1.7 million loss for its most recent fiscal year. Over the past year, its stock has fallen from $25 to less than $11 a share.

Competition is keen in the electronic-games industry, and the bigger players have been eating up the small game-makers. Electronic Arts is considered one of the giants in the industry, generating $625 million in sales on such popular games as John Madden Football, NBA Live, and PGA Tour Golf.

Maxis has been planning to roll out a host of new products this year, including the long-awaited SimCity 3000. The company has sold more than 7 million units of the Sim line since its inception.

The merger will give Maxis the resources it needs to grow and distribute its games around the world, Maxis CEO Sam Poole said. "We have had a long working relationship with Electronic Arts. We distribute our products through the EA chain in Australia, Southeast Asia, and the Netherlands," Poole said.

For Electronic Arts, the deal gives them one of the best-selling games on the market. "Maxis' talented team has created a highly successful franchise for its 'Sim' family of entertainment products," EA chairman and CEO Larry Probst said in a release.

A spokesperson from Electronic Arts said the company has no official plans to purchase other game-makers, but she would not rule out the possibility of additional deals in the future.

[forblogmostly]

Hazoor Multi Projects Limited Announces In-Principle Approval for Merger with Square Port Shipyard Pvt. Ltd.

In a significant development for Hazoor Multi Projects Limited (HMPL), the Board of Directors has given an in-principle nod for a merger with Square Port Shipyard Private Limited. This strategic move is aimed at consolidating the strengths and synergies of both companies to better serve the interests of all stakeholders involved. The decision was made during a Board meeting held on Monday, September 16, 2024, at the company’s registered office located in Mittal Tower, Nariman Point, Mumbai.

The proposed merger is seen as a step forward in the company’s efforts to achieve greater operational efficiency, combining the expertise and resources of both Hazoor Multi Projects and Square Port Shipyard. The merger is expected to bolster the company’s position in the market and enhance its service delivery. The consolidation aims to bring about long-term value for shareholders, customers, and employees by leveraging the complementary strengths of both entities.

However, before the merger can proceed, it must receive approvals from various governing bodies and stakeholders. These include shareholders, creditors, the stock exchange, the National Company Law Tribunal (NCLT), the Securities and Exchange Board of India (SEBI), and other statutory authorities. The process of obtaining these approvals will be closely monitored and facilitated by a newly constituted “Specific Transaction Committee.”

This committee has been specifically set up to ensure the smooth and timely implementation of the merger. It will manage all the necessary steps required to bring the merger to fruition, including appointing intermediaries for legal, financial, and regulatory aspects. The formation of this committee is a vital step in ensuring that the merger process remains efficient and adheres to all regulatory and statutory requirements.

The Specific Transaction Committee is composed of key figures from the company's leadership team. Pawankumar Nathmal Mallawat, Executive Director, will serve as Chairman of the committee. Other members include Akshay Pawan Kumar Jain, Whole-time Director and CEO, along with Executive Director Dineshkumar Laxminarayan Agrawal, and Madhuri Purshottam Bohra, a Non-Executive Independent Director. This committee’s collective expertise in business operations, corporate governance, and regulatory compliance is expected to play a crucial role in driving the merger forward.

At this stage, the definitive terms and conditions of the merger are still under evaluation. Once finalized, they will be presented before the Board of Directors for approval. The merger is poised to be a turning point for Hazoor Multi Projects Limited, offering potential growth opportunities and paving the way for enhanced market positioning.

The Board meeting commenced at 5:00 PM and concluded at 6:20 PM, reflecting the importance of this strategic decision. Hazoor Multi Projects Limited, known for its commitment to excellence in the real estate and construction sectors, now looks forward to strengthening its operational capacity through this merger.

This move marks a significant step in the company’s growth trajectory, and stakeholders will be eagerly awaiting further updates on the approval process and the final terms of the merger.

As this transformative decision unfolds, Hazoor Multi Projects Limited will continue to communicate the progress of the merger to its shareholders and the broader market.

[starzct]

☆   .    𝗺𝗲𝗲𝘁 𝗮𝗶𝗾𝗶𝗻𝗴 !

LIU  AIQING,  known  mononymously  as  AIQING,  is  a  fictional  idol,  soloist  and  actor  under  STARGIRL.  hauling  from  CHINA,  she  always  had  a  drive  for  BEING  LOVED  BY  MANY,  making  her  a  perfect  fit  for  HIT  group,  SEVENTEEN.  she  debuted  under  PLEDIS  ENTERTAINMENT  in  SEVENTEEN'S  VOCAL  TEAM  in  2015  and  SVT subunit,  QUARTZ  in  2018.  following  the  merger  with  HYBE,  she  signed  a  dual  contract  with  PLEDIS  and  STARGIRL  in  2021,  followed  by  her  long-awaited  debut  in  2023  with  album,  LOVESTRUCK. .

AIQING is best known for BRIGHT VOCALS + EMOTIONAL PERFORMANCES + LARGE SOLO FANBASE + VIRALITY!

☆   .    𝗯𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗰𝘀 !

BIRTH  NAME  liu  aiqing  ( 刘爱庆 ) KOREAN  NAME  yoo  aekyung  ( 유애경 ) NICKNAMES  gongzhu,  meimei,  lovie,  the  nation's  rose ETHINICITY  chinese NATIONALITY  chinese-korean BIRTHPLACE  beijing,  china BIRTHDAY  june  13,  1996 ZODIAC  gemini  ( sun )  +  taurus  ( moon )  +  capricorn  ( ascendant )

☆   .    𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗿 !

STAGE  NAME  aiqing OFFICIAL  POSITION  vocalist REAL  POSITION  main  vocalist,  face  of  the  group GROUP  seventeen SUBUNITS  quartz  +  vocal  team  +  96z  line COMPANY  pledis  entertainment  +  stargirl TRAINEE  pledis  entertainment  (2011-2015) DEBUT  may  26,  2015  ( svt )  +  may  20,  2018  ( quartz )  +  february  14,  2023  ( solo ) FANS  carats EMOJI  🌹/  ❤️‍🩹

☆   .    𝗰𝗹𝗮𝗶𝗺𝘀 !

FACE  CLAIM  han  dong  of  dreamcatcher VOCAL  CLAIM  suhyun  of  akmu  /  soloist DANCE  CLAIM  wendy  of  red  velvet SPEAKING  CLAIM  han  dong  of  dreamcatcher

☆   .    𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹 !

LANGUAGES  chinese  ( mother-tongue )  +  korean  ( fluent )  +  english  ( learning ) SEXUALITY  heterosexual PERSONALITY  esfj+  type  2  ( the  helper )  +  neutral  good TRAITS  comforting  +  dependent  +  emotional  +  obsessive  +  romantic  +  vulnerable SKILLS  vocals  >  stage  presence  >  live  stability  >  songwriting  >  modelling  >  dance  >  variety  >  acting  >  producing  >  rap

☆   .    𝗽𝗵𝘆𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 !

BLOOD  TYPE  AB HEIGHT  163cm  ( 5'4 ) BODY  MODIFICATIONS  rose  tattoo  +  lobe  piercings

☆   .    𝘁𝗿𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗮 !

she  was  born  in  beijing,  china  and  moved  to  seoul  in 2006 when her mother got remarried into a korean family.

she  was  scouted  while  performing  at  a  youth  festival  with  her  youth  group.

she  is  an  only  child.

she  has  a  degree  in  traditional  music  from  the  shanghai  conservatory  of  music.

she  participated  in  classical  piano  and  choir  lessons  as  a  child.

her  favourite  food  is  hotpot  &  spicy  dumplings.

she  enjoys  watching  rom-coms,  gift  giving  and  spending  quality  time  with  friends.

she  is  a  collector  of  perfumes,  especially  with  rose  fragrances  in  them.

she  is  known  as  the  social  butterfly  of  seventeen  and  has  a  lot  of  friends  outside  of  the  group  within  the  idol  industry,

ideal  type:  "  someone  kind-hearted,  optimistic  and  romantic.  someone  who  will  buy  me  roses  everyday  and  just  love  me  for  me.  "

[lethimfertilise]

The first day of any IFA conference reminds me of schoolmates seeing each other after the long summer holidays. Lots of hugs, laughs, rumours, and gossip.

So, some news and first-day moods:

- Urea is giving mixed signals. It is supported by recent Egyptian sales but under a question mark for the next 60 days. India is awaiting the end of the election campaign to revert with a new tender in the end of June, with RCF is named as a purchasing agency. At the same time, the Egyptian government told producers to cut their output by 20% (the weather is hot). And MOPCO and Alexfert have both sold as high as $320 per metric tonne FOB.

- Phosphates: China is delaying shipments, and even the Indians are starting to accept that their lowball game may not be fully successful. Brazil stocks are high.

- Potash: All eyes are on the next Indian price agreement. Some say it may be south of $250 per metric tonne CFR. Well, IPL hopes.

- Turkey: mergers and acquisitions may be announced soon.

People like talking!

#ifa2024 #china #conference #fertilizers #fertilisers #singapore #imstory #india #egypt #turkey

[maharghaideovate]

Mastering the Money Game: Must-Know Concepts in Financial Management at Madras University

So, you've enrolled in the Financial Management Specialization at Madras University – congratulations! You're about to embark on a journey that will equip you with the knowledge and skills to navigate the exciting, ever-evolving world of finance. But with all that awaits you, where do you even begin? Don't worry, future financial whiz, we've got you covered. Here's a breakdown of some essential concepts you'll encounter that will form the bedrock of your financial management expertise.

Financial Statements: Your Business Barometer

Imagine a company as a complex machine. Financial statements are like the gauges on its dashboard, telling you everything from how much "fuel" (cash) it has left to how efficiently it's running (profitability). Understanding the income statement, balance sheet, and cash flow statement, along with their connections, is crucial for analyzing a company's financial health.

Time Value of Money: Making Every Penny Count

A dollar today isn't worth the same as a dollar tomorrow. That's the core principle of Time Value of Money (TVM). This concept helps you understand how the power of compounding can grow your investments over time, or how inflation can erode their value. Mastering TVM techniques like discounting and compounding will be instrumental in making smart financial decisions, whether it's planning for retirement or analyzing loan options.

Financial Markets: Where Money Moves

The financial world is a bustling marketplace where money flows through different channels. You'll delve into the world of money markets and capital markets, understanding how they fuel economic activity. You'll also learn about key players like banks and investment firms, and the instruments they use, like stocks and bonds, to raise capital and generate returns.

Capital Budgeting: Investing for the Future

Businesses constantly make decisions about long-term investments. The Financial Management program will equip you with tools like Net Present Value (NPV) and Internal Rate of Return (IRR) to evaluate these projects. These techniques help businesses determine if a project is financially viable, ensuring they invest wisely in their future.

The Cost of Capital: Not All Money is Equal

When a company borrows money, it incurs a cost. The cost of capital is the minimum return investors expect for providing that funding. Understanding how to calculate the cost of capital is vital for businesses to make informed decisions about financing options and ensuring they make the most of their resources.

Risk Management: Weathering the Storm

Financial markets are dynamic, and with that dynamism comes risk. The program will introduce you to different types of financial risks, like market fluctuations or credit defaults. You'll learn strategies to manage these risks, like diversification or hedging, ensuring businesses can navigate potential pitfalls and achieve their financial goals.

Investment Management: Growing Your Wealth

Whether you're planning for a dream vacation or a comfortable retirement, everyone needs a solid investment strategy. The Financial Management Specialization will equip you with the knowledge to make informed investment decisions. You'll learn about diversification, asset allocation, and modern portfolio theory, all designed to help you grow your wealth while managing risk.

Corporate Finance: The Company's Checkbook

Businesses need money to operate and grow. The program will delve into the world of corporate finance, exploring how companies raise capital through debt or equity financing. You'll also learn about dividend policies and how mergers and acquisitions can impact a company's financial standing.

Working Capital Management: Keeping the Cash Flowing

A smooth-running business needs to effectively manage its current assets and liabilities. Working capital management involves techniques to optimize cash flow, inventory levels, and credit periods. By understanding these strategies, you can ensure a company has the necessary funds to cover its day-to-day operations without compromising its financial health.

This is just a taste of the exciting world of financial management that awaits you at Madras University. By mastering these core concepts, you'll be well on your way to becoming a financial whiz, equipped to make informed decisions for yourself or your future employer. Remember, the Madras University program will likely offer a comprehensive curriculum with resources and guidance to help you excel in each of these areas. So, dive in, explore, and get ready to master the money game!

[bhushans]

The Rise of Tech-Driven Therapies: Reshaping the Global Preterm Birth Prevention and Management Market

The global preterm birth prevention and management market solutions are poised for significant growth in the coming decade, with a projected value of US$ 4.49 billion by 2034. This remarkable rise represents a compound annual growth rate (CAGR) of 10.2%, fueled by an increased focus on preventing and managing this critical public health concern.

Preterm birth, defined as birth before 37 weeks of gestation, is a leading cause of newborn mortality and disability, posing significant challenges to healthcare systems worldwide. Recognizing the substantial impact of preterm birth, both developed and developing nations are increasingly adopting advanced therapeutics and strategies for prevention and management.

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Key Takeaways of the Study

Development of higher complexity specific portfolios and consistent focus on areas of strength while working pipelines are the cornerstone for success in the preterm birth prevention market space.

Ensuring preterm interventions and research given proportional focus, so funding is aligned with health burden to curb the mortality rate

Makena, with various approvals for the treatment of preterm birth in potential female patient pool, contributed to the dominance of the progesterone therapy segment by therapy type in 2018 and continue to do so during the forecast period.

Highly effective therapies with cost advantage over are expected to generate significant revenue in the long run.

Majority of the global preterm birth cases have not been directed towards preterm diagnostic leading to higher mortality rates and complications

Sale of Hydroxyprogesterone over antihypertensive drugs such as Nifedipine, and labetalol in the global preterm birth prevention and management market has increased drastically owing to quicker onset of action and higher efficacy.

The demand from high preterm birth rate countries, development of new drug entity, loss of exclusivity in hydroxyprogesterone, and growth strategies based on tie up with distribution channel partners are projected to offer new growth opportunities for the preterm birth prevention and management market.

Launch of Cost-effective Therapies Bodes Well for Market

New revenue opportunities in developed economies, and orphan drug designation by FDA are contributing significantly towards the launch of cost-effective therapies. A few other factors assisting the growth of preterm birth prevention and management market include adoption of preterm diagnostic tests and the economic burden of premature birth on the system.

Frequent drug shortages and unavailability of life-saving formulations in many parts of the country, growing initiatives by government and manufacturers for supply of life-saving preterm birth drugs, particularly in low income and developing countries, are driving the market growth.

Strategic Acquisitions by Key Players to Widen Regional Presence

The leading players in the preterm birth prevention and management market such as AMAG Pharmaceuticals, Pfizer Inc., and Mylan, are concentrating on organic revenue growth and commercial expansions by mergers and distribution agreements and capturing the untapped potential of the preterm birth prevention and management market.

In 2022, AMAG Pharmaceuticals, Inc. a largest preterm birth prevention and management drug manufacturer announced the completion of acquisition of Perosphere Pharmaceuticals Inc., a private biopharmaceutical firm. With the acquisition, AMAG received ciraparantag to its development portfolio. This acquisition further strengthened AMAG Pharmaceuticals hold of preterm birth prevention and management business with addition of heparin therapy

AMAG acquired the global rights to R&D and marketing of digoxin immune Fab, a drug used to treat severe preeclampsia in pregnant women from Velo Bio, LLC.

More Valuable Insights on Preterm birth prevention and management Market

Future Market Insights brings the comprehensive research report on forecasted revenue growth at global, regional, and country levels and provides an analysis of the latest industry trends in each of the segments from 2014 to 2029. The global preterm birth prevention and management market is segmented in detail to cover every aspect of the market and present a complete market intelligence approach to the reader.

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Preterm Birth Prevention and Management Market by Category

By Therapy Type:

Progesterone Therapy

Corticosteroid Therapy

Tocolytics Therapy

Antihypertensive Therapy

Magnesium Sulfate Therapy

Heparin Prophylaxis Therapy

Low-Dose Aspirin Therapy

Antibiotics Therapy

By Route of Administration:

Oral

Parenteral

Vaginal

By Patient Type:

Prior Spontaneous PTB

Preeclampsia

Short Cervix

Chronic Hypertension

Insulin-dependent

Twins

Antiphospholipid Antibody Syndrome

Others

By Distribution Channel:

Hospital Pharmacies

Retail Pharmacies

Drug Stores

Mail Order Pharmacies

By Region:

North America

Europe

Latin America

South Asia

East Asia

Oceania

Middle East and Africa