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lubdubsworld · 4 years ago

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The Devil’s Own.

Jungkook x OC

Mafia Au!

Warnings : Non-Con ! Manipulation, Degradation, Shitty hero with no redeeming Qualities you have been warned. ( i mean he does get better but not much.)

Summary : Just Mob Boss Jungkook doing mob boss things.

Chapter 1

“ Sign it. ”

I glared at him, feeling sick at the tone. The entitlement.

“No.” I said sharply and I could feel his anger swelling, morphing into something dangerous and deadly but I couldn’t care anymore. I was tired. Exhausted. This cat and mouse game had gone on , long enough. It wasn’t an even playing field, in any sense of the qword.

If today was the day I died, so be it. I would accept it. I would even welcome it.

I was done.

He had everything : an empire at his beck and call , enough money to pave the streets of Seoul in gold and an army of loyal associates behind him. His face was plastered on Billboards across the country , the President posted pictures of him on his fucking SNS and delegates from other countries had to wait weeks , just to get an appointment with the youngest billionaire South Korea had ever seen.

And yet none of those white collared dignitaries saw this side of him. The dirty, violent ruthless man who had more blood on his hands than anyone else in the country. My father’s. My brothers’.

Jeon Jungkook was both the most revered business man in the country and the undisputed king of Seoul’s criminal underbelly.

“You defiance only makes me want to break you in other ways Elena.” He said warningly and I felt my throat go dry. I stared at him, wondering how someone could look so expensively gorgeous and yet, like a hardened criminal.

The expensive silk shirt, the fitted slacks and the handmade shoes ought to clash with the dark ink that covered his entire arm and neck, the piercing on his eyebrow and the glint of metal on his tongue but it didn’t.

It just all came together to make him the most attractive man in existence.

I took a deep breath. Perhaps begging was the way to go?

“ You have my father’s company. You have my brother’s Hospital and you have the family mansion. It’s all yours. This bakery belongs to my mother. It’s all I have left of her. My sister in law is pregnant , due any day. She needs a place to stay and I don’t… I don’t have money to rent anywhere else.” I said desperately, thinking of the paltry wage I earned waiting tables. I could barely afford food for myself let alone for Jisoo and the baby on the way.

The bakery was abandoned but it had a roof. The furniture was crumbling but I could fix that. If I didn’t have to worry about rent, I could save up enough to make it livable. At least till I got a better job.

“I’ve offered you solutions for all of that.” He reminded me softly, eyes trained unblinkingly on me and I stared at him.

“I’m not going to be your whore.” I felt my voice shake.

He grimaced.

“You aren’t qualified to be my whore. And I don’t need one either. Whores are not my thing. I have a beautiful fiancée, don’t you remember? ” He grinned. I felt my heart ache because that fiancée was once my best friend. The only person I had trusted with my entire life. Lisa had betrayed my trust, had spied on my father’s operations and brought him down and I had the horrible, horrible inkling that she had also had something to do with my father and brother’s untimely death in a car crash.

But I couldn’t think about that. Every time I thought about her my heart broke and head spun, and I had to be at my maximum mental capacity if I was going to deal with her heartless fiancée.

“ If you ask me, you’re not fit for anything more than a back alley blowjob for a couple bucks. But Hoseok thinks you have potential. Join his agency, there are a lot of very wealthy men who have a bone to pick with your father. He made a shit ton of enemies. Most of them would love to fuck the defiance out of you. ”

His words felt like worms crawling all over my skin and I could feel the nausea churn inside me.

“I’m not signing the bakery over. You can call the creditors. I still have another year and half to pay the one remaining loan and they won’t come for me till then.” I felt my head begin to throb and Jungkook sighed.

“Suit yourself.” He stood up and I stayed still, watching his tall frame tower over me with ease. He gave me a small bitter smile. It was fraught with hatred and I stared back at him, knowing the emotion was probably mirrored in my gaze.

“Beautiful Elena. As pretty as the day you left me at the altar.” He smirked and I flushed.

“Your vengeance is petty and pointless and unfair…just like you.” I said angrily, frustration building u at his words. The way he talked about our broken engagement like it even mattered. It hadn’t even been real. We had hardly spoken and my father had called the wedding off at the last moment. But apparently, that had been the last straw for the Jeons. They had come after my father’s entire existence with a single minded intent to destroy him and they had succeeded. The man was dead . His two sons were dead.

But apparently it wasn’t enough.

Jungkook stared at me, slipping his hands into his pockets.

“Maybe. But it’s also deadly and potent. And it won’t rest until I see you reduced to nothing but a whore on the streets, spreading your legs for every man who can afford you.” He laughed. “ Saying no is a luxury , one that you’ll soon be unable to afford.”

I refused to be cowed, refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing that his words scared me. Because they did.

They scared me so damn much.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This bed is so lumpy… I’m so sorry, unnie..” I said apologetically but Jisoo shook her head quickly, palms cupping my face as I held her elbows, gently lowering her to the bed. I stared at her feet, feeling my heart race at how swollen they looked. That can’t be normal, a voice whispered and

I didn’t know if that was normal and I had no money to take her to a clinic. The social center we usually went to only allowed three visits per month and we had used it all up. I wanted to throw caution to the wind and spend the thirty thousand won it would take but that would mean no groceries for a week and surely bread and eggs wouldn’t stretch that long, even if I could sneak meals in the restaurant for myself.

“I’ve been feeling a little dizzy…I’ll just sleep.” She said tiredly. She was thirty six weeks along, not due for another four weeks but her blood pressure was erratic. Her lab numbers were oscillating and there had been talks of an emergency c section. Even with insurance it was way more than I could afford but I had my own jewelry, a few expensive trinkets from my teenage years. I’d been obsessed with diamonds and my father had indulged me and I had a pair of earrings left. I’d already sold the rest but this would take care of the medical bills for the birth itself.

“My shift starts in ten minutes. I have to go. Give me a call if you need anything…” I said softly and I saw the familiar blank and listless look come into her eyes. I knew she was depressed, dealing with grief and pregnancy and loss but there was nothing I could do for her. Nothing. I had applied for a bunch of other jobs but they never wrote back. It wasn’t easy, being rejected over and over again but it wasn’t like there was much else I could do. And the truth was I was resigned to this, accepted that at some point I would have to take more loans and be stuck in an endless cycle of debt for the rest of my life.

And I had made peace with that.

There was no future for me. And I was okay with just surviving.

If only Jungkook would let me.

Apparently, watching me wipe down greasy tables and mop up floors and toilets trying to earn just enough to get a few square meals didn’t soothe his anger. It only fueled it. Jungkook couldn’t fathom that it had been six whole months of me on the streets of Seoul and I wasn’t completely destitute yet. I’d kept myself and my sister in law alive, safe and it pissed him off.

He wanted to see me broken and on my knees, begging him for help. The idea of me somehow surviving despite him taking everything away from me, it just didn’t sit well with him.

I couldn’t afford to have him as an enemy so all I could really hope was that one day he would wake up and give up. One day he would just wake up and decide that I wasn’t worth it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I walked into my shift and noticed a familiar pair of high heeled Louboutins , completely out of place in my seedy place of employment, I knew I was in trouble. Lisa sat against one of the booths and her gaze was fixated on the door which meant she was waiting for someone. And when her eyes narrowed at the sight of me, I just knew I was the someone.

She wants to get me fired.

It wasn’t rocket science and I felt the urge to turn right back around and leave. But I tamped down on it. I could get through this. I would get through this. Lisa and Jungkook got off on invoking reactions and I wouldn’t give them that.

Except it wasn’t that easy.

It was a nightmare, watching her demand and reject and walk all over me but the sleeplessness from the past few days made spacing out easier and I just stared away at the wall as she yelled and complained and made a scene.

“You’ve stopped fighting? Finally giving up? Good…” She hissed when the manager apologized to her and told me to meet him after my shift and I felt myself tremble in indignation.

“I won’t fight you or Jungkook, you and I both know I can’t afford to.” I said quietly and she went still, something flashing in her eyes for a second. It was gone before I could fully process it but it had been there. Guilt.

Lisa wasn’t a terrible human. She had been a dear friend. We had grown up together and she had even hugged and teased me when I’d been betrothed to Jungkook, all those years ago. I had been twenty back then, naïve and spoiled. While Jungkook had taken my father’s entire legacy apart, piece by piece, Lisa had been nothing more than a pawn. I remembered all the times I had let her home, how she would disappear for lengths of time.

Planting bugs all over the house. All over his office. Jungkook had been smart. Someone like Lisa, so fascinated by thr wealth she had grown up around would naturally jump at the idea of more. It wasn’t greed. It was human nature. And with her help he had destroyed everything my father had built over decades.

I shuddered. My father hadn’t been a good man. He had been greedy, yes. But he hadn’t deserved to die. And Jungkook would have to pay for that sin, someday.

“There’s a job waiting for you in Hoseok’s club.” She smiled cruelly , “ you don’t need this one.”

“The fact that you want to take it away from me, tells me that maybe there’s nothing left in you save.” I said blankly and she turned her nose up at me.

“I have Jungkook. I don’t need to be saved.”

I shook my head. She was so naïve. Men like Jungkook cared for nothing but themselves. But I wondered if women like her didn’t care for anything but the money that came with being his. Money was precious, I thought bitterly. I’d never realized how privileged I had been until I’d had it all ripped away.

“He’s the one you need saving from. And one day you’ll realize that.” I shrugged, not in the mood to offer her anymore life advice. If she was alright with being a trophy wife in exchange for a few pretty shoes that was her prerogative.

Before she could reply, my phone rang.

“Hello?” I asked nervously and I felt my heart drop to my knees when I heard who it was.

I turned on my heel rushing inside and my manager gave me a look of surprise.

“ My sister..she’s… she’s sick. I need to go.” I said desperately and his eyes narrowed. It was the worst timing. He was already annoyed because of Lisa and I stared in disbelief as he quickly shook his head.

“No. I’m sorry Elena…I just can’t let you leave like that…” He said sharply.

It was so unfair.

“I haven’t taken a single day off in five months…” I said desperately..” Please, she’s pregnant..She needs me, she-“

“If you leave, you won’t have a job to come back to. I can’t do this.. First you make trouble with a customer and now you just want to walk out in the middle of your shift without any notice…”

“Fine. Fire me.” I snapped, because I’d just had enough of it. I was exhausted, and tomorrow I’d go knocking on some other tore and I’d get a job. I lived in Seoul …How hard could it be? For now, I had to get to Jisoo. I had to get the hospital and things would be okay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t okay.

“I… You want to keep her in? So soon?”

“Her blood pressure is through the roof. There are signs of severe pre eclampsia and we want to get her started on a magnesium drip. Steroids to help the baby’s lungs incase we need to deliver…”

“Deliver..?” I couldn’t breathe.

“Yes, I’m sorry…. If her blood pressure doesn’t come down we’re going to have to deliver.”

I nodded, glancing at the bed where Jisoo was sleeping, her face swollen and I knew that she was sick. Really sick. She looked pallid and ill.

“Is she going to be okay?” I asked hoarsely.

“We’re going to do what we can… But I’m going to be honest, we’re looking at a c section, a lot of meds and also some time in the NICU for the baby…. Can you afford it? Your sister’s insurance only covers 80% .”

I blinked, completely thrown. White noise rushed through my ears, a dull throb settling right at the base of my skull and beginning to spread all the way to my arms and back. It was panic mixed wth anxiety mixed with despair and I couldn’t quite cope. The earrings wouldn’t cover all that.

“Oh… Oh..yeah.” I said dully, “ Of course I can… Let me just…. Can I have a moment? There’s somethings I need to do.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I carefully slipped the cash into the envelope, swallowing as I sat on the pavement. I’d got another call from the hospital, they had administered the steroids but Jisoo’s condition seemed to be worsening. They wanted to try inducing labour soon but they wanted me to pay for the room and for the medicines, and apparently, the earrings weren’t as valuable as I thought they were.

I fought nausea wrapping arms around myself as I stared at the cars whizzing by, the putrid city air clogging my lungs as I tried to come to terms with what was happening. Jisoo needed help. She was the only one left and she carried my brother’s son. I felt my throat clog when I thought of Daehwan. He had been a good guy. I had loved him. It wasn’t fair, what Jungkook had done to my family, I thought miserably .

And the only reason I wasn’t driven by vengeance or anger was because I was nothing like Jungkook. I hated him. I didn’t want him to live in my head, didn’t want to waste any part of myself on him , not even my anger. But it was hard when he wouldn’t let me breathe, always at my heels like a wolf : jaws snapping and blood thirsty eyes trained on me at all times. I couldn’t fathom his obsession sometimes. Surely, his hatred was uncalled for now? He’d taken everything from me anyway.

There was a dull roaring in my ears, one that said that this was not really a surprise. I’d thought about it way too often, had considered it countless times. Had even spent one absolutely horrifying evening scouring the streets of Seoul’s red light district just to see how sex workers behaved.

I’d also realized that in the face of desperation, dignity didn’t hold much value.

You are going to pay your debts on your back and on your knees.

The first time Jungkook had thrown it at my face, eyes glinting with glee, my stomach had rebelled so hard. I’d been absolutely infuriated, had thrown a vase at him. And it had been awful, watching him catch it out of the air with ease, his mocking laughter making my bones rattle as he shook his head, “ That’s how this ends, Elena. Mark my words.”

And it was pitiful , that he went through life so consumed with hatred and vindictive cruelty that he couldn’t leave me alone . He was pathetic. That’s how I saw him. A pathetic child who refused to stop tormenting the helpless ant on the floor although it was no match for his cruelty.

At some point Jungkook was going to win. And his idea of winning was seeing me stripped bare of the one thing that kept me alive : my freedom.

It had just happened sooner than I’d thought.

Because I knew what it would mean, to go to Hoseok. He would own me. Hoseok’s whores were all slaves, tangled in his web so badly that there was no hope of escape. He wasn’t cruel but he was smart. No one left the his ‘ agency’ once they went in. I would be lost, forever. And I couldn’t stomach it.

I stared at my knees, fists clenched on the fabric of my skirt. I grabbed my phone, scrolling through the contacts. I considered it carefully. I had to do this on my terms. Had to make sure I retained some sort of control here.

And I knew just how to do it.

Hoseok picked up on the third ring.

“Hello.”

“I need help.” I croaked out.

The deep chuckle made my skin crawl.

“Elena Gong. What a wonderful, wonderful surprise. What can I do you for?” He drawled.

“Well sweetheart, I’m all out of charity so you’re going to have to make it worth my while.”

I took a deep breath.

“I’m a virgin.” I whispered.

The line went completely silent.

“What?” The amusement in his voice died.

“You heard me and I’ll let you cash in on it. I’ll let you auction it off…” I tamped down on the burning protest in my lung, the screaming inside my head that said it was horrifying, that I was considering this. “ But only if you keep my terms.”

“What makes you think you have a say in that.” He said sharply and I laughed.

“I belong to your world, Hoseok. Did you forget that we were friends, once.” I whispered and he didn’t reply.

Laughter, kindness, a big brother I could always count on, hobi oppa, nine year old me with my fingers curled around his wrist as we ran all around the gardens , a smile so wide that he could spread sunshine on the gloomiest days. Different from Jungkook and Namjoon and Yoongi and the others. Willing to include a ‘ girl’ in his playtime. Lisa and I the only girls, not even fazed watching as the rest of them wielded toy guns and mock interrogation scenes, pretending to kill and maim and torture because that was the world we were born into.

“We’re not friends, Elena. Let’s get that straight. The only part of you that holds any value to me is th part between your legs. So tell me, what do you want.”

“When was the last time you auctioned off someone’s virginity? You know how much money you can make off something like that. Not just from the sale itself but from the entire night. Your club… Your gaming hell…. All of it.”

“You expect me to believe you’re a virgin. At twenty seven.” He scoffed.

“Put the word out, everywhere. If you find one man who says he’s slept with me , I’ll back off.”

“That would require me to tarnish your family name. And you’re alright with that?”

I smiled biotterly.

“Isn’t that what you and your precious Jungkookie want? To see the last living Gong, be labeled as a whore and a slut.”

He didn’t reply.

“I’ll give you that. You can do it… You know that will only interest more people. As Jungkook so eloquently put it, most of them would love to fuck the defiance out of me.”

“What’s the catch. What do you want. ”

“2 billion won.” I said firmly “It will be one night. One night only and I want enough money to pay off every one of my father’s debts, to get me an apartment for my sister in law and to support her and her baby for a year at least.”

“Done.” He said without missing a beat and I went still. What must it be like, to throw around money like that without a care in the world. And it sickened me that Jungkook was probably ten times as rich as Hoseok , the money my father owed him and his associates not even pocket change in comparison to his gargantuan wealth and yet, he stayed on my heels, snapping his jaws like a dog with a bone.

“And Jungkook doesn’t get to watch.” I said softly, knowing exactly what Jungkook would get off on.

That made Hoseok laugh.

“You know him too well. I keep forgetting he was madly in love with you once.”

I resisted the urge to vomit. Jungkook didn’t know love. He knew ownership. He didn’t love me, he thought he owned me. That I was his to play with…. For the rest of his life. And when my father had denied him that, just like a toddler in a toy store being denied a shiny toy to break and trample on, he had thrown a temper tantrum.

Except his tantrums always ended in death and destruction.

“That’s the deal. He doesn’t turn up there to gloat.”

“He’s heading out to Switzerland for a week , two days from now.” Hoseok said evenly.

“Good then. My sister in law…she “ I swallowed. “ She’s in a hospital in Yongsan. I’ll send you the address.”

“I’ll take care of it. But I want you here tonight. I’m not going to drop a couple billion won on your head without making sure I’m getting my money’s worth. And I can’t have you changing your mind and bolting either. My reputation is on the line here. If I put out the word that I’m serving something so fucking delicious and then back out, they’re not going to want to buy Hobi’s wares anymore. You understand what I’m saying darling?” Hoseok drawled and I knew exactly what he was saying. If I agreed to this, it was blanket consent for him to whatever he wanted.

“I won’t back out. I can’t. But this is one night. One night with whichever bastard you choose and that’s it. I want out. I don’t want you or Jungkook hounding me again. Ever.” My voice shook as I dug my fingers into my knees.

“My men will be there in ten minutes. Sit tight, princess.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I stared at Hoseok as he carefully poured me a finger of whiskey, neat. He gave me a smirk and I shrugged.

“you remember.” I said casually, throat itching because it had been way too long since I’d had quality alcohol. I missed the burn, the warmth , the numbness that followed.

“Of course I do. You could drink all of us under the table with little effort. It was spectacular.” He laughed and I leaned back against the couch, letting my head fall back.

“I was half certain that you would have a doctor around to make sure I’m a virgin.” I stared at him and he shrugged. “ Pointless. You’re twenty seven, you’ve probably had stuff up there anyway… Not like your hymen’s still going to be intact.”

I thought it was rather horrifying, that I didn’t feel nearly as mortified as I should. This was how Hoseok talked, matter of fact and open and that was why he was so popular. Anytime an important person came into the country, Hobi was the one who offered entertainment for the night. Hobi’s girls were always the prettiest, most well behaved and perfect. They were educated, knew what they were talking about and he didn’t force them into the life. They loved it, enjoyed it and it showed.

Not to say he was a saint.

Far from it.

Hoseok knew how to dine with kings in castles but also how to wrestle with swine in the gutter. The seedy brothels in Seoul’s back alleys were his as well, and he ruled his kingdom with an iron hand. The prostitutes there feared him, one look or word enough to silence any rebellion, any thought of escape.

He was called Hope. And yet somehow that was exactly what he denied the women under him. There was no hope here. There was only lust and power and money. You came to Hobi…. You never left .

I took the glass he offered, taking a small sip, savoring the taste.

“But you believe me. I wonder why.” I watched him closely and he scoffed.

“Between your father and Jungkook, no one ever really had the pluck to come anywhere near you did they?”

Undisputable.

I sighed, leaning back to stare at him.

“Do you think dying hurts?” I asked softly.

It was frightening, how his entire body went stiff, eyes wide and jaw dropping.

“Elena, what the fuck-“

“Its just a question. You’ve killed people. You’ve watched them die… how do you think they feel?” I asked , curious.

“None of them wanted to die. If that’s what you’re asking.” The look in his eyes made me nervous.

I stared at him and the question was obvious. None of them wanted to die, but do you?

I didn’t.

“I’m not thinking of killing myself , oppa. Stop looking so horrified.” I laughed. He shook his head.

“ Don’t joke about that. It’s not fucking funny.”

I sobered up, remembering with a jolt. Ah, of course.

“I’m sorry. I forgot.” I said quietly.

Hoseok’s little sister had killed herself when I was seventeen. She was a year older than me and her father had lost her in a wager to a seventy year old man, known for torturing his bedmates. She had heard the news, taken a deep breath and taken a deep dive off the seventeeth floor of the condo where she lived with her mother.

I’d been engaged to Jungkook by then. And I had almost wanted it. Jungkook wasn’t old at least… twenty one to my seventeen.

“Just so you know, he’s going to find out. And he’s not going to like it.”

I shrugged. Three years is a long time to be preyed upon and now my mind was resigned to a life of being hunted. Hoseok was right. Jungkook would find out and he wouldn’t like it.

Good.

“I don’t care what he does anymore. All I care is that Jisoo and the baby are left out of whatever plans he has…. If you promise me you’ll keep them safe , I’ll cooperate.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a baby boy.

I stared, fingers itching to hold the baby but it was impossible, the little one whisked away to the NICU right after with respiratory distress and Jisoo had gone into a seizure, eyes rolling back into her eyes.

She as alright now, resting in a VIP room with the best care money could buy. Hoseok had asked me if I was happy with the arrangements, and if I would name the boy after him.

I stared at the room, large and breezy and filled with flowers and gifts, toys and baby stuff and I knew right then that I had sealed my fate. I was going to have to go through with this. I could imagine how much Jisoo would protest when she came to her senses. The only relief was that it would take her a few days to be good enough to fight or protest. But then this would all be over and done with.

Jungkook would leave this afternoon. His flight was at three.

I would reach the club at five. The patrons would arrive at seven.

One night, I reminded myself , staring at the gentle rise and fall of Jisoo’s chest as she slept, my fingers playing with the soft skin on her wrist. The IV line went through her veins and I watched the gentle drip of it.

One night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I didn’t know how auctions happened and while I’d been prepared for the worst kind of humiliation, Hoseok assured me that he wasn’t going to make me stand naked on some podium or something.

“Generally, I would do something like that simply for the flair of it but consider this a favor ….a respite because you were, as you said, once a friend.” He gave me an even smile and I could only nod in mute relief.

I was grateful. Beyond grateful.

And what was more, he hadn’t told anyone, who I was.

That stunned me. Because wasn’t that the selling point? The murderous, greedy mob rat Gong Hyo Suk’s only daughter forced to spread her legs for one lucky stranger? If Hoseok had cashed in on that he would have made a fortune. But he hadn’t. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Would , whoever it was be upset if he recognized me?

I was led to a bedroom, large and tastefully decorated with silky satin sheets and dark curtains and dim lighting that lit up parts of the room and left other parts plunged in darkness. Hoseok had told me to wear whatever I wanted and I realized with a pang that he really didn’t see this as some sort of transaction. He was trying to make it as easy as possible without making any decisions for me. Offering me choices and options and some illusion of being in control.

I didn’t have anything fancy so it was just a dress shirt that I borrowed from Hoseok. I’d left the underwear off, eager to merely get the whole thing over with. I felt a sudden overwhelming urge to laugh out loud.

If Jungkook were here he really would have lost his damn mind, simply because of how little this whole thing affected me. And that was it, really. He was always desperate for a reaction.

Earlier when this whole thing had started, I’d obliged him with that. I would scream, rant and yell….launch myself at him like a wildcat, scratching at him , fists flying and it was obscene, how much he seemed to enjoy that. He would press me up against walls and tables , fingers choking the breath out of my lung, just so he could see me struggle and push back.

He fed off from every negative reaction I offered him and it had taken me a long long time that the way to beat him was to become passive, unresponsive. I would go limp in his arms, stare at him blankly as he tried to manhandle me and that…that had pissed him off. Because that meant I wasn’t playing his game anymore.

If the prey wasn’t playing, the game wasn’t fun anymore. It was drab.

Boring.

And I knew that Jungkook kept raising the stakes, kept tightening the noose around my neck….just to bring that girl out again. The one that had wanted to put up a fight . The one that wanted to mouth off even with the muzzle of a gun pressed against her head. The one who would spit in his face in front of all his associates, even if it earned her a vicious strike of his hand across her face.

I shuddered. They weren’t memories I liked reliving.

Well, if that was who he wanted, I’d make sure he would never see her again.

The door opening made me jump and Hoseok came in , with a wide grin on his face.

“Baby…. Your guest for the night.” He said softly and I peered over his shoulders, my heart and mind grinding to a halt when I caught sight of what had to be the most breathtakingly beautiful man on the face of the planet.

I felt my heart begin to pound, fear taking over because this wasn’t okay. Not really. I was okay with old, creepy and disgusting , not able to get it up for more than ten minutes.

I wasn’t okay with someone who looked like they stepped right out of the latest issue of GQ.

Hoseok left quickly, closing the door behind him and the man stepped into the light, the brightness lighting up his perfect features even more. I felt my throat go dry, and fought the urge to get up and run. Growing up as the daughter of a mobster , I’d learned how to trust my instincts over appearances.

And right now, every single one of those instincts screamed at me that this man was absolutely dangerous.

“Well, you are beautiful. I’ll give you that. “ He said casually.

“Thank you.” I said stiltedly, watching as he tugged on his tie, pulling it off his neck deftly . Instead of tossing it aside , he wrapped it a bunch of times around his wrist over and over as he smiled at me.

“Don’t thank me yet. The only reason I like beautiful things is because of how easily they break.” He smiled. “ I haven’t been with a virgin in a while…. I miss the screams.”

And there it was the full blown panic that came with stark terror. I crawled back on the bed, staring as he moved closer and there was no mistaking the look on his face, the harsh grip of his hand on my ankle telling me that I was going to regret every one of the choices that led me here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hoseok wasn’t at the airport.” Jungkook observed casually, glancing at Yoongi as the latter finished cleaning his gun carefully, eyes fixed on his weapon with utmost concentration.

“He’s holding some sort of auction tonight. Some chick …” Yoongi said casually and Jungkook hummed. It was not the kind of thing he was interested in. Anonymous bids were often boring : actresses or female idols past their prime, desperate to make some money to survive. He had no interest in those but he was a little peeved that Hoseok hadn’t told him anything about it.

Hoseok was one of Jungkook’s most trusted friends. He was almost as powerfully rich as Jungkook and the only reason Jungkook reigned supreme was because Hoseok had no interest in challenging him for the throne. Hoseok was dangerous and cunning and loyal and Jungkook was grateful to have him on his side and he had hoped to see him before leaving. Just to ask him to keep an eye on Elena.

He grimaced, hating himself.

God, he couldn’t go two hours without thinking of her. It fucked with his head, the amount of space she took up inside him. Jungkook , for all his wealth and power, was driven solely by his need to prove himself. He wanted to be powerful and terrifying yes, but more than that , he wanted people to know.

He wanted people to look him in the eye and acknowledge him for what he was : the most dangerous man in the country. He liked seeing that fear, that worship, that admiration. He got off on it. He wanted it , craved it and for some reason he craved it more from her , than anyone else.

And instead of giving him what he wanted, instead of begging on her knees for mercy, instead of licking his shoes and begging for him to let her live….she ignored him. She looked at him with defiance and pride, her chin straight and her back unbending, her gaze locked right on him like she was his fucking equal….

And Jungkook, he’d taken a lot of insults. Taken more than his fair share of hits in life …..

But when she looked at him like that , like he was something stuck to the bottom of her shoe….

Fuck it drove him wild with fury.

It made him want to teach her a fucking lesson, to remind her that he owned her because he owned everything. To break her down, snuff out the flames of defiance that burned so bright in those ember eyes… Take her into his bed and brand her with his body. Till she was on the floor, on her knees covered in his spit and cum begging for mercy….

Because no one looked at Jeon Jungkook like that and lived to tell the tale..

“Seokjin’s here. Landed in Korea a couple of hours ago. ” Yoongi said casually and Jungkook smiled a bit at that. He loved his older brother, technically a step brother and growing up he had only saw him when he visited his mother in China. That meant a couple of months a year and now as adults, a bit more often because Seokjin loved Jungkook and liked to visit him often.

Seokjin was a celebrity trainer, working with actors and athletes and he did a good amount of modeling as well. He was rich, handsome and well liked and the only thing that gave away the Jeon blood in him was the fact that he was a sexual sadist.

The face of an angel with a devilish streak, he had a penchant for sadism and inflicting pain on his partners and while Jungkook didn’t particularly enjoy indulging him, he knew there were women who were into that and usually had them arranged for when Seokjin dropped by in Korea. His hyung’s visit seldom lasted more than a few weeks at a time and it was a pity that he would miss out one whole week of it .

But the issue in Switzerland was a little pressing and Jungkook had to be there in person to sort it out.

He leaned back against the seat, staring out of the window, sighing.

“An unsullied dove ….What the fuck is this shit..” Yoongi muttered and Jungkook turned, curious.

“What?”

“Hoseok’s been hyping up some new girl for the auction and Seokjin hyung’s bidding on her.”

Jungkook laughed at that.

“Jungkook…..” Yoongi’s voice is completely stunned, his eyes confused as he looks up at Jungkook.” Its Elena.”

Jungkook’s thought process came to a grinding halt.

There’s a sound between his ears, a dull rushing sound like the wind in a storm and he can’t quite comprehend what he just heard. Even Namjoon who had been buried in his laptop , looked up then, tugging an airpod out of his ear.

“Wait…did you say Elena?” His eyes were wide , lips parted in shock. Yoongi and Namjoon exchanged glances, no doubt bracing themselves for the explosion that was to follow.

Jungkook took a deep breath.

“Turn the fucking plane around.”

That jolted Namjoon out of his stunned stupor..

“Turn-? Jungkook what…. We’re on a fourteen hour flight-“ Namjoon began but the look on Jungkook’s face made him stop.

“DID I FUCKING STUTTER?”

Namjoon swore.

“Fucking hell… alright just calm the fuck down, Jesus…just put a fucking bullet in that girl’s head and spare us all the headache fuck…” He growled, unbuckling his seat belt and rushing to the cockpit and Yoongi groaned.

“ Let me guess you want me to get in touch with someone in Seoul and ask Hoseok to hold off on letting Seokjin near her…”

Jungkook glared at him.

“If you already know that why the fuck are you still here…” He growled and Yoongi gave him a look.

“Just tell her you’re in love with her and let us live, Jeon Jungkook.”

In love….. what the fuck….

He glared at Yoongi’s back, his asinine words making him madder. God he wanted to crush someone’s skull into dust with his bare hands.

And right now, in his head , that skull belonged to Jung fucking Hoseok.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What just happened?” I asked, frantic staring at the door as Hoseok’s men casually led a fuming Seokjin away while the man himself stared at me, looking pale as parchment.

“ Jungkook found out.” He said shortly and I felt my heart drop although I was half relieved because there had been something insane in Kim Seokjin’s gaze when he’d reached for me , a cruel glint of hunger that told me he would have hurt me really badly if Hoseok hadn’t barged into the room , frantic and worried.

He had given Seokjin a wide smile and then, “ I’m so sorry. We were waiting on her blood results and turns out she has a…. well, certain occupational disease that is very infectious.”

Seokjin’s mouth had dropped open even wider than mine.

“I thought she was a fucking virgin.” He had snapped, and I flinched at how cold and furious he had sounded.

But apparently there was a reason this whole thing had happened.

“What do you mean Jungkook knows? What does that mean?” I asked frantically, fear taking over.

“ He’s heading back here… He wants to see you.”

I felt my entire body go ice cold as I shook my head…

“No…fucking no bring Seokjin back here , he can fuck me that was the fucking deal, Hobi, please don’t../…”

“Elena , I’m so fucking sorry.. Seokjin…he’s fucked in the head…. He likes hurting his whores, likes making them bleed and he would have fucking destroyed you…”

I gaped at him horrified.

“What?!” I hissed shaking my head in disbelief.

“He’s Jungkook’ stepbrother. I’ve arranged whores for him before, I knew he was a little crazy but I’d never seen him before and I didn’t know he was the Kim Seokjin…fuck he outbid everyone and fucker looks like a fucking angel, how the fuck was I supposed to know he’s unhinged? Thankfully, I messaged Yoongi and …. Fuck… Listen… I know I paid for your sister’s surgery but you’re going to have to pay me back….”

I felt my body convulse in rebellion.

“I can’t.. You know I fucking can’t…”

“I can’t make an enemy out of Jungkook…. I can’t.” Hoseok shook his head. “ You can get out of here now if you want but I’d advise you to stay. If you run it’s only going to make Jungkook angrier.”

“WHAT DID I FUCKING DO TO HIM?!!!” I screamed, feeling my composure crumble into smithereens. “WHAT THE FUCK DOES HE WANT FROM ME?!!”

Hoseok flinched, stepping back and holding his hands up.

“Whether I want to or not, I answer to Jungkook. I shouldn’t have done this in the first place , I’m sorry Elena.” He shook his head and stepped back like the coward that he was and I wanted to hurt him. To shake him and ask him to fucking remember who I was. That I had nothing to do with my father’s sins . That I had been a fucking marionette in his hands, had wanted nothing more than to be left alone.

I stared at him in disbelief.

“So much for being a friend…” I whispered.

His jaw tightened. But he didn’t look guilty. None of them ever did. It was like guilt didn’t exist in their world. They did what they wanted to whoever they wanted , whenever they wanted and they got away with it because that bastard’s word was law. What Jeon Jungkook wanted, he got.

“I’ll get your clothes sent in.”

I watched him leave, the door slamming shut behind him and sagged against the bed, staring at myself. What had just happened?

Was I born to endless misery and misfortune?

Couldn’t I catch a fucking break?

I’d agreed to sell myself hadn’t I? Would have even let Seokjin hurt me if that was what he wanted. Because it was one night. It was one night of this…whatever the hell this was and then freedom. That was the deal.

The door opened again and I stared as a young girl brought me a pile of my clothes neatly folded.

“Do you work here?” I said sharply.

She blinked before bowing her head.

“Yes, mistress.”

I scoffed.

“Don’t call me mistress , I’m here to get fucked, just like you. Tell me does Jungkook ever use the women here.” I demanded.

She looked trapped, glancing at the door, clearly wanting to run .

“Tell me.” I snapped and she flinched.

“I..uh..yes. Sometimes.” She said softly.

“Can you tell whoever fucks him next to kick him in the fucking balls?”

The girl bowed deeply and all but ran out and I sighed, feeling myself shaking. Jungkook was on the way here and I wanted to yell and scream and rave at him but I knew that was exactly what he wanted. I wanted to deny him the satisfaction …wanted to act all cool and composed in front of him but it was impossible…

Because I hadn’t realized just how tired I was of this whole thing, till right this moment, when the end had been in sight. I was supposed to get my two billion won pay off all the debt , give Jisoo the rest of the money and disappear. I was so tired, so tired of this life I’d gotten trapped into, slaving over for hours on end just to afford a couple of meals a day. No friends, no boyfriends, no hope of a future …..

The door banged open and I jumped, crawling back when I recognized the man who had just entered.

“Yoongi-“

“Jungkook wants to see you.” He ground out and I swallowed.

“I need to get dressed. Please just wait outside.” I said shakily.

And then the door opened further and a tall looming shadow stepped in familiar and vomit inducing.

Jungkook looked livid, piercing glinting through the dimply lit room and I stared at him. He was dressed in a tight black t shirt, he sleeves stretched thin over his biceps and the tattoos stark against his skin.

“Leave us.” He said softly and Yoongi moved away to the door leaving me alone with the devil himself. I cursed myself for not putting at least my panties on, I was naked underneath this shirt and although it was big it left nothing to the imagination.

Jungkook’s eyes raked over my form before resting on my face.

“You think you’re smart enough to outsmart me, Elena?” He whispered softly.

I swallowed.

“Send you brother back in. He can fuck me and I’ll pay you back.”

Jungkook hummed, stepping closer and grabbing my clothes from the bed, he grabbed the plain white bra and the pastel pink underwear and then to my complete and utter mortification he brought the clothing up to his face, breathing in .

“Fucking pervert!!!” I screamed, feeling the action like a physical touch and wanting to claw his eyes out and the smirk on his face told me that this was exactly what he wanted but I was too fucking gone to care.

“If you want me to be a whore, fine. I’ll be a whore. But on my terms…” I spat out and he shook his head, laughing.

“I don’t just want you to be a whore, Elena. I want everyone to know that you are one…” He dropped my clothes and moved closer, holding a hand out. “ Come here.”

I stared at the inked fingers, adorned with sterling silver rings and bracelets with the motifs of his gang. I shook my head.

“No. I’m not playing this game with you.” I turned my face away.

His hand shot out gripping my upper arm with enough strength to bruise and I screamed, agony shooting up my arm and shoulders as he dragged me off the bed and onto the floor. I landed hard, hips and elbows bruising from impact and I stared at him in disbelief.

“I’ve been to gentle with you. You’ve forgotten your fucking place.” He bent over and grabbed me by my hair, yanking me to my feet so hard that it felt like my scalp had been ripped away from my skull.

“Okay…okay…Okay Jungkook..just…!!” I said softly, flinching because my pain tolerance was almost zero and Jungkook’s grip was so hard that my eyes were beginning to water now. He let me go, grabbing my panties off the floor and tossing them at me.

“I’m going to count to five. Put those on and get out.”

He walked out of the door and I stumbled a little fumbling with the fabric before quickly, slipping my legs in and yanking it up to my waist. I made to put on something else but his voice came, loud and impatient.

“Get the fuck out here.”

I walked out of the door and he was standing there next to Hoseok. I couldn’t meet either of their gazes , hating how they had so much power over my life. I stared at the floor. It was tempting to yell at them and scream but that never led anywhere.

“ I’ve asked them to stop the payment on the Hospital bill. Seeing as Elena hasn’t kept her end of the bargain.”

I felt my breath hitch at that, willing down the tears as I glared at him.

“What do you want?” I snapped. “ Tell me who you want me to fuck…. I’ll do it. Let’s get this over with so you can go back to whatever sewer you fucking climbed out of. ….”

Hoseok’s breath caught like he couldn’t believe what I’d just said and the look in his eye was a warning but I was sick of this. Sick of them all.

Jungkook turned to Hoseok with a laugh.

“You see hyung? See why I can’t let her go? If I let her scot free, everyone’s going to think I’m a pushover….that any worthless bitch can talk to me any way she wants and get away with it….” He shook his head, staring at me with a glint in his eye. “ I’m not going to choose. They are. You think you can charm your way into Hoseok’s heart and get special treatment? You think you’re ready to be a whore, Elena? Let me show you how a real whore gets treated in Hoseok’s club.”

He gripped my wrist, yanking me behind him as he stalked off down the narrow corridor that opened up into the club. I let myself get dragged out into the club dismally aware of the fact that I was wearing nothing but Hoseok’s shirt. I could feel eyes on me but I kept mine on the back of Jungkook’s head as he dragged me all the way to the front. I knew what he was going to do and at this point I was just numb.

There was no point reasoning with the devil.

I glared at him as he pointed at the stage. “ Get up there.” He whispered harshly.

I stared back at him, not moving. I saw Jungkook’s jaw clench.

“Either you go up there by yourself, with your clothes on. Or I carry you up there, after stripping you naked. What’s it going to be? ”

I glared at him, pursing my lips before climbing up using the small stair in the side. I moved to the center, right in front of the stage lights, so the rest of the room would disappear. I had no wish to see any of the bastards in the room.

“I think all of you recognize this little beauty here, don’t you?” Jungkook’s voice was cheerful, friendly even and I bit my lips, fists clenched. “ Well, if you don’t let me tell you . This is Gong Hyo Suk’s daughter. Remember that bastard? He put a hit out on my father. Killed him and my mom on the night I was supposed to be marrying his fucking daughter. A daughter who later called off the wedding, because I was too poor now, to give her the life she deserved. ”

I felt the familiar ice cold guilt in my vein. I was seventeen, I wanted to scream. I was seventeen and all I did was say what my father asked me to say, do what my father asked me to do.

“ That was nine fucking years ago… and you know what I told myself…. I told myself, that a greedy little bitch like this, doesn’t deserve shit.” He laughed. “ If money’s what she values the most, then the only thing she deserves is to be treated like the whore she is.”

“Why don’t you guys tell me, how much money you’d be willing to spend, to fuck her? Come on, Hobi’s been treating you guys so well lets help him make some money tonight… be generous. ”

I could barely hear what they were calling out but when Jungkook climbed onto the stage next to me, I jumped. Moving back instinctively, I winced when brought a forearm around my throat nearly choking me as he dragged up against his body.

“90 million won….That’s a lot.” He grinned. “ Jihan hyung….. that was you right? You’re gonna pay 90 million won for her?”

I felt my heart race, it was a lot. More than enough for the Hospital Bills, would even leave extra to get a decent apartment somewhere... I grabbed his wrist as it pressed into my throat, trying to pull his hand off me but he just wrapped his free hand around my waist, wrapping his entire body around mine and chuckling into my hair.

Jungkook pressed his head against mine and I froze, hating the close contact.

“Okay…but since I’m feeling a bit left out here…Why don’t I pitch in… 500 Won.” Jungkook said loud and clear.

I froze. An eerie silence fell over the club, laughter stilling and the clink of glasses slowing down.

What.

I struggled to get away from his but his hold tightened.

“Anyone else?” He called out. “ Come on… Not even thousand? Surely you think this one here’s worth a thousand won? Aren’t you going to outbid me?”

No one responded of course they didn’t. Jungkook’s anger was palpable and no one was going to get on his wrong side …..

“Ahh… is that it then? Bid’s going to close for 500 won then…. Hear that baby?” He whispered against my ears and I swallowed. “ 90, million won to five hundred won in a few seconds… What does that tell you?”

“It tells me you’re a fucking psychopath in love with your own voice… Get off me.” I hissed.

“No. What it tells you is that only I get to decide how much that body of yours is worth, not you. . You don’t get to go sell your fucking body behind my back for two billion won and then pay off all your debts and ride off into the sunset, that is not how this works….”

I went limp in his arms fighting tears because he never played fair. Never.

“Hear that Hoseok-ah… I win her for the night for 500 won…fair and square…. Is that alright?” He called out into the darkness and I felt the first inkling of dread begin to seep in.

“No.. No… get off me.” I hissed and he laughed, dragging me off the stage with ease. I screamed, kicking out in disbelief.

Jungkook grinned at me, before grabbing both my arms and yanking them behind me, and I whimpered, unable to move as he easily pulled me along to the door that opened into the hallway. Behind us I heard Hoseok’s voice.

“Jungkook, don’t be impulsive. Think about whatever you’re going to do.”

I flinched at that, panic building.

“He’s not going to do anything. I’ll fucking kill him if he touches me , I-“

“Shut the fuck up, you little bitch.” He shook me hard till my teeth rattled and I sobbed out.

“Jungkook…” Hoseok warned but he merely snarled.

“I know what I’m doing hyung, just…. Don’t disturb us. And make sure everyone here knows that she’s open for business.” It was loud enough to carry through the club and I felt humiliation burn my throat, acrid like acid.

I froze in disbelief.

“Jungkook …” Hoseok’s voice held a tone of reproach.

“ And tell them that her body is amazing. Tell them she spent the night with me , the best fuck I’ve ever had , mouth made for cock.”

I stared straight ahead as he pulled me all the way to the room we had left earlier and I tripped when he shoved me inside, landing on my hands and knees . I quickly rolled back around to land on my ass, crawling back as he slammed the door shut and locked it from the inside.

He stared down at me, mouth grim.

“You do owe me a wedding night. I was so ready to fuck your tight cunt, nine years ago… I think I’ve waited long enough yeah.”

I stared at him in disbelief. I knew exactly what he wanted me to do, to yell and scream and protest and fight so he could get off and forcing me…. Fucking psychopath.

I took a deep breath and nodded.

“If you pay for my sister in laws bills, and give me an apartment sure. “ I shrugged. “You’re not any different from any of the bastards here. I don’t give a damn which one of you idiots wants to rut into me like the absolute animal that you are…. I don’t care…” I said softly.

“you don’t? Really? You want me to tell you what your brother said when one of my men put a gun into his mouth…. He begged for his life…said he had a kid on the way….” Jungkook laughed, shaking his head. “I told him it was better than what his father did…. My sister was six months pregnant when his lieutenant gunned her down on the streets.”

I shuddered, wrapping my arms around myself.

“Why are you telling me this…” I snapped.

“Because she didn’t deserve it did she, Elena? She didn’t fucking deserve to die like that , like a dog on the street when she had nothing to do with any of this…. She didn’t deserve it.” He growled, bending down and gripping my chin hard.

“Maybe she did deserve it.” I spat out. “ If I deserve to be here, maybe your sister deserved to die too. “

He snarled, hand flying to my hair and dragging me up off the floor in one sharp yank. I whimpered as he pushed me on the bed, before climbing on top of me. I felt like every bone in my body was about to snap in two, the weight of him unbearable on me.

“I won the bid tonight…. I won it fair and square… You signed the waiver didn’t you…that you agreed to the auction…I won and I’m going to fucking collect.” He growled, and I kicked out, trying to buck him off of my body.

“Get off me.” I hissed. “ I’m not letting you fuck me for 500 won.”

“How about for your Jisoo then?” He whispered and I went still.

“What?”

He chuckled, reaching down and I felt my pulse pound as he pulled his phone out, dialing quickly and turning on the speakers.

Yoongi’s voice made me go ice cold. Everyone knew what Yoongi did for Jungkook.

“Daehwan’s wife is in a hospital room in Yongsan. Hobi’s got the details. I think she’s served her purpose.”

“No!! JUNGKOOK NO!!” I screamed , thrashing so hard my head began to spin but he grunted pressing down into me harder.

“Are you serious? I’m not home yet… I can take care of it tonight.” Yoongi said, voice casual and I sobbed, shaking my head in sheer terror.

“Okay… I’ll behave.. I promise.. please just don’t…”

Jungkook hummed.

“Well, that was easy… Yoongi-yah… why don’t you stay on the phone yeah…. Going to get that wedding night I’m owed and if my baby doesn’t co operate you know what to do, yeah?”

I bit my lips, glaring into the sheets as he gripped my waist, pulling me up.

“Ass up like the bitch that you are, baby.” He whispered and I felt my entire body shudder in disgust. It was worse because I hadn’t done this before. Didn’t know what to expect. But I couldn’t let him know that. If Jungkook knew that I was a virgin, I could just imagine how much fun he’d have with that info.

Hands gripped my wrists, pinning them to the bed and I turned my face away when I felt the press of his lips on my cheeks. He gripped both my wrists with one hand, keeping them pinned over my head and I flinched when I felt his fingers pulling the fabric of my panties aside, just enough for the blunt head of his cock to press against my slit.

“Yoongi, you there?” Jungkook said softly and Yoongi grunted over the phone. I felt my face flame in embarrassment.

“You’re a sick bastard but I’m used to it. What’s up?” he said casually.

“Remember how we used to wonder just how tight Elena’s cunt was… back when we were in school.”

Fucking monster, I thought in disbelief. I hate him I hate him I hate him….

“Good times…” Yoongi chuckled lightly .

Jungkook pushed into me in one hard thrust and pain shot straight up my spine, my insides burning like he’d fucked me with a knife and not his body. I couldn’t stop the cry of agony that got torn of me, my eyes tearing up and tears spilling over onto my cheeks.

“Damn Jungkook, she okay?” Yoongi’s chuckle made me want to claw his face off, and just the urge to kill was growing inside me.

“Well, I can confirm that it is, in fact just as tight as we thought…” He grunted, thrusting into me at a pace that was inhumane, every push and drag of him rubbing my insides raw and I bit down on the sheets under me, afraid that I would do something absolutely humiliating, like beg him to stop.

“Good, you should let me take that tight ass for a ride someday then. With her permission of course…. I’m a gentleman after all. Big on consent.” He laughed and I swallowed the urge to tell him that I would puncture his balls with a switchblade if he came anywhere near me.

“Oh, she’s going to do whatever I ask her to….aren’t you baby…” He grunted, “ Turn around so I can see you.”

He pulled out of me, his weight lifting off my body as he moved away. I couldn’t move, limbs numb and insides throbbing in pain . His palm landed on my thigh, hard and the sharp sting of it made me jump.

“I said turn around, I want to see your face when I fuck you.” Jungkook growled. I stayed limp, breathing hard and he grunted impatient, fingers sinking into my hair , yanking me to my knees and the movement made my legs scream in protest.

“How’s she so quiet? You fucked the voice out of her, kook-ah?” Yoongi asked amused and Jungkook pulled me by the hair, dragging me to the center and pushing me down till my head landed on the pillow.

“Hyung you should see her right now, all fucked out …. Like she’s never had a dick in her before.” He shook his head, “ Fucking slut. Take that off and hold yourself open for me.”

I stared at him, uncomprehending and he grabbed both my hands, placing them on my knees.

“Grab your knees and pull your legs back… So I can fuck that tight cunt the way I want to.” He said slowly, like I was a dog he was trying to train and I stared at him , defiantly.

“ Go to hell.” I whispered.

Yoongi’s laughter came from somewhere to the right.

“Your dirty talk needs work, Kook ah… Tell her she’s a precious little kitten and she makes you feel really good…. Bitches love that shit…”

Jungkook hovered over me, grabbing the back of my thighs and spreading them wide enough to make me whimper in pain.

“Is that so babygirl? You want me to tell you that? That you make daddy’s cock feel good?” He cooed, nudging the tip against me again and I had never hated anyone so much in my life. I stared up at his face, and he smiled at me, a cheeky little grin that made his bunny teeth stand out and for a second he looked so deceptively angelic and the glimmer of his piercing caught my eye.

I couldn’t help but swallow, gaze trained on the glint of metal on his tongue.

“You like that?” He grinned suddenly, sticking his tongue out for me to see, I felt my eyes widen at how sinfully good he looked .” Hyung she likes my tongue piercing.”

“Show her how it feels on her clit.” Yoongi laughed and I could barely fully process what I heard before Jungkook was crawling down my body, arms, curling on my thighs and yanking me onto his tongue .

I felt the press of his tongue on my slit, licking right into me and the jolt of pleasure was so unexpected, the pleasure so unwanted and yet so overwhelming and I couldn’t stop the way my body thrashed against the streets, lips parted as I practically mewled out in pleasure.

“Definitely a kitten…” Yoongi called out and I shuddered as Jungkook slipped two fingers into me , the ice cold press of his ring inside me making me jump. I wanted to pull away, grab his hair and yank him off but I couldn’t because it was

“Next time I’ll put the dick piercing in too, yeah? Fuck you with a bit of metal on my cock so you can feel that up there…. ” He laughed into my thighs and I screamed when he bit into the flesh there , hard.

“I’m getting bored… Either turn on facetime so I can at least jerk off to this , or I’m hanging up…” Yoongi called out .

“Hyung she clenches down on me every time she hears your voice… Just stay on for a few more minutes yeah, she tastes so fucking good, I’m gonna cum soon….” Jungkook added another finger, slipping in deep before spreading them apart inside me. I whimpered when he pushed his tongue in between the wet digits, licking into my walls and I could feel the ball of his piercing drag against my walls, ice cold and hard.

Was it fucked up that I did clench down on him again, my body apparently a slave to my base desires even as my mind screamed that he was the absolute worst bastard on the face of the planet.

“Elena, you owe me a blowjob at least for this…” Yoongi called out and I glared at the phone.

“I’ll bite your fucking dick off if you come anywhere near me.” I snapped.

“Fuck, I could get off just to that mouthy fuckhole of hers…..” Yoongi grunted.

Jungkook pulled away, climbing back up over me and lightly slapping my breasts.

“Now, how about you open that mouth and let me fuck it?”

Yoongi snorted from behind us and Jungkook glared at the phone before glaring at me again.

“Well?”

“You want to know how hard I can bite?” I said sharply, the pleasure ebbing away into nothing and resentment taking it place, the momentarily physicality of the situation fading and the reminder of who he was and who I was entering my sex addled brain.

“No.. You’re right…. But you know what, I’m not feeling it anymore. I was right.. you really aren’t qualified to be my whore. Your body…it’s frigid like a fucking popsicle…such a fucking turn off. ” He reached over and hung up on the phone.

“Now…”he whispered, leaning in closer and I yelped, when his fingers closed over my throat..” Shut your mouth and take what I give you like a grateful bitch.”

I swallowed when he pushed into me again, his pace steady as he fucked into me, eyes closed and I realized that he was almost fully dressed having just unbuttoned himself enough to get his cock out.

When he stiffened, spilling into me his eyes blew open and he locked eyes with me, wide eyed and for one horrible second he looked young and vulnerable and hurt.

I blinked as he pulled out, the sticky warm mess of his cum dripping down my inner thighs and onto the sheets.

“Well, that was much worse than I thought it would be.” He said and I stayed on the bed as he grabbed his phone and buttoned himself back up.

He smirked at me and then reached into his pocket.

I quickly pulled myself together, ignoring the aches and pains and getting to my knees before reaching for my dress on the bed. it was kind of pointless because I still had Hoseok’s shirt on and I wasn’t going to take that off in front of Jungkook.

“Well, I’m a man of my word , Elena so…here you go..just as we discussed.” He tossed a coin on the bed and I stared at the engraved 500 on the shiny surface, feeling my rage swell inside me.

“If you still want to work out a payment plan for your sister’s bills …. Why don’t you come to my office tomorrow?” He tossed his card on the bed before moving away to the door.

Fucking bastard.

Author’s note : My whole life is filled with regrets .

#jungkook smut #bts smut #ts fics #jungkook fics #bts fanfic #jungkook mafia au #bts mafia au

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juletheghoul · 4 years ago

Text

Dulcis (Part I)

This is my formal submission to The Pit™️ (so much filth)

This is going to be a two part series! It doesn't end here

(I know this might not be everyone's cup of tea since it is about infidelity. Reader is engaged and David is married. Please feel free to skip this if that doesn't interest you!)

Dave (Murder Daddy) York x F!Reader

Pairing: David York x F!Reader

Word Count: 12K (are we even surprised at this point)

Warnings: **TRIGGER WARNING** NSFW 18+ INFIDELITY! (reader is engaged, David is married) language, Smut, PIV sex (wrap it up), dirty talk, **daddy kink** oral (m receiving / mentions of female receiving) vaginal fingering (in a public space), praise & aftercare, guilt?- let me know if I missed any!

Masterlist Part 2

---

“Alright who’s up first?” They all looked away from you, they always do this when they have to present their projects. It’s understandable, you could remember doing it when you were in school.

“If no one volunteers I’ll have to pick someone.” You smiled sympathetically. You saw a couple of your braver students raise their hands. Once the first student went the others saw that like always- it wasn’t so bad.

You managed to get through all of them before lunch which, as a second grade teacher, was a miracle.

They were a little rowdy during the lunch hour but that was to be expected. You used the much needed break to gather your things for the math work that had to be done after recess.

You felt your phone vibrating in your pocket and you checked your messages- there were two from your fiancé Charlie.

Can’t we just elope?

Hi by the way

You could have killed him, you sighed, smiling as you quickly responded to him.

No, hi! Don’t make me say I told you so while I’m at work, I take it your hunt for the tux isn’t going so well?

You had suggested eloping right when he’d proposed, a big wedding wasn’t something you needed. A trip to the courthouse and a nice dinner after would have been just fine with you.

It’s bullshit, lol I fucking hate shopping - I’ll figure it out, have a great day at work, love you xo

You quickly put your phone away at the commotion in class.

Two of the kids were arguing, it was getting intense and you had no idea what caused it.

“Okay you two settle down, finish your lunch - recess-“

One of the students suddenly punched the other square in the face. It was a practised, precise thing and it shocked you.

“Alice! We do not hit.” You didn’t yell it but you used a tone that silenced all the children. You quickly made your way over to them, Jacob was bleeding from the nose and you called the school nurse to come get him. Calling the principal after to let her know what happened.

“Alice, you’re staying inside during recess with me, that was unacceptable. I’m going to have to call your parents. You know we don’t fix things by fighting.” You spoke to her in a neutral tone, trying to keep the anger out.

“But he-“ you cut her off.

“No, none of that. We’ll discuss this with your parents.” You didn’t want to hear it, you looked through your desk for the contact sheet to call while the kids played outside. She sat at her desk quietly, watching you through sad eyes.

“Hi, I’m looking for David York? I’m Alice York’s teacher and I need to speak to him please.” The receptionist sounded wary, she asked for your name and the name of the school and you provided the information. You waited for him to pick up but the receptionist came back and informed you that Mr. York was currently away from his desk but that she would leave a message. Hopefully Mrs York would pick him.

“Hi is this Carol York? Hello Mrs York, yes I’m calling about Alice? Yes that’s right, no she’s fine there’s no emergency but I do have to ask you and your husband to come in for a meeting with me tonight. Well there’s been an incident…” You explained what happened and she was very apologetic, agreeing to come to see you right after work.

You quickly texted Charlie to let him know you’d be late.

******

Alice didn’t give you any more trouble for the rest of the day, Jacob had a bit of a bloody nose but overall he was okay.

The day went smoothly and as all of the children went home you had Alice sit and colour while you both waited for her parents. You didn’t have to wait long.

Your head lifted at the soft knock at your door, you saw an apologetic looking woman and her very bored looking husband.

“Hello, we’re so sorry! I’m Carol and this is my husband David, Alice come here and explain yourself.” She walked over to your desk to shake your hand. David followed reluctantly.

“What happened kiddo?” He asked her as she approached.

“Jacob took my notebook and wouldn’t give it back.” She looked at her mother ashamed.

“We don’t hit you know that! I’m so sorry about this - we’ll have a talk with her when we get home.” She sat at the chairs you gestured to - you noticed David’s face as Alice spoke. A sly smile, quickly wiped away to look stern. Was he proud of her?

You agreed with the need to stick up for yourself but taking a notebook was hardly a reason for two second graders to resort to a brawl. He saw you looking at him and he nodded sagely.

“We’re very sorry about this.” He wasn’t sorry.

You took him in as Carol spoke to Alice in hushed tones on her lap, he was an imposing man, tall and broad. He wore a suit and for all the world looked like a professional but there was something about him that made you blush. You had the vague sense that he was undressing you with his eyes and it made your heart race. He was very handsome, but in a sinister way.

“Never again right Alice?” You spoke to her before turning your attention to her parents. “She’ll have detention for the next two days, no recess, but I won’t keep her after school.” You spoke as neutrally as you could with Mr York's eyes boring into you. You could almost feel them burning you.

“Yes of course, that’s not a problem. We will talk about this when we get home, young lady.” Carol spoke half to you and half to her daughter. David continued to stare.

You were thankful this would be it and were just getting ready to guide them to the door when he spoke.

“How are her grades otherwise? Is she doing well?” He said it in a low tone.

You could learn to crave that voice.

Get a fucking grip

“They’re good, she’s a great student otherwise, got an A on her book report today. Just have to remember to keep our hands to ourselves right?” You smiled warmly at her, doing your best to not look him in the eye.

“That’s great to hear, thank you so much for reaching out - please feel free to contact me for anything.” Carol started gathering Alice’s things.

David continued to stare at you, you saw him boldly look you up and down as you walked around your desk to see them out. Carol was too busy getting Alice into her jacket to see him.

He looked at you like she wasn’t even there.

He smirked as he swiped his thumb across his bottom lip, his gaze focused on the length of your dress. Your eyes widened at the nerve of him, absolutely no regard for his wife or his daughter.

He was devouring you with his eyes and you did absolutely nothing to stop him. You flushed - whether from disgust or excitement you’d never know but it did not deter him. He clapped his hands together and thanked you for your time.

Your heart hammering even after they’d left.

**********

The music was blaring when you walked through the door to your little apartment. You could hear Charlie singing along as he pulled something that smelled absolutely divine out of the oven.

“Hey babe! I made dinner, I got home a bit early.” He kissed you hello as he put the lasagne on the table.

“Oh god that smells good.” You smiled as you all but dropped everything to sit and eat with him.

You both discussed how your respective days had gone, about what you both had to do and like almost every conversation you’d had during the past seven months- it ended up on the wedding. If you were honest the whole thing was starting to grate on your nerves.

You’d always known the two of you were going to get married. From the first time you saw him, he was so handsome and sweet and he seemed to live his life in order to make you happy. The wedding however, it seemed all wrong. The both of you were simple, you were the kind of people who didn’t make a big fuss.

This wedding was a big fuss.

“My mom says she’s paying for the flowers, I insisted that it wasn’t necessary, that it didn’t matter but she pushed- and you know my sister wants to help with something.” Charlie was notoriously easy going so you took his ‘insisting’ with a grain of salt.

“Your family would pay for the whole wedding if we let them.” You prodded gently, his family seemed to want this wedding more than you did. It was overwhelming.

“They just want grandchildren, they think the faster we get married the faster I’ll get you pregnant.” He laughed, you’d talked about children before and you both wanted them but you’d decided to wait a little bit. You both wanted to enjoy married life.

While showering after having cleaned up, your mind curiously wanders to a place you didn’t expect.

You were thinking about Mr York. You didn’t even really know why - yes he was handsome but it was more than that. He was intriguing, he seemed dangerous somehow.

That was surprising, why should he be dangerous? Charlie pulled back the curtain pulling you sharply out of your reverie, and scaring you half to death.

“Sorry!” He laughed as he got in with you. You felt guilty, like you’d been caught but he mistook your guilty look for fear.

“You scared the fuck out of me!” You tried to keep your heart from bursting out of your chest as you stepped into the water, rinsing the shampoo out of your hair.

You felt Charlie’s hands circle your waist as he laughed.

“Sorry babe, I didn’t mean to.” He kissed your shoulder as he joined you under the hot spray, his hands roaming over the soft skin of your belly. They slipped over your soapy skin, up towards your breasts. You closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling of his fingers as they pinched and plucked at your nipples the way he knew you liked.

He continued with his exploration, running one hand down under it, spreading your folds and honing in on your clit. Gliding over it over and over until you were panting, the other hand still on your breast. You closed your eyes as you leaned your head back onto his shoulder - your hands finding themselves in his hair.

“Faster- please” You were almost there, it was so good and the thought came to you out of nowhere. You imagine for a split second that it was Mr York in the shower with you instead of your fiancé. His fingers between your legs, his cock rubbing up against your ass and you came harder than you had any right to. Your fingers clutching at Charlie’s hair almost painfully tight.

He kissed your shoulder and turned you around to kiss you on the mouth to take it further but the guilt wouldn’t let you. You needed a few minutes to get your shit together.

“Babe, let’s wait until we’re in bed- I’m not really feeling shower sex right now.” You kissed him softly and pulled away.

“Okay honey.” He smiled at you, complacent even though his dick was hard and leaking precum, weirdly this annoyed you.

Charlie was a sexual guy, he enjoyed it. That you knew, and you couldn’t exactly complain about your sex life. He was attentive and he did his best to make you cum, he took direction well and you had no complaints about his size.

The problem was, Charlie was vanilla.

Sex was three positions if that and he barely talked at all. You had tried to get him to be a little more open and adventurous but he always reverted to his regular routine. Most of the time it was fine, you both got off and you loved him.

Sometimes however, you wanted more. You wanted excitement, you wanted passion. You wanted filth.

Charlie was sweet. You could live with sweet.

He was snoring beside you peacefully, he’d coaxed another orgasm out of you once you both got into bed. The guilt kept you awake though, because you’d imagined Mr York the whole time.

————————-

“I need all of the information you can find on this woman.” David gave your name to his contact, he had to know.

He asked Alice a few probing questions but didn’t want to push it. He didn’t need her telling her mother offhandedly that he’d been curious about you.

He had your name and place of employment, for his line of work - that was more than enough. You were a pretty thing and he was intrigued. He knew you’d seen him, he’d made sure of it. He’d also noticed you looking at him, as much as you tried not to. Saw the gorgeous flush creep it’s way up your neck when he stared at your legs.

He had to get close to you, see if his instincts were right.

He had a full report on you within the hour, he saw that you’d been teaching for about five years. That you were a few years younger than him, engaged, parents on the other side of the country, decent credit score.

All he had to figure out now was how to make his move.

————————

“Remember to show your parents your agendas! We have a trip coming up and I need everyone’s parents or guardians to sign the forms I put in them. Please do not forget. Have a great day and I’ll see you tomorrow.” The kids were frantically packing away their things as the bell wrung, you still watched them as you packed up your things. You had to remember to ask for volunteers in their agendas tomorrow- maybe you could call a few of the more friendlier parents.

A knock at the door made you jump what felt like a foot off the ground. Turning around and seeing who was there did absolutely nothing to calm you down.

“Mr York, what can I do for you?” You tried to speak as calmly as possible. Willing yourself to sound natural and nonchalant.

He walked over to you and it vaguely felt like you were being hunted. His quiet made you uneasy and your anxiety pushed you to fill the empty air with conversation.

“Everything okay with Mrs York? I hope Alice isn’t still in trouble?” He was in your personal space and it was difficult to breathe. He was so big, so tall, his eyes impossibly bright with what looked like mischief.

Never in all your time together has Charlie ever looked at you with this kind of intensity.

Annoyingly, it made you wet.

“They’re fine.” He licked his lips as he stared down at you, the bottom one was full and you had the wild urge to bite it.

What the hell is wrong with me?

You kept backing away from him slowly and he kept pressing forward, you didn’t know what to do or what he wanted but he was overwhelming you.

“I know you saw me looking at you.” He watched your mouth as he spoke and you felt like you couldn’t get your thoughts in order.

“I - I’m engaged…” You blurted it out but either he didn’t register or he didn’t care.

“And I’m married.” He got a little closer, there was a crackling of electricity between the two of you and the tingle of it seemed to be focused on your nipples and your clit. He brought his hand up and traced his thumb over your bottom lip boldly and the act shocked you into complacency, it grounded you on the spot. He saw the shock and excitement in your eyes and he probed a bit to see how far you would go.

“I thought about you. When I fucked her.”

You short circuited, your brain was a puddle and your cunt clenched. You involuntarily let out a gasp at his confession and it brought to mind the thoughts you’d had while with Charlie. You were dripping into your panties.

He pushed his thumb into your mouth a fraction and it was like a damn broke, without even knowing why or stopping to consider the consequences you took his thumb into your mouth and sucked. Hollowing out your cheeks prettily.

He groaned, bringing his thumb back out and spreading your saliva onto your lips.

He came close and you prepared yourself for a kiss but he licked your top lip, so fast you would have missed it. You gasped and he let go. Walking out the door as you caught your breath.

—————

The shame followed you like a shadow, it surrounded you as you drove home in silence.

Charlie’s face haunting you as you felt your arousal soaking your panties. You tried to justify the unjustifiable as you pulled into the parking garage of your building, telling yourself that it was a weird hallucination. You hadn’t actually sucked this man's thumb at the school like a whore. No.

Charlie was sitting on the couch going over the seating arrangement when you walked in. You dropped all of your things and walked over to him, you needed to rewrite your excitement somehow. Transfer it onto Charlie.

“Hey babe-“ you cut him off by plopping down onto his lap, and kissing him silent. He was momentarily stunned but he dropped everything and held onto you.

“You okay?” He asked smiling as he pulled away, you didn’t answer, you hastily pulled up his shirt - trying to get him to join you in your urgency.

“I want you, I’ve been thinking about you fucking me and I want to ride your cock, right here on the couch.” You lied into his ear, poisoned honey dripping from your mouth. You heard him gasp and felt him hardening beneath you.

“Jesus Christ…” Charlie wasn’t much of a dirty talk kind of guy, you wanted him to be but he always said it felt awkward. You usually didn’t push it but today Mr York’s words were branded into your brain.

“My pussy is so wet for you baby.” Another lie, but never mind that.

He groaned but didn’t say anything and it was frustrating, you needed the release however and you let it pass. You imagined Mr York saying some truly filthy things in your ear and it made you feel guilty but you couldn’t help yourself.

He let you work out your excitement and after you both hit your peak you got up and headed for the bedroom. You saw him sitting on the couch, half naked and blissed out as you walked away.

You prodded him gently when you were curled up in bed.

“Charlie, did you like what we did today? On the couch?” You wanted to ease into it.

“Yes, we’ve had sex on the couch before, I always enjoy it with you.” He kissed your forehead.

“Did you like the things I said?” You drew little patterns on his chest as you laid in the dark.

“They were pretty intense, I didn’t not like them?” You could almost feel him blushing, you tried hard not to sigh. You were going to spend the rest of your lives together there was no need to be shy.

“Why don’t you ever talk to me like that when we fuck?” You could feel him trying to retreat but you didn’t want to let him. “There’s no need to be shy around me, we’re going to get married, we should be open.” He wasn’t having any of it.

“I don’t know honey you know I get awkward, just not something I’m comfortable with I guess.”

“Maybe we could get some books or take a class or something? So many different things we could try and I want to try them with you.” You were trying to open him up, you didn’t want to imagine a life of predictable repetitive sex - no matter how much you loved him.

“Maybe, let’s revisit it again at some point. Goodnight honey.” He kissed your forehead again and turned so you were spooning him. You tried to be understanding, you tried to think about respecting his boundaries but all you came up with was Mr York’s thumb in your mouth.

———————————-

“David- David!” His head snapped back to the sound. Carol was standing in front of him with an exasperated look on her face.

“David what is going on? I’ve been calling you for the last ten minutes.” He was thinking of you.

“Sorry honey, my head is still at work. What's going on?” He gave her his most convincing smile and she shook her head, amused.

“Dinners ready, the girls want to tell you about their day. Come on, I made your favourite.” She smiled sweetly as she left his home office. The smile disappeared as fast as it’d been conjured.

---

“How was school today girls?” He couldn’t ask about you outright, had to dance around it.

“It was good, learning about the solar system.” His eldest, Molly. He smiled and asked her how she liked it, she talked about it excitedly and he enjoyed her enthusiasm.

“What about you Alice, how was school today?” His youngest was shy, but he could see his personality in her. A little more intense, a little more reserved.

“Good, we have a field trip next week.” There it is.

“That sounds nice, where are you going?” A field trip - this could do nicely.

“Museum, I have the form in my bag. I need you to sign it.” So many shadowy corners in a museum.

“Go get the form sweetheart, I don’t want to forget.” Carol prompted her.

She came back with it a few minutes later and David held it in his hands. He saw a little note on the form that made him smile despite himself.

Chaperones are always needed - please call to volunteer.

“What do you think about me volunteering for this? I could take a day and it would be nice to take some interest.” He took her hand in his and smiled warmly, looking for all the world to be a devoted father.

“Honey, that's a great idea. I’ll call tomorrow and let them know.” She was happy, and David was happy.

----

The night before a school trip always made you nervous. So many variables - it was hard enough to control a class full of seven and eight year olds in a classroom let alone in a museum. At least a couple of parents had volunteered, you saw Mrs York on the form and it made your heart skip. You imagined she’d be able to see every thought you’d had about her husband on your face.

You fell asleep thinking about him.

---

“Okay kids, let’s settle down. The bus will be here soon and I need to make sure everyone has their buddies. What’s the rule?” You asked over the excited din.

“Stay with your buddy!” They all said it in unison.

“Exactly! Now we will be there all day, we have a lot to see, you can leave your backpacks here. We’re going to have lunch there and we’ll be back in time for those of you who take the bus home. You can have a little free time while we wait for the buses.” They instantly grouped together to chat excitedly while you made sure you had everything in order. There were a couple of parents and you gave them wristbands to put on the children.

“Sorry I’m a few minutes late.” Mr York was walking into your classroom in casual clothes. What the hell was he doing here?

“Hello Mr York, you’re right on time. Where’s Mrs York? I thought she had volunteered?” You tried to ask the question neutrally but he could see the panic in your eyes.

“It was always me, whoever took her phone call must have made a mistake.” He spoke gently but it did something to you. You felt his eyes roaming your body and you flushed.

Great, this is going to be just great.

You did your best to centre your breathing while you led the children down the hall and to the buses. You could feel his eyes on you as you made your way down the hall. You did your best to ignore it.

The students lined up in front of the bus in pairs and you quickly went over the rules again - making sure to look at the three parents who were going with you. You noticed David talking to Alice, telling her to behave today and that he’d be helping you take care of the class.

Two of the parents got in first to sit at the back, Mr York waited until you got on, you were trying to focus but you couldn’t. You could feel him standing close to you and you were beginning to sweat.

You meant to sit alone but he followed closely behind you and pushed his way to the same seat as you. He took up so much space and you didn’t want to make a big fuss in front of the kids.

The bus driver closed the door and you were on your way. It would be about forty-five minutes to an hour until you got there and it hit you then how absolutely fucked you were.

The kids were excited and chatty and the din of them talking and laughing drowned out everything. You decided to focus your attention on the window and the scenery. You did not want to focus on Mr York. He was having none of it though.

“I like your dress.” He spoke into your ear and you shivered.

“Look Mr York-“

“Call me David.” He looked down at your slight cleavage and you sighed angrily.

“Look David, I don’t know what it is you think is going on but I am engaged. I am engaged to be married and you are the married father of one of my students. I would appreciate it if you could keep your interactions with me strictly professional.” You whispered angrily, trying to sound serious. He smiled pleasantly at you as if you were old friends catching up.

“Is that what you would call sucking my thumb? Professional? It seemed like you wished it was something else you’d been sucking.” His words went directly to your cunt. You saw it then, him sitting with that amused look on his face as you kneeled in front of him, with his cock in your mouth like a good girl.

Charlie.

You were in love with and about to marry Charlie.

He saw the look on your face and he smiled-

“What’s your fiancé’s name?” How dare he?

“His name is Charlie and I love him.” Why did you feel the need to explain this to him?

“That may be true, but I get the feeling that Charlie doesn’t quite know how to fuck you. Or you wouldn’t be licking your lips at the thought of my cock in your mouth. Is that it baby? You haven’t been fucked properly? I can fix that.” His words had you dripping. Charlie had never spoken to you like this and it made you so angry to compare them right now.

You closed your eyes and let the words pass over you, you had to focus. You couldn’t let this admittedly handsome, intimidating man come into your life and lay waste. He took your silence as a sign that he was right.

You felt his fingers ghost over your thigh and you felt like you’d been struck by lightning. Your eyes shot to his hand and to your shame, you hoped for something forbidden. He watched you closely.

“I think about you all the time and something tells me that you think about me too. Think about what I could do or say to get you wet enough for me to glide right in. Have you ride my cock, have your tits bouncing in my face.” His hand gripped your thigh and you whimpered slightly, involuntarily angling your body towards him.

“He doesn’t know what you need.” He hand travelled up up up ghosting along your seam, just enough to drive you insane through your panties and you put your head onto his shoulder. He stopped then and took his hand away and you came back to reality.

The guilt hit you like a tsunami and you squeezed yourself closer to the window, trying for all the world to make yourself smaller, and in turn the distance between you bigger.

He smiled and sat quietly for the rest of the ride to the museum.

——————-

The relief you felt when the bus pulled in was astonishing and you had to hold yourself back from barreling over David to get away. You felt him chuckling as you struggled to get away and you held back the urge to slap him across the face by the grace of god.

“Okay class, let’s get together with our buddies and head over to our first exhibit. If you have any questions please feel free to ask our helpers or myself. What’s the rule?”

“Stick with your buddy!” They yelled it out again.

“Exactly, that means even if you have to use the restroom you go with your buddies. Please ask one of the parents or me before you go.” You were back in your element now and it felt better. You were back in teacher mode and you told yourself that you could do this.

The morning went by relatively smoothly, you had all of the children wrangled and you made your way through the exhibits without issue. You were thankful that David kept his distance from you, he helped the children and you saw him doting on his daughter.

You had decided to block out what happened on the bus. It never happened.

By noon the kids were getting feral, you guided everyone up to the cafeteria and had them sit so the adults could grab everyone their food in shifts. All in all it went pretty smoothly and you had managed to put the whole incident out of your mind.

You let one of the parents know that you were going to sneak away to use the bathroom while the kids were all in one place and she told you to take your time.

You can do this, you told yourself as you stared at your reflection in the mirror.

You were blindsided when you came out of the bathroom, a hand covering your mouth and pulling you away into a closed off exhibit. The panic shot through you like lightning and you tried to fight your attacker off - visions of Charlie flashed through your mind, of the wedding, of your family; your students. His voice didn’t calm you.

“Stop fighting, it’s just me.” His tone suggested that this should have calmed you. It did not.

It pissed you off and once you regained your composure and stopped squirming, he loosened his grip. It gave you the opening you needed and you slapped him across the face - or you would have, but his hand shot up cat-quick and grabbed your wrist before your hand could meet its target.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” You were seething, the audacity of this man to put his hands on you. You were trying to hold the anger close- bringing it to the forefront of your mind so as to eclipse the excitement. That had no place here... right?

Why are you so fucking excited?

Why does it feel like you’ve never known this kind of excitement until now?

Get it the fuck together, think of Charlie.

“I am going to make you cum.” Those words were thrown out into the air like they meant nothing. Like it was simply a chore to be completed off a list.

He was getting closer. His movements brought to mind the wildlife documentaries that Charlie liked to watch, you could see the big jungle cat slowly stalking towards the gazelle. If you were home and watching this scene unfold on the screen, you would be yelling at yourself to run.

You couldn’t make your legs move, worse still - you didn’t really want to.

Instead you stood there, silent and unmoving. Waiting for the jungle cat to pounce on you, waiting for him to crush your neck with strong jaws and long claws.

Why were you so wet?

“I’m going to pull that short little dress up, and I’m going to make you cum with my fingers. Would you like that baby? You want me to make that little pussy cum?” He was in your space now, towering over you and you couldn’t look away. Your breath was coming hard at the filth pouring out of his mouth.

Charlie never spoke to you this way.

You felt the wall and you realised he’d been herding you, exactly where he wanted you. You looked up at him through your lashes- god he’s so tall, so broad - and his arms came up to rest on either side of your head, essentially caging you in. The heat was rolling off him, was it heat? Or was it your own excitement? You’d never be able to tell, all you knew for certain is that you were dripping. You were feral and you couldn’t stop looking at his mouth. He smiled as he leaned in close, his breath ghosting over your neck as he spoke right into your ear.

“Do you want me to? Do you want me to make you cum baby?” the low tone, the proximity, the wrongness of it. You would never admit it after but you nodded, almost imperceptibly. His smile for you then was genuine.

It felt like his hands were charged with electricity, those wands that they had at science centers that made your skin tingle. You felt it, as his fingers softly skimmed your thigh as they travelled up to your soaked center. He touched the damp spot on your panties and chuckled, then moved them aside swiftly to part your folds. You gasped when he glided his finger over your clit, over and over and over, the pressure far too light.

Your own hands found their way up to clutch at his shirt, you didn’t want to admit that you were holding him close to you. That you didn’t want him to pull away.

“Open up for me baby.” he bit at your ear as he lifted your leg to wrap around his hip, you were spread open for him while he wrapped his arm around your waist to grab at your ass. He was doing this to you during a school trip. This was a low you never thought you’d sink to.

“Just as I thought, look how wet you are - and how tight-” He slid two fingers into you and you moaned, they were thick and you were so turned on it hurt. “Don’t worry baby I’m going to take care of you, make you cum, fuck this tight pussy with my fingers - have to cum fast for me okay? We have to get back. Can you do that? Can you cum for me?” He was kissing your neck and licking your pulse point.

“Answer me, or I'll stop, be a good girl for me.” His fingers pulled out and you whimpered - grabbing at his forearm to pull it back because you needed to cum. He brought his fingers up to your mouth and you looked into his eyes as he rubbed your arousal onto your lips. Your knees almost gave out at the depravity of it, in public. While your students and the other parents waited for you. He was expecting an answer.

“Yes.” Your face was beet red and flushed and the word sealed your fate. He kissed you, rough and fast and it took your breath right out of your lungs. His tongue licked your slick off your lips and plundered your mouth while he fulfilled his promise. His fingers diving back into you, this time with the addition of his thumb on your clit.

You could vaguely hear the wet squelch of your cunt as he sped up. It was so good, it was everything and all you needed was a little push to finally leap into the abyss.

“Come on baby, you’re so fucking wet for me. I think you can take another finger.” The noises were obscene and the stretch was so good - he curled his fingers and touched something white hot and it made you cry out a little louder than you should have. His hand came up and clamped over your mouth and the filth came again. “There it is- that’s what you like right baby? Come on, cum for daddy.” You fell apart then. It was disgusting and you’d never cum this hard in your life.

You were vaguely aware of him fixing your clothes, of him licking every drop of your slick from his fingers.

You were blissed out as you walked back to the table on shaky legs, the guilt creeped in though as you slowly drifted back down to reality, you’d been gone for longer than you thought.

“Sorry about that - we got completely turned around, this place is a maze huh?” Dave spoke, quelling the annoyed looks from the other parents and smoothing it out with practised charm.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look anyone in the eye.

-----

It was hard to focus for the remainder of the trip. You could feel his eyes on you as you wound your way around the different exhibits.

The turmoil between your brain and your body threatened to drive you into madness - you could still feel him inside you and it caused your heart to race, to excite you. Your brain was scolding you. How could you let him do that to you?

Oh Charlie

——

The bus ride back to the school was a bit better, one of the other parents sat beside you and it was as if you could almost pretend that everything was normal. Or you would have been able to - had you not been able to feel David's eyes boring into the back of your head. It was a long ride home.

The school busses were waiting when you pulled into the school and you had to hurry to get your kids to your classroom to get their things. After you made sure they were okay and on the bus you went about getting ready to go home. There was a text from an unknown number in your phone - you didn’t have to guess who it was from.

Be a good girl, and free up a couple of hours for me this Sunday. I will come and get you.

You answered before you could even contemplate what it meant.

Okay.

You didn’t even bother wondering how he would know where to go.

You sat in your car, in one of the parking spaces you and Charlie had. You could see his car next to yours and you had no idea how the hell you were going to walk in there and pretend nothing had happened. How could you have done this, moreover how could you have agreed to see David again?

I’ll tell him it has to stop. Whatever it was that we did it was a horrible mistake.

Your heart was racing as you got off the elevator, every step down the hallway was another lump of stone settling in the pit of your stomach. Charlie was in the shower when you got home - you could hear the water running and all you could think of was how you were sure he’d be able to see what you did written on your face. Another stone.

“Hey babe, how was the trip?” he was all smiles and the accusatory pointed finger in your face never came. Instead he walked over to you and hugged you tightly, little beads of water dripping from his hair onto your shoulder.

“It was good, how was your day?” His voice lulled you, made you want to forget everything you’d done and it was easier trying to put the whole thing out of your mind than think about it in front of Charlie. It was a stupid mistake and it wasn’t even worth remembering. On Sunday it would be fixed. You were going to tell David to fuck off and then everything would go back to normal.

“It was good - I was thinking we could go out for dinner tonight. What do you think?” He was all smiles, all sweetness.

“Sure babe.” You tried to be happy. You tried to focus, but you could still feel the stretch of David’s fingers when you moved.

----

I’ll be there in an hour, wear something pretty for me.

The text came in and your heart started racing. You had told Charlie that you were going to the school to prepare some work for tomorrow and he had just smiled and nodded. Told you to take your time - that he loved you.

You were determined to tell David that this was not going to become a thing. It was not going to escalate. You conveniently ignored the fact that you wore your cutest sundress, your sheer panties, the matching bra. It was a confidence thing. Nothing to do with David.

I’m here.

You practically ran out the door. It was to end things, you were in a hurry to end things. There was a big SUV waiting in the visitors parking lot and you saw him sitting, looking at his phone. He smiled when he saw you and you felt the butterflies in your stomach as you got into the front seat. He gave you a once over, the shortness of your dress, the fact that your hair was done - and smiled as he drove away from your building; from your life.

Tell him, tell him to turn around and to take you back home. To leave you alone forever.

“Where are we going?” Was what came out when you opened your mouth.

“Somewhere we can be alone.” Was all he said, his hand moved and rested on your thigh as he drove. You stared at it and to your shame and excitement, you didn’t move it away. He gripped your thigh possessively, stroking the inside of it and it made you ache.

Do it - move his hand away, tell him - go on.

You put your hand on his, but you couldn’t move it away. The heat from his big palm was seeping into your skin and instead you just pressed his hand with yours.

Pathetic.

You were in an abandoned parking garage a little while later and he parked in a far corner. Your blood was pumping and you were nervous. He unbuckled his seatbelt and moved his seat all the way back, so he was far away from the steering wheel.

“David, I don’t think-” You started speaking but he cut you off.

“Come over here.” He tapped his lap and your stomach dropped, you wanted to crawl over there so bad. You stared at him and he raised his eyebrows. “Are you going to be a brat? Come over here, if I have to ask again you’re going to be punished.” You felt the wave of arousal wash over you. What could he possibly mean? You didn’t want to find out - not yet anyway.

You crawled over the console awkwardly and sat in his lap, straddling him. He smiled at you and settled his hands on your thighs.

“Such a good girl for me, did you think about me?” He lifted your dress slightly and grabbed handfuls of your ass. You couldn’t help but groan, you could feel him hardening underneath you and you didn’t even register your hands coming up to wrap around his neck. They seemed to play with the hair at the nape of his neck on their own. How could he excite you so much? “Answer me baby, when I ask you a question you need to answer me.” He was kissing your neck, and slowly undoing the buttons of your sundress.

“Yes.” You breathed as he exposed your bra, the lace so fine it was completely transparent. He smiled as he studied you. Face flushed, dress bunched up around your thighs, lips parted.

“What did you think about?” He runs the pads of his fingers across the tops of your breasts as he speaks and you can’t even begin to rationalise why you’re doing this.

“I thought about you…” you tried to be coy but you knew he wouldn’t leave it there.

“What about me, did you think about me touching you? Tell me.” He separates his body from yours, you can see that he wants you to answer before he continues. You can feel your face getting flushed.

“I thought about what we did at the museum, your hands…” you unconsciously tried to get closer to him and he smiled. He smelled so good, you could feel his cock and it made you ache.

“You thought about my hands? Be specific, baby. Tell me what you thought about.” He started kissing the tops of your breasts, slowly making his way down, kissing every inch he could reach through the fabric. You could feel the slick pooling at your entrance, you knew what he wanted. Your mind briefly went back to Charlie, to how he was intimidated by dirty talk.

“I thought about how I could still feel your fingers in my pussy when I got home. They stretched me so good.” Your face was beet red and your skin was on fire. This was what he wanted. He rewarded you by pulling your bra down, exposing your breasts. Your nipples were hard and begging for his mouth and he obliged; pulling you close so he could wrap his lips around one. His mouth was hot and you could feel his teeth just a little. Just enough to make you moan.

“Such a good girl for me, now you get a reward for being so good for daddy.” He bit your nipple a little harder than you thought and there was a bit of pain but it felt so good you let out a breathy moan. You felt him sucking and in the back of your mind, you knew this would leave a mark. Warning bells were going off, he couldn’t leave a mark. Charlie couldn’t see this.

He let go of one nipple to give the same attention to the other - it was so good you had to clutch at the back of his head, you wanted him closer. All thoughts of the marks forgotten when his tongue felt so good.

“Does it feel good? How wet are you right now baby?” He honed in on your nipple again, holding your breasts in his big hands and alternating between the two.

“Yes, god yes - it feels so good. I’m so wet for you…” All you could do was watch, watch as he licked and licked and licked until you were dizzy from the pleasure. Until you thought you might faint, until your nipples were overly sensitive and you could see the hickeys and the little bite marks.

“Show me how wet you are.” He pulled off and let you scoot back a little, you pulled your dress up and he saw the wet patch on your underwear. It was so bad it had soaked through onto his lap. The bulge in his jeans- a little darker. He groaned and skimmed his knuckle against the damp spot at your core and you shuddered. You were so keyed up from the attention he’d given your breasts that it wouldn’t take much at this point.

He undid his jeans and pulled himself out - his cock was so thick, your eyes widened - momentarily nervous. This whole thing just became real. Touching and words could be justified as a temporary madness, you didn’t know what you were doing. Sex, letting him fuck you - that would be the final line to cross. He saw the hesitation in your eyes.

You watched his hand grasp his cock and slowly start to stroke it between your legs, a pearly bead of precum on the head before his thumb swiped through it. Using it to make the strokes more fluid. He let you watch - saw your tongue lick your lips and he let you make the choice.

He waited for you to make the choice, but he didn’t make it easy.

“You see baby? You see how hard you make daddy's cock? I think about you, about how pretty you would look with it in your mouth, in your throat. About you bouncing on it - fucking you deep. Fucking my cum into you until you’re full of me.” He was working himself up, you could hear the slick strokes and you clenched, you needed him inside you.

Wordlessly, you pulled your panties to the side and scooted closer.

“Tell me. Tell me what you want.” He didn’t stop stroking and you felt yourself getting desperate. You were about to let this married man fuck you in his car, in the middle of a parking garage in broad daylight. You couldn’t remember ever being this excited in your life.

“I want your cock, I want you to fuck me - please.” You were not above begging right now.

He was merciful - he pulled you closer and rubbed his cock through your folds once - then he slid inside. The stretch made you gasp. It hurt a little bit, even with how wet you were.

“Look how well you’re taking me baby, I know it’s a lot - so tight, god you feel so good.” He rested his head on your chest while he let you get accustomed. “Need to get you a little wetter, wet enough to take my big cock.” He focused on your nipples again, making you cry out. You were so full and your nipples were so sensitive you didn’t think you could take any more.

“Please - please move, please make me cum.” You were so overwhelmed you were on the verge of tears. He bucked up once and you gasped - he was pressed up against the spongy spot inside of you that made you see stars and you were moaning, you rolled your hips and as he bucked up into you and you knew the coil was about to snap. He snaked his hand down - pressing his thumb to your clit. Your slick was drenching his lap and you told him i’m gonna cum and he gripped your ass to really buck up and when you came he bit at your breast again.

“God you’re pussy gets so fucking wet when you cum, fuck - squeezing me so fucking tight, I’m going to think about this cunt later.” He came with a groan - open mouthed kisses on your breasts. You could feel his cum dripping out of you and you gave a silent prayer that you were on birth control.

You were not a virgin. You’d had sex before - you’d had good sex before. This wasn’t good sex. This was great sex -this was otherworldly and it scared you with how good you felt. Even with the bites and hickeys on your tits. How were you supposed to hide this? It was hard to feel the guilt when he was rubbing your back like this, when he was kissing your neck and loving you like this.

“You did so good baby - such a good girl for me.” He pulled you down to him by the back of your neck and he kissed you - his tongue running along the seam of your mouth. You granted him entrance and it was consuming, your hands gripped his hair and you clenched around him. He rewarded you with a groan into your mouth. Even with the guilt you couldn’t get close enough. His praise was like a tonic - you needed it and his kisses. You whimpered into his mouth and he knew. He knew what you needed. “My best girl, my beautiful girl. Took me so well, made me cum with that pretty pussy.” He kissed your neck and rubbed your back lovingly and you felt like a cat in a bright patch of sun under his praise. Cuddly and satiated as you burrowed into the crook of his neck.

“A few more minutes and then we have to go home.” He spoke into your hair as he let you take your comfort.

----

“You okay babe?” Charlie's voice startled you when you walked into the apartment, your tote bag full of school things, untouched on your shoulder.

“Yes - why?” You answered too quickly - you expected him to see everything written on your face. You could still feel David's cock inside you, his cum currently pooled in your panties. Could feel your breasts were a little sore from his attention and that excited you more than it had any right to.

“Nothing just looks like you’ve seen a ghost - did you get a lot done? I made dinner by the way - your favourite.” He smiled from the couch, he was playing video games which was good. Would mean he wouldn’t intrude on you in the bathroom. The guilt was hot and heavy in your gut but you plastered a smile on your face.

“Yeah, lots of activities planned for the kids tomorrow. Thanks babe- i’m going to shower quickly.” You smiled and came over to kiss him on the forehead quickly. Making sure not to linger too quickly. You had no idea if you smelled like David. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything.

“Okay honey, I’ll wait for you to eat.” He went back to his game.

----

This was not good.

You were staring at yourself in the mirror naked, your breasts were full of hickeys, little bruises. Your nipples were puffy from David’s mouth and the soreness between your legs was insistent. The tell tale heart only it was under your clothes instead of your floorboards.

How the fuck am I going to hide this?

The lips of your sex were sensitive when you washed, you kept replaying the whole thing over in your mind and you still couldn’t believe you’d done this. Not only had you done it, you’d enjoyed it immensely. His words, god his words.

You knew it was wrong, but you couldn’t help but compare them, Charlie and David. Polar opposites, especially in how they made you feel.

Charlie was dependable, he was home - pure comfort and love.

David was excitement, sex and filth and he made you so wet you couldn’t stand it. When he called you his good girl something inside you luxuriated, something was fulfilled that you didn't even realize needed fulfilling. You knew though, you knew this had to be a one time thing.

It couldn’t continue - you ignored that thing inside you that slithered, whispered that you couldn’t stop now - it was too good. You were really good at ignoring things it seemed.

It could have been considered cruel that Charlie’s blind acceptance of your excuse as to why you didn’t want to have sex annoyed you. You ignored that too.

---

David smiled at the wet spot on his jeans when pulled into his driveway.

You had been so responsive, so open to his touch. So receptive of his words and his actions.

The look on your face when he had your tits in his mouth had made him so painfully hard, he was rougher than he meant to be. His original plan had been to ease you into it - soft touches and soft words until he knew you were ready but that little dress, the sheer bra. You were going to be trouble and he couldn’t wait.

It was clear that whoever the jackass was you were engaged to - he wasn’t doing you justice. He wasn’t wringing pleasure out of you like he should be. He could see how much you had enjoyed his attention - even the roughness, the bites and the marking. Thinking about those marks and hickeys on your nipples excited him even now.

He was glad he was home alone - he could put his clothes to wash.

He had so many plans.

---

You managed to put David out of your mind when you went back to work. Your kids took up so much of your energy and it was nice to feel normal, you went so far as to delete his messages on your phone. Not before you saved his name as D, but nevermind that.

After a few days with no contact, you could almost pretend that you had hallucinated the whole thing. Until you saw the -thankfully- fading hickeys on your chest. You had told Charlie that you weren't feeling your best, that you wanted to keep your shirt on during your coupling and as always he agreed happily.

Seemed he could sense your inner peace, a message had come through late in the week while you were on your lunch break.

Free up Saturday night, be ready by 8

Your heart was racing, you could feel it in your clit. You didn’t answer, you wanted to make sure you could actually get away before responding but he didn’t like that. Another text came through.

I expect an answer.

Okay.

You texted back quickly.

Okay what…?

Oh god - you knew what he wanted you to write and it felt so wrong, so dirty but it excited you so much.

Okay daddy.

You blushed and covered your face, almost embarrassed, needing to see his reply but not wanting to face it at the same time.

That’s my good girl. Saturday at 8.

His praise was everything, it made your heart sing, made you feel light and giddy. You like being his good girl don’t you? That slithering thing again - you ignored it. It shamed you that the only thing you could do for the rest of the day, was try to think of a way to get rid of Charlie for the weekend.

—-

Charlie seemed pleasantly surprised, you had -very sneakily- messaged his best friend Jack that he should plan a boys weekend. That you thought he needed to have some fun. To stop thinking about the wedding. Oh god the wedding.

Jack had told you that Charlie was lucky you were so cool and that he’d plan something.

“Are you sure babe? I don’t have to go- it’s just a weekend at Jack’s cottage but I’m sure it’ll be fine if you came or if I stayed here.” You could see he wanted you to be happy, you stomped away the guilt.

“No you go ahead, Jack will be happy to have the boys there without the girlfriends or fiancé’s.” You gave him your most convincing smile. He smiled, promising that if you needed anything he would come back at the drop of a hat.

Not likely. You stomped the slithering thing down too.

----

Charlie left on Thursday night, Jack insisted they stay there until Monday morning and you talked Charlie into going. You relished the idea of being alone, pretending at least in some fucked up part of your brain that you were single. That David was single - just two single adults without families, without any responsibilities or commitments.

When Saturday finally came you were on edge, you had started getting ready a couple of hours before in your excitement. You didn’t want to delve too deep into what that meant but nevertheless.

You focused your energy on making sure your hair looked good, moisturizing your skin - meaningless things that took up your time and helped you conveniently ignore that you were prepping for sex with a married man while your fiance was with his friends.

I’m here.

Your heart leapt, you spritzed your best perfume and made your way out. You couldn’t help but smile as you made your way down.

He was serious when you got into the car and for a moment you were afraid you’d displeased him somehow, it should have worried you how much you craved his approval - his praise.

“Hi.” You said shyly - hoping he’d notice your dress but he didn’t. He drove without a word. What had happened? You thought back to how he had comforted you - held you close and rubbed your back. You wanted that, you wanted a little tenderness before the filth came. It seemed as though he sensed your panic and he placed his hand on your thigh- it calmed you more than it should have.

“Hi baby.” he gave you a little smile and the slithering thing stretched and luxuriated. Everything was okay.

“Where are we going?” You asked him - even though you knew he probably wouldn’t tell you but he surprised you.

“To my house - I’m going to fuck you in my bed.” He spoke casually, completely unphased. His eyes focused on the road, on the streetlights and signs. He couldn’t see how your heart leapt, how the heat spread from your face to your ears, leaving splotches of pink on your chest.

“But - what about?” You couldn’t bring yourself to say the words, your wife.

“She took the girls to their grandparents - I have the house to myself for the weekend. So i’m going to take advantage. Going to take you home - spread you out on my bed and I’m going to do all of the things I’ve been thinking about this whole week.” He spoke as he turned onto a neat little street, full of spaced out homes. Houses that screamed soccer moms and wall-street dads. White picket fences and minivans.

The house both matched him and it didn’t. It made sense that he’d be able to afford this - your thoughts went back to the designer bag Mrs. York brought to your meeting. The SUV you were sitting in had leather seats, it was probably brand new, Carol probably drove a Mercedes. They obviously had money.

You noticed that the lights outside the house were off - didn’t want his neighbours to see him bringing a woman who was definitely not his wife home on a Saturday night. He guided you to the house wordlessly and the guilt reared its ugly head at the sight of two bikes, casually tossed onto the porch. This man was married; had a family and here you were - wet and itching to get underneath him.

It was worse when you got in the house, his wife very much present in all things. Her shoes at the door, her sweater draped over a tasteful sectional. Little avatars of his children were scattered here too - dolls clothes, the evidence of a school project you had assigned. Graded work and colourful pictures drawn by little hands held up by souvenir magnets on the fridge. Visible even from outside the kitchen. Evidence of his life which shouldn’t have had any space for you.

Tell him to take you home right this minute your brain berated you. Your conscience was begging you to take back your life- this could only end badly. You thought of your upcoming wedding, of your sweet fiance who doted on you. On the boring unfulfilling sex the slithering thing added.

You thought all these things and more, but your legs carried you wherever he led. Your pussy dripped for him, your mouth stayed shut. Instead you followed him dutifully up the stairs - passed rooms with colourful block letters, rooms his daughters slept in. The cream coloured carpet under your feet was plush and it cushioned the sound of your steps - steps that took you passed a home office. You could see him there, sitting and working while his daughters played. While his wife cooked dinner.

You had no business here and yet, you kept walking.

The bedroom was tasteful, it was decorated with soft colours, taupes and beiges. The bed was neatly made - piled high with pillows and cushions. You could see them on this bed, David and Carol here, fucking in this bed. It was a curious feeling, you weren’t jealous; you had no reason to be. You had Charlie and he had Carol, was he looking for the same thing in you that you had found in him? He didn’t seem like the kind of man to settle.

You were looking around; so lost in your thoughts you barely heard him approach you and before you knew it he was wrapped around you and the thoughts melted away. His hands burned a path across your skin wherever they touched you.

“I fuck my wife in this bed. I fuck her and think of you. I think about how wet you got when I got your tits out. How wet you get when you cum.” he spoke into your ear and you had to take a deep breath, the ease with which he spoke to you like this was astounding. He walked you toward the bed until you had no choice but to sit.

“You look so pretty when you blush baby.” he ran his hand through your hair, gripping it a little tight, pulling it back so your neck was craned up to him - it pulled a gasp out of your mouth.

“I keep thinking about you like this - looking up at me.” He was taking in everything about you - his gaze travelling the length of your body. “I don’t want to have to ask you things twice tonight. I know you’re going to be a good girl. Are you excited?”

“Yes, very excited.” You answered quickly and he smiled.

“Open your mouth for me baby, show daddy how excited you are.” He started undoing his pants and you unconsciously scooted closer to him. Everything about him lit a fire within you and the thought of his cock in your mouth was making you drool.

He was already hard, you looked up at him through your lashes; tongue out and ready.

“My pretty girl - look at you, so gorgeous like this. Mouth open ready for my cock.” He held himself in one hand while the other held your chin. You licked the bead of precum from the tip and almost moaned. “Tongue out.” He thrust into your mouth slowly- letting you get accustomed to his size, pushing a little deeper each time. You made to raise your hands but he pulled away.

“No baby, not yet, let me fuck your mouth, be good for me - get your tits out for me.” You moaned as you pulled your shirt and bra down. He groaned at the faint marks on your nipples from the last time you were together and continued.

You were so wet, you could feel your panties sticking to you. You sat there as still as you could while he repeatedly slid his cock into your mouth. He would push until he hit your throat and wait until you gagged and then pull out, until you felt the tears sliding down your cheeks. You felt depraved with his precum and your spit dripping onto your chest but the sounds he was making were worth it.

“Look at you, so fucking pretty like this baby, you’re being so good, such a good girl for me. I could cum just like this.” You moaned at his words, at his praise, at the taste of him. He switched your positions so you were standing between his spread legs on the bed. He slowly took your clothes off, kissing your stomach as he went.

“Look at that- look how wet this pretty pussy is. Is all this from having my cock in your mouth baby?” He ran his fingers along your lower lips, all pretty and glossy for him. He kept his touch feather light while he waited for a response.

“Yes, yes you make me this wet, your hands, your mouth, your cock - you.” You brought your hands up to touch his hair and he let you, his hand keeping that slow rhythm - driving you mad with want. He licked at your nipples again while you stood there, steadily gripping his hair tighter and tighter. He pulled away momentarily to take the rest of his clothes off, and when he was done you walked over to him again but before you could mount him he got up and walked around to the side of the bed facing a full length mirror.

You made to straddle him but he stopped you, turning you so you faced away from him; he wanted you to see yourself.

“Look at you, look at how pretty you look. You’re going to watch as Daddy fucks you. We’re both going to watch you bounce on my cock.” He kissed your hip, and bit at your asscheek playfully. You swallowed hard, thinking back to Charlie and knew he never would have thought of this.

He pulled you down and guided himself into your soaked center- the stretch of him making you groan and flutter around him. He spread your legs with his knees, you could see where you were joined in the mirror and the vision of you like that was dizzying. You could hardly recognize yourself like this, your skin was flushed, lips parted, hair dishevelled. You could still see your spit on your chest - you gasped when he bucked up.

“Look how well you take me? Look how well you're taking my cock, does it feel good? Do you like watching?” He moved his hands from their steady grip at your hips, up to grab your tits.

“Yes - god yes Daddy, it feels so good.” You were unhinged. Feeling his cock splitting you open was one thing, seeing it disappear into your body brought the whole thing to another level.

“My best girl, this is my pussy. Mine.” His movements were getting frantic and you couldn’t help but moan, your slick soaking his lap at his words. “Say it, tell me it’s mine.” He brought one hand down to rub perfect little circles at your clit and your climax raced up to hit you. You came with a god yes and he stilled his movements. Your cunt squeezing him so tightly he could barely move. He stood up quickly and put your hands up against the mirror without pulling out.

“Hold still for me, I want you to watch yourself get fucked.” You moaned, you were so wet the sounds were obscene, a wet slap against your ass. It was so dirty, the way he grabbed at you. The way he held your shoulder so he could fuck you harder than you’d ever been fucked and it was too much. You felt on the verge of tears at the intensity but he kept going, until you felt him cum inside you. Felt him dripping out of you and onto that lush carpet.

You couldn’t remember how many times he’d made you cum. All you knew was you were tired, your body spent, your cunt was sore, your tits were sore - your muscles. Everything - but still he wanted more.

He pulled you into the shower to wash your combined pleasure off, but he coaxed more pleasure out of you with his fingers as the water soothed you slightly.

You laid in his bed, maybe even in Carol’s spot with his head between your thighs. He told you how good your pussy tasted, how he owned it; and he did.

--------------------------------------

*let me know if you don't want to be tagged in all things Pedro*

As always - thanks to you my angels for letting me send random passages and long pieces of writing for your opinions lol - I literally wouldn't post without you. @foli-vora 💖@frannyzooey 💖 @mouthymandalorian💖

Tag list: @frannyzooey @foli-vora @danniburgh @sambucky21 @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @mouthymandalorian @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl @sleep-tight1 @softdindjxrin @wheresarizona @sherala007 @marydjarin @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @lori-tovar @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @greeneyedblondie44 @maxwell--lord @princessxkenobi @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @thisshipwillsail316

#dave york x reader #dave york #dave york x you #suburban murder daddy #dave york pit #dave york fanfiction #equalizer 2 #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #dave york x fem!reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader

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gotham-ruaidh · 4 years ago

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Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

This story takes place during the summer of 1987. It's the time of the Cold War, and heavy metal, and Just Say No.

Ten chapters, each with a specific song as its soundtrack.

I'm so excited to finally share it with you.

----

Chapter 1: Starry Eyes

Soundtrack: "Starry Eyes," Mötley Crüe, 1981 [click here to listen]

It was quiet here in the mountains.

Claire Beauchamp drew in a long, shaky breath of clear, crisp air, and tucked her legs up onto the seat of the Adirondack chair. Watching the sun set over the valley.

Gripping the arm of the chair with shaky hands.

Behind her on the deck, a dozen or so strangers – men and women – shuffled into their own chairs, or to square tables with board games under one arm. Chatter wafted through the door that led into The Ridge’s main building.

The brochure that Joe Abernathy had pressed into her hands, sitting in the back seat of his Jaguar sedan while his wife Gail drove them to the airport, described The Ridge as a residential treatment facility. Her mind was still reeling from the intervention, and that Gail had already packed her a duffel bag stuffed with essentials – it had all been so seamless.

There were many things Claire had wanted to block out in the two years since she’d left Frank and everything had fallen apart. Many things she had shut out from the world around her, paralyzed by pain. But she hadn’t lost all of her faculties quite yet.

Because no matter what The Ridge called itself, no matter how beautiful the landscaping of its grounds, or the plush cushions on the chairs, or the gourmet meals prepared by the in-house chef (herself five years in recovery, or so the brochure proudly proclaimed), there was no hiding what it really was.

Rehab.

Claire was there because she was an addict.

And she would stay there until she had unfucked her life.

“Excuse me?”

She turned to see a tall man, red hair down to his shoulders, colorful tattoos covering every inch of his arms and disappearing beneath the sleeves of a well-fitted black t-shirt.

“May I sit next to you?”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

He flopped down into the chair, crossed his long legs, and lay both palms on the armrests, thumbs tapping a quick beat.

“First day?”

It had been forty six hours since her last fix, and pain sliced her skull. She hadn’t gone this long without in more than a year. “Yes,” she murmured.

Now his fingers joined in the tapping. “Thought so. The new ones always come in the middle of the day – that’s why Group is always in the afternoons. So we can have our individual sessions in the morning, and meet all together in the afternoon. It helps to stick to a schedule.”

She turned in the chair to look at him. He wasn’t looking at her – just gazing straight ahead – but he kept talking. “Anyway, it’ll just be a few minutes until dinner. I hope you like Mexican – they take Taco Tuesdays pretty seriously around here.”

She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I can’t remember your name. I know we introduced ourselves at Group, but it’s all just a blur.”

He turned to face her, and she could hear his smile. “Don’t worry about it. You’re Claire – pills addict. That’s what you told us, anyway.”

“It’s true.”

“Well then.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Jamie – I’m an alcoholic. Bourbon, mostly. And a little bit of cocaine, now and again.”

She gripped his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m a sex addict, too,” he added. “John – my therapist here – he said that the more honest I am, the better it will be for me later on.”

“I appreciate your honesty,” she said, not quite sure what else to say.

“I’ve hurt a lot of people by not being honest, and by drinking, and not being honest about my drinking.” He folded his hands in his lap. Lallybroch read one tattoo inching up his left arm, and Ellen read another. “I’m on the tenth step. I’ve learned a lot so far.”

Claire stared down at her own hands – bare, except for her mother’s silver wedding band, which Uncle Lamb had given her when she was twelve. “Well, if we’re going for honesty – I’m a trauma surgeon, at one of the top hospitals in Boston. My asshole ex-husband used to hit me, and I prescribed myself some ludes to deaden everything. I wrote out the scripts to him, then took them to the pharmacy myself.” She pursed her lips, feeling his eyes on her. “I thought I had it under control – I thought that nobody noticed. Until I showed up high one day, and made a stupid mistake, and almost killed a patient.”

He was strangely quiet – and after silently counting to twenty, Claire looked up at him. He was still tapping his fingers against the armrest of the chair, though in a more structured, organized rhythm. Nodding his head. Thinking.

“It was my best friend who got me here,” he said softly. “I’ve known him since we were kids – he even married my sister. He saw what I was doing to myself, how much I was hurting her, and hurting the thing that he and I had worked so hard to build.” A spray of black and white stars flexed above his elbow. “Who got you here?”

“My best friend. We went to medical school together – he was my man of honor at my wedding. He and his wife staged a full-on intervention.”

Jamie’s brows lifted. “Wow.”

She nodded, encouraged. “I’d already been indefinitely suspended without pay from the hospital. I figured, what do I have to lose?”

“Yeah. We have to reach that point.”

A metallic clang pierced the air – and Claire jumped.

Jamie smiled. “That’s the literal dinner bell. Like I said, I hope you like tacos.”

Claire slid forward in the chair and stood, stretching. “I could eat anything right about now. I’m not too picky.”

Now Jamie stood – and smiled down at her. “I’m helping get everyone seated tonight – we all pick up chores around here. See you in there?”

She smiled back. “Yeah. And thanks for talking to me.”

“No sweat.” Quickly he stepped away from her and across the deck toward the door back inside.

“Hey.”

Claire turned to see a woman – young, dark-haired, size zero – remove her enormous sunglasses.

“Yes?”

“I can’t believe you were talking to him!” she exclaimed.

Claire shoved her hands into her pockets. “What do you mean?”

The woman shook her head. “Do you even know who he is?”

“He introduced himself. Seemed nice enough. Why?”

The woman huffed and flipped her hair over one shoulder. “That’s Jamie Fraser. You know – the singer and lead guitarist in Print?”

“Print?” Claire searched her scattered memory. “Isn’t that some hard rock band?”

“Not just some band – the biggest band in the world for at least five years now. Like, dozens of hits, videos on MTV 24/7, big stadium tours, and armloads of awards. I’ve been trying to get his attention since I got here! And he just walked right up to you!”

It had been a long day. Claire was hungry, and tired, and wanted nothing more than an aspirin and a pillow – maybe a taco first. Definitely not any more time with this girl.

“Well, thanks for the info – ”

“Geneva,” the woman explained. “I’m an alcoholic. You?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Claire made a beeline for the door.

#outlander #outlander fanfic #little bit better than i used to be #here we go

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newtonsheffield · 3 years ago

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Any chance of getting some spicy royals content on this fine Sunday? After they’re married/during their engagement, I have a vision of them doing their events and then going back to palace and just like tearing each other’s clothes off and doing it on any and all available surfaces.

My friend, you understand the Royals vibe.

Their whole romance started because essentially they couldn't keep their hands off one another. That's not going to change when they're together, in fact, it makes it all a little worse. The young queen and her future husband are well known for probably being too in love.

Kate wasn't stupid, she knew what the entire country was saying about her when rumours of her relationship with Anthony started leaking from the palace as these things often did. And she supposed she was a good part to blame. People couldn't help but notice the Security that lined the corridor outside Anthony's flat, and really that meant there had to be someone of note inside, and there was, of course, the very public way Anthony had gone about things. It didn't take long for the rumours to start.

She called off the wedding for him

It was all arranged for publicity

The Queen Regent demanded she marry him if not Stirling

He's a traitor and so must she be.

It was vaguely amusing honestly, the idea that Mary of all people would be encouraging Kate to do anything to Anthony that wasn't punching him in the stomach. The palace PR team had practically begged her not to acknowledge Anthony publicly

"All due respect Your Highness, This will be a disaster." Jenkins had said, the bridge of his nose pinched in his fingers, barely 2 days into her relationship with Anthony,

Kate had bristled, "What are you suggesting, Mr Jenkins?"

"I'm suggesting, that publicly, Our new Queen has no consort, whatever you do in private is of course your own business."

Kate had frowned, "And what about when we get married." A small hiss escaped several people in the room and Kate had pretended not to see the way Mary stiffened beside her, plowing ahead. "Surely eventually I'll have to marry someone, what do you suggest then?"

And no one had really seemed to have an answer for her, which of course meant the answer was clear.

Hopefully you'll come to your senses before then!

But it hadn't been necessary in the end. Sophie had sent them to a primary school, and aided by a rather adorable Hyacinth Bridgerton, Kate and Anthony (Kathony as they'd been dubbed) had emerged as they country's new it couple. Requests poured in for comment, the were star crossed lovers people that certainly weren't supposed t fall in love but couldn't resist the pull. And allegedly, everyone could see it. Just from the way they looked at one another.

It seemed every day in those first few months blurry pictures emerged of them, Anthony's head resting on her shoulder on a street corner, Kate's legs wrapped around his waist as he carried her through the garden on his back, Anthony crowding her against a tree their lips nearly touching. It was relentless, and rather than sullying the image of the royal family, it seemed to make public opinion soar. Yes, their new queen was young, beautiful, and very much besotted with her grouchy boyfriend. It really was quite the narrative, and not very far from the truth. Before long reports of them slipping away at public events seemed to emerge, and this the palace could not abide.

"Kate, please, please do not sneak out of this event." Sophie was practically begging, looking sternly between her and Anthony. "I mean it, "I get it, you just got engaged, and it's adorable that you're so happy but Can we stay to the end of one event this month?"

"Ahh Sophie, when you look this good, lady's are bound to drag you behind a topiary animal for a quickie." Anthony had said, with that insufferable smirk on his face."

Kate had scoffed. "Won't be a problem, Sophie, Anthony won't be getting any for a while."

As it turns out, it was a problem. Before they'd even left the palace Kate was warm. Anthony had been sitting in the small living area attached to her suite by the time her styling team had finished flitting around her, and honestly, the sight of him made her mouth go dry.

He was wearing a light grey suit, the waistcoat of which had a light checked pattern through it, cut tightly across his broad shoulders, his red tie and pocket square in stark contrast. She didn't really need to look at them, she'd known before she even walked in what colour they would be, they always matched, Anthony insisted upon it. Insisted on her crest being neatly embroidered into them, and it was a little unflattering but it aways sent a little possessive thrill through her.

She'd cleared her throat and he'd looked up from his phone, smile already in place though it turned just slightly predatory at the sight of her.

"Well, well, your majesty, don't you look lovely this evening?" His fingertips had trailed over her bare back a little delightfully.

Kate had scoffed, her cheeks burning, "we promised hands to ourselves tonight."

Anthony laughed, "There's almost no way you're going to be able to manage that, Darling. I look delectable this evening."

God his arrogance was startling, even if he wasn't far off the mark. "You look average."

He wasn't deterred. "I'll make you a deal, Princess" She'd been the queen for months but he still called her by her original title, his eyes shining at her. "If we stay until 11:30, I'll give you a reward."

A shiver had run down her spine as she'd thought about last night when he'd bent her over the back of the sofa, his hands hot against her. "Won't be a problem. Prepare to get on your knees for me."

"It would be my pleasure."

By the time they'd been there an hour, Kate was struggling, Anthony's hand was hot on her back, his eyes burning into hers as he laughed and smiled, his glasses shining in the dim lighting, and it didn't help that she was sure the air conditioning was broken.

And he wouldn't leave her alone. Usually at these events after a while they were tugged in different directions, mingling with this lord and that, as directed by their teams. But tonight Anthony shrugged off all of his instructions, keeping his arm like a vice around her, the smell of his cologne a little overwhelming, his deep voice rumbling through the both of them, his finger tapping his watch every time her own hand slipped under his jacket or to the edge of his trousers, a stupid smirk on his face. God he was absolutely unbearable, and she wanted him so fucking much, but she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.

Her eyes didn't leave his watch from 11:28, counting down the seconds as they slipped by, clearing her throat as soon as 11:30 ticked around.

"Can you have the car brought around Steve?"

Anthony's smirk intensified into something like a wolfish grin as they waved once more to the assembled party before they slipped out the side doors.

"Well, Your majesty, very impressive restraint shown tonight." his voice was like gravel in her ear, both hands on her waist now, one on either side, his teeth already nipping at her neck, it was all she could do not to groan loudly.

As soon as the car door was opened, Kate had tugged Anthony inside, her hand wrapped around his tie, his hips bucking against her at the sharp tug she gave it.

"What are you doing?" Her own voice was rough as Anthony attempted to settle into the seat beside her, his eyebrows raised.

"Sitting down so we can go home and fuck?" There was something so innocent about the way he said it, that made her heart flutter with love for him, his hand fiddling nervously with his glasses.

Kate clucked her tongue, tugging on his tie until his knees were resting on the floor of the limousine in front of her. "But we have such a long drive home, Lord Bridgerton, you better get to work."

Anthony's eyes darkened immediately, his hands tugging roughly at the hem of her dress, calming as he slipped underneath it, his lips trailing up her thighs, hands forcing her legs apart.

"Fucking hell I wanted to crawl under this dress the minute I saw you, wanted to do it right there in that fucking room again."

Kate tried to force her voice into something like nonchalance, failing miserably as she shifted her hips a little desperately "Well it would have certainly given the Lords something to tut about, you know how they like that."

His chuckle was slight muffled through the layers of her dress. "They're just jealous, they don't get to have you."

And then his mouth started moving over her, hard and relentless, and fuck she couldn't breathe. The privacy partition was thankfully already up as it always was on the way home from events, but still, Kate knew the driver, and Steve who always rode in the front of her car could hear her, and there was something oddly thrilling about it. Oddly thrilling about the obscene noises that were pulled from her chest, about the soft sound of Anthony's mouth on her, the soft moans falling from his lips at the taste of her, his voice coaxing against her.

"That's it, Kate, you've been such a good girl for Daddy."

Her eyes rolled back in her head, unable to help herself as her hips bucked against him helplessly, desperately seeking just a little more friction.

"Please, Anthony, Please."

He chuckled again and then he started moving impossibly faster, his fingers joining his tongue, forcing her higher and higher, she could see the reflection of them in the window as the streetlights passed, th obscene image of them branded on the back of her eyelids, And everything shattered. A soft scream tore through her chest, Anthony humming happily in response as her chest heaved, her breathing erratic.

Anthony's head popped out from under her dress, checking his watch a little dramatically.

"Well that took 5 minutes so I think I can probably do that another 3 times before we get home."

He managed another 4, one rolling against the other like an endless wave, her screams getting louder and louder, condensation covering the windows in the back of the car. And Anthony's smug smile as he tugged her boneless from the car, really was absolutely insufferable.

#royals #spicy sunday🌶#kathony #anthony x kate #anthony bridgerton #kate sheffield #kate sharma #molly's asks and answers

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yuichi-ro · 2 years ago

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Draken and I agree on one overwhelming fact, the main color has to be pink

There are no ifs ands or buts about it the main focus is pink and from there Draken learns that there are so many more shades of pink than he ever knew and honestly, he’s in love with all of them

Mitsuya helps a lot and it’s not a surprise that Mitsuya helps alter/make the dress I wear which excites him to no end since he never gets to do plus size outfits

The dress is his wedding gift but so is letting out the hem to Draken’s suit because lord knows it was awful trying to find the right size and he bitched about his ankles/socks showing too much for some weird reason

We get married in the middle of July, it’s not cold, its not wet, I have no idea why Draken’s focused on his ankles and yet I digress and Mitsuya has too many fun late nights with Draken fusing over the actual outfits

It’s a big wedding, outdoors, with so many smiling faces and a bright clear summer day for everyone to enjoy it from sun rise to sun set

And a good way for neither of us to realize until later on that I might have been a little pregnant on our actual wedding day

Everyone from Toman (+ the weird extra’s like Inui) are there except Mikey but there’s a reserved spot for him at the front row with his placement name card as well as plate of dorayaki in it’s spot

Inui and Mitsuya are Draken’s groomsmen and honestly it’s the cutest thing to see all three of them standing there while Draken tries not to cry

Honestly it’s a good thing no one has kids yet and we don’t have a ring barer/flower girl because I think Draken would have crying sooner than later

Not crying at all is not successful and Draken ends up teary eyed during the vows ceremony and that bastard agreed we didn’t write our own vows but thank god I’m good at thinking things on the spot because he’s a babbling idiot even after having written this all down with Mitsuya and Inui

Speaking of them, both men hand Draken their pocket squares more than once and it doesn’t help he’s still a teary eyed mess who can’t stop smiling

Jackass makes me end up teary eyed I told him not to do this for this exact reason I swear to god

The reception is beautiful and intimate among family and friends

We don’t whisk away exceptionally quickly to a honeymoon, in fact at the end of the day we stay back to help clean up with the wedding party

Once everyone is gone we sit at the venue and eat the piece of cake we asked Inui to leave before we have to pack up and leave

Alone together is when I smoosh a bit of Draken’s nose and he does the same but only after I threaten him Mitsuya will kill him if he stains the dress or suit

We’re both tired after the ceremony and clean up but Draken says he has a surprise for me

Minor threat that it better not be stupid but Draken’s a grinning fool and says to just trust him when I’m a tired cranky recently married woman

Doesn’t let me change out of my dress and doesn’t change out of his suit either when he gets us on his motorcycle without telling me where we’re going

Where we end up? Its the first place Draken and I hung out alone together.

A tiny under lit park that we use to sit on the swings after school or in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep

July means it doesn’t get dark soon so Draken makes us stay out there until the lights come on and he even stops by the crumby little convenient store we use to count change at to gets drinks

Me in my wedding dress and him in his suit, sipping on overly sugary drinks swinging in the swings holding hands talking about our honeymoon that we 100% haven’t planned yet but totally intend to never take because we never get the chance to after finding out we’ll be expecting first kid the following month

#draee.♡#three.selfships #do not reblog

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thisbrokenmask · 4 years ago

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Matching Pair

pairing: female reader x Kim Namjoon

genre: fluff, very light angst

word count: 2,266

warnings: brief mentions of struggling to conceive, hella fluff

summary: you return from a day of shopping with a surprise for your husband.

a/n: so, this fic is unbeta’d and was written on my phone, but I was too excited to write it after getting some very wonderful news today - I found out I’m going to become an auntie for the very first time next summer! I’m beyond excited, and it ended up giving me inspiration for how to finally use the ‘Fuzzy Boots’ prompt on my @btsholidaybingo card!

“Joonie?” you call out for your husband as you close the front door of your home, already feeling the heat of the house warming you from the growing winter chill outside. Gently putting the shopping bags containing your few new purchases down to the side, you take off your shoes and your coat and put them in the closet by the front door. You don’t hear an answering call from Namjoon, but you do find his house keys still in the little cubby in the closet when you hang yours back up, so you know he’s home.

Heart fluttering and excitement rolling in your tummy, you grab the handles of your shopping bags and head upstairs, your bare feet sinking into the carpet of the stairs with quiet relief. Even though you decided against heels today, the several hours you spent searching for the perfect items has still left them aching and you once again pat yourself on the back for choosing a thick pile when you decorated the house.

You bite your bottom lip to try and hold back your grin as you head to your bedroom to deposit all but one of your shopping bags, although you can’t help the slight skip in your walk as you once again go over what’s about to happen. Leaving your discarded purchases at the foot of the bed to sort out later, you clutch the most important one tightly as you seek out your spouse.

Surprisingly, he’s not in his home studio, the small soundproof room normally your first port of call on the rare days Namjoon doesn’t head into the BigHit buildings to work. No, instead you find him in the little snug-come-library at the end of the hall, a slight dip in his brow from how concentrated he is on the words in front of him.

The library was a room you both insisted on having when you found this house, as you both needed somewhere to store your vast collections of books you had amassed over your lives. The custom floor-to-ceiling shelving had been fitted perfectly for the room, with a few open spaces left for artwork to break up the visual of hundreds of book spines.

While your respective hoards of literature had combined, there were still traces of your individual hobbies nestled among them. Several small houseplants contributed pockets of green and, as Namjoon pointed out, a sort of poetic contradiction to the many books you owned; the living among the dead, as it were. He tended to them daily, whereas your offerings required much less attention.

In your many years of travelling before and after meeting Namjoon, you’d developed the habit of collecting one small trinket from each country or city you visited. Whether they represented particular landmarks, native animals or cultural figures, you always brought home something to remember each place by, and now many of those trinkets filled the spaces left behind by oddly-shaped books or accompanied a bonsai as it grew between the shelves.

In the centre of the room, on top of the plush mauve rug you’d fallen in love with at first sight, sat two armchairs. They didn’t match each other, but matched you and your husband instead. You’d gotten the idea from UP!, knowing when you’d first seen Carl and Ellie’s individual chairs that you wanted to do that with your future partner. And the library became the perfect place for these perfectly mismatched chairs, another way to show how the two of you had come together in this room that housed so many of your joint passions.

Your chair, currently empty, was the plushest wingback chair you’d ever seen; a beautiful, royal blue velvet chair that made you feel like you were in a house that could be found in a Jane Austen novel. Your husband’s chair, in which he was now sat, was burnt orange in colour, square and simple in shape, with arms curled over to remove any harsh lines. You’d hated it, initially, but the more you’d seen it on the shop floor and then saw your husband lean back into its cushions, the more you decided that it suited him, and that was what mattered. Despite its simplicity, it was a bit too big for you to sit in comfortably, although you would often climb into it and burrow under several blankets when he was away.

You’d now grown accustomed to the barrage of colours and styles in your little library, a fondness for the apparent chaos that still shocked newcomers, making you giggle every time.

As you so often find yourself doing, you take a second to admire Namjoon in his studious reading pose: one leg resting across the knee of the other, his right elbow propped up on the armchair and his hand cradling his chin, index finger extended across his lips in contemplation. His left hand cradles his book seemingly effortlessly, his simple gold wedding band glinting in the warm orange of the afternoon winter sun that pours in through the window across the room. It’s still the only golden piece of jewellery he wears, and it still makes your heart bloom every time you catch sight of it.

In the split second you’ve taken in his appearance, he’s become aware of your presence. Only his eyes move at first, flicking up from the page to the door to see who’s walked in. When he sees you standing in the doorway, however, he immediately slips his bookmark into place and puts the volume down on the little table between the chairs. The ease and immediacy with which he gives you his whole attention never fails to make you feel a little giddy.

“Hey,” Namjoon’s expression melts into his warmest smile, all traces of his previous concentration vanished at the sight of his wife. His eyes briefly drop to the bag in your hand before returning to you. “Have fun shopping?”

You nod as he extends his hand towards you, slipping your palm into his and letting him gently pull you close. He sits you in his lap, one arm curled around the back of your waist and the other gently resting across your thighs, his hand melding to match the curve of your flesh. The warmth of his palm is noticeable even through your jeans, rippling throughout your body like a breeze kissing the surface of a lake.

“Is that for me?” he nods towards the bag by his feet, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to your temple.

“Nope,” you smile, then pause. “Well, I guess it kinda is. Wanna see?”

If Namjoon is confused, he doesn’t show it. He loves the way you think, loves how you can see something completely different from him when you both look at the same art pieces on your gallery trips, loves how you can find even the loosest connections between two ideas in a way he’d never thought of. He doesn’t always understand you at first, but he loves that about you, so he waits patiently for you to explain.

You lift the bag into your lap, the hand across your thighs moving to secure it in place while you open it. You turn it away from him as you pull out the contents, but he’s not even trying to peep inside; his eyes are focused on you, on the little ways your expression changes when you get thoughtful, or excited, or anxious, and right now you’re a bit of all three.

“Ta-dah!” you singsong proudly, presenting him with a pair of fuzzy, light brown slipper boots. You try not to giggle as his expression falters slightly, although he quickly covers up his obvious confusion with bemused intrigue, gaze jumping between you and the boots as he tries to figure out what the hell is going on.

“These… are for me?” he can tell just by looking at them that the boots are way too small for him, they’re definitely your size, and he’s struggling to figure out how they could be ‘kinda’ for him.

“No, these ones are mine, silly!” you laugh, gently bopping the tip of his nose with your finger. The relieved sigh that falls past his lips only keeps your laughter rolling and he loves the sound, cheeks dumpling as he grins up at you.

“Of course,” he agrees easily, smirking down at the boots as you gently run your fingers through the fluffy material, then cocks his eyebrow. “So how am I involved in this?” he pauses, then tilts his head to one side. “You’re not going to wear them to bed, are you? I know I said your feet are cold but I actually don’t mind it so much anymore-”

“These ones are mine,” you say, cutting him off, holding up your boots for emphasis before twisting in his lap to put them on the floor. His hand on your waist reflexively holds you tighter to keep you from toppling.

When you then look at him with a smile he can only describe as mischievous, he knows he’s fucked: he’s a sucker for your playfulness, willingly walking into even your silliest pranks just to see your face light up and hear the melody of your laughter when you celebrate your victory.

His mind whirs through every option he can think of that could somehow relate those fluffy little boots to himself. Maybe you’ve bought him new slippers too, but like your mismatched chairs they’ll be different styles, perfectly suiting each of you in a way that makes them work together. Maybe you’ve actually bought him matching ones and he can’t decide what will be worse: having to wear them to please you or refuse to wear them to please himself. He feels the smallest flicker of heat in his cheeks when he considers fluffy handcuffs, but he dismisses that though when he remembers how your gaze darkens whenever you get out the pairs you already own rather than brightens, like it has done right now.

He’s at a loss, but you don’t make him wait much longer before you grant him an explanation.

“They didn’t have matching daddy boots, unfortunately, but-” he doesn’t have time to register the term when you pull out the remaining items in the bag with a flourish. “They did have these matching baby boots, and I just couldn’t resist!”

He stares down at the little pair of fuzzy boots, the same light brown colour as yours. They’re barely bigger than your palm as they sit side by side and he doesn’t know how something so small can knock all of the air from his body.

He can’t speak, can’t swallow, almost can’t breathe. He can only stare.

You watch as Namjoon’s features drop and give him a few moments to process the sight in front of him. You’re sure your lip is about to bleed with how hard you’re biting into it, desperate to cry and cheer and celebrate with him but wanting to give him his processing time.

When he doesn’t say anything after a longer time than you were expecting, you begin to worry he’s upset rather than shocked. When he finally speaks, though, his tone is so level you genuinely think he’s angry.

“Y/n,” he says, gaze lifting to meet your eyes and locking onto them. You feel his body grow tense beneath you, the grip on your waist tightening and releasing as he battles with the emotions building in his chest. “Who are these for?” His throat bobs with a dry swallow and you feel your stomach drop a little bit, suddenly realising how this may have come across to him.

You and Namjoon got married nearly two years ago now, and you’ve been trying for a baby for just over a year. During that time, Namjoon has found more than one or two bags of baby clothes tucked away in your side of the closet, onesies and booties in varying designs and colours despite the fact that none of your attempts had been successful. His heart had broken for you every time, knowing how desperate you were to become a mother, but, despite his own deep-seated desire to be a father, he’d insisted you return the items each time and forbade you from bringing home anymore baby items that weren’t gifts for expecting friends or relatives. It was painful for him, too, to keep seeing the negative pregnancy tests in the bathroom trash, but he knew that it would only hurt more if you kept the clothes with no baby to fill them.

It had been months since you’d last even looked at the baby aisles in any stores, but today was the day things changed.

“They’re for us,” you told him gently, the words barely above a whisper yet filling the space between you. You see the tears begin to well in his eyes at the same time his grip on you tightens one last time. He stares up at you, eyes wide and watery and full of hope, and you let the widest grin loose on your lips.

Leaning forward to touch your forehead to his, both yours and Namjoon’s eyes fall closed. Shuddering breaths push at the air between you, your hand pressing to his chest to feel the way his heartbeat gallops under your palm. Your own tears start to glide over the apples of your cheeks as you finally let the weight of your news overwhelm you, knowing that you’re both finally going to see your dreams come to life.

“They’re for our baby.”

If you would like to read any of my other works, please follow me and head on over to my masterlist ♡

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the-darklings · 5 years ago

Text

—�� 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝒖𝒑;

—PART XVI. | I WILL RISE UP

pairing: john wick x f!reader x santino d’antonio

word count: 23.4k+ (yes, the clownery truly never ceases)

summary: “Don’t disappear.”

warnings: PTSD, discussion of child abduction, panic attack, death all around, ANGSTTTT, swearing, strong violence.

notes: You all know this one was very hard and a long time coming. I sincerely hope you enjoy. :’) Welcome to the concluding part of Chicago.

children of ares series: 01 | …. | 14 | 15 | . . | 17 |

gif credit (x)

There is blood under your nails.

Water falls over your hands but it won’t wash away.

These hands capable of so much damage.

You wonder if John would be proud of you. If he would feel some semblance of satisfaction that you have become someone so dangerous. Or maybe he would hate you. He left you, didn’t he? Lied to you, tricked you—

But his eyes had seemed so sad during the wedding. Almost like his own heart was breaking and he didn’t even realise it but…

You rub your hands again.

The skin of your palms feels raw and tender from the scrubbing but you ignore it. Hot water slides down your neck and hair and you find that you…can’t…move.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been in this shower. How long since you rushed into it, so desperate to get all the blood off you, only to practically collapse once the stream of water fell over you.

So weak, Kishi hums beside you, patting your cheek and you jerk away from the touch, did you see what you did to him? That was you. You and your hate.

It wasn’t the blade that did the killing.

With your vision blurry and muscles frail the blade had sunk into Rafael’s collar more so than his neck. Too far away from anything vital. He would have lived. Even when he pulled out the blade, throwing you off him, even as blood stained his shirt as he came at you with the same knife you had used on him.

Murderous expression, an unfaltering grip on a blade stained with his blood—

Then, a flicker of pure agony. A soundless scream of pain as his expression came apart. Raw anguish had locked his knees, knocking him clean off his feet.

Your poison had raged through him like wildfire, destroying everything that Rafael was from inside out.

The poison you had so painstakingly created over these last several months—your crowning, awful jewel made just for Tarasov—had eroded Rafael Conte in a matter of minutes.

First, his smooth, healthy skin had turned purple, and the tiny veins in his eyes ruptured as they turned blood red. But the worst had been the sounds he made. Agonised, pathetic noises of a man whose lungs were collapsing and filling up with blood.

Rafael Conte died choking on his own blood, no doubt experiencing the same agony you went through in Tokyo.

The Drowning

Just like Kishi had done with you. You had returned the favour.

Then, silence. Just awful silence and the rushing of water in your ears as the sink continued overflowing.

Through the haze there had only been Santino with his arms around you, practically ripping you off the ground and pulling you out of the bathroom.

With your dress sopping wet and clinging to your legs, you had stumbled after him. He had paused only long enough to drape his suit jacket around your shoulders, his phone already pressed to his ear as he spoke in clipped, harsh Italian into it.

You can’t recall a single word he had said.

The only sound in your head had been the rushing of water and the cracking of the mirror.

Over and over.

His arm around you, he had pressed you tightly to him but his steps had been measured, deliberate. He didn’t want to appear panicked though you felt the tension stiffening his muscles.

Santino had paused just before you entered the main hall, busying himself with undoing his shirt even more, his eyes moving subtly over the hallway walls. Checking for cameras.

He had turned towards you then, his expression inscrutable as he sank his fingers carefully into your hair, tugging the strands aside gently. After, he used the very same pocket square you gave him to dab under your eyes quickly, wiping away the mascara smears and the tears. Not one word was exchanged between you as he continued cleaning you up and making himself messier.

Ruffling his hair forcefully, he had pulled you to him when footsteps drew nearer, touching one side of your face and leaning close. Moments later an older couple had appeared around the corner, pausing at the sight of you both. Nothing more than a man touching a woman with a lover’s familiarity. You no doubt looked like you’ve either just kissed or were about to.

Always so good at playing the part.

Santino had given them a facile, cool smile and tugged you after him, his stride confident, relaxed. His fingers were flying over the phone screen though, and the slant of his eyebrows betrayed his unease, irritation.

You haven’t felt this adrift since Tokyo, clinging to him because there was no way your legs would have carried you out of the hotel where a car was already waiting for you.

It was only when you got inside, and the door slammed behind you that you had turned to him, your lips trembling.

“The b—”

“Already handled.”

And that had been it.

He spent the ride to the hotel with his phone pressed to his ear while you sat beside him, shivering and clenching his jacket closer to you.

There was still blood on your hands.

You had used the back entrance of the hotel and had encountered no one on your way to your room.

Such easy control. Such power.

You couldn’t help but wonder why he had needed you at all.

Santino had left you inside the room after leading you to the bed and checking your head. He kept talking but nothing had stuck inside your mind, every word fleeing the moment it registered.

He lingered at the door, his phone already against his ear but the look in his eyes had been reluctant.

He didn’t want to leave but you doubt he had much choice after that mess.

By the time the door clicked shut, you wanted to crawl out of your skin and disappear entirely.

The noises Rafael made, all that blood bubbling past his lips—

You’re so good at making people choke on their own blood, Kishi had whispered against your ear, wrapping his arms around you, awful, vicious viper. How could anyone ever love you?

You had barely made it to the toilet before throwing up, curled over it and dry sobbing for a number of minutes.

You were so desperate to get the dirt and the grime and the blood off you that the shower had seemed like the obvious choice.

Something beautiful torn apart and stained needed to be cleaned.

But the shower had only frozen you in place, dragging you towards the ground and locking you there.

That sensation of water sliding down your skin has unmade you, and suddenly it’s like no time has passed at all. Still in Tokyo. Still drowning. Still dead to the world.

Opposite to you, hiding in the steam, Kishi grins at you, his crooked teeth on display.

Your eyes drag back towards the hands in your lap. They lay there, two useless lumps of flesh and you try to move, try to gather strength but fail.

That tiny ember in your chest is doused and you claw for it desperately, willing it to come back.

Please, I don’t want to be this.

Footsteps.

The bathroom door gets thrown open and a figure appears through the mist.

Still dressed in a white shirt and those mirror shoes gleaming.

“There you are, amore, I had thought—”

Santino’s voice breaks off, his lips pressing shut at the sight of you.

You’re still wearing the dress from earlier. You loved it so much. It made you feel so beautiful—like yourself—no matter how briefly only hours prior.

It’s ruined now though.

The beat of water echoes through the silence between you and you rock in place slightly, still slumped on the floor.

“I—I thought I would get the blood off my hands but…” you breathe shakily, not looking at him. “It never comes off, does it?”

Santino steps closer, ignoring the shower as he squats down before you, his eyes dark.

“Are you hurt?”

Honesty works your tongue.

“Yes.”

His expression pinches and he raises his hand as if to pull you from under the stream but hesitates, watching your expression.

“Where?”

You can only bring yourself to choke out a strangled, “The water.”

His eyebrows furrow into an even heavier line. He doesn’t get it. He knows nothing about it so how could he? But his head slants lower and he tries to catch your eyes.

“Tell me about it.”

You blink the water from your eyes, trembling, and watch as he rises to his feet but instead of walking away, he moves to your right. He sits down with deliberate slowness. A part of you wants to tell him to stop but he ignores the water sinking rapidly into his trousers, spreading his legs out in front of him.

He only glances at you once before looking out towards the rest of the bathroom.

The faded light washes over his drawn features as he waits and it hits you then that it’s not a demand like it usually is with him. It’s a request, an offering, and something tells you that even if you don’t tell him, he might still stay.

He might stay.

Even when you’re...this.

The self-obsessed man who is not worthy of loyalty or trust might just stay.

He won’t stay, Kishi insists from in front of you and you flinch, he will leave just like your John did. They will all leave you. You will die alone.

Slumping, you stare at your hands again, ignoring the cut of water against the back of your neck.

“In Tokyo—I—” you begin and every word is agony. You haven’t talked with anyone about what happened to you in that pit—not even John. You hated the idea of him seeing you as broken, tarnished, weak. “He drowned me. Over and over.”

Santino’s sharp exhale is loud enough to hear even over the water.

“You do not have to—”

“And the room...the room with no air,” you choke out, ignoring his words and Kishi glares at you, his face full of hate. This is your dirty little secret after all, and he despises you for sharing it. “I—I prefer the beatings. That pain...it was easy. Electricity was...worse. But water. The water.”

A pained sound bubbles from the back of your throat and your chest hurts.

It hurts.

And there is never any relief for this pain. Like a wound that won’t stop bleeding.

You wait for Santino to get up and walk away. Wait for him to say that he always knew you were pathetic but he’s silent.

Your head feels heavy but you turn it towards him anyway to get your answer.

Be it disgust or pity or indifference.

You find none of those things.

No—Santino D’Antonio glares at some distant point on the wall with enough furious intensity to crumble concrete.

His clenched fist rests in his lap too, his knuckles popping, and his heir ring seems to glow in the light and the water.

He draws his legs to him, and there is something slow and harsh about the motion, as he rests his arms over his bent knees.

Like he’s trying to contain whatever it is that’s ravaging through him.

“So all those times you avoided water…”

His voice is hoarse as it trails off but he still won’t look at you. He sounds like he’s talking through clenched teeth and your head dips in a slight nod.

All those times when you were staying with Camorra and avoided water. Pools, the sea—anything involving a body of water. How you always avoid it even now. Now, at least, his old curiosity has an answer.

You can still recall how much it had surprised you that he noticed your avoidance in the first place. You didn’t think he could see beyond himself long enough to notice a damn thing about anyone else.

“It just makes me feel like—”

“Like you’re still there. Still trapped. Drowning.”

That gives you a pause.

Blinking owlishly, you look towards him, considering his tone, his body language. The heaviness, the strain on his face that he tries to rope back. You can tell because it’s familiar to you—this conflict of not wanting to show weakness.

He turns towards you briefly, his eyes narrowed, his mouth twisted into a disconcerted line as he gazes at you. An inner conflict rages behind his eyes but you don’t have enough energy to ask. If he wants to—

“The first time I was taken I was five.”

Something settles inside the pit of your stomach. A weight that distracts you entirely and pins your attention on the Camorra heir.

Santino’s lips pull back in a smile but it is not a kind thing—it’s like all the warmth such a gesture could bring has been ripped away. “Hm, yes. I don’t recall much of that first time. But my father’s methods of ruling meant that Camorra had plenty of enemies,” he explains, his voice empty like he’s reciting a manual and not facts of his own life. “I was his only male heir. An assurance that D’Antonio name will continue governing Camorra after he’s gone. By the time my father’s Four tracked me down…”

His words are soft, hateful, and your stomach churns as you observe the way his body curves. He swallows—a forced, heavy thing—his lips parting as he stares towards the wall and speaks his next words with stark bitterness.

“I was naked, strapped to a table,” he continues, his words empty, and your heart stutters in your chest. Despite the heat of the water, you suddenly feel cold to the bone. “They, ah, had no intention of killing me, you understand? They just planned to...remove certain parts. A male heir who can’t produce heirs. A mockery to my father’s legacy. The D’Antonio name would die with me. Fine irony to that, no?”

He glances towards you then. You’re not quite sure what he finds on your face when your eyes meet but his lips twitch again.

You—

You have never seen him like this.

You’re not sure you ever want to again, either.

“It was a rival family,” he continues after a beat, but the roar of the water is so loud that you have to lean closer towards him to hear. “My father had his heirs killed in front of the man. One by one. Three sons and a daughter, too. Then he let the head and his men burn alive in their pretty little house.”

For several minutes there is just more water.

You’re shivering but it’s for a different reason this time, even if hearing this doesn’t surprise you. There is a very good reason why Giovanni is so feared, respected. Why Camorra bloomed under his years of ruthless forging.

You’ve seen his methods firsthand.

“There were other such incidents over the years,” Santino carries on and his head inclines in your direction again. Every word digs into you painfully. “Few with Gianna as well. Each as bad as the last. It is simply a price to pay for what we are. That’s what my father always told me. Hm, power demands a price, cara mia. Always. I know what it is to be a trapped thing. Dependent on the goodwill of others. Never again, I told myself. They would learn to fear me. I care not for how hated that will make me.”

His words rattle through you with enough intensity to wipe away all else. You never thought that Santino of all the people would ever make you speechless.

This vain, awful man.

A monster born in a family of monsters.

They would learn to fear me.

So very similar to your own mantra.

I want him to fear me and he will.

Every time you have to grit your teeth and face Tarasov—the man who robbed you of your family and took your freedom—you tell yourself those words. One day, one day, one day, he will die afraid and alone.

A choice to be hated to keep yourself safe.

You don’t sympathize because you understand.

But not in a million years—not ever—would you have expected for Santino D’Antonio to understand what it’s like to be trapped and hurt. Held captive and damaged.

But it makes so much sense.

You’ve heard of territory wars, perhaps none more bloody than those waged by the Italians.

“I did not choose this life but I have made it my own,” he tells you after several minutes of silence and you blink. He exhales quietly and licks his bottom lips, pensive. “Oh, bella, you wonder why I abhor the rules so but the truth is simple. Rules have robbed me of more than you know. I’ve been trapped by my title as much as I’ve been set free by it. I do not mind it anymore—the trap that is my expected existence. I will claim all the power one day and that will be my freedom. I will be the one to set the rules.”

Steam blinds you as you squint at him.

His head is tilted backwards, resting against the tiles of the shower. His white shirt is getting wetter by the second from the spray of water raining between you. His styled hair sits in a heavy mess atop of his head from dampness and heat, and you watch him swallow, his adam’s apple bobbing. His forearms rest on his bent knees and you want to comment on how his Rolex will get soaked at this rate but can’t bring yourself to do so.

In this light, he appears—

“But you should,” you whisper slowly, your words a rasp. “You should mind it.”

A smile twitches his mouth to one side as he continues staring up towards the ceiling.

It makes you uncomfortable.

It makes you uneasy.

It makes you—

Santino D’Antonio tips his head in your direction, his eyes empty of all bravado you’re so used to seeing, and you can’t help but think that he looks—

“Ah, cara mia, I do,” he breathes, still smiling that awful, hollow smile. “I just pretend that I don’t.”

—sad.

You look at each other for several moments before he blinks, his expression clearing. He’s retreating and you realise that this moment—this miniature fragment of himself he has unexpectedly shared with you—he has likely never shared with anyone else before.

You can tell.

Because the lingering discomfort is so known to you.

“Tell me,” he begins wilfully, his eyes focusing on your face. “Tell me how to stop this.”

That lingering rage. The bitterness.

Your mouth twists. A flicker of anger suddenly nipping at your senses. “You can’t fix me,” you spit out, your breaths strained, and your fingers twitch. “There is no fixing this.”

His reply is immediate, tart. “I have no intention of fixing you,” he says simply, almost irked. “It’s not my job to do so, carrisima. But there has to be a way to help…somehow.”

Oh.

Just like that, you suddenly know what this is about.

Seeing you like this must be like seeing himself.

How desperately must he have wished for someone to be there for him? He was just a boy expected to brush off every terrible thing that has happened to him because he had to be strong. Did he seek out some way to alleviate whatever scars those childhood incidents left?

His thirst for power and control, that selfishness and greed that’s so inherent to him. Suddenly, a lot more makes sense about Santino.

It’s like you’re seeing him through a completely different lens.

Perhaps he can understand that certain scars never heal.

Tokyo will be a part of you till the day you die.

But speaking about it—whatever little you did divulge—did wipe Kishi from your sight.

Not for the first time, his ghost has been chased away.

Maybe that’s what you need. A distraction. A way to forget he haunts you.

A way for both of you to forget your demons. Just for a little while.

“Tell me,” you plead, your voice soft. “Tell me a story with a happy ending.”

Santino’s parted lips press shut lightly as he peers at you for a beat. His head lowers for a moment, and then he shakes his head slightly. He stares at the drain where the water disappears continuously and a sound escapes him; a mix of amusement and some woeful emotion.

“I can’t,” he replies, equally as soft. “People like us don’t get happy endings.”

Swallowing weakly, you mutter a quiet, “Try anyway.”

The Italian beside you remains quiet though. He peers at you and you can’t quite tell what he’s thinking. For once, he’s not easy to read. His damp curls stick to his forehead and you watch him rise to his feet, lacking his usual grace. He steps towards you and lowers himself before you for a second time, his gaze drifting over your features.

He hesitates before providing you with a simple, guarded, “Imagine you and me—and everything we’ve ever wanted.”

As simple as that.

And with those hard, emerald eyes boring into you, a part of you does.

You imagine you both find a way to get out of this situation dry.

You imagine John coming back and telling you that he loves you more. That he simply loves you. That he wants you as much as you want him.

You imagine Tarasov dead at your feet and your freedom in sight.

Freedom.

To be whoever you want to be.

Santino would become head of Camorra—his lifelong goal, his shield of power—and then…

Life.

Sunshine.

Happiness.

A dream that you will likely never achieve.

Even if you want to, so badly.

People like us don’t get happy endings.

Isn’t that right?

“Tell me this wasn’t for nothing,” you utter, almost breathless from a dream you wish you could cling to as it slips from between your fingers. “Tell me why we’re really here. Make—give me a reason to trust you.”

Santino’s mouth tightens, his previous open expression hardening under your prompting.

A different kind of conflict rages behind his reticent stare now.

No one has come for you yet, and you wonder if Santino has found a way to bury the very dead Rafael Conte without being found out. But being hopeful is not something you’re very good at—not anymore.

“Get on your feet, amore,” he says after a long moment of charged silence between you. “Change out of that dress and meet me outside. Then I will tell you.”

He stands and walks out without a backwards look, leaving you alone in the shower.

He didn’t have to say it out loud for you to know what this is really about.

A show of strength.

Get on your feet.

You don’t want to.

You can’t.

Imagine you and me—and everything we’ve ever wanted.

Blinking the burn of water out of your eyes, you raise your head towards the shut bathroom door.

Imagine.

You can’t do that slumped on the floor.

Sliding onto your knees after a few laboured breaths, you stay there for a bit. The water continues roaring in your ears and you tell yourself to stand though a voice at the back of your mind hisses for you to stay put. What does Santino know of your struggle—

I know what it is to be a trapped thing dependant on the goodwill of others.

He does know.

At least to some degree.

It takes over thirty minutes to stand up and get the soaking dress off your body. Long minutes of trying to locate the bathrobe and wrap it around your shivering frame before turning off the shower. You had to take breaks often, gasping for breath and trying to fight back your panic.

But you did it.

You did.

Leaning your shoulder against the wall, you hug your arms around you and tug the door open.

You find Santino sitting in the same seat he found you in last night before he dragged you into an unexpected dance. It had been the first moment of normalcy you had tasted in months. The memory of it fills your veins with warmth and works your legs.

Santino has changed from his wet clothes as well. He’s donning a combo of clean pressed pants and a looser, faded blue sweater, a fluffy towel sitting wrapped around his shoulders. His curly, wet hair is a messy mop and you can tell he’s been running the towel through the unruly strands.

His head tilts in your direction when he hears your indistinct footsteps approach. He doesn’t smile like usual—no smirk, not even a glimmer of one. For once, he’s completely earnest.

It’s exceedingly difficult to look at him now that you know what you do about him. You don’t feel pity. You’ve heard far worse and more harrowing tales from the underworld. But it’s still unpleasant, still painful.

You try to imagine him as a little boy of five. All ruddy cheeks and wild, curly hair with bright, mischievous eyes.

You wonder if he cried as you did—

“Does anyone know?”

Santino doesn’t respond right away but his eyes track you as you move closer with sluggish, awkward steps. Lowering yourself in the seat he sat in yesterday, you meet his stare evenly. He doesn’t make a comment on your presence.

He expected you to stand up.

He expected you to make it—to overcome yourself.

Outside, the Chicago skyline and Lake Michigan are both swallowed up by a blizzard raging outside. Despite it being the middle of the night, it gives the room a sickly, greyish sort of tint that forces you to focus on him and nothing else.

“No,” he says after a lengthy pause, still staring at you. He’s thinking hard about something, you can tell—here, now, his guard is completely and utterly up. “I had two of my men remove and dispose of the body before anyone found it. No time to clean the scene up, so, hm. As you can already guess the news has spread. The High Table associates are looking into it already.”

Your breaths slow at that and you lift your legs, curling in the plush seat. “The Adjudicator?”

Santino shakes his head once. “No, bella, not yet. But if Conte is not found—which he won’t be—then eventually, yes.”

Your eyes lower and you lock your fingers together, trying to keep your hands steady. “Can your men be trusted?”

This time, the man does smile and the treacherous edge of it chills you. “Ah, no one can be fully trusted, cara mia, especially not men for hire. Remember that,” he warns but his voice lacks the demeaning edge that usually accompanies his words. “But no, they could not be. Which is exactly why I put a bullet in each of their heads before I returned here.”

Silence.

You stare at each other without a word and that says everything.

You did what you had to do to save him.

And he did what he had to do to try and save you both.

“They are Camorra men,” he adds eventually, his smooth voice flat, matter of fact. “No one will look for them.”

“Cameras?”

“No cameras in the bathroom. But otherwise destroyed.”

“Fingerprints? Witnesses?”

Santino’s brows furrow but a slight smile lingers across the seams of his lips. If you didn’t know any better, you would say that he’s proud.

“I did not touch anything aside from the door,” he reveals and drags the towel down his neck, leaning forward so he’s closer. The damp material rests in his lap and his elbows dig into his thighs. His feet are bare and it’s an odd thing to notice now of all the times. “You don’t exist, cara mia.”

You’re dead to the world.

You bite on your inner cheek and lower your head in a nod, picking at your nails.

“So we just need to use the panic to find Andre Boutin—”

“No.”

Your head lifts and your fidgeting fingers still in your lap as well at the look on Santino’s face.

The heir of Camorra looks out towards the blizzard, his eyebrows pinched and shoulders curved downwards. His fingers are interlocked too, and you examine his frustration silently.

“The mission failed,” he remarks bitingly, his words quiet. “If Boutin is not out of Chicago already, he soon will be. Our advantage is gone. We will be flying back to New York tomorrow.”

His rises to his feet then, throwing the dampened towel aside. A hiss of breath—of pure, simmering rage—bubbles past his parted lips and he marches ahead only to be caught by his elbow.

His attention snaps to you, his breaths ragged. His stare is a storm but he keeps it contained and your grip on him constricts.

“What did he do?” you whisper in the space between you, weary but determined. “Tell me.”

Santino grins, cold and venomous, his eyebrows quirking as he turns his body towards you, leaning close. “Oh? Is this how this works, bella?” he wonders but doesn’t shake your touch off. “You demand answers and expect me to bend to your will? Was I not weak enough for you earlier, hm?”

You regard each other wordlessly. Him brimming with agitation and you so tired you want to collapse. But this is important. It nags at you constantly—this need to understand what’s really going on.

“I don’t think you’re weak,” you tell him calmly, and it surprises you when you realise that you mean it. Whatever earlier was, weak is not the word you would use to describe it. “I just want to understand. Why are you risking everything to kill this one man? Tell me that saving you and killing Rafael on the neutral grounds was not done in vain, Santino. That this has some meaning.”

The soft material of his sweater lingers against your fingertips when you release your grip on him. But Santino doesn’t step away, he reaches out, brushing a strand of your wet hair away gingerly. This time you are the one to jerk back. Sucking in a deep breath, you see his mouth twist and he moves away, giving you space to breathe.

It isn’t that the touch was unpleasant. Or even unwanted.

It’s the fact that your heart had fluttered but it whispered John’s name.

Your John.

But he isn’t, is he? He’s married and happy. He left. Why shouldn’t you allow yourself this? He wants you. At least he does.

And that might be true. Physically, at least, you imagine moving on from John would be easy, simple even. You imagine that if you initiated, Santino would not deny you. In fact, after your little moment during the poker game earlier, you think he won’t need much convincing at all.

He had looked so torn at the edges from just a few touches and wanders of your tongue and lips.

But what would be left of you? What point would you prove by sleeping with Santino?

That you can move on as John did? Maybe. But John is out and married. He won’t care.

No, this would only be selfishness and impulse. It would only ruin everything further.

Down the road, you would only be more miserable for it.

Even if you are so very, very lonely.

Even if you miss that tingle of desire, of being desired back.

Maybe that’s why you allow these brief moments with Santino to continue. Because you are selfish and just want to cling on to that fire of his because it almost reminds you what it is to be normal. Adored. Alive.

His footsteps halt next to the large bay windows, and the storm outside still rampages in a hale of ice and wind.

His hand braces against the glass, his head bowed and you watch his rigid frame.

“He killed my mother.”

Your breath hitches at his vicious, faint declaration.

His—

Santino chuckles; a low, lilting sound but you catch the resentment and the hurt there before he smothers it.

“Have you heard of the Bloodbath of Camorra?”

Who hasn’t? Even if people like to pretend like they haven’t out of fear they might attract the attention of the family itself.

Who hasn’t heard about the humid, peaceful night in Naples over twenty years ago when Giovanni D’Antonio ordered the execution of two families that made up the Camorra ranks. Alario and Cipriano families were wiped out in a single night. No one was spared; children, the elderly, even the servants. It was the single deadliest and bloodiest event in Camorra history. It was the event that put Giovanni on the map as someone who was not only to be respected but also feared. More than feared. Dreaded.

No one knows to this day what exactly the reason for the bloodbath was, though there is no shortage of theories. Most seem to believe it was a consequence of a failed coup. Others say it was revenge.

You do know one thing: Giovanni slaughtered two families, several generations of people who likely had nothing to do with whatever crimes he thinks they were responsible for, and the High Table only gave him a slap on the wrist for it.

“Yes,” you choke out, your voice thin as you take few unsteady strides towards him. He’s still not looking at you. “Why?”

There is no reply, only his forcefully slow breaths. Has he ever been this with anyone else? Has he ever struggled to tell them what’s on this mind?

“Do you recall what I told you earlier?” he wonders but doesn’t wait for your reply but you see how his back muscles coil under his sweater. Hear the discomfort in his voice, too. “A day after my eighth birthday someone attacked our home.”

You risk another few steps closer, your arms wrapping around your chest. You try to fight back the sinking feeling in your heart but you already know how this story ends; it’s now simply a question of how bad it will get before you arrive at the conclusion of it.

“It was just my mother and me at home, several servants, and guards,” Santino goes on and you hear the torrent of emotions he tries to contain as he continues speaking. “Father was away on Camorra business. Gianna at her private violin lessons. They, ah, attacked in broad daylight.”

Your eyes squeeze shut but you let him talk, ignoring the way your heart is thudding harder and harder in your chest.

“Their numbers were...vast,” he exhales and pauses for a long time. His fingers scrape against the glass before he pulls back abruptly. He doesn’t turn around but you see his fingers clench into fists. “They studied the house layout. Knew when it will be the most vulnerable, you understand? Our guards didn’t stand a chance. My mother tried to hide me but...”

He turns towards you at last, and in the dim light, you can’t see the green of his eyes, just shadows and darkness and rage.

“She told me to hide,” he breathes, low and strained. “Nascondi, piccolo sole.”

Little sun.

His face screws like he can hear the words even now and you swallow thickly your own expression wavering.

Santino opens his eyes after a moment, exhaling a huff of air before he continues, “Hm, but I heard her scream. So I ran after her. I...couldn’t let them hurt her, bella. I was a foolish boy who was scared and wanted his mother. But that’s exactly what they wanted. Both of us. We were drugged and taken. We were to be their bargaining tools.”

His eyes lower towards the ground and his profile reveals how he keeps clenching and unclenching his jaw. He lifts his hand, staring at the golden ring for a breath before rubbing the skin there, his fingers constricting like he’s trying to feel something.

“It was a collaboration between Alarios and Ciprianos...and Andre Boutin.”

Your expression creases and you close the remaining distance between you, coming to a stop before him. He’s still holding his hand but he looks up at you as you come to a stop before him.

“Why?”

Why risk going up against a powerhouse like Camorra? A family rooted in the old ways, and who is known for always returning any blood of theirs spilt tenfold.

“Power,” is his straightforward, sickening reply. “It is rather simple, really, they wanted to rule Camorra. To become the new ruling family by merging. And Andre Boutin always hated my father because he had the one thing that man always wanted.”

Noting your confused frown, Santino cocks his head and grins, “My mother, bella. It always comes down to love of a woman.”

Your lips part, understanding filling you. You’ve never heard of this side of the story. Never knew there was such a tangled web of connections involved in all of this.

His hollow grin fades and he gazes at you wordlessly.

You’re not quite sure what he finds on your face this time, either, but something in your chest aches for him.

Just how much more can he surprise you in a span of a single day?

You’ve been so convinced that he has never seen hardship or pain. That he’s grown up on a mountain of blood money and a silver spoon in his mouth, content in the idea that the rest of the world is less than him.

Perhaps you’re not wrong to think that though. Perhaps there is simply more to him than just that though.

This is hard for him, you can see that, so you lift your chin, press your lips together in a strict line and say, “What happened after they took you?”

His eyes latch onto your own.

Because you need—want—to know.

But also because you would like to think that the man before you needs to tell it. Even if he may never admit to it. Or even realise it himself.

“Drugged, for most of it,” he reveals quietly, his voice frayed. “Some rough handling. But Boutin...he would come to see my mother.”

Your teeth clench together, a boiling feeling suddenly erupting in your stomach. “Did he...?”

He exhales loudly but shakes his head. “No, amore, he was obsessed with her but he wanted her willing. My mother hated him though. She just tried to keep me safe. By whatever means necessary.”

His fingers fidget and you reach on instinct, wrapping your own trembling digits around his.

His attention jumps to your face again, cautious. He doesn’t push you away but he doesn’t pull you closer, either.

This moment is simply compassion.

Simply your personal desire to have someone hold your own hand manifesting here and now.

“My mother...ah, she was the strongest person I have ever known,” he pushes on, and despite the fact that he looks ready to burst at the seams, his voice barely wavers this time. “And she was smart. She used his desperation against him. She got loose. Took two of his fingers off for touching both her and me. Kicked him a few times, too, telling him that she would never love someone like him. That she had a family she loved already.”

This time the quirk of his lips is more genuine, proud, and you feel your own features relax for a bit.

But then his brief smile crumbles away, and your fingers tighten around his in response. The metal of his ring presses into your skin and you know that what’s to come next will not be easy to hear.

“She tried to get me loose,” his voice creaks and your expression contorts, trying to blink away the burn you’re starting to feel behind your eyes. “He got a drop on her while she was soothing my crying...”

A tear rolls down your cheek and something fitters over his expression when he notices it.

He’s never seen tears from you but you don’t feel ashamed of them. Not this time.

“She fought back and I listened—I heard as he choked her to death. My screams did not matter to him.”

A weak wheeze escapes you and you bow your head. Your grip on his hand is so tight that you’re no longer sure if it’s entirely for his benefit.

“My father and his men found us shortly after but it no longer mattered. Boutin was long gone by then and my mother’s corpse was cold.”

“Why wasn’t he punished?” you snap, practically bristling with fury, and try to swallow the lump in your throat but it goes down like a wad of acid. “Why was it only the rival families and not him? Why?”

Santino lifts his free hand and swipes at your wet cheek with his thumb. This time, you don’t flinch away from his touch.

His mouth stretches but once again, it’s not even close to a smile. Those narrowed, heavy eyes focus on you but you don’t understand the look on his face.

You do feel something boiling in your chest though.

Rage.

On his behalf.

He was just a little boy and he had to listen as—

You’re not sure which you feel more acutely, then—blinding sort of fury or sadness. Both.

Swiping at your face, you turn your face away from him. The wet rattle of your laboured breaths fills the silence between you.

It’s like being transported back to that tiny, cramped Moscow flat years ago. The piercing scrape of metal spoon echoing against the pot of soup as Tarasov detailed how he killed your parents, how you are now his property. By choice, of course.

That or death.

“Boutin is the head of the Black Dragon which granted him the Table’s favour,” Santino voices and your attention swings back towards him. He runs his fingers through his curls roughly, his long digits tangling in the silky strands and he looks and sounds so hateful at that moment. Unmade, somehow. “He was smart, too, bella. There was nothing to pin him to the accident.”

“But you were a witness—”

“I was a little boy who was drugged for days,” he cuts you off, his words resentful, bitter. “It was my word against the man who has served the Table for years. Ah, cara mia, but we both know that the face of your tormentor never quite fades from memory, does it not?”

No—no, it doesn’t.

Your lashes still feel thick with tears but you force your vocal cords to work, “Then why leave you alive?”

The heir grits his teeth and you peer at him.

It’s still hard to think that he’s baring these family secrets—his secrets—to you right now. His pain is real and raw and it’s surreal to see him like this.

Where is the arrogant prince of a criminal empire you’re so used to seeing?

This, now, makes you feel like you never knew him at all.

You’ve never caught so much as a whisper of this—no indication at all—but you do understand the reason for it.

It’s so that no one ever sees him like this.

Vulnerable.

And vulnerability is not permitted for someone like him.

Giovanni would never allow it.

Santino himself would never allow it.

He’s too proud.

“Because he panicked. Because my father was on the way. Because he’s a fucking coward.”

You agree.

And finally understand why he wanted this man to suffer. Why he planned so meticulously for this for years.

Only for your instability to ruin those plans.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, devastated. “I’m so sorry.”

He understands what you mean without clarification.

He glances towards the blizzard again, and his hands slip into his pockets, his shoulders hunched.

“Get some rest, bella. I will handle the rest.”

His accented words lack accusation, even his previous rage, and somehow that’s worse.

You almost miss that narcissistic man you’ve known for years.

But not really. Because despite how agonising this is, this is also the most real you’ve ever seen him.

Like an open nerve bared before you.

“I have waited for years, having to act like that man did not murder my mother right in front of me,” he notes, thoughtful, his words clipped, his expression removed, and he takes several steps past you. Your head rotates after him and he pauses. “I can wait a bit longer.”

No.

All those years…

Whole decades of waiting and biding his time. You know what it is to have to live with that.

The murderer of his mother will not get away with this.

Not like Tarasov gets away with the murder of your parents every single fucking day.

“I will help you.”

He stiffens.

Ignoring it, you go on, “Be it tomorrow, a week from now, or five years,” you tell him, hoarse and choked, pathetically weak in your flimsy bathrobe but more determined than you’ve been in months. “He will die, Santino. I promise you that.”

He straightens, a leisurely rotation of his limbs and muscles before he turns to look at you over his shoulder.

That fire rages despite his calm, composed expression.

His lips curl upwards and you share a long, frenzied look.

You have no idea what passes between you but something does.

“Oh, amore,” he intones icily. “Of course he will.”

You don’t sleep that night.

There is only a few, febrile nightmares that chase you back to wakefulness before you can fully rest.

Curled up in the extravagant covers, you try to listen for any signs that Santino is still awake in the other room but hear nothing.

The storm keeps lashing against your windows throughout the night, filling the eerily soundless space with howls of wind.

Better than the silence of your mind.

Better than Santino’s story tearing and shredding through your mind on repeat.

You nod off again sometime around dawn, your sleep as restless as before but it’s still better than nothing.

This time you dream of being stuck in the pit with Santino beside you, an inky profile of a figure sinking its fingers into your hair—

You snap awake covered in a thin layer of sweat, your throat dry and head pounding.

Getting out of bed takes another hour.

Fatigue lingers in your limbs and you feel listless and dazed, still haunted by events of last night.

The rush of water, the blade in your hand, Rafael Conte choking, gasping for breath as your poison destroys him—

There is no regret in your heart. Not after what he almost did to you, not after you found out what kind of man he served.

You make it to breakfast late, and find Santino absent, only Ares there for company.

She scrolls through her phone as she indulges in a cup of Earl Grey and you greet her with a brief, forced upturn of your lips. Her bright blue eyes take you in critically but she mercifully doesn’t comment on your terrible state.

You’ve just barely managed to brush your hair and teeth, pulling on a random pair of dark jeans and a thick cream sweater.

The hotel is comfortably warm but you still feel cold despite that.

“Santino?”

Ares sneaks a look at you and her response is simple, Handling the fallout. There is quite the uproar and he has to be seen.

To avoid suspicion.

To shield you.

To shield you both.

As much as you wish you could help, there is little you can do now. This is not your crowd. These people are at the very top of the power pyramid and you have no power of your own.

Guilt at your own failure festers in your chest despite the fact that you know that you made up for it by taking Rafael’s life.

Santino knows it, too.

A part of you wonders if this is why he’s trying so hard to bury this.

Despite the fact that you would likely lose your head, and he would be severely punished if anyone found out.

That does not, however, explain why he doesn’t simply throw you to the wolves and save himself. You’ve seen him do it plenty of times. Someone fails and they become expendable, useless. Failure once is failure always.

Maybe he does have some sort of moral fibre in him after all.

The breakfast proceeds mostly in silence. There is little energy in you for anything aside from chewing and swallowing of your food. Still, at least there is hunger in you, and you’re grateful for that if nothing else.

Ares doesn’t bother you, almost like she can sense the discomfort clinging to you. But she, too, appears preoccupied, her thoughts further away than usual.

Frankly, you can’t wait to go back to New York.

Maybe there is some other job Santino needs doing in the meantime. This job was a failure but you still need that money he offered.

Finishing your meal, you leave with a slight nod in Ares’ direction but don’t have the energy for anything more than that.

Time crawls by as you sit in your chair, staring out towards the now peaceful Lake Michigan. A deep layer of fluffy white snow has covered Chicago overnight, and with the sun occasionally peaking past the clouds the landscape seems to glow.

Somewhere between hour two and three, you end up on the floor, your eyes examining the ceiling with silent intensity.

This reminds you of the night John left. Back then, the ceiling of the Continental had been your only companion, too.

John, John, John.

One part of you hopes that he’s the happiest he’s ever been. While another part of you...

The door to your room opens and you recognise the owner of that silky, accented baritone anywhere.

Santino is speaking in French again but it muddles in your mind into a string of noise.

The conversation ends and his footsteps draw closer with increased speed.

“Cara mia?” he calls out and appears above you, his expression tight. “What happened?”

You sigh gently, blinking, “Nothing,” you mumble and blink again. There’s still that insistent pressure against your temple and everything is growing fuzzier. “Just...admiring the ceiling. It’s very good at giving one...perspective.”

The man above you regards you through narrowed eyes, deadly silent, which is unusual. Santino likes to run his mouth. He’s different from last night, too. His cast is back—every inch of him as immaculate and as groomed as always and it almost...disappoints you.

The man you saw last night—the one weighted down by personal pain and cracked around the edges was one you could relate to, maybe even like.

This man—the heir—is just a cold, distant remnant of him. An arrogant prick you have little patience for.

He considers you friends but you see how he watches you.

But perhaps it’s for the better.

That side of him from last night is far, far more dangerous. That side of him you could see yourself growing to care for, see yourself being able to share in moments of loneliness with.

“Dance with me.”

It’s a demand and he doesn’t even bother to try and mask it as anything other than that.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re...an infuriating, domineering asshole?”

One of Santino’s eyebrows arches and he shrugs off his suit jacket, throwing it on the seat not too far from you. “Yes, cara mia, you have,” he points out mildly and extends his hand, loosening his patterned tie. “Dance with me.”

You don’t move.

He doesn’t drop his arm.

Exhaling loudly, you raise your head, sitting up with a muted glare. His expression is as aloof, as effortlessly arrogant as always, and you slap your hand into his, gripping firmly only for a slight smirk to flicker over his features when he hauls you to your feet.

He wastes no time, moving closer to you as his arm slips around you, his attention drilling into you.

Turning your head pointedly away from him, you sway in silence.

This close, you can see the subtle signs of exhaustion on him. The ashiness of his skin and the darker smudges under his eyes. It’s an effort to ignore the stab of guilt you feel at those observations.

“Don’t disappear.”

Blinking slowly, your head inclines in his direction. “I’m right here.”

His arm tightens around your waist and you ignore his heated touch.

“No, amore, you are slipping away again,” he remarks, his voice hushed and leans his face closer towards yours. “Stay here, in this moment, with me, yes?”

Your throat closes up, a shiver racing down your spine at his words, at the gleam in his green eyes.

You feel, then, terribly seen. Exposed.

You’re ashamed of what he might be seeing right now.

There’s more to you than this.

“I’m—“

His expression doesn’t waver. His grip on you like a chain around your being. But for once, it’s not a suffocating thing, not a burden. It’s an anchor.

His story rings in your ears like a broken record.

“Does anyone suspect?”

He knows what you’re asking and mercifully lets you divert the conversation. “Not yet, which perhaps makes the whole fiasco worse,” he points out but doesn’t seem concerned. “We will wait till afternoon to leave. Many have departed already.”

Avoiding the tension in the air, you allow your eyes to drag over his features. There is one thing that has been plaguing you since you heard his story last night.

“Why didn’t Giovanni go after Boutin? Why are you not telling him now?”

Santino’s eyes snap to you, searching.

This is both curiosity and an attempt to stay...present.

He seems to recognise it as such and after an uneasy moment, his lips part, “Because I spent years hounding but constantly came up empty, bella,” he divulges stiffly, his hold on your hand constricting. “Because it kept bringing my father shame in the eyes of the Table, and he has forbidden me from going down this path again. He warned me that if anything is to ever happen to Boutin, and he learns that I had anything to do with it, he would strip me of my title. Rules, yes?”

That’s why he needed you.

Why he didn’t want this attached to his name.

If Giovanni is to ever find out that he did anything to Boutin, he would lose the very thing he’s always desired above everything else.

The title as the next head of Camorra.

But more importantly, this festering hatred for rules finally has an explanation.

Rules have robbed me of more than you know.

His words from last night suddenly make a lot more sense. After the last 48 hours you shared, an awful lot more makes sense about him in general.

“Well,” you begin, meeting his gaze. “I meant what I said last night. I will help you.”

Santino hums and his face softens a touch. The corner of his mouth quirks upwards and you’re not sure what he finds so funny. “Such promise, no?” he wonders idly. “I might hold you to it, and that is not a position most people enjoy being in.”

You know that well.

Shuffling your feet clumsily, you let him turn your interlocked bodies, and can’t help but silently wonder why this is helping.

Why he is helping.

“I won’t have offered if I didn’t mean it.”

Something shifts through his eyes; a weight, an emotion you have never seen before but it’s gone with a blink.

His feet halt but he still holds you to him.

“Come away with me.”

“Where?”

His exhale is barely audible. “Anywhere, cara mia, anywhere you want,” he says urgently and then a sly light enters his eyes as something seemingly comes to mind. “You still owe me a trip to Paris.”

This again.

Trying not to roll your eyes, you answer with a dry, “I’ve been to Paris before, Santino.”

His hot palm folds around yours more snugly, his touch lingering. “Not my Paris,” he argues but it’s the most carefree you’ve seen him since Rome. Ever since your reunion in New York, he appears calmly furious every time you see him but not right now. Not in this light, not with this minimal distance between you. “You haven’t experienced the food and the art and the music. There is more to life than this, and it’s out there, waiting for you. I could show it to you,” he adds the last part in the faintest of murmurs, peering at you intently.

No pride, no demands, or ego.

There’s such lightness to his voice, to his eyes, that a part of you can almost imagine it, taste it, like you’re in Paris with him right now.

He almost looks hopeful; an emotion you’ve never associated with him before.

But—

John.

His dark eyes and his raspy voice haunt you.

Accuse you of betrayal.

“I can’t.”

The light gutters out.

He studies you for a grim moment, unblinking.

“I can’t,” you repeat again, and your words tumble out in a rushed, dejected mess. “Tarasov will—“

“Ah, bella, the Russian can be paid off. We both know that,” Santino interrupts, his voice slipping towards coldness. “What is this really about, hm?”

You gape at him for several moments, stumped.

“Is my company truly so revolting to you that you rather slip back into isolation?” he demands, attempting to control his slipping anger. But this anger is different from the one you witnessed last night. “Lock yourself away. Let that beautiful fire be doused again by memories of him. Snap out of it. He’s not coming back. You need to let him go before he destroys you.”

“Shut up.”

It’s a feeble mumble of words and you pull back. He lets you go but his words are like a torrent.

He’s been holding back for years.

He likely wanted to spill these words to you the moment he realised the amount of damage the wedding did.

He’s been trying to leash this for your sake but no longer.

“When will you realise that if he truly loved you, he never would have left you,” he snaps, seething, his vocal cords distorting with sharpness. The lines on his face deepen with his stubborn scowl as he continues, stalking closer. “When will you realise that you deserve so much better than this misery, hm? When will you just let him go and be happy? When will you realise that his care was nothing but a brief fancy to soothe loneliness? You were simply there. An easy choice. The moment another came along he left you behind like an unwanted pet. When he came to me for help, he didn’t even bother asking after you. He didn’t care, amore. He doesn’t love you and he never will.”

Silence.

You’re not sure if you’re still breathing.

There is just a vague sound of blood rushing in your ears and the sight of the man before you blurs.

A soft wisp of air slips past your trembling lips and you see Santino falter. His explosive temper drains away in a blink. His jaw sets as he, too, seems to conclude that he has gone too far.

You know he’s right.

You know that.

Every action John has committed before leaving only confirms it.

He did feel something—he’s not the type of man to fake something like that, he’s so kind and gentle deep down—but you’re not Helen.

You’re not a normal, happy life, either.

You’re none of those things.

Because your life has become an act of brutal transformation. Soft skin to hard skin; gentle voice to cruel voice; good heart to black heart. That’s what it is to be alive, to survive—an act of cannibalising oneself till there’s only bits and pieces left behind that appease others. Tarasov, Kishi, this life of blood and death. They have all ate alive a girl that could have been and spat back something awful and terrible out instead.

Your feet carry you past him wordlessly.

Santino turns after you, his fingers brushing over your elbow, “Amore, I—”

You jerk your arm away like his touch physically hurts you, disgusts you. Your mouth contorts in a snarl and your attention snaps towards him, a well of hostility and hurt exploding outwards.

“Yes, I do find you revolting,” you bite out loudly, every word as cruel and as abrasive as you can possibly make it. “Because you are nothing more than a selfish, spoiled, murderous little man who feels entitled to the world. You hide behind your pathetic bravado but I see right through you.”

Gasping for breath, you ignore his frozen expression, and practically hiss your next words at him, “Yeah, Santino D’Antonio is nothing more than a scared, miserable boy overshadowed by everyone in his life but so desperate to be heard, feared, respected. It’s pathetic, really, how hard you try because you will never succeed. No one will ever care or love a lying, cheating, backstabbing bastard like you.”

Your words hang between you, stripping the room of air.

The space crackles with aggression as you stare at each other but neither of you speaks.

His face is blank, his stare glassy.

You’ve thought that maybe he—

You’re such a goddamn idiot.

Pivoting on your heels, you march away, not caring if he will order your death for such disrespect. You’ve seen him order hits for less.

But there is just emptiness.

A gnawing pain in that hole John and Tokyo have punched right through you.

A hole that a weak, pathetic little ember in your chest has whispered could be soothed by the man you leave behind you with a slam of the door.

You stagger down the hotel hallway as tears blind you and Kishi falls in step beside you, grinning brightly.

You’re dead to the world.

Your tears only come harder.

The silence inside the car is chilly.

Neither of you speaks though you’re sitting beside each other, no more than an arms-length away.

Ares found you hours later at the hotel bar, nursing a lemonade in your hands and lost in thought.

She had tried to make a joke about it only for it to fall short when you remained unresponsive. Her own expression fell after that, and in that action, you knew Santino has told her what has transpired between you.

You had followed her back to the lobby silently. Everything was already packed and ready to go, she had informed you. The nightmare that’s been this trip has finally come to an end.

She had to go ahead and secure the jet, and with Santino’s dwindled guard numbers, Piero was the only one to greet you by the large, black SUV.

The stoic, muscular man had nodded at you once, a touch stiff, before pulling the car door open for you.

Santino, much to your displeasure, was already seated inside.

Dressed in a fresh khaki suit and white shirt and with his eyes guarded by tinted sunglasses, he hadn’t even turned in your direction.

And so the painfully awkward drive to the airport began.

Even now, fifteen minutes in, the only tell for his turbulent thoughts is the way he keeps winding the golden ring around his finger repeatedly.

There is a buried pang deep in your chest which warns you that you have taken your comments too far.

It’s not that you don’t think what you said doesn’t apply to him to a degree—both past and present—but...

But you’ve seen so much more of him during these last few weeks. Days.

A completely different side.

Your own pain—a heinous, thick, rotting thing—had been too desperate to burst out and cause similar torment.

You’ve been selfishly unwilling to be alone in your suffering.

He was right. Everything he said. But it hadn’t hurt any less to hear the truth you’ve already known since John walked out of that hotel room, leaving you alone.

There is a lump in your throat that refuses to leave as you survey the snowy Chicago streets while the car speeds down the streets.

“The money will be transferred to your account when we land in New York.”

The declaration rips through the otherwise quiet car with a loudness of a thunder crack.

Licking your lips, you turn your head in his direction, a frown pinching your features, “I don’t need your charity,” you inform him frankly. “The job fell through.”

Santino’s own head slants in your direction lazily, the gesture effortlessly disdainful and you almost bristle. He’s playing up the worst of his character traits on purpose.

“Charity, cara?” he echoes, unimpressed. “Hardly. You will be getting 500k for your work here and 1mil will be earned back whenever you work for me next.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I have a preference for you breathing,” he says bluntly before glancing in your direction. Behind his sunglasses, you catch only a glimpse of those sharp eyes before he turns away again. For a brief second, the vision of him now and the man who sat beside you in the shower blur. “Which you will not be if you don’t pay the Russian, no? Consider it a future investment into our wonderful, revolting partnership.”

The golden ring keeps twisting around his finger.

Even now he would still—

You’re so focused on the heir next you that you don’t see it coming.

The impact practically throws you off your seat and your hands snap outwards on instinct.

The SUV goes sliding down the road before another car slams into it from a different direction. Your body slides towards Santino and you throw yourself at him, shielding his body as glass rains down over you both.

Tires screech against the icy asphalt while the car spins, and your face buries against Santino’s hair for a brief moment as the car drags itself into a standstill.

“Stay down.”

You don’t hesitate, pulling a pistol from under your sweater and heave yourself towards the front of the car where Piero is already pulling out his own gun. Blood trails down his split brow but he appears otherwise fine.

Count. How many?

Following John’s stern advice inside your head, your eyes sweep over the intersection. The highway is ahead, no more than half a mile out, and you flip the safety off your pistol, keeping low as you reach for Piero’s shoulder.

“Get do—”

The bullet hits the dark-haired man right in the temple, splattering his blood all over your face.

Your grip on him loosens and you fall back towards Santino who is staring at you with grim sort of understanding.

His sunglasses are gone and his green eyes meet your own.

Yes, you suppose he would find and ambush a quite routine turn of events.

You’ve been in this situation too many times to count as well.

Even if there is a distinct, prickling discomfort at the knowledge that you are now effectively alone facing against an unknown number of assailants.

Tangling your fingers in his expensive suit, you pull him closer and he goes rigid in the seat, your eyes still locked.

Stay on me.

Reaching past him, you wipe at your face, and lock your fingers around the door handle. Another five shots hit the SUV but you ignore it, pushing the door open.

Five shots, three-second delay, at least two shooters. Not aiming to kill, just to draw you out.

John’s voice recites the observations in your ear, and you push Santino through the door, your gun raised. His phone is in his hand already but it doesn’t matter what help he calls for.

Ares is at least another twenty minutes away. Your numbers are slim as they are already.

It’s up to you two to get out of this alive.

Your hands keep trembling. Far, far too much for a balanced aim and you grip the gun tighter between your clammy fingers, willing the stability to return.

Don’t let it consume you.

Clinging onto Winston’s steadying voice, you slide out after Santino, another series of shots hitting the car after you. The pinging of the metal pierces your ears painfully but you ignore it.

One two, three and then four.

One two, three and then—

Locking your muscles, you jump upwards and fire two shots in the direction of your attackers.

One of the figures falls to the ground from the impact and you throw yourself down as an explosion of lead follows in response.

Santino’s arm wraps around you as you both hunch into a compact ball of limbs on the floor. At any moment a stray bullet could hit you, but the car is your only cover. You’re helplessly exposed and out in the open.

“How many?” his laboured inquiry tickles your ear but you don’t answer him.

You’re not sure you can stomach the ugly truth yourself.

Just a glimpse and you saw at least three dozen darkly dressed figures, all armed and ready to—

Not kill you, John reassures from beside you and you look up at the Italian.

“Too many,” is your tepid conclusion, and you press him closer as more bullets hit. A too familiar smell of gasoline registers in your nose moments later and you bite back a frustrated yell. What’s next?

Cursing under your breath instead, you cut your attention back to him. “I can cause a distraction. Draw their attention—”

“Have you lost your mind—”

“Your life matters more than mine!”

His mouth snaps shut but the look on his face—

Bullets hit the car once again, cutting off any potential reply, and the gunfire draws closer in a regular hit of metal against metal.

Either this car will blow or they will corner you.

So you make the choice for him.

Raising your arm, you fire blindly—a deterrent—and lift your head briefly over the back bonnet to check—

You pull the trigger immediately and again, and again—

Two bodies drop against the car, now dead, and you shove Santino roughly to the side.

Shit.

They used the covering fire to mask their approach.

And their uniforms.

They’re the Black Dragon’s men which means—

The chamber clicks empty and you hurl the gun at the face closest to you.

Two blades greet the next two men and you throw yourself at them.

“Run!”

You don’t risk turning around to see if he obeys your order.

Flipping the polished metal between your fingers, you sink it into a struggling man, ignoring his flailing.

This isn’t about winning.

You’re far too exhausted and outnumbered for any illusions of that.

This is about buying Santino time to get away.

If Ares hurries—

You throw another blade, smashing your leg into another man’s knee with enough vicious intent that you hear bones crack.

Another dies with a snap of his neck.

Another with a blade right in the jugular.

Next one with a blade in his face.

Skin, muscle and tendons all rip and it’s still not enough.

Black, black, black everywhere you look.

This has dissolved into a fistfight. You’re not sure how many you have managed to take down using speed and agility but your strength is disintegrating by the second. Any and all gunfire has long since ceased as if to give you a fighting chance. Like whoever is behind this is testing how long you will last.

Just like—

The butt of a semi-automatic flies towards your face and—

You come back to life with a violent jolt of your entire body and a gasp of pain.

You’re somewhere poorly lit and damp. Cold.

Something about those few observations causes your entire being to go into high alert.

Scrambling, you shake your head to clear the fuzziness from your vision as well as the tang of blood that lingers on your tongue.

“Shh, bella. Don’t move.”

Your eyes fly open, your head spinning as you squint at the too-familiar figure in front of you.

“What—” your voice splinters and you force down the raspiness away. “I told you to run.”

To know that you’ve been taken is bad enough but to know that you failed, again, simply because—

“They would have killed you.”

That’s the only explanation Santino D’Antonio offers you before he extends his hand in your direction.

His suit jacket is missing, leaving him in nothing but a white shirt that’s smeared with dirt and dried blood. This is easily the most dishevelled you’ve ever seen him. He hates getting his own hands dirty.

He looks relatively unharmed though the way his dark curls clumps with blood on the left side of his head tell you exactly how he ended up here with you.

“Where are we?” you force out as he helps you to sit up, his fingers still holding your own. “How…how many?”

Your speech slurs and you groan, shaking your head again, trying to bottle and throw away the pain. Your hands are still shaking and Santino’s hold constricts briefly. It’s almost comforting. Almost.

Right now, you don’t have the time to be upset or angry with him.

Right now, you’re perfectly aware that the only chance you have to get out of this alive is to work together.

“I’m not too sure. I woke up only minutes ago,” he reveals, his voice hushed and spotting your bewildered frown, he subtly indicates towards the ceiling where you notice a blinking red light. Cameras. “We were alone when I came around.”

It’s then, with your vision finally settling, that you are able to fully take in the space around you.

The blood in your veins promptly turns to ice.

No.

No, no, no.

From the bottom of your stomach, you feel a swell of raw, numbing sort of panic spread, spiking your pulse.

“Cara mia?” Santino calls out, no doubt noting the way your face has slackened with terror. His fingers sink into your shoulder gently but even the heat of his palm does nothing to quell the uncrackable ice suddenly encasing you.

You’re underground.

A large, dark space.

A single, swinging lightbulb illuminates the dirt you sit on and a large metal door—

Just like Tokyo.

Just like that endless pit of blood and torment and pain.

You can’t breathe.

“No—please, no,” you gasp and yank yourself from Santino’s grip, scrambling to stand up. “No, no, no.”

The surprise that you’re not bound barely sinks in as you stumble towards the metal door frantically.

Santino’s confused voice sounds behind you but you don’t understand a single word he says.

No—

Please, please, no.

The quake in your hands is so bad that it takes you three tries to grasp onto the handle, your nails scratching against the rusted metal. The noise is jarring in its familiarity but you try to ignore it.

Despite your best efforts to battle down the spreading panic, your barely calm breaths slip into something more frantic, terrified.

You try to wrench the door open but it won’t budge—

“The door is locked, cara, I tried—”

Your fist slams against he metal cutting him off, and you gasp for breath before crashing all your strength against it again.

And again.

Again, again, again—

“Stop!” Santino shouts over the deafening bangs, trying to haul you away from the door by the waist. “Stop, you’re hurting yourself!”

Ignoring your bloodied knuckles, you try to kick your way out of his grip, disregarding his grunts of pain. He holds you to him tightly despite the way you scratch at his arms, and twist in his hold. “Don’t touch me!”

Your voice is not your own, your body is not your own, either.

The darkness presses in on all sides and you ignore Kishi’s laughter ringing from the inky shadows surrounding you.

“Let me out!” you scream from the top of your lungs and a sob breaks free from your chest; a wet, broken toll of pure terror. “Let me out, let me—”

“Breathe, cara, breathe—”

Santino’s voice reverberates like he’s underwater, and you let out a wail of pure pain.

Pressure builds against the back of your head and—

“Let me out, let—me—please—let me out!”

Your begging falls to deaf ears, and your shouts of fright echo back at you like a nauseating lullaby.

It’s like being squeezed through a tube, nothing but blackness filling your sight.

You can’t breathe—

then

nothing.

Humming.

Peaceful, soothing humming laps at your senses, filling the holes and the crevices.

This time, you don’t come around forcefully but with a melody in your ears and delicate fingers against your hair.

A thumb strokes lightly against your temple to the beat of the little song.

Your eyes ache when you blink them open, still stinging from tears. Softness cushions your head, and it takes a little while to grasp the fact that your head is nested in Santino’s lap as he holds you to him.

A whimper slips free and the humming cuts off, his touch retreating at once as he peers down at you.

Another deep line has formed between his crinkled brows. Even worse is his usually vivid gaze that now appears black.

“Count with me,” he urges in Italian, his words insistent but quiet, before you so much as open your mouth. He seems to be making a conscious effort to not touch you more than necessary. “Uno, due, tre.”

He repeats it. Next time he goes up to five. Then back down.

Each time with more urgency.

Your heart beats like a resoundingly drum inside your chest but you force yourself to obey, force yourself to mouth with his counting.

He holds your stare as you do.

Panic retreats gradually one mumbled number at the time.

You’re shivering, unmoving, curled up against him. Leeching off his warmth.

It’s deafeningly quiet here. You can’t bear to look around you, less you be reminded of where you are, so you focus only on him.

You feel so weak. Pathetic.

You recall Tarasov’s disgust at your weakened state in his office but there is no disgust now.

A tentative touch grazes against your hand and you jump, curling tighter into yourself as you drag your hand back.

Santino grimaces at your rough movement and it’s then that you catch the sight of his hands.

Red, inflamed lines mar his tanned skin. Some deep enough to draw blood.

A memory of you trying to tear out of his grip—

“Your hands...” you whisper, horrified, ashamed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The man huffs a breath.

“Stop apologising,” he deadpans. “It’s rather irritating, you know.”

His response is so frank and unexpected you only blink. Sniffling slightly, you let a faint snort escape you, your eyes fluttering shut with a fragile smile.

“There we go.”

He sounds pleased.

Your eyes open and in this shadowed space, his cast has once again cracked. “Why are you being so...”

“So?”

“Not you,” you breathe weakly.

Santino chuckles. It’s a pleasant, silky sound that doesn’t seem to belong in this horrid place. His head tilts back, hitting the wall with a muted thud. The cords of his neck move with his amusement and his palm settles briefly against your hair. It’s almost playful. Fond. “Ah, and has it ever, perhaps, crossed your mind that you don’t really know me, bella, hm?”

He glances down at you, awaiting your answer but you don’t offer him one for a long time.

You thought you knew him.

You do.

It has simply become abundantly clear that not all parts of him like you initially assumed.

For the second time in your life, you’re glad that you know him.

That he is here with you.

That you’re not alone.

Truly and wholly.

You never thought you’d live to see the day.

“I know you’re not a good man,” you murmur faintly. “I know that I shouldn’t trust you.”

Only a twitch of his lips. Indulgent. Dangerous.

“No, I am not,” he admits easily, unabashed. “And no you shouldn’t.”

A glint of something that’s gone too quickly for you to decipher in the darkness. “Even if I would like you to.”

You don’t feel like lying to him that you do trust him, so you say nothing.

The silhouette of him shifts—careful not to jostle you—and you know that he wants to say something but there’s some internal battle going on inside him.

“Cara mia, I—”

You’re not sure how you know what he’s trying to express but you do.

Maybe because you’re thinking the exact same thing.

Your fingers lace around his cautiously, avoiding the scratches cutting into his skin.

“I’m sorry, too.”

Before he can respond, there is a groan of metal behind you.

Your fingers clamp around his, your momentarily ease fracturing.

“Santino—”

He squeezes your fingers once.

“We’ll get out of this.”

You hate the promise, the resolute belief, in his accented voice.

Unlike him, you feel drained of hope.

“Get them up.”

Footsteps stomp against the ground as figures pour inside the darkened room. The order was given with leisurely authority, and the owner of the voice is familiar with weaving command like his native tongue.

Santino doesn’t wait till someone manhandles either of you though. He stands long before that and you’re surprised that his fingertips linger on you, helping you as well.

He straightens as figures dressed in black gather around you, cutting off any escape routes.

You force your shoulders to rearrange, ramrod straight, and tilt your chin up just like the Italian.

Through the group of Dragon’s men cuts a man.

He’s shorter than you both, well in his sixties, and sporting grey slicked-back hair. He wears an ordinary black suit and you can tell from one look that it’s likely half the price tag of Santino’s.

The man’s face is unremarkable, too. A slightly crooked nose, deep-set eyes that look darker due to the dim light of the room, and deep wrinkles lining his face. Two fingers are missing on his left hand just like Santino told you and your eyes narrow on him.

Across Andre Boutin’s thin lips lingers an impersonal smile.

It sets your teeth on edge.

He halts in front of you, his head lifting a touch to look up at the heir and he hums, inspecting him with a shrewd, cold look.

That gesture almost reminds you of Winston except it feels insulting to compare the manager to this scum of a man.

You try to envision him younger, try to imagine what he would have looked like the night he killed the Lady of Camorra right in front of her child.

That rage you felt last night when Santino told you his story licks at your senses again, chasing the exhaustion and the fear away. At least for the moment.

You almost entertains he idea of leaping at him right now but you doubt you’ll make it before the men surrounding you kill you.

“Here we are again,” Boutin speaks thoughtfully, his voice more nasally than you would have expected. “Santino D’Antonio...you have grown, boy.”

The Italian beside you is rigid.

God, you can’t even begin to imagine what he must be feeling right now, faced with the murder of his mother after all these years.

“And you have taken after your mother,” Boutin continues, seemingly unconcerned with the thick, suffocating enmity filling the air. “Those hateful eyes and foul temper...they remind me of Emilia.”

“Don’t you dare speak her name,” is a hiss of such unbridled fury that the man beside you practically shakes with it. “Do you have any idea what my family will do to you now? I will tear your little company to pieces.”

This Santino you do know.

Serrated, vicious edges and pure venom.

Boutin looks unmoved by the threat, however, just mildly aggravated.

“Arrogant just like your father,” he concludes dispassionately and you hear Santino exhale at that. “Do you think I did not plan ahead, boy? No security footage, no witnesses. I made sure no one would know where you are or who took you. Do you believe your title makes you invulnerable? I am the head of the Black Dragon. I’ve been serving the High Table before you were even born.”

Shit.

This is—

This is Tokyo all over again.

No one knows where you are. There will be no help here.

Even if Ares knows, even if she contacts Camorra—which you know Santino would have warned her not to do unless there’s no other option—it’s unclear how long it may take for them to track you.

Step could potentially do it but even then...

“I always knew that you would not let it rest,” the man carries on, folding his arms behind his back and something changes in his regard then. Hardens. Prickles your senses. Something about this man reminds you of— “Letting you live was the biggest oversight on my part. But then you had to go ahead and come here, didn’t you? So, if you would like to avoid being sent back to Giovanni in little pieces, I will ask you only this: where is my son?”

Ignoring the quake in your legs, you risk a peek towards the heir. His features are bathed in half-light and half-shadow but his expression is cold, sneering.

“Am I suppose to know who that is?”

Boutin’s thin lips flatten into something more cutting; a subtle promise of violence that you know how to recognise even if Santino may not.

Kishi and Tarasov have taught you well.

So cracking your lips, you speak for the first time before this can escalate, “You’re Rafael’s father.”

It’s in the eyes.

Always in the eyes.

Beside you, Santino goes very still.

He understands what this means.

Just like that, Boutin’s attention slides towards you, his eyes narrowing in consideration. He takes a step towards you and the Italian next to you slips closer, his arm brushing against yours. The Dragon’s men move into a tighter circle around you.

The silent warning is clear.

“That’s right,” Boutin confirms, expressionless. “It seems I have almost forgotten all about our guest of honour. The Vipress.”

Confusion and disbelief fill you.

You hadn’t expected that.

“You know who I am?”

Yes, your name has spread far and wide, especially after the Hunt. But you were under the belief that Boutin never involved himself in the dramas of your world, staying completely secluded unless forced otherwise by the High Table. His fear of Camorra, of retaliation, has driven him to a half-life.

The older man almost looks amused by your reaction.

“I reassure you,” he begins coolly, another aloof smile ghosting over his worn features, and there is something in his intonation and scrutiny that makes your skin crawl. “I know a great many things about you. You’ve been a subject of interest to us for some time now. How do you like it here? I had hoped you would find it...familiar.”

Your composed expression strains.

Familiar?

“We have no idea what happened with your bastard son.”

Santino’s words cleave through the air and Boutin’s keen appraisal comes to an end with them. His eyes drag towards the Camorra heir.

“Do you take me for a fool, boy?” the man questions calmly but there is a sharpness to his words that makes you wary. “I know you had something to do with my son’s disappearance. I will rip the truth out of you, but I’ll start with her. Let’s see how long your resolve holds when you are faced with a choice between her life and your own.”

A barrel of a gun digs into your skull, making the cut against the back of your head ache.

You calculate the trajectory and the distance between you and the figure behind you.

Disarming the man would be easy enough if you could get your muscles to obey and move fast enough.

The issue is another ten men in the room and Boutin himself.

Not to mention Santino.

An open target for them to exploit.

As if confirming that thought, a gun gets levelled on his head, too.

Another warning.

No, this is about biding your time—

“Oh, I will kill you for this,” Santino vows, low and icy, as he glares hole into the older man.

Boutin appears curious though. Pensive.

“I was under impression that you D’Antonios don’t have hearts,” he points out mildly. “Yet she elicits such a…response.”

His hand lifts casually and the pressure against your head lessens but doesn’t drop entirely.

“Fear not, boy,” Boutin starts, his tone wooden, and grasps your chin between his fingers. His skin is dry and leathery, his touch just as subtly unpleasant as the rest of him. “I have different plans for the viper,” he states calmly and you jerk out of his grip, glaring.

The man gives you a thin smile.

“Separate them,” he orders. “Let’s see which one breaks first.”

You knew your weapons were missing from the moment you first woke up.

When you train yourself to be so aware of everything about your own body and every advantage available, you begin to track the smallest of details.

Survival is decided in moments. Find them.

John’s voice whispers against your ear and you walk at a steady, orderly pace.

Which one breaks first.

Boutin’s words have burrowed under your skin and you know he meant them.

You have no intention of sticking around long enough to find out the answer to that.

They split you up before they removed you from the room, dragging you both in different directions. You count your steps, track every turn. The most important thing is not to let them lead you too far away that you can’t find your way back to Santino.

The Italian’s reaction to Boutin’s words has been the exact opposite of your apathy.

Santino has always been a raging volcano; volatile, dangerous, and quick to erupt. He has sworn vengeance. The bloodshed that Camorra will soak the Dragon in with pleasure.

His words held promise and power.

Perhaps that’s why Boutin’s complete lack of reaction struck you as so...odd.

Initially, you had chalked it up to arrogance—there is certainly an abundance of it found in just about every male you have ever encountered in this business—but this had been different.

Boutin knows what Camorra is capable of. He fears them, or at least fears Giovanni. Otherwise, he won’t have chosen seclusion the way he has for decades.

So why is he so sure that there will be no consequences for taking the heir of an Italian powerhouse? This goes so much further than just Camorra’s wrath, too. This is a family with a great many powerful allies on its side. Not to mention the startling amount of control and presence they have at the High Table.

Something about all of this doesn’t make sense.

The lack of fear, the preparation that has gone into this—they all point to more than just an attempt to torture answers out of you.

How will Boutin react if the truth about Rafael comes out?

They will torture and kill you both. Slowly.

Swallowing at that desultory, cool assessment inside your mind, you slow your gait.

“Move it,” a muffled voice grouses from behind you in an accent that makes you think Eastern Europe. “You know we will hurt you.”

Shocker.

Your hands have been bound but the guards are still alert.

It made you feel queasy to have the roughness of rope cut into your wrists once again.

But it had not been the time to act. Not yet.

“I feel...”

You drop to the side.

The guard reacts on instinct, grabbing you by the forearm to slow your descent to the ground.

Your elbow smashes directly against his temple, numbing it enough to make your arm droop. Other two guards react at once, pulling up their weapons but it’s too late. You drop against the guard that was leading you, yanking the gun from his hand and planting a bullet in his face and the two guards behind him.

Only one dies immediately due to your shaky aim, and it takes another bullet each to finish off the other two.

The spike of adrenaline drains too quickly and you slump to your knees, breathing one harsh breath after another.

Your muscles twitch under your skin but your ears strain.

Two bullets too many.

But the gunshots had sounded muffled when they fired, dampened by the dirt and the flesh. A small mercy but one you’re not quick to thank for. It’s still no guarantee that someone hasn’t heard or will come to check soon enough.

Move, John orders sternly, or they will kill you. Move.

You start with your hands.

After Tokyo, after it took weeks for the skin of your wrists to heal, you made sure to practice getting out of binds constantly. With enough time most binds can be broken out of.

Time, however, is one thing you don’t have a lot of right now.

Still, doing more damage than you wanted, you manage to rip your wrists free. The skin already looks abused and scratched from loosening the ropes but you ignore it, wrapping the length of it around your right hand instead.

A good weapon to use.

The pistol only has two bullets left in the magazine—it won’t take you very far.

The other guards only have a knife between them. Still, you grasp the unfamiliar, heavy weight in your hand. Balancing the metal between your fingers, you try to familiarise yourself with the shape and the feel of it.

Wiping the back of your hand over your forehead, you dig deeper and deeper into yourself to find the strength to go on. Your earlier panic still lingers in your veins but you ignore it, clutching onto that clinical set of instructions inside your head.

Either you get it together or you die.

Your eyes press shut and you stand, shaky, mumbling all the turns and twists you took to get here in this far away tunnel.

Now, more than ever, you wish you could find that stillness John sometimes mentioned.

The sensation of perfect clarity that allows you to slip into nothing but pure instinct. Where there is no pain, no exhaustion, no limits.

But you’re not John.

As everyone is always so quick to remind you.

Fingertips tracing the walls and relying on nothing but touch and memory and sound, you move through the tunnels.

For at least five minutes there is nothing but the beat of your heart.

Then—

Dull footsteps ahead and you pause, your eyes opening.

The rope in your hand loosens and you wrap the other edge around your left palm. The rope stretches and you relax your muscles, waiting, ready.

The soldier rounds the corner and you land a quick, brutal kick to his knee, making him double over. The rope wraps around his neck and you cross your arms, slamming against his body and pulling the rope taut around his neck.

The man splutters, groaning, trying to pull the rope away from his throat but you press closer, digging your elbows into his back. The man twists, attempting to throw you over his body but you wrap your legs around his waist from behind, clinging to him. The splutters grow weaker by the second and you breathe harshly against his ear as he falls over, your body weight keeping him pinned down.

Time seems to crawl as he stills. You wait for another twenty seconds though.

You’re not about to take any chances.

Loosening the rope, you slice the blade against his neck for good measure, too.

Pushing the heavy body to the side, you leave it in a shadowed edge of the tunnel.

Wherever here is, it’s an old but sturdy premise.

You encounter another three soldiers before you manage to track down Santino. Shadows and silence are your best weapons and you don’t waste your precious bullets.

Rope and a knife.

Not quick and not clean but still effective.

The metal door is shut but hovering your ear over the door, you can still make out the voices inside.

“You know, I’ve heard about you,” a man speaks and you crack the door open centimetre by centimetre after undoing the latch; no doubt a way to stop Santino from getting out in the event he manages to get loose. “D’Antonio. The Smiling Shark. I’ve been waiting for a chance to cut up your pretty-boy face.”

This holding room is a smaller version of the one you first woke up in. Though you can’t see his face, you spot Santino seated on a chair in the middle of the room, a bright light illuminating his lean frame.

“Oh? You think I’m pretty? I’m flattered.”

It’s an effort not to roll your eyes.

Crouching low, you stalk closer, your steps silent.

The guard grabs a knife from his hostler. An ugly, crude thing meant to scare and do damage.

“Forget waiting—”

You jump on him from behind, driving your own blade deep into the unguarded flesh of his neck.

“Guess you’ll have to wait a little longer,” you rasp into his ear and slash the knife horizontally, not wasting any time.

The man barely has time to gasp before fresh blood rains across the dark dirt and you push his body to the side. You slow the descent just enough to void any loud noises as you wipe the bloody blade on the guard’s clothes.

Your eyes lift towards the Camorra heir but Santino is already staring at you.

The look in his eyes is not one you have ever seen. He has bestowed you with plenty of intense, heated looks before but this is something else.

“You okay?”

“You’re incredible.”

That’s genuine and it almost makes you smile. Instead, you arch an eyebrow and approach him, readying the blade. Your arms feel like lead and he no doubt notices your shakiness as you hack at the binds holding his arms tied behind him.

There is a fresh smear of blood against the corner of his mouth but other than that he appears the same.

The binds loosen and you rip them off. Santino lifts his hands at once, rubbing his wrists with a scowl all while he peers at the dead guard.

“Come on,” you prompt when he stands to his feet. “We need to get out before someone notices we’re gone.”

You step past him, listening for any sounds outside. Your time is limited before someone finds the dead guards and calls for a search.

“Wait.”

Your head snaps in his direction in disbelief.

“Wait?” you repeat, bewildered. “Waiting is the last thing we should be doing right now.”

Santino’s eyes find your own and he cuts the distance between you but his expression—eager, wild—is one that spells danger.

“They talked with me, bella,” he begins, a note of urgency in his accented voice, and leans so close you’re practically face to face. “I goaded them into revealing some interesting things about this place. It is rigged to blow. A security measure.”

A beat of hushed silence.

“Tell me that you’re not that stupid and reckless.”

The disbelief in your voice makes him sigh and press his eyes shut briefly before he turns his attention back to you.

“We blow this rotting pit to hell and bury Boutin and his men inside.”

He says that like it’s so damn easy.

You pull back, your eyes searching over his features only to realise that yes—yes, he is indeed that reckless and stupid.

“I don’t know what kind of delusion you live under, Santino,” you hiss quietly, leaning closer as well. “But I reassure you, I am no superhuman. I’m barely standing and have a knife and some rope on me. You’re no fighter, either—a liability as far as combat is concerned. And you really expect to blindly go into this, knowing what I do about your thirst for revenge when it comes to this man, and no exit plan when you blow everything up while we’re still here?”

Santino’s exhale of frustration almost equals your own. He drags his palm over his face, wiping the blood staining his skin. His body stands straight and you see the stubborn set of his jaw.

“I lied. Inside the room. I knew that they were watching and listening, cara mia,” he clarifies hurriedly, and the insistence in his voice makes your eyes narrow. “I woke up when we were still in transit. I memorised the path, bella. I know how to get us out of here,” he says with a meaningful stare, and adds a pointed, “This is nothing new to me, remember?”

Is this a skill he had to learn over the years? Being able to track where he is being taken to?

“And you expect me to just believe that?”

His eyes flash.

He hesitates for a breath.

“Yes,” he whispers and reaches for your face. His fingers brush over the arch of your cheek and you find yourself frowning. “Trust me.”

You shouldn’t.

He’s out for revenge.

Your strength is failing.

You have no exit strategy other than his word that he knows the way out.

But—

His petulant stare as he ate the fruit crawls back. That burgundy suit he wore.

His unspoken belief that you are stronger than this—that you deserve better.

He could have dangled you like a prize in front of Rafael and while he did, he never allowed the other man to touch you. Santino tried to keep you safe even when it was potentially compromising his own self-interests.

He could have thrown you under the bus the moment you killed Rafael. He could have used you as a scapegoat. He has certainly done so plenty of times before.

But he didn’t. He’s been doing everything in his power to keep you both safe.

He didn’t leave you even when you told him to run, either. He’s here, right now, because he made that decision—to take that risk.

And maybe—

Maybe you know a thing or two about that smouldering, never-dying need for retribution.

For revenge.

It’s those realisations that open your mouth. “Fine. Just so they don’t follow us.”

You both know that you’re lying.

But he doesn’t point it out.

Wasting no time, you move towards the dead guard, ransacking his body for any other weapons.

Your fingers wrap around a well-loved Beretta 92 and you almost snort at the irony of it all. The magazine is full though and you grip it firmer. Your hands are trembling so hard, you almost bite your tongue to stop yourself from cursing.

Long, burning fingers wrap around your hands and you flinch.

Santino’s gaze is cautious.

“Let me.”

“Do you even know how—”

His fingers are gentle while he peels your fingers away from the handle.

“I’m the son of Camorra, cara mia,” he points out flatly, almost peeved. “I will endeavour not to be insulted by your implication.”

Under different circumstances that might have gotten a smile or even a laugh out of you but right now you only step closer to him.

Santino pauses in checking the pistol, his eyes roaming over your features, taken aback by the closeness.

“When we’re out there, I will need you to have my back,” you tell him, low and solemn, and he matches your sombre stare, unblinking. “Or we both die. Stay behind me. Shoot only when the situation is dire.”

“I have no intention of dying here,” he informs you flatly, his voice as supercilious as you’re used to hearing it. “Do you?”

You give him a stony look.

“Let’s bury that asshole.”

You march past him but still catch a glimpse of a smirk on his face as he turns to follow you.

Both knives you’ve stolen weigh heavily in your hands. One is larger than the other, too, which will be an issue. Fighting is always made harder when there is no equilibrium between the blades.

Ignoring that, you dig deeper and deeper—

Shouts ring in the distance and you freeze just as you both exit the holding room.

The tunnel is empty on both sides but a bolt of urgency shoots through you at the commotion in the distance.

“They know.”

Santino says nothing but this is probably the most serious you have ever seen him. He nods his head left and you move ahead of him, both knives gripped securely.

There is urgency in your steps as you occasionally turn towards him to check where to go next. The further you go the more sounds of unrest grow.

They’re searching for you.

At this rate, it’s a matter of time only until they find you. Unless you beat them to it by blowing these tunnels.

Your arm snaps out.

Santino bumps against it, halting at once. His green eyes meet yours and you shake your head, nodding for him to get behind you. For once, he listens wordlessly but sticks close. You can feel the faint heat of his body tickling the back of your bare neck as you lower yourself into a crouch. The man behind you hesitates but then follows your lead.

You’re in front of a fork in the tunnels but—

Count. How many?

A phantom of John crouches opposite to you, his expression merciless. Icy. A manifestation of that hunter instinct he worked so hard to instil into you.

Your eyes flutter closed and you strain your senses.

Five.

Barely audible tremors against the ground. The rhythm. The shuffling of boots that’s too substantial to mask fully.

You don’t know if you can take five of them—

You’re not strong enough.

Focus. Hesitation will kill you. Go for the veins. Don’t give them time to react.

He’s right. There is no room for fear or doubts now. Too much depends on the next two minutes.

Stay with me.

Your shadow, your beloved ghost, gives you a too kind, I will.

That’s how you know he’s not real.

But that hurt—a blistering, swelling thing—rips through your heart and washes away all else.

And then—

tip backwards,

nothingness,

and finally,

—stillness.

A step in the dirt just around the corner.

Your eyes open.

A crunch.

You go straight for the femoral vein, severing it in one stab before you slice upwards through the thigh, the man’s blood spilling immediately as you jump to your feet.

The second blade lands in his neck.

You yank mercilessly, and the figure right behind the first—now half-dead—soldier doesn’t react fast enough before you throw the blade right at his chest.

The blade sticks and the soldier grapples for it with desperation fuelled by agony.

You allow him the luxury of pulling the blade out for you before you drop the first soldier, and throw your spare blade at the third man further away.

It hits his shoulder like a bullet.

You leap at the second soldier at once and grabbing his arms, drive the bloodied blade back into his chest, harder this time. You slam the heel of your palm into the hilt twice, ramming the metal even deeper, and kick the soldier’s feet from under him just as bullets hit his body. The shield holds and the slight pause in the rapid-fire gives you an opening to rip the blade from the man’s chest. You sprint at the third soldier who just about got the second blade out.

Your legs wrap around his chest and a wicked slash is all it takes to finish him off.

Rolling over, you slip yourself under the dead soldier’s body as more bullets hit. Your fingers dig into the soil as you wait.

Click. Click. Click.

Pushing the body away at the sound of empty chambers, you throw dirt at the fourth soldier’s face, followed by a slippery blade. It lands in his thigh and the man yelps in pain.

The coppery stench of fresh blood finally coats the back of your throat but you ignore it, leaping to your feet.

The fifth soldier backs off, desperately hurrying to reload—

Watch your flank, a mix of John and Cassian warns and you tuck yourself to one side, distributing your weight evenly as the fourth soldier charges at you.

A punch flies towards your face.

Too slow.

Spinning on your heels, you duck, looping his arm in the noose of the rope you have fashioned, wrenching his arm backwards. Slamming your foot into the back of his leg, you let him fall to his knees, whirling around to hurl a blade at the filth soldier. The man you’re holding pulls on the rope, throwing your aim off, and the blade pierces the tunnel wall instead.

Shoving your knee against the fourth soldier’s spine, you crack his neck—

BANG

You still.

The body of the fifth soldier falls to the floor behind you with a groan. Your head turns and Santino lowers the gun slightly, meeting your stormy stare.

The haze lifts and you gasp a breath, loosening the rope till the fourth soldier drops to the ground as well.

You dip your head in a grateful nod.

Santino steps closer, his gaze searching. “Bella?”

“I’m fine.”

You’re trembling so badly, he doesn’t look convinced by your words. He extends his hand to touch you but you stumble past him, kneeling to stick the blade into the final soldier after removing it from the wall.

Santino got him in the chest but not in any vital spots. Still, you know you would be dead if he hadn’t fired that bullet.

“That must be the room,” he speaks from in front of you and you glance up to where he’s looking. “Come on, bella.”

Now the presence of these soldiers makes sense. They were guarding the control room. Gripping the gun in his hand—and it is admittedly a sight that unnerves you because you’re not used to seeing Santino handling weapons—he points it at the door, nodding at you.

Your attention lingers on him for a second before you retrieve your blades and stagger towards the door as well. It’s worn, cheap metal and you hear the creak of hinges as you push it open cautiously.

There is no one inside.

You check twice before entering with Santino behind you.

The camera feed focuses on the giant room where you first woke up with several screens showing different angles. The room itself is dark and smells musty and old with just enough cool dampness permeating through the air. Both of you ignore everything else as you busy yourselves with finding any form of a detonator.

Your movements are sluggish but you compel your body to move through gritted teeth.

“Cara mia,” Santino calls out after few moments of searching and your attention snaps to him. He’s standing in a darkened corner next to the control panel and you walk towards him. “I do believe I found it.”

Yes, besides the camera controls and light controls, sitting at the very edge of the platform and enclosed in glass is a button that only reads Emergency Exit.

“They say that this is what it was called,” he reveals before you can ask, and you share a brief look. He reaches for the glass encasement, using the back of the gun to smash the glass and hovers his hand over it. “After all these years…”

His voice fades off and you listen to his unsteady breaths for a few seconds.

“Boutin may not even be here,” you point out lightly.

You haven’t seen him since your separation after all. You have no proof he’s still here.

Santino exhales, his shoulders curving. “I know.”

His hand smashes against the button.

At first, there is nothing.

Then, a splitting screech of a siren rips through the air and the camera footage cuts off, every available screen switching to a countdown instead.

00:05:00

00:04:59

00:04:58

Wincing, you grasp Santino by the crook of his elbow. “Run,” you say and realise a second later that your voice is lost in the blare of the siren. You tug him to you, his eyes meeting your own. “Run!”

You both do.

Pushing out of the room, you react just fast enough to stick your blade in a soldier’s gut, throwing him off you unceremoniously. Santino fires two bullets over your shoulder, the sound swallowed by the earsplitting warning chime.

One hits in the neck and another in a shoulder but you finish off anyone alive with your blade.

Your knees knock together as you try to rise and Santino is suddenly there, his large hand around your forearm as he helps you stand.

He doesn’t try to speak over the deafening sound simply leading you in whatever direction you hope the exit lays.

Stumbling side by side, you hurry through the tunnels, taking turn after turn. With each new opening to another seemingly endless stretch of darkness, you start to feel your hope waining.

The Italian wears a muted glare on his face, his expression pinched, focused. His bright eyes tracking over every turn and you see him muttering under his breath.

You’re wasting too much time.

“Santino—”

You both round another corner and you feel it.

A shift in the musty, damp air.

Something colder and more biting stings through your throat with every inhale and you gasp, a puff of visible air exploding from your lips.

Santino looks triumphant and raises his eyebrow at you when your eyes meet—

You push him out of the way.

The bullet hits just where his head was moments ago and you fall on top of him, covering him as he drags you both backwards, firing two bullets at the target behind you.

A tunnel wall finally covers you as bullets hit the dirt overhead. Dust and soil rain down on you both. Risking a peek to the left, you catch a glimpse of a metal door in the far distance. The exit.

So close.

But you still have at least another minute and a half on the clock and the soldiers are drawing closer.

Grabbing the heir by the shoulder, you take the gun from his hand. “Go!” you shout from the top of your lungs and even then your voice sounds faint when compared to the gunfire and the warning sirens. “Get out of here. I’ll cover you.”

“No—”

You shrug off his grip. “Get your hands off me and get the hell out. Run!”

You shove him away but he lingers. His glare is dark, biting.

A bullet hits near your feet and you round the corner shooting the first black-clad figure right in the face. At this proximity, it’s impossible to miss, and you fire the remaining bullets at the swarm of soldiers before ducking back around as more lead pelts the tunnel walls.

The siren continues blaring.

Santino is gone.

The soldier lays dead at your feet and you reach for his semi-automatic but you’re too far away. Gritting your teeth, you wait for split-second pause that means someone is reloading or trying to rearm.

A second and you leap ahead, rolling across the floor, grabbing the semi-automatic as you go. Dirt sprays around you and your grip slips for a second—a few breaths of silence that cost you—before you unload the mostly full magazine onto the approaching soldiers.

It shreds through them ruthlessly and you duck for cover and fire.

Duck and fire.

The magazine is almost empty by now but you have John’s training on your side. Most shots are not even headshots. But it’s enough to slow them down. You spot one soldier turning around and running back into the tunnels as if realising that this is pointless and this entire place is about to blow anyway.

Which makes you so much more aware of your own time—

A boom in the distance almost makes you fall over.

You grip onto the wall and ignoring the few remaining soldiers, pump whatever little strength you still have left into your legs, dashing straight ahead. The soldiers don’t fire, no doubt realising that they don’t have time for that, either.

Soil rains down on your head and you sprint ahead as earth trembles beneath your feet.

More tremors and another explosion tears through the air.

You don’t need to look behind you to know that the tunnels are collapsing right behind you.

The door ahead is wide open though. The dark, frigid night beckons.

Which means that Santino got out.

You stumble as the ground cracks beneath your feet, throwing you.

Don’t stop.

It’s a roar all around you and in your head.

Dirt falls over your shoulders and fills your lungs—

Swallowing a shout of frustration, you sprint ahead and throw your body in a leap.

Hitting the ground roughly, you roll several times, throwing your arms over your face as destruction shatters the tranquil night air.

Dirt and soot fall onto you in heavy bursts.

You remain curled on the ground, trying not to choke.

Destruction, crumbling soil and metal and then…

Quiet.

Just as quickly as it began, it falls eerily quiet.

Your ears ring and you cough, shuddering in your spot as soil slides down your cheek and shoulder.

Twitching, you roll onto your back and gasp for breath, savouring the torment that’s the bitter Chicago air filling your lungs.

You’re not quite sure where you are. It appears to be some sort of middle-of-nowhere industrial estate, except there are no other buildings around.

You see no stars above, either. Thick, rolling clouds cling to the sky instead.

No matter how hard you try to move your body, you can’t. Whatever was left had been sapped away. You’ve given too much and your body has hit its limits. Once—before John and his wedding—you would have been able to walk away from this with your head held high.

Before he abandoned you. Before you allowed the spectre of him to cripple you further, clinging onto him like a hopeless, lovesick fool. Before you let him and the pain caused by him diminish your strength.

Enough.

The knot in your throat suddenly tastes like hatred.

No matter how hard you try, you can’t quite swallow it down.

You’re not sure how long you lay there, simply breathing and staring at the sky.

It’s so cold. You’re both cold and numb and…

Footsteps crunch against the gravel.

Oh, you’ve almost forgotten. Santino.

Your head slants slightly to the side, trying to spot him.

You can’t believe you feel an actual pinprick of relief—happiness even—at the thought of seeing—

The kick to your stomach is strong enough to jolt your entire body to the side.

A scream of pain doesn’t quite escape but you curl into yourself with a whimper.

A weight drops on top of you, bony fingers sinking into your hair and jerking your head till you’re on your back.

Boutin’s furious face appears above you. A deep cut runs across his left temple, spilling blood all over his weathered, dirt-smeared face.

“The Viper.”

His gnarly fingers wrap around your throat and you try to beat his hands back but your own barely obey.

“I will destroy you,” the man whispers. “If not me then the one after me.”

Your fingers release his, trying to reach for the gun under your clothes that you held onto as a failsafe. There are still two bullets—

His palm slams against your cheek and you choke out a pained cry.

His fingers rip at the hard lump under your dirty and bloodstained sweater. He grasps the gun in his hand, looking down at you as his other hand remains wrapped around your throat.

“No—”

Boutin smiles. “Do not worry, viper,” he says mildly, almost mocking. “This would be too quick. I’m old-fashioned. I prefer seeing life drain from someone’s eyes.”

He throws the gun away and you almost sob.

You try to find that clarity again, try to grasp onto any shred of strength still left in you but—

But there is nothing.

Your mind is barren.

No Cassian, no Winston, no John, either.

You’re alone.

Boutin’s fingers grip your throat and he squeezes as your eyes fill with tears.

Tighter, more painfully tight.

Darkness fills the edges of your vision.

I don’t want to be alone—

“Let her go.”

The pressure lifts.

Santino.

Boutin is frozen on top of you. The heir stands beside your bodies, his arm raised and your gun gripped in his hand as he presses the nozzle into Boutin’s temple.

“The Table will have your head for this,” the older man hisses, his eyes dark. “You have no idea how much power I have. Or my purpose. Do you, boy? There are things out there that are more frightening than even the Table. Don’t be foolish like your father.”

Santino’s expression is empty though.

“We killed your son,” Santino reveals, his voice cold, mocking. Boutin goes so still you’re not sure if he’s still breathing. “He died begging for mercy. I wanted you to know that.”

“Do you have any idea—”

Santino doesn’t let him finish. “You will never take anyone from me ever again.”

“Boy—”

BANG

Boutin falls to the side, his weight disappearing as he slumps dead.

It’s quiet again.

“Amore? Can you hear me?” Santino’s urgent, silky voice speaks from above you, and his hands cup your cheeks as he carefully turns your face towards him. His familiar, round features register in your mind and your expression crumbles. “I got you, hm? Look at me. You’re safe now. I will never let anyone harm you again.”

He wraps his arm around you, carefully pulling you into a sitting position. Your cheek rests against his shoulder for a second before you pull away.

Silent tears drip down your cheeks and you don’t try to wipe them away.

Your throat hurts.

Everything hurts.

All those years of pain and abuse.

Tarasov.

Kishi.

John.

Rafael.

Boutin.

Something deep down crumbles to nothing.

A flood of grief and pain so powerful follows that you tip your head towards the inky, vast sky above you and let out a scream.

You roar at the sky, letting loose every shred of repressed anger and pain you’ve been bottling up. Every scream you’ve ever held back rips right out of you.

Your throat feels raw and bloody by the time you choke on a sob, your body slanting till your forehead is practically pressing into your knees.

Santino is silent beside you as you cry; a few, muffled sniffles escaping you. He doesn’t touch you either and you’re grateful.

Tranquil night air keeps you company for a long time.

It’s so cold.

Eventually, your cries subside, growing fainter.

Another few minutes pass before your head lifts slowly.

You reach for the scratched hand beside you. “H-help me…stand.”

He does.

His arm wraps around you and he pulls you to him. Your legs feel numb.

Santino touches your cheek and your eyes find his own, your vision blurring as he grips you around the waist. Ashamed, you try to turn away from his probing stare but his grip tightens. His fingers flatten against your cheek and he scrutinises you intently, transfixed.

His expression feels like another kick.

Torn and bloodied, he holds you to him with security that almost makes you feel safe.

“The…body.”

He understands.

Those green depths finally slide towards the dead man—no regret there—and then towards the only car in your line of sight.

He knows what he has to do.

You’re too weak to help but you watch as Santino drags Boutin towards the car. He dumps the body inside, slamming the door shut behind him. He stares inside for a while and you wonder what’s going through his mind before he stalks to the side and opens the fuel cap.

He hesitates again, pensive, but begins his trek back towards you.

If this gets out—what you just did and the people you killed—you will both be killed for it.

The Black Dragon is an extension of the High Table and you just killed its leader and heir.

Santino might get out of it alive. His title, however, would be stripped from him which you know for him would be as good as death.

That means that you have to destroy the evidence.

He halts before you, peering at you silently as he offers you the gun.

You reach out and squeeze his fingers around it weakly.

“For Emilia.”

For a second—just one—his expression wavers before he controls himself with a forceful swallow and a tilt of his chin, all arrogance.

His wild curls flutter in the air as he comes to stand beside you and raises his arm, aiming.

One bullet left.

He doesn’t miss.

This time the explosion that follows and the open, hot flame that devours the car are things you welcome.

You and Santino stand side by side and watch as Andre Boutin turns to ash.

New York skyline is a sight that makes you chest ache.

With relief instead of dread.

You never thought you will see it again.

From Santino’s penthouse apartment terrace, you gaze out and towards your city with a thoughtful frown.

You’ve spent the night at Doc’s clinic. That’s how long it took for the man to patch you up. He’s the only one you could ever trust to do so and keep his mouth shut about it.

It’s been a little over a day since you’ve come back from Chicago.

It took an hour of trekking through dirt roads and snow before you and Santino managed to find your way back towards civilisation. Additional two before you were reunited with too pale Ares who had looked at you both and not asked a thing.

You were lucky that a homeless man at the gas station had enough change for a quick call on the payphone. By the time the black SUV rolled into the station with its tires screeching, you were practically comatose with only Santino’s arms keeping you upright. Your last memory before you lost consciousness had been of Santino paying back the homeless man with a check for 40k.

You don’t remember the flight back to New York, nor the emergency care you received.

The window in which you were both unaccounted for was far too substantial not to draw suspicion.

So it’s been your idea to suggest that if anyone comes sniffing to give them a simple answer.

You were fucking and dining and drinking.

Most already assume you warm Santino’s bed. Why not give them a confirmation, especially when it’s the easiest and most effective way to get rid of any unwanted attention?

It will come back to bite you.

But if it helps to dispel the suspicion that will fall onto you at some point—

“Ciao, bella. How are you feeling?”

You turn around, glancing behind you with a blink.

Santino strolls towards you with a fresh, crisp three-piece and black overcoat while his hands stay in his pockets. Sunglasses on and his hair neatly combed, he looks exactly like he always does. A man of wealth and status. Not a curl or seam out of place. But when he stops beside you, the sun reveals the faint traces of bruises dotting his skin, only masked by an expert layer of makeup.

Everything to deter suspicion.

You haven’t seen him since you landed.

Both due to him needing to do some recon and you needing urgent care.

You wonder how he feels now that Boutin is dead. If he feels relieved and happy that it was by his hand. One day, you will do the same with Tarasov.

“Like I never thought I will see this city again.”

His head slants towards you with a thoughtful hum and the breeze ruffles his clothes. His styled curls stay in place and you’re not sure why you feel a faint stab of disappointment at that.

“The news has reached the High Table,” he informs you calmly and you swallow, your skin crawling. “They know Boutin and his men are dead.”

“And?”

“And?” he repeats with a cutting grin before removing his dark shades and looking towards you. His eyes seem even more piercing in daylight. “I reassure you, cara mia, if they knew my father would have crucified us both by now,” he explains and you know he’s right. “The site was completely demolished. Hm, they were unable to find anything except Boutin’s burned skeleton,” he adds with a pointed look in your direction.

You stare at each other for a beat.

“So no one knows,” is your low, disbelieving assessment.

Santino only dips his head, his attention sliding towards the city.

“No—and it’s in our best interest to keep it that way, no?”

It’s a leading statement. A poke at a question that’s no doubt been on his mind just as much as it has been on yours.

Can you trust one another to keep this secret when betrayal could mean the destruction of the other?

Shifting on your feet, you ignore the twinge of discomfort you feel through your body, and grip the railing, levelling him with a solemn gaze.

“What we did, we did together,” you say, your words hushed, frank. “The blame is as much mine as it is yours. I will not betray you.”

Santino doesn’t react.

It takes another minute at least before he finally turns to face you.

His eyes rove over your features. Hard, searching.

He’s still the same as he was before but…there is something different now. You can taste it and feel it. A new layer of something sits snugly between you.

You relied upon and protected each other.

Saved each other from death.

That binds people for life. You just never expected it to be him.

“Just so we are clear, bella,” he begins and steps closer, adjusting his overcoat. “Your life does not matter less than mine, do you understand? Don’t ever say something like that to me again.”

That’s not exactly the response you expected.

“You’re the heir of Camorra.”

His life will always outweigh yours. It’s not that yours doesn’t matter but—

“And you are the woman who saved my life,” he states lowly and watches your from beneath furrowed brows, something simmering in his eyes. “That is not a debt I will be quick to forget.”

This time, you take a step towards him as well.

“You saved my life, too,” you remind him, squinting at him in the sunlight. “As far as I’m concerned, we’re even.”

A playful slant of his mouth greets those words.

“Oh? Well, that’s what friends are for, no?”

You make a small sound at the back of your throat—still tender from all you’ve been through in these last few days—and shake your head.

“Friends. I have seen how you treat your friends, Santino,” you point out knowingly, casting a thoughtful look his way. “Knife in the back the moment they stop being useful to you. I’m not here to play that kind of game.”

He leans close like his next words are for you alone; a secret just between you.

“Then perhaps you can be my exception, hm?” he wonders in a murmur but the look in his eyes is…unusual. Warm, almost. It makes you shift in discomfort. Just for a second, his eyes flicker towards your lips. “My first real friend. No games.”

Your throat feels dry, your next words a whisper, “And is that what you really want from me? Friendship?”

Friends don’t look at each other the way he looks at you.

A taunting twitch of his lips is your reply but it doesn’t have the same effect it used to. Before it was irritation at his nerve.

Now—

“For the sake of transparency in our newfound friendship,” he admits quietly and his hand comes to grip the railing. Sun dances over his tanned skin and your eyes latch onto those bruises again. His scratched skin. “I will admit that no, that is not what I truly desire.”

Shameless and blunt as always. But it’s better than lies. You almost find his directness refreshing.

Face-to-face, Santino D’Antonio regards you with obvious longing, not even bothering to hide the sultry note in his next hungry words. “What I desire, amore, is to take you back to my home back in Naples and make love to you in my bed till we both forget our own names,” he purrs gently, slanting his head as he watches you, and those words hit you like a brick. The simplicity of them, the ease with which he admits exactly what he wants. You. “I want to adore every inch of you till you forget the world exists. Till I see you smile and laugh. Till I know every sensitive spot in your body. Till you realise that you do not have to be alone anymore, hm?”

His eyes narrow, his expression almost devilish, before he continues. “Ah, what I really want is every last bit of you that you’re still unwilling to part with. But that’s fine, cara mia. For now, I will take your friendship.”

You consider him for a tense moment, reminding yourself to breathe. “And if I choose not to give it?”

He leans back a touch—just barely.

“Ah, as it so happens a very beautiful and incredibly smart woman once told me that I can be...irritatingly persistent.”

A small snort escapes you and you shake your head again, wishing he wasn’t so…him. So capable of getting under your skin—and so easily.

“She sounds like she knows what she’s talking about.”

His eyes gleam. “She does. She’s wonderful company, really.”

“Even when she calls you a pompous asshole?”

A grin that’s all teeth and genuine amusement. You wish he didn’t appear so delighted by your reluctant wordplay.

“Especially then.”

Your eyes lower.

You can’t do this to him, or yourself.

You can’t give him hope where there is none.

It would be too cruel to allow this to continue further.

“It wasn’t real,” you tell him, firm and prompt, and allow your eyes to jump back to him. “What happened between us during that poker game. I was just playing the part.”

His demeanour changes subtly. A tightening of his shoulders, an unhappy press of his lips, and complete drainage of that fondness you saw only moments ago.

But you continue despite it. “I love him. I still do,” you confess in a fragile, pained whisper. “I think that I hate him, too, but I also think that it will always be him despite it. I can’t give you what you want.”

It surprises you that you feel genuine remorse sting your heart at those words.

You reach out, running your fingers over his silken patterned tie, fixing the crooked lines for him.

“Thank you for all you did,” you utter softly, meeting his sombre, dark gaze. Your words are sincere despite it. “Thank you for proving me wrong. Thank you for showing me that you’re not as bad as everyone thinks that you are, you sly, conniving bastard,” you tease with a slight, frayed chuckle and press your palm briefly against his chest. “But how long before you start resenting me for that?”

He doesn’t answer you, his expression stony. He won’t betray whatever he does feel. He’s too proud for that.

That’s what you thought.

Giving him a faint but genuine smile, you pull back, turning to walk away.

You need to go back to the Continental. Transfer the money you made to Tarasov before he comes knocking.

Santino’s voice halts your feet though.

“You didn’t give me an answer, bella.”

Your lips part and you look back towards him.

He stands where you left him, still gripping the railing. His head tilts in your direction, and you’re surprised to find that the insistent, mischievous gleam is still present in his eyes.

He’s not going to give up.

It’s an odd realisation to come to. But you can see it on his face.

A friend, huh?

“I suppose we’ll have to see if you’re worth the bother, Santi.”

He actually laughs at that, his teeth gleaming even at this distance.

“Have dinner with me.”

It’s not a demand.

With everything that you two have been through, this much you can give him.

“Fine,” you grouse, and make a point of sounding like he’s being a bother but he sees through it, his grin widening. “Tomorrow night. I hope you don’t expect me to be cheap.”

His warm laugh follows you out of the terrace.

For the first time in a while, you feel happy.

The Continental feels like a welcoming embrace you desperately needed. Alongside a lot of sleep and food. Doc’s very strict and unamused instructions. You’ve lost weight and muscle mass. Amongst other things but you will regain those, too.

For the first time since the wedding, you feel strangely lucid. Filled with a purpose that you have no name for.

But you suppose that’s how it works. Things have to be completely torn down before they can be rebuilt.

And you will.

Enough letting others destroy you through their actions.

Enough letting others dictate how you should feel.

Enough clinging to the past, to John.

He’s happy and you will be too.

Your hotel room door appears in front of you and the sight of it almost makes you smile.

Home. Finally. Mercifully.

Both Charon and Winston were absent when you turned up at the reception—a rarity—but you were looking forward to catching up with the manager later.

Even if you could never tell him what happened in Chicago.

Winston is a man of rules and principle. He would condemn you for what you did. Or at least could not excuse something as foolish as what happened.

But Winston also doesn’t understand what you and Santino now share.

The heir needs time, but one day you will ask him about Boutin again.

Your hand touches the cool metal of your room handle and you freeze.

Your other hand snakes behind your back and you pull out a pistol, clicking the safety off.

You can always tell when someone has been in your room.

Scratches and marks and little traps you have set up.

Charon knows how to leave the place undisturbed.

He and Winston are the only ones who do because you’ve told them.

Not bothering with the key, you thrust the door open with a loud bang, raising your pistol to find one pointed back at you.

“Wait!”

Two men stand inside your room but neither of them is familiar.

Dark skinned and dark-eyed, they watch you with polite caution.

They don’t appear hostile though.

“Who the hell are you?” you snarl, tracking their every twitch.

The one with lighter, golden skin raises his hands in the air slowly, a placating gesture.

The one aiming the pistol at you doesn’t lower it though.

“We mean you no harm.”

His accent is lovely. A gentle roll of vowels and syllables that most certainly points to Middle East.

Your focus doesn’t slip though, and you take two deliberate steps into your room.

Your work is locked away as usual but the fact that they managed to get in—

“Then why are you in my room without permission? The Continental rules—”

The one with darker skin and a gun interjects, his words low and monotonous, “You have been summoned.”

You almost bristle at that. “By whom?”

“The Elder.”

You don’t make it to dinner with Santino.

In fact, you don’t see him for seven months.

. . .

an: wow, I don’t think I have ever been more nervous about a chapter and the reception for it lmao. I’m so sorry about the wait and thank you so much for supporting this story. Sorry if this wasn’t as good as usual ahhhh.

Also, a quick note: Santino’s backstory is not here to make people go “aww, poor baby” because nah. It’s there to highlight the very grim reality of this kind of world. Santino doesn’t pity himself. His story is more to show the “this happened to me but instead of doing nothing, I chose to be terrible back” angle. I always felt like there had to be a very deep reason for his hatred for tradition/rules so this is my take on it. I also hope this finally explains why Chicago so fundamentally changed them both. Thank you for reading <33

#john wick #santino d'antonio x reader #john wick x reader #santino d'antonio #john wick imagine #john wick fic #john wick x you #santino d'antonio imagine #riccardo scamarcio #keanu reeves #fanfic #fic: children of ares #this is so big that it lagged when i wrote the AN lol hooo boi

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sgtbradfords · 4 years ago

Note

“I can’t do this.” Chenford prompt. You’re writing is amazing.

It's finally here!! I've teased this fic the past few days and I'm so glad to finally share it!! Anon, I just want to thank you for this prompt. My muse was beyond thrilled and never wanted to stop :) I hope you guys love it just as much as I do. I’ve inserted a read more link due to the length of this fic.

Tim Bradford stood in the hallway of the beach house, his back pressed against the light-colored wall, the fitted dark grey tuxedo a stark contrast to the paint behind him. The black suspenders underneath the suit jacket was digging into his shoulders, the tie that rested under the collar and around his neck, feeling as though it was constricting his airway. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be anywhere but here.

He felt at his pants pocket before reaching in, glancing both ways for anyone coming as he grasped the smooth metal flask, pulling it out. He flipped the clasp, taking a long shot of the amber liquid, letting the flavors of the smoky whiskey savor his taste buds before pocketing the flask once again. He knew he should not have come, but the smile that has graced her face for the past eight months was worth every bit of heartache. He told himself he would stay for the ceremony, hide out in the back of the outdoor gathering, slipping away before any of their friends could notice.

“Hey.” Angela Lopez-Evers said, pulling him out of his thoughts as she rounded the corner from the living room.

Tim gave her a once over, “What are you wearing?”

“It’s called a dress dumbass.”

“Mommy, that’s three dollars in the swear jar.” Max said as he swung her hand back and forth.

“Thank you honey.” Angela told the four-year-old before glaring at Tim.

Tim chuckled. “Shouldn’t you be in there helping her?”

“She told us she needed a few minutes alone and, I had to run through what this little guy’s job is one more time.”

“Why do’s they call it a ring bearer if there is no bears?” asked the child.

“That’s a good question Max-a-million, Uncle Tim’s been married before, maybe he knows.” Angela smiled back at her friend who smiled at the child, crouching down next to his godson.

“Uncle Tim!” he exclaimed, his eyes growing wide. “You’re married?! Is it to Aunt Lucy?!”

Tim’s smile dropped, the comment making his heart violently lurch, the muscle feeling heavier and tighter than it had all day. “No,” he said, clearing is throat. “no buddy I was married, a long time ago.”

“To Aunt Lucy?”

“No,” he said again, looking to Angela for help. “no, her name was Isabel. Aunt Lucy is marrying Emmett. You remember him, right? He’s a firefighter.” Tim told him, fighting the scowl on his face at the man’s occupation.

“Yeah, he’s ok but Mommy said Aunt Lucy can do better than him.”

Angela’s eyes grew wide. “Max Benjamin Evers! Was that not an adult conversation?”

Max pouted, knowing he had been caught. “Yes mommy. I sorry.”

“It’s ok mi alegría, but baby sometimes adults have conversations that are made to not be repeated, ok? Now,” she said looking at the decorative clock on the wall. “we’ve got twenty minutes before we have to be down the aisle, so let’s go potty one more time and maybe Daddy has an answer for your question. Tell Uncle Tim you will see him later.”

The boy lunged at the man’s legs. “Bye’s Uncle Tim.”

Tim patted the child’s back, “Bye buddy.”

“Hey,” Angela said, looking at Tim as she grabbed her son’s hand. “go in there, she might could use a friendly face.”

Tim stared at his friend, giving a slight nod as she walked away. ‘That’s the last thing I want to do.’ He thought as his body made the choice for him, turning and moving him towards the door. He felt like he stood there for hours, the internal conflict in his head making time stand still as he rose a hand, his knuckles rapping on the wooden door.

“Come in.” he heard her soft voice say. He took a deep breath, his hand turning the knob as he slipped into the room.

“Hey boot.” He said, shutting the door as he plastered on a fake and happy smile. “You ready?”

Lucy stood in front of the floor length mirror, her hands ironing out the non-existent wrinkles. “Tim.” She breathily spoke as she looked up, turning around to face him.

Tim stopped staring at the woman in front of him, his lungs losing the air to breath as he took her in.

Her dress looked to be a perfect fit, being made of white lace, with a miniscule amount of ivory tulle underneath. The gown reaching the floor, giving way to a small train in the back. The front was a-line, with a tan silhouette in the middle, casted with small white petals, the lacy sleeves falling down her arms, reaching her wrists in a delicate design. Her hair was gathered in the back, pulled into a low bun that was accented by a comb that was made of glass pearls and metal leaves, a small ivory flower offset to the side. Her face was framed by a few strands of her gently curled brown hair. Her make-up light and natural save for the deep burgundy color staining her lips.

“How do I look?” she asked as she moved a curl behind her ear, nervously glancing at the floor.

Tim was at a loss for words, “Beautiful.” He couldn’t help but whisper in awe.

Lucy blushed as she took him in, “Thank you. You don’t look half bad yourself.”

Tim couldn’t take his eyes off her, moving closer. “You never answered my question Chen, maybe you should do a few burpees before you walk down the aisle to get your brain going.” he joked.

Lucy turned around quickly, facing the mirror once more, taking a deep and shaky breath as she stared at the floor.

“Chen?” he asked, immediately picking up on her reaction as he watched her begin to fidget with the band on her left hand. Concern filled him as his feet moved forward on their own accord, leaving a small gap behind her. “Lucy?”

“I can’t do this.” She told him as her tear-filled eyes met his in the mirror. “I thought- the past few weeks I’ve thought maybe it was just the stress of the job and planning a wedding or maybe a case of cold feet but this, this isn’t that.”

“Don’t cry.” He softly spoke, reaching for the silk pocket square in his pocket as he moved in front of her, using the cloth gently, catching the few tears that had fallen before handing the handkerchief over to her. “What do you mean you can’t do this?”

“I mean I can’t- I don’t love him Tim, not like I should. He deserves- he deserves someone that gives him butterflies when they walk into the room, he deserves someone else worth of his love.” She told him, sniffling.

“I think you’re overthinking this Chen. Emmett, I promise he loves you, how-.” Tim stopped himself, biting his tongue to keep in what he so desperately wanted to say.

“No. You don’t understand, I can’t marry him. I don’t love-”

Tim moved closer to her, gazing into her eyes. “Ok, ok. Take a deep breath.” He instructed, as she inhaled and exhaled once, twice deeply. “Good.” He whispered. “Now, what do you want to do?”

She stared back, her hands nervously wringing the silk fabric she had been given. “Were you serious?”

He arched an eyebrow, asking his former rookie to elaborate.

“When- when you offered to help me run away?”

Tim looked at her incredulously before realizing she was serious.

“You want to go?” he asked running a hand down his face as she nodded. “And you’re sure?”

“I don’t want this marriage to end up as a statistic Tim.”

“Ok.” He said, giving himself time to fine the right words. “Ok, let me go find and tell Angela and we can-” He said as he turned around, making his way to the door, his hand on the handle.

“No!” she yelled. “No, go get Emmett. He deserves to be told in person. I owe it to him to tell him face to face.”

Tim turned back around. “I’m going to ask again, are you sure?”

“Yes.” She told him soundly.

“Ok.” He whispered back, giving her one last look as he opened the door.

What felt like an eternity to Lucy was five minutes, a knock on the door interrupting her thoughts as she stood in front of the bay window that looked out towards the Pacific Ocean. “Come in.”

Emmett stepped through the door, a nervous smile on his face as he kept a hand over his eyes. “This is supposed to be bad luck Lucy.”

Lucy smiled at him as she wiped away another stray tear that had escaped. He looked perfect, the light grey suit he wore making him look every bit of Mr. Right.

“Emmett…”

Emmett opened his eyes, hearing the tone in her voice, his nervous smile faltering. “Lucy.” He breathed her name as he took in his fiancée. “We’re not going to make it down that aisle, are we?”

Lucy shook her head as the tears welled in her eyes once again. “I’m sorry.”

Emmett nodded as he sat down, the silence of the room deafening save for the faint noise of voices coming from the garden at the side of the house where the ceremony was set to take place. “You love him,” his voice becoming a whisper as if he were revealing a secret. “don’t you.”

Fresh tears began to fall as she slid off her engagement ring, the jewelry feeling like a ton of bricks in the palm of her hand. “I wish I didn’t.”

“We can’t help who we love.” He told her as he stared at the ring, gently reaching out to take it back.

“Emmett, I love- loved you. But-“

“—not the way you love him.”

“I’m sor-“

Emmett stood, turning towards the door, his hand grasping the metal and rock so hard it began digging into his skin. “Don’t.”

Lucy nodded her head, moving to her bag in the corner. “Here, take this.” She told him, reaching the for the two slips of paper she was holding on to. “Go on our honeymoon. I can’t- I don’t-.”

Emmett took the tickets hesitantly, sliding them into his jacket pocket. “Lucy… I understand but don’t expect me to forgive.”

“I’ll send Angela to get my things tomorrow.”

Emmett nodded as he laughed sadly. “Well, we’ve got fifty-two people waiting for a ceremony outside. I guess I should let them know there’s free food in the tent.”

“Blame it on me, make sure they know it was me.” She pleaded, adjusting the bag on her shoulder.

Emmett nodded. “Goodbye Lucy. I hope he knows just what he’s missing out on.”

“Goodbye Emmett.” Lucy said softly, walking out the door.

Lucy grabbed her dress in her left hand as she ran to the door, wanting to leave quickly before word got out about the runaway bride. She opened the door, the late afternoon sun casting light onto everything it touched. She kept her sights set ahead as her eyes tried to adjust to the bright lights, running towards the driveway in front of the steps that led to the house which is where she found Tim. He stood, waiting, both of his hands in a pocket as he leaned against his truck parked in the center of the drive. Gone were his tie and jacket, the top button on his dress shirt was popped open and the aviators he wore on his nose showing everything he was seeing.

Tim moved off the metal, his hand ready to open the door of the cab as she approached. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You ready to go?” he asked as Lucy nodded in return.

Tim stared at her, the bright sunlight from the California sun beating down on the woman standing in front of him, giving her a halo, making her look even more beautiful. “Can I ask one question and I promise to never ask again? Why?”

Lucy bit her lip, taking a moment to choose her words carefully as she stared into the eyes of the knight standing in front of her, taking a deep breath. “He’s not the one I love.”

Tim’s face went from curiosity to understanding as a small smile overtook him. He helped her into the truck, closing the door, making sure all the fabric was inside the cab.

“Bradford!” Jackson West yelled from the door of the house, hurrying down the brick paver sidewalk with a large suitcase in hand. Tim turned, glancing back at the woman in his passenger seat as she gave him a shaky smile, nodding as her best friend and man-of-honor rushed towards them. “Where are you two going?”

“Where ever she wants.”

Jackson looked at Lucy as she sat in the truck, noticing a peaceful look on her face for the first time in months. He gave her a crooked grin as he extended his hand carrying the suitcase. “Just… watch her six for me, ok?”

Tim smiled at the brotherly threat, taking the large travel bag. “Always.” He said as a loud noise from the garden made its way around the front. “That’s probably her mother.” He grimaced. “I’ll deal with her, you guys get out of here.”

Tim turned back around, going around the truck to open the door behind his, throwing her bag into the backseat before quickly throwing open his own door, buckling before throwing the gear shift into drive and speeding out of the driveway.

After a few miles, of nothing but main streets, Lucy began to fumble with the radio, turning it up as a constant sound of her phone ringing began filling the cab.

“Hand it here.” He said as he extended his palm.

“What? No! What if-“

“Luce, if you don’t want to have to deal with your phone exploding with messages and missed calls, you’ll hand it here.”

Lucy grumbled, knowing he was right. Tim powered the device down, sticking it into the center console. “If they need you, they can call me.”

“What about- you know what you’re right.”

“Always am.”

“Smartass.” She mumbled as he smirked. “You wanna know a secret?”

Tim grunted, signaling his turn on the interstate.

Lucy began to gather the skirt of her dress, lifting it till mid-thigh. Tim focused on keeping his eyes on the road but failed when a flash of black lace around her left thigh caught his attention. He cleared his throat, an attempt to nonverbally ask, ‘What the hell are you doing?’

“Ha!” she said in victory, removing something from the other thigh.

Tim glanced over. “Chen- Lucy, is that a gun?”

“Yup.” She said proudly as she undone the straps of the thigh holster.

Tim laughed at her. “You we’re going to be packing heat at your own wedding?”

Lucy shrugged, releasing the clip as she pulled the slide back, the extra bullet falling into the lace of her dress. “Why not? Besides, are you carrying?” she judged, putting the clip back in before putting it into the handbag on the floor.

Tim slowed down, setting the truck on cruise control, as he kept an eye on the road ahead. He moved his right foot off the pedal and back, slightly lifting his pants leg before pulling out a small gun of his own.

“Is that a P365?” she asked with a gasp.

Tim nodded, “Bought it a few weeks ago.” He told her before he felt the gun disappear out of his hands.

“And you didn’t think to tell me!”

“I’ve only had it a few weeks and I have taken it to the range once, keep up with the class Chen.”

She let the weight of the gun settle in her hand. “I was going to buy one but you know, wedding and all that.” She told him as she handed the gun back over to Tim, who fastened it back into place. “Where are we going anyways?”

“You haven’t figured it out yet?”

Lucy snorted. “What is with all the sass today Sergeant Bradford?”

Tim smiled as he took the exit he needed. She knew what he was doing as he pulled into the parking lot, parking on the side of the building before throwing the truck into park.

“This ok?”

“It’s prefect.” She said, smiling at him.

He returned the smile before getting out of the cab, making his way back around to her side of the truck.

“M’Lady” he said offering her a hand.

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Ok, something has clearly taken you hostage. Can I please have my Tim Bradford back?” She asked, placing her hand in his as she put a foot on the running board, leaning forward. Her body lunged towards Tim as her foot misjudged where it was landing, stepping on the dress causing her to slip. Tim easily caught her as she fell into his arms, “Your Tim Bradford?” He questioned, arching a brow at her before moving on. “I guess I will always just have to catch you, huh boot?” he asked before letting her go.

Lucy wanted to answer, but choose to give a secretive smile instead.

They walked into the restaurant, the few early dinner customers turning their heads in curiosity at the dressed-up couple.

“Good Evening Mr. and Mrs.?” the hostess greeted from behind the podium.

“Bradford.” Tim said quickly.

“Oh we’re not-“ Lucy began saying at the same time.

“Well, congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Bradford.” The hostess genuinely smiled, grabbing the menus. “If you both will follow me to your table, we’ll get you seated. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

Lucy walked ahead as Tim placed a hand on her back, both taking in their surroundings, cataloging the patrons and exits though they have eaten at the restaurant countless times.

The hostess seated them away from the other patrons, guessing the ‘newlyweds’ would like some privacy.

Neither looked at the menu, both knowing what they were ordering before their waitress came.

“A veggie burger with fries, extra pickles. Oh! And with a strawberry milkshake please.”

“House burger, no tomato with fries and extra pickles because she always eats mine. Also give me a strawberry milkshake as well.”

They talked, Tim telling her about the drama going on outside the room and house she had been in not even an hour ago.

“So, what did they do?”

“Honestly? You’re better off not knowing.” He told her, wrinkling his nose in disgust before taking a sip of his milkshake. “Must you do the fry thing? It should be a crime.”

Lucy finished dipping her fry into her shake, popping it into her mouth. “You going to arrest me Sergeant?” she asked him, raising an eyebrow in question as Tim playfully glared. “Besides, I am missing out on my wedding cake, which seriously tasted like heaven so, I damn will do and eat as I please.” She informed him as she grabbed another fry, dipping it into the whipped cream.

Thirty minutes later, their stomachs were full, Lucy laughing as Tim threw a napkin at her.

“Excuse me.” Came a quiet voice. Both of them startling after being engrossed in one another. “I hate to intrude but my name is Judith Wilson, and I’m the owner of the restaurant, I think I’ve seen you two in here before, haven’t I?”

“Yes ma’am, Ms. Wilson. We come here quiet often.”

The older woman gave them a warm grin. “Not to be one of those old Grandma’s but my Petey has been gone a few years now, and you young man remind me so much of him.” She said, causing Tim’s skin to tinge pink. “Anyways, I wish your marriage lots of love and happiness. And babies, you’ve both got such good genes.”

Tim turned, hiding his face as Lucy took pity and spoke. “Thank you Ms. Wilson.”

“You two get on out of here, the night’s still young.” She winked. “Your bill has already been paid for.”

“Oh, there’s no need for-“

“Nonsense.” She said brushing them off. “But I do have one request before you two leave, can I get your picture? I would love to hang it over the back counter.” She gestured towards the wall covered in memories.

Tim glanced at Lucy as she smiled, “We would love that.”

A few posed pictures later, Tim and Lucy were on their way. A slow ride in rush hour getting them to Tim’s house forty-five minutes later.

Tim grabbed the travel bag of out the back as they both exited the truck, Lucy gathering the skirt in her dress, landing on both feet.

“What are you doing?” she asked as he rounded the vehicle, suitcase in one hand, his suit jacket in the other.

“I’m carrying your bag inside?” he told her as if it was the most obvious thing.

“I see that, but why?”

Tim raised an eyebrow as he looked her up and down, Lucy realizing she was still dressed to the nines. “Right. Wedding dress, homeless, kinda forgot over the past few hours.”

Tim unlocked the house, carrying her case to his spare room, setting it on the bed before turning to leave.

“Hey Tim.” She said softly. “Thanks.”

“Anytime Luce.”

Lucy furrowed her eyebrows. “That’s the second time you’ve called me that.”

“Is it? Huh, didn’t notice.” He told her, fibbing around the edges. He knew, but he wasn’t about to tell her that, the nickname slipping off the tip of his tongue as easily as his other nickname for her does, both holding the same meaning.

She would have called him out on it had it not been for the ringing of the doorbell, a panicked expression falling on her face. “Please let that be someone we don’t know.”

Tim rolled his eyes as he left the room. “Do you think strangers stop by my house often Chen?”

Lucy stayed in the spare room, gently pulling the pins and comb out of her hair, the sound of voices she recognized coming closer.

“Hey.” Angela spoke as she stepped into the room. “Bradford said you might need some help?”

“Lopez, thank God.” Lucy said as she wrapped her friend in a hug. “I thought I would have to ask Tim.”

Angela pulled back. “I don’t think he would have minded.” She said causing the other woman to blush. “Now, turn around Chen and let’s get this off you, there’s a cranky four-year-old finally asleep in the backseat of my car.” Angela told her as she began undoing the lace buttons in the back.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done today Ang.”

“That’s what friends are for Lucy.” She assured. “But let’s talk about you for a minute.”

Lucy cringed, knowing what was coming. “Do we have to?”

“Yes, you became a runaway bride today. Though, thanks for the reception, the food was absolutely amazing. My point being, do you know what you’re doing Lucy?”

Lucy thought about lying, as she worked the dress down her body, the fabric bundling in the floor. “I love him.” She whispered the confession as she unzipped her suitcase still on the bed, digging for more comfortable clothes she hoped she would have packed for her honeymoon.

“I know and I know he feels the same way about you, but Chen, if you ever break his heart or pull a stunt like this again…”

She found an old shirt, shrugging at not remembering packing the old academy shirt as she slipped it over her head. “I won’t.”

“Good.”

Angela filled Lucy in about her mother’s antics as she slipped into a pair of leggings.

Lucy rolled her eyes as she opened the door, walking out. “I’ll send her a fruit basket.”

Lucy walked into the living room, finding Wesley and Tim standing at the door, Wesley keeping an eye on the cranked car in the drive.

“Thanks for coming by Wesley, I think I’d have been stuck all night if Angela hadn’t of come to my rescue.” Lucy told him, wrapping him in a quick hug.

“Don’t thank me.” He said as he pulled back as he nodded his head to Tim. “He’s the one that messaged Ang.”

Lucy looked at Tim, who she had noticed had at some point changed clothes as well, staring at him as he turned and walked into the kitchen.

“We better get going, Max somehow has cake icing in his hair and it needs to be washed out.”

Lucy seen them out of the house, waving goodbye as she stood on the front porch.

“Hey.” Tim said joining her, a white box in his hand. “They had to go?”

“Yeah, thank you for having them come by. The dress was starting to get itchy and I was afraid I would have to wear it the rest of the night.”

“I could have helped you out of it.” He told her, Lucy blushing at his words. “Not like that, not right now at least.”

“Thank you, but I didn’t want to bother you.”

Tim arched an eyebrow. “I brought you here didn’t I?”

“You did. What are you hiding behind your back?”

Tim moved his hand from behind his back, revealing the white box in hand, handing it over. “I had Wesley bring you something.”

Lucy looked from Tim to the box, opening the box as she gasped. “My cake!”

Tim nervously rubbed the back of his neck “You said you wanted some so I had Wesley grab a couple of slices.”

Lucy smiled, looking from the large slices of cake in her hand to the man standing in front of her as she stood on her tippy toes, planting a kiss on his cheek. “I’m tired of saying thank you today so I’m going to go get us two forks, and then, you and me are going to enjoy this cake.”

Tim reached into his back pocket, puling out two metal forks, handing one over.

“Getting ahead of yourself, weren’t you Bradford?” she asked as she sat down, sitting the box on the wooden deck. “Who said I was willing to share?“

Tim sighed as she moved, sitting on the other side of the box, leaning his back against the wall. “Lucky guess.”

That night the two sat on the deck of his house, eating her cake, the air around them turning cool as the asphalt and concrete chilled.

“You were right?”

“About?”

“The cake.”

“It’s heaven right? I’d almost say it’s better than sex.”

Tim choked on the bite in his mouth, causing Lucy to giggle. “Sorry.”

“No you’re not.” He said hoarsely.

“No, I’m not.”

That day was a lot of things, for Lucy it was supposed to be the beginning of a new chapter in her life but instead it was the closing of a chapter, not a failed one but a re-written one. For Tim, the day started out as one of dread, of a lost opportunity but ended with the hope of a second chance. Things that day may have happened by the seat of their pants, but in the end, it was a brand-new beginning for the both of them.

#the rookie fic #tim bradford x lucy chen #chenford fic #chenford fanfic #chenford #fanfic

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rohad93 · 4 years ago

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Moonlit Masquerade: Moonlit Forever After Finale

Luz adjusted her tie for the fourth time in as many minutes. She is so. Fucking. Nervous.

They’re due to start in a matter of ten minutes and she’d taken her place beneath the tree with Lilith, who is looking over a small paper with notes on it when she glanced up at Luz’s constant fidgeting.

“Are you alright, Luz?” she questioned her quietly.

“I don’t know... I’m just… really nervous,” she said, playing with her fingers.

“That’s understandable,” The eldest Clawthorne nodded. “It is a big change, even if you two have already been living together for three years now, but there’s no reason to be nervous, Amity would be pleased if you showed up in your pajamas,” Lilith chuckled to herself but Luz still looks like she wanted to throw up.

Lilith hummed thoughtfully, the girl needed a distraction before she blew her lunch onto the floor, and considering who she’s marrying, Lilith decides to share something with Luz that even Eda doesn’t know.

“Luz, did you know I was in love once,” she finally said and Luz whipped to look at her, eyes blown wide.

“What, you!?” She blinked and Lilith huffed a laugh under her breath, cocking a brow at her. “I mean, you’re great and all!… I just never expected that… but, oh wow… backstory; tell me!” she grinned and Lilith rolled her eyes.

“Yes, before I joined the emperor’s coven, there was a boy, but… after I was accepted, I was so consumed with guilt about what I did to Edalyn I threw everything I had into rising in the coven’s ranks so I could find her cure that I inevitably ended up letting that relationship wither on the vine and he moved onto someone else.” she frowned, eyes distant. “Just one of the many things I regret.”

“Oh, wow. I’m sorry, Lily.” Luz frowned.

“It was my own fault, everything that has plagued my life has been a mess of my own creation. I regret many things, but nothing will change them now, I simply must live with them.” Lilith gave a small shrug. “That’s one thing I can never make up for now.”

“Anyone I know?” she asked and then watched, fascinated as Lilith’s face flushed a little.

“Yes, actually… you’re rather familiar with this man.” she glanced away and now Luz was intrigued.

“Who?”

“Your soon to be father-in-law.”

Luz choked on her own spit at that.

“Alador Blight!?” she cried and the guests look at her curiously before going back to talking amongst themselves. Lilith is red-faced. “You used to date Alador?” Luz doesn’t know what else to say to that.

“Yes,” Lilith nodded and Luz suddenly remembered something.

“Is that who you went to the fall shower with way back when?” She knows she hit it square on the head when Lilith darkened further.

“I can’t believe you remembered that,” The older witch mumbled and Luz chuckled. She and Amity had gone to watch the fall shower again just two weeks ago and this triggered the memory.

“Wow… plot twist, I never saw that coming…”

Lilith just hummed. Luz pressed a hand to her chin, thinking.

“He really took a downgrade didn’t he…?” she asked thoughtfully, which made Lilith blink before laughing.

“I won’t speak ill of Odalia, despite my less than pleasant feelings about her, though, that has much more to do with Amity than Alador.”

“I will, she’s a bitch,” Luz scowled and Lilith snorted.

Luz suddenly has so many questions, was that why Lilith had taken Amity on as her pupil as a kid? Or was it just because Amity was powerful and had nothing to do with any previous romantic feelings for her dad?

She doesn’t have time to ask them though, it seems Lilith’s ploy to distract her worked because Willow is peeking out from behind the curtain and giving them a thumbs up. The moon is overhead now; it’s time.

“Ready?” Lilith smiled.

“No!” Luz hissed, and her palms are starting to sweat. She is so not ready by any stretch of the imagination!

A lilting piano starts to play, It’s nothing like the classic wedding march she is familiar with, but it’s pretty, though the soothing melody does absolutely nothing for her jangling nerves. She glanced at her moms in the front row behind her and Camila smiled while Eda gave her a fanged grin and a thumbs up and mouthed ‘You got this’. She wiped her sweaty hands on her pants, hopefully, that won’t stain...

She straightened and took a deep breath, ready or not, here she went.

The curtains pulled aside and Gus and Willow appeared, linked arm in arm, they smiled brightly as they made their way down the aisle, followed a few moments later by Viney and Emira, and in the back of her mind, Luz knows that it’s their wedding she’ll be attending next. Viney had already confided in her three months ago that she’d bought a ring, but she wanted to wait a little while after their wedding to propose, the last thing she wanted to do was upstage the two of them, which Luz appreciated.

She snorted, nerves abated a bit when Edric and King came walking down the aisle, King was adorable in his little blue vest.

“Are you ready?” Gus whispered in her ear as he came to stand at her side.

She made a distressed sound in the back of her throat and across from her, Willow smiled as he quickly patted her shoulder.

The music changed and the guests turned to look while Luz swallowed thickly. Then Amity appeared, arm wrapped through Alador’s.

Luz sucked in a sharp breath, stunned speechless.

She doesn’t think anyone in any realm has ever looked as beautiful as Amity does right now, and no one ever could. Her mouth is bone dry, but her mother was right, she’s not nervous anymore, her entire body is tingling as her gaze locked with Amity’s, whose smiling that little smile Luz knew so well.

Her mother was right about the dress too.

The whole situation smacked her like a raging slitherbeast and she’s trying to blink away the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. How did she get this lucky? She has no concrete answer but is happy she did all the same.

Amity doesn’t know how she keeps moving down the aisle, because once her eyes land on Luz they feel like jelly. Her brother hadn’t been kidding and she should have been more prepared, though she doesn’t think she could have ever been prepared for this.

Luz has always cut a sharp, immaculate profile when she actually gave an effort, but their’s something almost ethereal about her as she is now, the white of her suit almost glows beneath the soft light of the blue moon and the light spells that float in the air around them. Her heart is beating hard against her ribs, but it’s not nerves that make it skip a beat. It’s the staggering wave of amazement and affection she feels for Luz, who she can tell now that she’s close enough to see, is doing her damnedest to hold back her tears. She recognized that scrunched up, rapidly blinking expression anywhere. It makes her own eyes sting.

Finally, she’s standing close enough to touch and her father smiled at her as Luz held out her hand and Amity gently pulled her arm from his to slip her hand into Luz’s. Alador nodded to Luz before slipping himself into his seat in the front row across from Camila and Eda.

“Hey.” Luz’s voice is barely a whisper that only Amity can hear.

“Hey, yourself.” she smiled back, voice just as low.

They don’t even hear Lilith as she began to speak to the crowd about why they’re all here and all the ceremonial spiel that is the norm at a wedding on the Boiling Isles.

Amity’s hand is warm in hers and Luz squeezed it gently, running her thumb over her knuckles. She’s still in awe, unable to take her eyes off Amity and how beautiful she is in that dress, under the blue moon’s light

She’s absolutely bewitching and Luz would gladly live under her spell for the rest of her life.

Amity is just as spellbound as Luz, watching the pink glow that the light spells are refracting from the grom tree bounce off Luz’s dark eyes, making them look alive as a gentle breeze rustles the tree’s blush-colored leaves. The shadows cast by the lights cut sharp lines across her jaw and neck that make Amity want to reach out and run her fingertips along them.

“....and they will now speak these promises to each other,” Lilith read loudly, jerking the two of them out of their love induced haze. How long had they been zoned out, staring at each other? Judging from the subtle smirk on Lilith’s face, a while.

“Amity, you may now say your vows,” Lilith said and she nodded, letting go of Luz’s right hand and pulling a small slip of paper from her pocket taking a deep breath, she could feel everyone’s eyes on her, but the only important ones were staring straight at her, smiling, no pressure in those warm brown eyes she adored.

"I've been advised to keep this short," she smiled and she swears she hears Emira snort behind her. "So here it is. Luz, I never thought I could be as incredibly happy as I am when I’m with you, that such a thing was even possible, but here we are, and I can hardly believe it’s real sometimes. Till I met you, I was playing at being someone I didn’t even want to be but was too scared to stop and be myself, but having you at my side made me brave enough to face that fear, made it feel like I could and should be myself.” Her thumb rubbed across Luz’s knuckles and Luz squeezed back, smiling encouragingly at her. “Even now,” she whispered so only Luz could hear her, and that bright grin she adored flashed at her. “I know that who I am now is thanks to you in many ways, you always make me want to try harder, to be better. It hasn’t always been easy, life has thrown a lot at us over the years, but with you, I know that I can make it through. No matter how hard it gets, I’ll never stop trying, because I can’t think of anything that could ever be more worth the effort than being with you for the rest of my life,” she finished, slipping the paper back into her pocket and taking up Luz’s other hand again. She can hear her sister and Willow sniffling behind her, while Viney did her best to hold it in. Gus is already crying and making whimpering noises while Edric bit his lip, doing his best to keep it together. King is biting his tongue to hold back his cries.

In the front row, Camila is quietly sniffling into a tissue and Eda crosses her arms, definitely blinking her eyes against the tears trying to well up in her mismatched eyes while Alador is filled with a deep appreciation for his future daughter-in-law, even as a bitter sorrow wells up in his chest because he knows just why Amity was afraid of being herself.

Luz knows that there are tears sliding down her cheeks, but she can’t stop it. It should be illegal for Amity to look at her like that and say those things that make her face flush and feel like a hot pile of goo, even as they simultaneously cradle her heart in a blanket of warmth.

Lilith is doing about the same as the rest of the wedding party it seems, and clears her throat, pulling herself together before turning to Luz.

“Luz, you may now say your vows,” she said.

“Don’t mess this up, Kid,” Eda murmured quietly to herself and Camila can only nod in agreement. Gus and Edric hoping for the same thing, especially after Amity’s had been so perfect.

Luz squeezed both of Amity’s hands and cleared her throat, willing away the lump lodged there.

"I'll be honest with you, with everything that’s been going on, I totally, completely forgot to write my vows," she admits sheepishly, and there's a murmur from the guests, but Amity only rolled her eyes, smirking, which makes Luz relax at the response, and behind her, Viney hissed a quiet 'Ha' to Emira, but she can examine that later. "But I don't need to, I can think of reasons why I love you in my sleep." She grinned right back at Amity, whose hands squeezed hers as she smiled down at her softly and Luz’s stomach bubbled up with so much love and affection that it made her tingle all over. "I never could have imagined when I stumbled through a portal chasing an owl that stole my book that I would end up standing here, with you, but I’m beyond glad that Owlbert is a tiny trash thief, and I did.” she grinned. Eda chuckled to herself. “Amity, I've never known anyone as incredibly kind and amazing as you, and I consider myself to be the luckiest person on The Boiling Isles for getting to have met you, and now because I get to spend the rest of my life with you. Without you watching my back for the last six years I probably would have drowned or set myself on fire by now.” She admitted, and there's an agreeing chuckle from the guests and their friends standing next to them. Amity just grinned wetly and knowingly at her, there have been a few incidents over the years that even their closest friends aren't privy to, disaster averted only because Amity is always at her side.

“But I know I can always count on you to be there for me, and I promise that no matter what, I’ll always be there for you too, because there is no one, in any realm that I could ever love more than you, Amity, and I want to spend every minute from here till the end; proving it to you.” Her voice is low by the end and even if Amity hadn’t been teary before, she was now and she’s going to ruin her makeup if she can’t pull herself together! The wedding party isn’t doing much better, barely holding it together themselves. Gus is looking at them starry-eyed, lip trembling and Edric is right there with him. Willow is sniffled quietly into her flowers while Emira rapidly blinked away her tears, Viney much the same.

Eda held Camila as she wept into her shoulder, biting her lips to hold back her own flood of tears.

Alador clenched his hands into the fabric of his dress pants, jaw tight.

“The rings?” Lilith’s voice is thick, but level, with herculean effort, as she looked down at King, who is sniffling and whimpering, on the verge of sobs as he steps forward and holds up the pillow with their rings sitting on it. Luz and Amity picked up the other’s ring.

Lilith held up a glyph and a glowing blue ring appeared and they broke contact just long enough for Luz to slip Amity’s ring on her finger and for Amity to do the same before they reached through the ring and clasped hands again, fingers laced together,

“Do you, Amity Blight, swear on an eternal oath to love, protect and be ever devoted to Luz Noceda for as long as you both live?

“I swear,” Amity said, voice quivering as she squeezed Luz’s fingers laced between hers.

“Do you, Luz Noceda, swear on an eternal oath to love, protect and be ever devoted to Amity Blight for as long as you both live.

“I swear.” Luz smiled even as her eyes shined with still falling tears.

“The oath is sealed,” Their hands glowed before the ring faded away. “you may now…”

They didn’t need to wait for Lilith to tell them.

Amity flung her arms around Luz’s neck as Luz grabbed her around the waist sealing the oath with a kiss as the guests erupted into loud, raucous cheers and laughter. It’s a much longer kiss than it needs to be, but no one is going to stop them.

They finally pulled back, grinning stupidly at each other before Luz pulled back just enough to bend down and sweep an arm beneath Amity’s knees.

She squealed as Luz scooped her up into her arms and took off running down the aisle to whoops and cheers as they passed.

“Luz!” Amity laughed, clinging to her neck as she ran into the woods, both of their laughter echoing off the trees as the blue glow of the moon lit their way.

“To the party!” Eda declared with a grin over the crowd, standing and pointing in the direction of Hexside.

The wedding party cheered as they took off running after the newlyweds, followed by the guests.

The courtyard of the school was filled with tables of people walking about and chatting as the wedding party all walked toward the school to take photos.

Luz couldn’t stop grinning, nor Amity, as they stood inside, waiting for their friends to catch up after Luz had finally set her back on her feet, still clutching each other tightly, foreheads pressed together. They couldn’t wipe away their bright grins even if they wanted to.

Amity’s eyes roved over her face as she wiped at any remaining tears on Luz’s cheeks.

“Eres tan hermosa,” Amity mumbled making Luz’s face darken even as she grinned.

“I should be saying that to you!” Luz pulled back till they were linked only by their hands and openly stared at her wife in awe. “You look… I don’t know any words in any language to do you justice, mi amor.” Luz smiled, squeezing her hands.

Amity squeezed back before pulling her back in close and captured her lips in another kiss.

"Titan, I love you so much," she mumbled against her lips, a few tears had managed to slip past against her will.

"Just as much as I love you," Luz smiled at her reaching up to wipe them away before they can do much damage to Amity's makeup. Her chest feels fit to burst with the rampant affection she feels, especially as Amity leaned into the touch on her cheek

As she stared back at Luz, she's struck hard by the sudden urge to just take her by the hand and drag her away, somewhere they can just be alone, screw the after-party. Willow would kill her, not to mention the rest of their friends and both of Luz's mothers’. Her siblings and Viney would just be amused as all get out.

"Do you think people would notice if we left?" she asked anyway, looking down at her.

Luz blinked at her, eyes blown wide and mouth hanging open before she couldn't help but burst into laughter.

"Yes, Amity, I think it's safe to say they would definitely notice." The tone isn't even playing at scolding and Luz is smiling at her, eyes dancing with unspoken mirth and warm, overwhelming affection. That only makes the urge to take her and run that much stronger.

"We could still go…"

Luz is grinning so widely at her it almost looks like it hurts. She just cupped Amity's cheeks in her hands and pressed another long kiss to her mouth. Amity lets her eyes droop closed, and clings to Luz.

Her wife.

She hummed against Luz, threading her fingers gently through her hair. She smells wonderful, not her normal warm, woodsy smell, but some kind of perfume.

Luz finally released her but is still grinning, thumbs running gently over her cheeks.

"We can't leave, Amor," she said and Amity huffed quietly, making her chuckle. "Soon enough, it'll just be you and me," she promised, and Amity hummed in agreement, kissing her again.

"What, are you making out in here already?" Edric's laughing voice broke them out of their own world as their friends finally arrived.

“Not yet.” Luz grinned cheekily at him and Amity slapped her shoulder. Nothing was going to ruin her mood tonight, absolutely nothing!

The rest of the wedding party piled into the building along with the photographer. A tall, bug-eyed demon with long curving horns and a large camera stood in front of them.

“Say, ‘scream’!”

They crowded together and took photos. Eda, Camila, and Lilith joining them for several, including a few shots of Luz with each of her moms and both of them together, before dragging Lilith and King into the photo with her and Amity, the whole Owl House one last time. Minus Hooty, who was bitterly disappointed that he couldn’t come, but hey; house.

Luz glanced around as Amity took photos with the bridesmaids and her siblings and noticed someone missing from the photo party. She grabbed Gus and whispered in his ear. He grinned at her and nodded before quietly shooting out of the building as the photos carried on. He entered again a few minutes later with a bright grin and another witch.

“I think that’s all the photos…” Amity looked at them and let the rest of the wedding party finally move back out into the courtyard to wait for them.

“Not yet!” Luz piped up as she moved toward her, Alador, trailing behind her. “We gotta get a couple with you and your dad!” She grinned at her and Amity blinked, surprised. Alador himself didn’t look so sure but she smiled and nodded.

“Of course we do.”

Her father seemed to perk and Luz stepped out of the way to allow the older auburn-haired witch to stand at her wife’s side.

Luz cocked her head as she watched the two smile. It was the first time she’d ever seen the two together since they were teenagers when Amity still had mint green hair, now as they stood side by side, both with that shiny, red/brown, auburn hair and the same bright, golden eyes and tall stature, Luz couldn’t help but smile. It was obvious where Amity got all her genes from; thank goodness it wasn’t Odalia.

The photographer snapped a few photos before Amity turned to look at her.

“Get over here,” she called and Luz blinked, pointing to herself. “Yes, you,” Amity laughed to herself as Luz trotted over and Amity wrapped an arm around her waist and Alador laid a hand on both of their shoulders. She could feel the soft squeezing of his hand, it wasn’t threatening, or a warning, but thankful, and Luz grinned all the brighter as the photos were snapped. Alador smiled at them and moved away, walking out the doors with the photographer and leaving them alone.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you…,” Amity can’t help but mumble once they’re alone, looking at her from beneath her dark lashes.

“Probably worry a lot less.” Luz shrugged, making her chuckle.

“Maybe,” she agreed. “Things would certainly be duller though,” she smirked and Luz grinned right back. “I saw your free falling stunt today, Eda sent a video.”

“That traitor!” Luz hissed, making Amity snort. “I was completely in control, I swear!”

“Hey, hey, relax, I know. I know that you can take care of yourself,” she assured gently and Luz relaxed. “I’m still going to worry about you though, that’s my job.”

“Worrying about each other is both our jobs,” she refuted, and then they heard Gus on the mic outside.

“Ladies, gentlemen, demons, and others, thank you for coming tonight!” Cheers and applause answered him.

“Oh, that’s our cue! Are you ready, mi amor?” Luz smiled, holding out her arm, which Amity looped her own through, smiling back.

“Always.”

“Please welcome, for the first time, Mrs. and Mrs. Luz and Amity Noceda!” Gus called and they walked out of the school’s double doors to the whoops and cheers of their friends and family. They smiled and waved as they walked down the stairs to take their seats next to their friends at the head table as dinner was served.

Dinner was just as dinner at the owl house, loud, cheery, and fun. Even at the more serious tables, like where the coven heads were seated, were still far from quiet. Though there were fewer fights over, or with food then there usually was at the owl house, mostly because Camila sat between the two Clawthorne sisters at the table near theirs.

Edric was eyeing the beautiful, three-tiered cake with the smooth white icing and purple and pink accents with drool dripping down the corner of his mouth while Emira reluctantly paid a smirking Viney.

“I can’t believe you didn’t write any vows and your wife wrote a book!” Emira scowled at Luz.

“It’s been really busy! I forgot!” Luz defended, gesturing with her fork. Amity giggled and laid a hand over Luz’s on the table.

“It’s alright, Luz, I thought they were perfect.” She smiled at her and Luz grinned before her face turned thoughtful.

“Knowing you, you must have actually written a book too…,” she hummed and Amity flushed.

Willow grinned and twirled a finger and a stack of bound papers fell from the spell circle, which she handed to Luz, despite Amity’s protests.

“No, give me that!” she grabbed for it but Luz held it just beyond her reach as she flipped through it.

“Ay dios mio! You weren’t kidding… now I feel bad!” she turned, frowning, to Amity, who took the opportunity to pluck the pages from Luz’s hand.

“Don’t, I didn’t use them anyway, querida.” She spelled the pages away.

“But you spent all that time writing them…” Luz’s brows furrowed.

“It’s fine, Luz,” Amity assured her but Luz wasn’t having it.

“I’m going to write something just as good for you later,” she promised and Amity can’t help but smile at her.

“Alright.” she nodded, she knows that once luz has made up her mind it takes a miracle to change it.

When dinner is all but done Gus has taken up the mic again.

“Will the happy couple please come to the dance floor for their first dance?”

Luz perks up at that and stands, offering her hand to Amity.

“Shall we, Mrs. Noceda?” She smiled at her and Amity slipped her hand in hers.

“Please, Mrs. Noceda.” She smiled back and let Luz lead her onto the dance floor. Their friends can only roll their eyes at the two, even as they smile.

The Moon is hovering directly overhead now and everything glows with its sapphire light as they stand hand in hand in the middle of the floor. The song that begins to play is one they have danced to many times, but the first time was under very similar circumstances in Blight manor under the same blue light.

Everyone’s eyes are on them, but they only have eyes for each other, as has always been the case.

The move in slow, graceful steps. Fighting or dancing the two have always been in perfect sync and they don’t even need to think about their movements, they don’t need to speak either, they simply enjoy this quiet moment, even if they are in the spotlight.

When the lilting slow song finally ends, much too soon for either, Luz grins at her. They still have something planned that only Gus and the DJ are aware of.

“Are you ready?” Luz is vibrating with energy.

“We haven’t been practicing this for three months for me not to be ready.” Amity grinned back as Luz stepped back and pulled off her jacket, tossing it to Gus who looks much too excited. Amity spun a finger and her dress glowed as the hem shrank up to her knees, freeing her legs.

“What are they doing?” Lilith cocked her head.

“Dunno, but knowing them, it’s gonna be good, whatever it is,” Eda smirked.

Sitting in Luz’s breast pocket is a bright red flower, she pulled it out and clenched the stem between her teeth before she wrapped an arm around Amity’s waist and held one of her hands in hers, arms stretched straight out as Amity set her other on Luz’s shoulder even as she’s laughing quietly to herself at Luz.

“You’re ridiculous,” she mumbled, grinning. Luz just wagged her eyebrows in response, making Amity giggle all the harder. She’s too happy to care one bit about Luz’s added ‘personal touch’ to what they’re about to do.

“Do you have any idea what’s going on, what’s with the flower?” Emira looked at Willow who shook her head, just as confused as the rest of them.

“Amity didn’t say anything to me, looks like Gus is in on it though.”

The two are standing, pressed so closely together that no light can be seen between them.

Luz glanced at Gus and nodded. The nineteen-year-old signaled the DJ and then music again filled the night air.

The assembled witches looked around at the brand new sounds.

Camila blinked at the familiar music that is starting to grow louder and faster

“Tango?” she questioned too herself.

Then the two take off to the quick rhythm of the accordion and drums, spinning across the dance floor in sharp, controlled measure, hardly ever far from the other and taking such fast steps around the other that it’s amazing they don’t trip on each other.

Luz twirled them around, both grinning as they follow the whine of a violin across the dancefloor, the fast clicking of their shoes on the hardwood adding an extra beat to the music.

Gripping her hand, Luz flung amity away in a tight spin, making her dress billow up around her knees as their laced fingers pulled her to a stop, arms outstretched. Whistles and shouts erupted from the guests and Luz tugged her back into her arms. Their hands adjust and then Amity is the one leading them across the floor in tight spins and quicker steps.

“Wow…,” Viney mumbled as she watched the two. Especially when they flip around again and Luz takes back the lead, jerking them to a sudden stop, Amity’s knee wrapped around her hip, and Luz’s hand pressed to the small of her back, they can feel each other breathe they’re so close.

“This feels wrong to watch…” Edric covered his face with a hand but is peeking between his fingers. There is certainly a charged feeling in the air between the two as Luz spun them around, still attached at the hips.

“But they’re so good…,” Willow said in awe, hands pressed to her face.

“Holy shit…” Eda is watching the dance, slack-jawed, Lilith can only nod, eyes wide.

The song builds to a crescendo in a pounding of drums and the rapid squeal of the violin as they finally separated in another spin before Luz pulled her back in, twisting around the moment Amity is back in her arms and dropped her in a sharp dip to the songs final beats.

It’s quiet as they looked at each other, breathing heavy and smiling so hard it hurt. Luz’s smile turned to a grin and she wagged her eyebrows at her again, teeth clenched around the rose she had made a special trip to the human realm for, Amity giggled as they stood up straight and the guest all cheered and clapped at the display.

Luz pulled the flower from her mouth and they both gave dramatic bows.

Regular music starts to play again and other couples move onto the floor.

“What. Was. That?” Emira asked the moment they returned to the table.

“It’s called Tango,” Luz laughed. “It’s a type of dance from the human world, we’ve been practicing,” she said proudly.

“That was amazing, you two,” Willow praised.

“A little risque…,” Edric laughed.

“Well, it is colloquially known in the human world sometimes as ‘sex on hardwood’.” Camila and the Clawthorne sisters chose that moment to approach the head table. Amity flushed at that, Luz had not told her that, and the sheepish grin she’s wearing told her that she had absolutely known it too.

“Can see why,” Viney snorted.

“Either way, that was pretty fancy,” Eda smirked at them.

“It was remarkable,” Lilith added.

“Thank you.” Amity nods, smiling.

They let several more songs play while they rest before they decided to finally cut the cake at Edric’s pleading.

As they do, Amity suddenly remembered a conversation she had with Camila about human wedding traditions.

“Your mother told me about another human wedding tradition last week involving the cake,” she started, cake in hand, and watched Luz from the corner of her eye as she hummed happily to herself.

“Oh, yea, which one?” she turned to look at her and Amity smashed a handful of cake in her face as she did.

It’s quiet for a moment, one visible brown eye blinked at her, face smeared with cake before a grin broke out across her face, and she shoved her fist into her own cake.

“That’s how you want it, huh, mi amor?”

Amity squealed as icing is smeared across her face in return to the sound of Luz’s laughing and then she’s laughing too.

“Food fight!” Eda jumped up, plate in hand.

“Yeah!” King jumped up as well but Camila and Lilith grabbed them both.

“NO, just them!” Camila shouted.

“Well, that’s no fun,” Eda grumbled, pouting.

Amity laughed as she watched Luz’s tongue dart out of her mouth to lick the frosting off her lip.

“Tasty” she grinned.

They let the caterers pass out the cake while they go and clean their faces off inside. They’re gone a little longer than they should be and Viney and Edric take bets on if they even come back at all or are just making out

“Oh, you know what I found out tonight?” Luz asked Amity as she wiped the frosting off her face in Hexside’s bathroom.

“Hmm?” she hummed and leaned in close to the mirror and trying to save as much of her makeup as she can while wiping the cake away.

“Your dad and Lilith used to date,” she said it so casually.

‘What!?” Amity whipped to her.

“Yeah! Crazy right? Guess they were together in school but after she joined the coven she felt so guilty about mom she spent all her time looking for a cure and they drifted apart.”

Amity has no idea how to process this information. She vaguely wonders what life would have been like if Lilith had been her mother.

“You okay, amor?”

She blinks and Luz is looking at her, brows creased with worry. There will be none of that, not tonight.

“Fine, it’s just such a bizarre thought.” She shrugged.

“Right?” Luz laughed.

Something for her to think about another time.

When they come back out, icing free they finally get to eat some of the cake.

“Lilith did an awesome job on this cake,” Luz mumbled around a mouthful of it. Amity just nodded an agreement, glad that Luz had always liked thornberry desserts as much as she did. “Hopefully it’ll taste half this good next year…,” Luz hummed and Amity blinked at her.

“Next year?” she questioned and Luz nodded.

“It’s a human wedding tradition,” she explained. “You save a piece of your cake and freeze it so you can have it on your first anniversary.”

“Then we need to do it now, my brother hasn’t walked away from the cake since we cut it.” Amity rolled her eyes and pointed her fork at Edric, who had stationed himself cake side for the last fifteen minutes.

“Uhh, yeah, probably, he called dibs on leftovers yesterday, so if we wait he’s gonna cart the whole thing outta here at the end of the night,” she snorted and Amity sighed, shaking her head. Her brothers only real loves; trouble and baked goods.

“I’ll get him,” Emira said, rolling her eyes as she made a beeline for the cake and her gluttonous twin. Viney laughed at them.

“Are you sure you’re ready for that package deal?” Luz turned to the older witch who grinned at them and shrugged.

“He’s not bad.... and he’s definitely not going to be living with us…,” Viney deadpanned.

“You don’t think he’s going to end up at our house do you?” Luz looked at her and Amity stopped, fork halfway to her mouth.

“Absolutely not,” she said with finality. “I love my brother but no. He and dad will keep each other company in Blight manor.” Luz and Viney laughed at that.

“Hey, guys, it’s time for you to throw the bouquet,” Willow reminded.

“Oh, right,” Amity nodded and they stood from the table and quickly made their way to the empty dancefloor.

“Single Witches gather round!” Luz called. She and Amity grinned as a slew of their female guests tripped all over themselves as they hurried onto the dance floor. Luz caught sight of a certain witch standing in the back at the edge of the dancefloor and grinned wickedly before she leaned up to whisper in Amity’s ear. She snorted as gold eyes fell on the witch in question.

“Alright.” she nodded, still grinning.

Lilith watched the couple and their guests gather on the dancefloor, arms crossed over her chest. Perhaps it appeared as though she was being standoffish, standing alone in at the back of the festivities but if she had didn’t she and Eda would be brawling in the middle of the party, and as annoying as her sister could sometimes be, and deserving of a piece of cake to the face, she was not going to make a scene at Luz and Amity’s wedding. Camila seemed to have Edalyn in hand right now as the two sat at their table drinking hard appleblood and laughing.

She shook her head, smirking to herself at all the young women and a few men who had swarmed the floor as the two got ready to throw the bouquet.

“Good evening, Lilith.”

Lilith jerked, turning her head to find Alador Blight at her side.

“It’s been a while, Alador,” she greeted with a tilt of her head. He nodded, arms folded behind his back as his gaze turned to the couple.

“It was a beautiful ceremony,” he said, watching them. She nodded, humming an affirmative.

“I’m sure they’ll continue to be quite happy together, despite your wife’s attempts at the contrary.” She can’t help the little dig, she said that she wouldn’t speak ill of Odalia, that didn’t mean she was going to pretend to like her either, but Alador just hummed.

“Precisely why she is my ex-wife now,” he admitted, which makes Lilith look at him.

“Oh…” she’s not sure what to say to that. Alador nods as they observed the gaggle of witches gathered around the middle of the dancefloor.

“It’s just as well,” he continued unexpectedly. “I would hardly have called our marriage a happy one, even from the start.”

“I’m sorry,” is all the elder Clawthorne can think to say.

“No need, It was my own fault for choosing to turn a blind eye to her machinations from the start.” He ran a hand through his beard thoughtfully.

“You never struck me as the type ignore inconvenient truths, Alador.” she cocked a brow at him.

“I wasn’t, once. But I suppose after our… acquaintance, it was easier to ignore some… ‘inconvenient truths’ as you called them.”

Lilith stiffened at that, she never expected him to bring that up, not after over twenty-five years, nor the subtle implication about her being the cause of his relationship with Odalia.

Before she can even think of something to say in response the couple drew both of their eyes again.

“Here we go!” Luz grinned as she and Amity both held the bouquet in one hand and tossed it over their shoulders. The witches on the dance floor scrambled all over each other as it flew through the air, shooting way over their heads and across the dancefloor.

Lilith can barely raise her arms in time to catch the flowers as they fell into her hands.

She blinked down at them as the crowd whistled and clapped. Across the room, she can hear Edalyn laughing maniacally.

She looked up to find Luz and Amity grinning at her from across the room. She scowled when Luz had the audacity to wink at her.

‘Little shits’

Low chuckling at her side made her turn to Alador, who is laughing quietly.

“Well, I suppose that means you will be the one swearing an eternal oath next.” He smirked at her.

“That worked out better than I thought.” Luz laughed, watching Lilith scowl at them. Amity just shook her head and smiled exasperatedly at her wife.

A few hours later the party is winding down and they decide it’s the perfect time to make their getaway.

“Amity and I are gonna sneak out of here,” Luz told her mom’s. “Can you take Mami home later?” she turned to Eda who nodded.

“No worries, kid. I’ll make sure Cami gets home safe and sound, scouts honor.”

“Yeah… there’s no way you were ever any kind of scout,” she drawled and Amity crossed her arms, smirking.

“Do you want me to get her home or not?” Eda huffed, reaching out and ruffling her hair. Luz grumbled but let it happen. “I’ll see you two in a week.” The older women hugged them both before they pull away. “Try not to break any beds.” She smirked as the two walked away, and Luz groaned to herself. Camila just gave the witch a tired look.

They say quick goodbyes to their friends who hug them tightly and they promise to get together when they get back from their honeymoon.

Amity made a quick goodbye to her father and then they’re sneaking away from the party into the woods and Amity spelled her staff into existence and they are soon flying over the woods, the bright cobalt light from the moon lighting the way.

“Well, we’re not leaving for the coast until tomorrow morning, so now what, Mrs. Noceda?” Luz grinned as she set her chin on Amity’s shoulder.

“I could think of a few things.” Amity glanced at her over her shoulder knowingly, gold eyes glowing in the moonlight

“Well, take me home then!” Luz said and laughed as they picked up speed, wind whipping through their hair, as they flew through the moonlit night.

#Lumity #Moonlit masquerade #Luz Noceda #Amity Blight #Eda Clawthorne #Lilith Clawthorne #Alador Blight #Camila Noceda #Edric Blight #Emira Blight #Viney #Gus Porter #Willow park #gay #fanfic #fic #the owl house #toh #That's all she wrote folks

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