#over the female character he has spoken to three times

[marveltaughtmetoread]

One of the things that is just wild to me is the intersection between sexism and homophobia in so many action stories

Like the sexism results in none, or basically none of the female characters being interesting or anything but card board cut outs, these female characters have basically no effect on the story, and as love interests they're frequently the end goal, so MC is always striving to be with them but never gets to be until the end, so what you get is a couple that spends no time together, where one half is the most bland half baked character you could ask for but we are somehow supposed to still be routing for them

In contrast, the male characters are constantly surrounding each other, lifting each other, supportive or at least always there whether that be antagonistic or not, recognising and treating each other as equals because the sexism means that only male characters are valid, yet cause of homophobia they're never gonna let two male characters end up together

And with this cocktail of bland and uninteresting straight love, and intense and passionate male "friendship" people dare to be shocked that the ships are gay

My guy you wrote the sexism, you made the female characters trash and the males ones amazing, you are the reason we don't care for the straight ship, yet you come out and say that the gay ship is wrong

Wild

[unparalleledtomes]

Not With the Eyes, But With the Mind (18+)

Ao3 Link

Pairing: Gale x OC Female Character

Summary: Against his better judgement, Gale's hopeless pining gets the better of him and he finally caves, treating himself to images of Noa and nearly nuking himself in the process.

Warnings: masturbation, smut, nudity, minors dni.

Word Count: 1900

A/N: did it take me over three months to write 1900 words? you betcha. will it take even longer for the next one? you betcha.

Gale lay in his tent next to a toppled stack of books. If he unfocused his eyes, allowed his mind to carry him home, he could almost picture the view from his tower through the canvas. It was the moonlight, the way it barely poked through the blue-green skin of his tent—it reminded him of evenings alone on his balcony just before a storm rolled in, and how the moonlight barely poked through then.

He tried to hold onto that image and the tranquillity it often brought him, but tonight the colour only reminded him of Noa. 

How she poured wine from a bottle that glinted teal in the fire, a glass each for her and Karlach. Astarion nursed his own. But Gale didn’t indulge, too afraid of what might tumble from his mouth in the presence of his new friends, or those he hoped to call friends. The orb, too, clenched inside of him and there was a slight shake in his hands, a heaviness in his chest that felt like a threat. 

“Come on, soldier. You’ve asked everyone for their life stories and haven’t said one thing about yourself.”

“That’s not true. Astarion hasn’t said anything.”

“I beg your pardon. I’ve said plenty. What more do you want?” 

“Well, for starters, I’ve never known a magistrate so interested in bloodshed.”

“What’s life without a little danger, darling? Besides, you’ve rather impressed me these last weeks. Goblins and bugbears, those poor dwellers in the crypt. There’s plenty of blood on your hands.” He lowered his voice as he spoke, like the very idea of violence excited him. 

Noa scoffed into the fire. “Not a thought that comforts me. Mark my words on this, night-walker. I’ve been around a long time—life’s easier with a sheathed sword.”

Gale smiled but Astarion flicked his wrist. “Spoken like a true, boring adventurer. I, for one, can’t wait to see what other massacres lie ahead of us. Gods know there’ll be plenty before our next sunset.” 

Noa rolled her eyes. “Gale, how about you? How’re you faring under all these…oh, let’s call them adventures?”

“Well, it’s certainly a leap from the comfort of my tower. I’m far more used to a crackling hearth, a good book, and an equally soothing glass of Blackstaff wine.” The thought needed only to be spoken and he was back at home, all but felt the veins of mature pages in his hands before he let the moment pass. He raised a finger. “But, adventure never strays far from a talented wizard, as I’m sure someone of your demonstrable capabilities can attest.” 

He wasn’t sure why but Noa laughed then, and the sound lifted some pressure from his heart. 

Gale blinked at the tent. He breathed slowly and with some difficulty, torn between chasing away what he’d rather remember. But her image haunted him like a childhood mistake and it wasn’t long before the faintest thrum of lilac tangled in the moonlight, the orb stirred to life.

“Coming from the great Gale of Waterdeep, I appreciate that. It’s not every day a golden boy finds you impressive.”

“Ha, oh well, hardly a ‘golden boy,’ though my natural abilities did catch unequivocal attention from the most spectacular beings. That said, it does put a bit of pep in one’s step to know their name travelled across Faerûn, eh?” 

Astarion audibly scoffed but Gale relished in the idea. He ignored the ignorance, forgave it even. It was the very same he’d dealt with all his life from those who could only watch as he mastered the Weave, destined for greatness—that of which he had in Mystra’s reverent embrace. His eyes fell to the snapping firewood. As quickly as it’d come, the thought soured. 

“It has,” Noa said plainly. 

“All good things, I hope.”

She brought the goblet to her mouth and held it there without drinking. “I’ve heard your story.” Her eyes flicked to his and they watched each other for an eternal second. A queer look accompanied her words, silent recognition piercing as a blade. “I’m really glad we ran into you, Gale of Waterdeep.”

Nothing existed but her face across the flames. He could only stare; he didn’t know what to say. 

The need was in his hands before it was in his cock. He folded them behind his head and tried to focus on the dull ache of his knotted fingers. He blinked, inhaled through his mouth, but there she stood above the flames in a long stretch before bed. She reached to the stars and it was all he could do to avoid her silhouette as she bid him goodnight. 

But alone now he snuck a boyish glance at the memory of her breasts. The orb burned through his tunic and onto the canvas above him, an aurora borealis in that Waterdeep sky, and he watched the colours billow until an intrusive thought of her naked made his ears simmer. 

Energy crackled around his briefs, warmth pulsing between his legs with every unstoppable thought of her face, her eyes—one rich and dark as earth and the other obsidian as a mountainside. He thought of the freckles that spilled across her nose and wondered how many adorned places he couldn’t see.

Stop it, he thought. By the gods, stop it. But she didn’t leave and he wouldn’t let her. 

When Astarion and Karlach eventually retired, he was alone. Flames lapped at the darkness and he curled his hands into fists to stop the shaking. Through the spots in his vision, a lantern burned from Noa’s tent and he watched her gently unwind her braid in the sliver of gold that shone through. When she lifted her shirt he looked away so quickly the whole world spun. 

The orb radiated from chest to cheek with pain, a hellish prick of needles coursing through his hands. He breathed deeply, pleaded with his mind to free itself from these calamitous desires, but everything was black against the light of her face. 

He didn’t want to will her away any longer—he wanted to touch gold. 

His face burned, and with great shame he unlaced his trousers. The simple caress of fingertips made him shiver, his shaft already hard and leaking by the time he freed himself. He pinched his eyes shut and reconsidered the whole sordid indulgence but she immediately stood before him, smiled at him, and with the first timid stroke he nearly whispered her name. 

Together they soared past the skies above him, their naked bodies entwined within the Weave. She outshone the stars, overthrew those swirling constellations he often dreamed of, and he could only float in awe of her. She bit her lip the longer he stared, a simple gesture that made him grin as he imagined a dahlia flush in her cheeks. It was enough to coax a faster rhythm. 

Back in his tent the orb singed his chest but he ignored the fire to press his tongue into her mouth. It shamed him and even in his mind he hesitated, but she moaned and wound her arms around his neck until he relaxed. He tentatively twisted up and down and she inched closer to bite his lip. He trembled at the brazenness of it, but envisioned her leg around his hip, her fingers in his hair, and when she moaned again he started to pump faster. 

With that same shy look in her eyes she squeezed the length of his cock. His head tipped back and she pressed a kiss to his neck so warm he swore he felt it. He stroked faster, grabbing her breast with one hand, cradling her head with the other, but it wasn’t enough. With a moan he multiplied, arms born from arms to have enough hands for every inch of her. Countless fingers caressed her back and gripped her thighs, touched her tongue and brushed the hair from her face, and in that paradise of starved simulacra all her moans rang out like music. Whether his hands throbbed from the orb or his grip on the bedroll, he didn’t know—all he knew was somewhere in those stars Noa belonged to him.  

Wildflowers billowed in the camp’s lazy breeze and he felt it through the canvas, the way it quickly became her breath against his shoulder. His eyes watered from the choking pain in his chest but he’d let nothing take her, each stroke a blacksmith’s bellow that kept her image alive. 

She rocked into him, slow and natural as a boat on water. The orb sizzled like a branding but he held her gaze, stroking until his back lifted off the bedroll. He tried to speak, to beg her not to go, not now, not when the world was so close to making sense again, but no sound came. Still she smiled and brought her lips to his ear, close enough to feel her breath, close enough to feel the tip of her tongue when she at long last whispered, “Gale.” 

His eyes shot open. The Weave flowed from his pupils and drowned the world in lilac, droplets spilling down his fingers. He sat up and clutched his heart. Copper dribbled from his mouth and he coughed at the taste, a pounding in his head like a great aching heartbeat. He looked around, tried to catch his breath, but only coughed again. 

He was blind. There was nothing but the Weave, so bright in his eyes it burned white. A terrible shiver ran through him and for a moment he thought the last thing he’d ever see was Noa’s face. He tucked himself back into his trousers and blinked again and again until the monstrous glow dwindled back to lilac, and finally to nothing.  

With enough breathing the crickets’ song poked through the thunderclap in his ears and he steadied himself on one hand. Felt the soil beneath his fingers as the world retook shape. Focused on the toppled tomes at his feet as the vice loosened around his temple. He lifted his sticky palm without looking and lightly jerked his wrist, the Weave slipping over his skin like a glove before it disappeared again to take the mess with it. 

But when that hushed breeze no more than a whisper rolled into his tent, he turned toward it, opening and closing his fist though he didn’t know why. Perhaps as a reminder of how foolish he’d been, that he’d nearly broken the promise he made to himself by doing something this stupid, by putting this many innocent lives in danger. He studied his hand, its shape mostly lost to the dark, and slowly opened his fist again. Perhaps it was something else. 

An unwelcome wavelet of guilt trickled down his back and he cinched his tent closed, lying on his bedroll as if he hadn’t just tainted Noa’s trust or nearly blown away half the Sword Coast. All around was black and there was nothing he could do now but wait for the shadows to make sense, to watch the canvas overhead and see if he could return home. 

And in time, he did. 

He didn’t know how he’d look at her in the morning. How he’d look at himself. But in that quiet moment beneath the Waterdeep moon he remembered the way she looked at him, and sleep came easy.

[oddinary4bts]

When the End Comes | ch 1 (jjk)

☆summary: Seven years after you've started dating Jungkook, long distance creates a wedge in your relationship. When the only solution seems to be breaking up, you go your separate ways even though love still lives in the two of you. Will you find a way back together, or has the end come for you and Jeon Jungkook?

☆pairing: photographer!Jungkook x lawyer!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, there is mature content in every chapter)

☆genre: breakup!au, slice of life!au, angst with a big A, smut

☆warnings: angst, like. Just angst. Curse words, Jungkook's car, mentions of Jungkook's accident, mention of reader getting kicked out in TFS, explicit content: breast/nipple play, hickey, oral sex (female and male receiving), fingering, hair pulling, jerking off, squirting, praise, pain kink (Jungkook), balls squeezing (lmao), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it)

☆word count: 9.4k

☆series masterpost

☆a/n: First chapter is here and it's time to CRY (I apologize in advance for the therapy bills) :') Thank you to @moonleeai for beta-ing this, you are the best <3 and thank you to @jessikahathaway for supporting me with this project, you are amazinnng

☆Read The Forgotten Spaces here, the prequel to When the End Comes! It does not need to be read to understand When the End Comes, but I think it still should be read first to have a better understanding of the characters in general!

☆Add yourself to the taglist here (if you were on the taglist for The Forgotten Spaces, you're already on the taglist for When the End Comes!)

☆☆☆☆☆

But love never leaves a heart, where it found it, found it You found it Someday, I'll fall into you That's where I'll be now when the end comes

When the End Comes, Andrew Belle

☆☆☆☆☆

Wednesday, April 19th 

                The setting sun turns the living room into liquid gold, bathing you in golden warmth that traces your features delicately from where you sit on the couch. Spring is upon you – outside, you can hear birds singing, and the gentle wind of spring carries the smell of melted snow, of wet soil and of early leaves.

You sigh. Your phone has been dead silent all day, as it’s been for weeks now, and the loneliness of it keeps the winter cold close. Always.

Jungkook said he would call. He often says it, often promises he wants to go to sleep with your voice at his ear, since he can’t sleep with you in his arms. Years ago, when he first started his job in Europe, he did, calling you every night when you got home from work and he went to sleep in a European city too far from you.

He usually leaves for a few months at a time. Never more than three, and he usually stays for a month after that before leaving again. He’s been photographing for museums all over Europe, and his latest job at the Louvres in Paris seems to have been keeping him more occupied than the others.

You’d think it’d make sense – the Louvres is the Louvres. But you miss Jungkook. Miss the early years of your relationship, when you spent almost every day together. When he moved in with you in your first apartment, the one he had found for you while you weren’t even dating yet.

A deep ache has settled inside of you this time around. Because, even if he says he’ll try, even if he promised it wouldn’t be like the last time he was away, this time is worse. Far worse. You’ve only spoken to him on the phone once since he left half a month ago, and he texts you sparingly throughout the week.

You never thought there would come a day when your relationship with Jungkook wouldn’t be what it was at the beginning. Hell, the honeymoon phase lasted for almost three years, and then you had another year before he started working overseas. The first months he had spent away had rekindled the flame, passion and desire burning through you the moment you laid your eyes on him again the day he had come back.

But distance is difficult. Distance can tame even the wildest flame, and you’re starting to believe it has tamed the flame between you and Jungkook. You hate it – every night for a week you’ve fallen asleep with a heart so heavy it felt as if you weren’t going to wake up. And every day you’ve woken up feeling even worse, and you don’t know what’s going to help anymore.

You turn your head, catching sight of the frames on the shelves by the window. They too bathe in setting sunlight, shining like the glass is made of gold. From where you’re sitting, you can’t really see the pictures, but you know them by heart.

There are the pictures from his first photo exhibit, when you were still in college. Pictures of you, of him falling in love with you and you falling in love with him. Then there are pictures of that first Christmas, and of the first time you celebrated your birthday with him. Pictures of you, of him holding you, and of his hand in yours. Pictures from when Jiho gave birth to her first child Lisa, and then a picture with you two on a camping trip with Lisa and her younger brother Charles. That trip happened two summers ago, replacing your usual annual visit to a cabin in the woods, the year after the dance crew retired. Because as much as you and your friends loved that cabin in the woods, loved the dance crew, you eventually grew out of it.

There are pictures from Heather and Bridget’s wedding last fall, pictures of your story with Jungkook as it unfolded through the years.

No new pictures have been added since that last picture in the fall, because nothing worth taking pictures of happened since then. Jungkook has been gone most of the time, and when he’s here he’s too tired to do anything, preferring staying in and cuddling on the couch as you watch hours of Netflix without ever speaking.

You see the doom. It’s been coming for you, tightening around you like a scourge. Nothing you’ve been trying to do has helped – not even the nice lingerie pictures you sent him two nights ago. Not even the letter you wrote for him, though he did have flowers delivered to you at the firm.

Your coworker Harrison made fun of you for the flowers, teasing you like he’s taken to teasing you whenever something related to Jungkook happens. Which, as much as you hate admitting, is not much anymore.

Sometimes, when he’s away, you think he’s a ghost in your life. You wish you could turn back time and go back to the night where it all started between you. The July night of years ago, or perhaps the night of the hotel roof in Chicago. You struggle to pinpoint where you’d go back, but you do believe that anything would be better than the now.

You blink away the blurriness in your eyes, taking a deep breath to steady the aching beats of your heart. You glance at your phone – your empty notification screen stares back at you, a reminder that for all he says, he’s stopped trying this time around.

You figure you could call him. Could make the effort, but you’re tired. Tired of trying when it seems like it doesn’t work anymore. And so your aching heart keeps beating in your chest, and you put your phone away to cook dinner when it’s become clear that he won’t call.

And when you go to bed, after having taken the dog out one last time, your phone still lies empty, the picture of you and him that you have as a background taunting you, haunting you until troubled sleep finds you in its hold.

Friday, May 5th

                Jungkook hates himself. Hates how every time he says he’ll call you, he ends up falling asleep. He doesn’t know why; it’s like his heart fights against his body. But tonight, he’s determined to call. He’s been meaning to show you the lights of the Eiffel tower, when the clock strikes midnight, and he promised he will tonight.

You haven’t replied to his text. He’s been feeling you slipping through his fingers for a few weeks. You barely reply when he talks to you anymore, sending one-worded answers most of the time. Maybe that is the reason why he’s been struggling to call – there’s an impending doom lingering around your relationship, and he wants to avoid it for as long as he can.

He’s been replaying your fight earlier last week on repeat since it happened. You, screaming that he said he was going to change, was going to try to call more and make more effort before he went to Paris. Him, telling you that you should be understanding, that he’s doing his best and that most nights he goes to bed before you’ve even finished work. You’d told him sometimes you wished you could hate him, as it’d be easier than loving him from afar. The words struck harder than a physical blow could have, and since then the doom has been clearer in the distance, as if it’s getting closer.

Just thinking about it hurts too much. He can’t wait for his contract with the Louvres to be done. Can’t wait to be home, and to tell you in person just how much he loves you.

He thinks his love has just been growing stronger. Through all the years, it’s just been growing inside of him, making him into a better person with every beat of his heart. The thought brings a smile to his lips, strangely enough, even though there’s still pain in his heart.

He still remembers when you first got Bam. He thinks that day is the one that made his love grow the most, until he thought his heart was going to burst in his chest. It fortunately never did, and he looks at his phone’s background quickly, needing to see you.

There you are, in all your glory. Hair a mess as you hold a tiny puppy in your arm, with your eyes sparkling like they’re holding the light of the universe. Of his universe, and it hasn’t changed. Still, today he knows if he were to see you, you still would hold the light of his universe.

After all, it started a July night seven years ago, and it’s never going to go away.

Thirteen days until he’s going to be home. And he decided to take a longer break this time around – he doesn’t have another contract yet. He’s been approached by the Victoria and Albert museum in London, but he’s told them that he likely won’t be able to go until late October.

They said they’ll be happy to have him whenever his schedule allows.

He’s yet to tell you – it’s a surprise, and he reckons your relationship terribly needs it. And he’s excited, as it means months that he’ll get to spend with you.

He’s going to take some small photography jobs back home until then, and spend the rest of his time with you, whenever you’re not at the firm. He reckons he can always meet you there for lunch – he used to do that when you first got the job at the firm where your father used to work.

Jungkook sighs, and he glances at the time on his phone. It’s almost time to call, and he’s proud he’s been able to stay up, sitting on the balcony of his Airbnb, watching the Eiffel tower in the distance.

The Louvres is paying for the Airbnb, and they really chose one of the best in the city. The view of the tower is beautiful, night and day, the architecture of it satisfying in ways he can barely comprehend. He took pictures of it through the different weathers, and he’s excited to show you when he’ll be back.

Five minutes before the clock strikes midnight, Jungkook lets out a long yawn as he goes to your profile, hitting the Facetime button. He’s told you he would call, up to the very minute, and he doesn’t want to disappoint this time around.

He watches his face on the screen as it rings. It rings and rings, and yet you don’t pick up. Something unsettling grows in his gut, and he pulls at his lip piercing in worry as he calls again when the call claims it failed to connect.

He tries four times more, until the Eiffel tower is sparkling in the distance, and your form still has yet to appear. So he looks up, watches the show and then heads to bed, each of his step feeling heavier than the last.

The next morning, he wakes up to some texts of yours.

[04:21 am] bby <3: sorry, i was out for dinner with friends from work [04:22 am] bby <3: I assume u’re asleep now? [04:41 am] bby <3: good night

For some reason, he can’t bring himself to reply.

Thursday, May 18th

                It’s been raining all week. The world, crying as if it’s coming to an end. It’s unsettling, and you miss the sunrays. Miss the warmth that they carry, because now the world seems void of any.

You’re not looking forward to going home. It’s the first time that the thought of seeing Jungkook is scaring you – you have a feeling the distance between you is more than just physical, and you’re afraid to see him.

Afraid to be faced with the fact that everything changed irreparably.

You’ve slept in his clothes every night of May. It hasn’t made you feel closer to him, has only made you feel like he’s drifting further away, like a piece of wood lost at sea, pulled away by the current. And as much as you long for his return, you fear he’s crossed a threshold now.

You fear you’re not into it anymore.

The thought has made you cry countless times. You never thought you’d get to a moment in life when splitting with Jungkook seemed to be an option. You thought you were made of forever, of an eternity built just for you. You thought he’d always be enough for you, and that you’d always be enough for him too. But when Taehyung and Jo got engaged and said that they’d marry the first weekend of September, you realized that you want that for yourself too.

You want to start growing with your partner, you want them to be around. And Jungkook just isn’t.

You’ve spoken to Jiho about it. A haunting conversation, that you’ve been replaying in your mind constantly since it happened a week and a half ago.

She came over, only to find you cradling the picture of the July night sky, the one Jungkook had given you after his exposition. She sat next to you, tired eyes surveying your profile. When you started crying, she pulled you in a hug, and held you against her chest as you sobbed.

When you calmed down, she ran a soothing hand on your back. She waited for you to patiently find your words, and when you had, they spilled from your mouth, with no dam to stop them anymore.

“I think I’m going to break up with him,” you told her. It had you chasing more tears away, hating the weakness of your heart as it broke in your chest. “I can’t do the distance anymore. I want something like you and Hobi have, like Jo and Taehyung have. I want someone to wake up to every day and… I don’t… I don’t think loving him is enough anymore.”

She offered you a sad smile, her features sober as she nodded once. “Will you regret it?”

A lone tear spilled on your cheek, holding all the answers she needed. You let it roll down your cheek, let it fall in your lap. Jiho nodded once again, understanding, and added, “I’ll be there for you.”

Your decision was made that day. You don’t think you’ll change your mind, but you’re afraid to see him. Afraid to be faced with the reality of it.

The worst part is, you think you already started getting adjusted to living without him. Hell, the distance has been a good training, so you think you’ll be okay after. It’s just the during that scares you, because you know that when he breaks, you break too.

You know how much you broke for him once. You know you’ll break again, know the first days are going to be hell, but you know that in the long term, it’s the right decision.

At least you hope so.

Jungkook texted you that he got home in the middle of the afternoon, and that he was going to take a nap. He said he couldn’t wait to see you, and you’ve had to swallow countless lumps in your throat whenever you’ve thought of the words.

You take a deep steadying breath as your shift ends, leaving you with no choice but to head home. Harrison notices your fallen features, and he offers you a kind smile.

“It’s going to be okay,” he promises.

You want to tell him he’s a liar, but all you do is offer him a tight-lipped smile in return.

*****

                The apartment in soundless when you finally reach home. Outside, the wind plays in the leaves, splashing water against the windows. It makes for a relaxing sound, yet it does nothing to relax you.

You take off your shoes by the door and drop your purse on the small table just a few steps in as Bam comes to greet you. You pet the dog mindlessly, scanning your surroundings to see if Jungkook is coming too, but it seems he fell asleep. You stop by the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water as you survey the world outside the window, hoping it holds any kind of solace. It doesn’t – the world is crying, and you think by the end of the night there’s a high chance you will be crying too.

You sigh, try to swallow around the lump in your throat but it doesn’t work. You choke on a sip of water, and startle when Jungkook asks if you’re okay.

You didn’t hear him sneaking up on you.

You turn around, the sense of impending doom growing tenfold at the thought that he’s going to be right there, in the flesh, when you set your eyes on him. And he is – a sleepy Jungkook is standing in the door of the kitchen, leaning against the frame as he offers you a small, tired smile.

You’re not sure what to do at first, and when he opens up his arms for you you rush towards him, leaving the glass of water on the counter.

His embrace is familiar, warm. If he wasn’t gone for so long, you think it’d be enough to keep you here, forever. You both remain silent, and your heart beats achingly in your chest as you try to hold him closer, as if you can be one.

As if that’ll make him stay.

“Hey,” he says, voice choked with emotion.

You only hold him tighter, and tears burn behind your closed eyelids as you hide your face in his neck. He smells familiar, like home. He smells like the clothes you’ve been wearing in an attempt to gather the courage to break up with him.

You hate yourself deeply, then. You think about the years, and aren’t they enough? Isn’t the love enough?

He grabs your shoulders, delicately, to push you away. And then his hands move to your cheeks, and he’s tilting your head back to press his soft, pink lips against yours. It’s barely just a peck, and it hurts so much you think you’ll die.

“How was work?” he asks when he pulls away, resting his forehead against yours.

You breathe in slowly, and then out, your breath mingling with his in the space between you. “Long,” you answer, because it’s the truth.

“I’ll cook you dinner,” he says.

If he notices you holding your breath as your heart keeps on breaking, he doesn’t say. Instead, he pulls away, leaves you standing by the door as he moves in the room proper. You’re not sure you’ll survive a dinner with him, not when the inevitability of what you’re going to do is looming over you, like a sword of Damocles ready to cut the link between you and him.

“Okay,” you breathe out.

You sit at the table as he fishes ingredients out of the fridge – stuff you clearly didn’t buy. Which means he went grocery shopping, and you just ache so fiercely the air turns to poison in your lungs.

“Do you want to chop the vegetables?” he asks.

You gulp before nodding curtly. “Sure.”

You move closer to him as he puts said vegetables on the counter, and you grab a knife as he hands you a cutting board. It’s familiar, domestic, and it helps lessen the pain somehow. To have this moment, with him, even though your decision is made.

“You’re silent,” Jungkook comments as you finish dicing an onion.

You purse your lips, head hanging low as you reply, “I’m tired, sorry.”

He turns on the stove, placing a pan on top of it. As he’s putting oil in it, he glances at you. You barely notice from the corner of your eyes, but you still can tell he’s trying to figure how to reach you, in the dark place where your mind has gone.

“Something happened?”

No. Nothing happened. Nothing happened when it should have. Was distance really enough to kill your relationship with him?

Needing the conversation to move away from the current subject, you reply, “Not really.” Swallowing around the lump in your throat, you add, “How was Paris?”

“It sucked,” Jungkook is quick to answer. “It was a lot of work and I barely had time to explore the city.”

“Mmh,” you hum, nodding your head.

You freeze as he moves closer, taking the knife out of your hands. He forces you to turn towards him, and he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I took some pictures of the Eiffel tower for you,” he admits. “It was pretty at night. Made me think of you.”

You shut your eyes tight, and for once you win against the tears that were threatening to spill. “You did?” you let out when your eyelids finally flutter open again. “You can show me over dinner.”

“I’d rather just spend time with you for now,” he says, softly, and you hate that his big, doe eyes feel like heaven. “I… I missed you.”

You think he knows. You both know what’s coming. But you want this last moment with him, so you say, “I missed you too. Way too much.”

“You’ve been sleeping in my clothes,” he teases, but it’s lacking the usual lilt to his voice that makes you roll your eyes playfully.

“Yeah.”

He pulls at his piercing, and you focus on that because his eyes are going to read every little treacherous thought in your head, and you don’t think you’d survive that.

He doesn’t say anything else before he busies himself with putting the onion you diced in the pan. You lean on the counter to watch him cook, handing him the ingredients that you know he’ll need.

You’ve cooked together a thousand times before, and never you would have thought that there’d be a last time. You clench your jaw against the pain, and though you don’t feel hungry, you sit at the kitchen table with him to eat.

You manage to get some food down. Jungkook is an amazing cook, and you’ve always loved his food. It’s something you know you’re likely to miss, when he won’t be around anymore.

Fuck.

After dinner, you do the dishes while Jungkook brings Bam outside, as he usually does when he’s here. He’s back before you’re done, and you focus on finishing to clean the dishes, trying to ignore him.

He’s been silent through the meal, and you’ve avoided the glances he’s sent your way. But when he grabs your wrist, gently, you meet his gaze.

His eyes shine. It takes you a few seconds to register that it’s because tears are welling up in his innocent gaze, and you wish you’d die right on the spot.

“Why is it awkward?” he asks.

You purse your lips and then bite the tip of your tongue, as if it’ll help. “Can we go to bed early?”

You don’t know why you asked that question. You convinced yourself to break up right away, but then again you think you need a last time.

You need a goodbye.

He nods, blinking the tears away. His hand moves until it’s wrapped around yours, and he pulls you to the bathroom. He turns on the shower, but before he’s taken his shirt off you step in front of him, fist closing around a handful of fabric so you can pull him close.

There’s urgency in the kiss, along with yearning. It’s quick, it’s heated and desperate. You wonder if he can taste the goodbye on your tongue – does it taste bitter for him too?

Though he seemed startled from the sudden kiss, he’s quick to kiss you back, to grab your waist and pull you closer, as if that’ll make you stay. And while you kiss your mind runs with the memories – the first time you’d kissed, in that hot tub. The kiss on the hotel roof, the kiss after he’d helped you move in your first apartment.

More than that, it’s a memory from four years ago that resurfaces the most. It takes the centerpiece of the stage of your mind, and you find yourself back in your old apartment, the first one you’d ever had. The day wasn’t a special one – just a random Sunday, one Jungkook convinced you to spend in bed. He’d held you all morning, littering small kisses on the top of your head. At some point, you’d made love, slowly, lazily, as if you had all the time in the world. Halfway through it, Jungkook had stopped, resting his forehead on yours. Against your lips, he’d whispered, “Will you still love me when I’m old and grey and grumpy?”

Back then you’d laughed, before wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him into a kiss. After, you’d replied, “You know I’ll never stop loving you.”

And as you’re kissing him right now, you hope he knows that you’ll never stop loving him.

His tongue swipes at your bottom lip, seeking to deepen the kiss, and you let him in. Taste the dinner in his mouth, like he’s sure to taste it in yours too. It eases the bitterness somehow, and when his large hands move to your ass, you let out a breathy sound.

He swallows it as if it’s the ambrosia of the gods, and then he pushes you back towards the counter next to the sink. The shower runs in the background as he pulls you on the counter, large hands guiding you. You instinctively spread your thighs to allow him to step closer, and then you wrap your legs around him. His hands find your cheeks again, and he kisses you fervently, hungrily, yet his touch remains gentle on your cheeks, thumbs swiping back and forth.

When oxygen becomes needed, both for you and him, he rests his forehead against yours.

“You think we can wait after the shower?” he teases, and this time it has a little bit of the usual bite.

It only hurts, because now you’re not so sure he’s aware of what’s to come. He probably only thought that it was awkward because of the distance – physical. Not because the end is coming. So you let him believe it, agree to take a shower.

You let him wash your hair, a thing he’s taken to doing six years ago whenever you take a shower together. Something about him liking the scent of your shampoo. After that, you let him wash your back, but you can’t bring yourself to do it for him. To your relief, he admits he took a shower before he napped, to wash away the airplane vibes off him. So it mostly goes unnoticed, and then you’re getting out of the shower. You barely have time to dry yourself before he’s pulling you to your room, to your shared bed.

To the bed where you’ve cried yourself to sleep every night since you’ve made your decision.

He sits you on the bed, thumbs swiping on your cheeks gently when he bends down to peck your lips once.

“I’ll be right back,” he says.

You watch him leave, thinking you should find it funny that he’s butt-naked, as you are. Yet you don’t laugh, just put a hand over your aching heart as you wait for him to come back. It hurts even more when he comes back with your heating pad, a tentative smile on his lips.

“I thought this might help,” he says as he walks over to you, offering it to you.

You look at it, not knowing what to do. “Why?”

“Aren’t you…” he trails off, motioning towards you. “I don’t know, you’ve been weird. Thought you might be on your period, or having cramps?”

He’s too sweet. Too caring. Why can’t he be like this when he’s away too?

“Oh,” you let out. “I’m not.”

He looks puzzled, and his eyes drop to the heating pad in his hands. “Oh. Do you…” He gestures with the heating pad, but you shake your head no. He looks disappointed, and he puts it on the dresser before coming to sit next to you.

There’s a moment of silence, and you glance at the TV on the wall. The black screen reflects the grey light from the rainy world outside, and you turn to look out the window next. The rain is still relentless, and the trees outside look greener, darker, though that might be because the sun set behind the clouds, and night is slowly taking over the world.

Being with Jungkook has never been awkward before, and you hate that it is right now. You’d wish for one last moment, for a memory to treasure, but now you think you might have just been selfish.

He glances at you, pulling at his piercing. “Did something happen with your mother?”

He’s trying. So hard. Doesn’t he feel the distance between you and him?

“No,” you reply.

As a matter of fact, you only talk to your mother three times a year now. Without fault, she calls on Christmas and your birthday, and five years ago you’ve started calling on hers too. Other than that, you barely even text.

“Then…” he trails off before shrugging. “Whatever. Do you want to sleep or should we watch something?”

“Can we watch a studio Ghibli movie?”

Jungkook glances at the Totoro plushie, nestled in the pillows at the head of the bed right next to Appa. “My neighbor Totoro?” You nod once. He offers you a smile, nodding his head too. “Sure. As long as I get to hold you.”

You worry at your lip, though you still say, “Yes.”

A minute later you’re nestled in his embrace, and he’s starting the movie on the TV. You barely can focus though, mind zeroing in on his naked skin against yours. You want to ask him to stop with his overseas job, to come home permanently, to build a future with you here, without distance between you and him. You want to tell him you love him so much it hurts, want to tell him the months away from him are killing you.

All you do is watch the movie as if in a daze, and halfway through it, you tilt your head to look up at him. He sees you looking, and his tongue darts to his piercing as he glances down.

Your eyes go to his lips, and you reach to steal a kiss on them. This time, it’s incredibly slow, painfully so, and his arm tightens around you as his breath gets caught up in his throat.

You rest a hand on his cheek, before sliding it to the nape of his neck to keep him as close as you possibly can. He turns his head to deepen the kiss, and you turn the other way as you push your tongue in his mouth. You gently tug at the hair on the back of his neck, appreciating its silky softness.

Committing it to memory. Remembering when it was so long he could tie it back in a small ponytail, remembering when he cut it shorter for the first time. You’d teased him saying that he was a stranger, and you reckon you’d take that stranger back again.

You’d take the sweet innocence of the third year of your relationship again over what it now is.

Once, you thought you’d always want to see the end. To be able to glance back on the past, to swim in the nostalgia of the memories that it holds. Today, as the end comes, you realize you were wrong.

There’s no beauty in the ending.

Jungkook moves until he’s hovering over you, between your legs. You wrap them around his dainty waist, and you pull him inevitably closer as your hands run in his hair, while his hold him up on each side of your face. It takes him a few seconds, but soon he leans on his elbow, and one of his hands lands on the top of your head while the other moves to cup your breast.

He squeezes gently, fingers expertly pinching your nipple the way he knows that you like it. You moan softly, desperately, and he does it harder as his tongue meets yours.

“Fuck, I missed you so much,” he says as he pulls away, and then he’s littering hot kisses on your jaw, and on your neck. He sucks a hickey on the spot that connects your shoulder to your neck, and then laps at it to ease the sting. He’s still pinching your nipple, and though it hurts you just want more.

He doesn’t disappoint. His kisses move lower, until he’s sucking on your other breast, tongue circling your nipple as it hardens in his mouth. He flicks it once, make sure it’s perched nicely on your chest before he moves to the other one, repeating the action.

Your core heats up with need, but even this demonstration of the passion between you and him doesn’t do anything against the ache of your heart. The pain wins, and you shut your eyes tightly in an attempt to focus on the sensations. To focus on him as he moves lower, slowly, pressing wet kisses on your stomach, down to your pelvis, and then on the inside of your thigh as he pushes your leg on his shoulder.

“I want you,” he murmurs between your legs, as if he’s speaking the words directly to your pussy.

“I want you too.”

That much isn’t a lie. You do want him, all of him, even though you’re aware it’s going to be the last time. So you try to disconnect mind and body, and the moment he sucks on your clit you think you succeed.

You lose your hand in the strands of his hair, tugging as his tongue starts a hellish rhythm on your clit, never once faltering as you squirm under the ministrations. When your juice is coating his chin – which you reckon doesn’t take long – he moves lower, dipping his tongue inside of you.

“So sweet,” he praises once he pulls away, just enough for you to feel his lips moving as he speaks.

“Kook…”

The nickname barely crosses the threshold of your lips, yet the grip he has on your waist, where his hands have found a home, tightens. The only indication that somewhere behind his lustful gaze, Jungkook is aching too.

“Baby…” he says back, and then he returns to press figure-eight on your clit, though this time he pushes a finger inside of you.

It curls to hit the right spot inside of you, and he slowly rubs against it, before he decides better and starts to finger you, slowly. Digit moving in and out, keeping that right arch to make you see stars in no time.

When he adds a second finger, you tug on his hair, hard. Mostly by reflex, but when he meets your gaze as you look down at him, you pull harder. His fingers remain deep inside of you as he meets your lips for a heated kiss that tastes like you, and your hand blindly aims for his dick.

He’s rock hard, as he always is when you fuck for the first time after he’s been away. You sigh in satisfaction, thumb collecting precum on his tip that you spread on his dick. Instinctively, he bucks his hips as you start jerking him off, with the tight grip you know he likes, and you make sure to flick your wrist when you go back up.

He grunts against your lips, and his fingers start to move inside of you again. You don’t know when they stopped, but you know that he’s grown impatient now, and he’s unforgiving. When he pushes his thumb against your clit so that he can rub it at the same time, you moan unashamedly loud, another sound that he swallows like a man starved while his lips move against yours.

You time your ministration on his dick to those of his fingers on you, and soon enough a knot forms at the pit of your stomach. It grows impossibly tight impossibly quickly, and when Jungkook moans in your mouth you lose it, the knot uncoiling as your orgasm finds you.

He fucks you with his fingers through the high, through every wave of your orgasm, your legs shaking as he keeps going until you squirt.

“Good girl,” he praises as you cry out his name, your grip on his dick growing tighter. It has to hurt, but obviously Jungkook likes pain, so he only bucks his hips, seeking for friction.

It brings you back to the present, to this bed, and you return to jerking him off as his fingers leave you empty. He brings them to your mouth, makes you lick them clean until he’s satisfied and pulls them away. He kisses you, languidly, and your tongue dance with his as he grunts from a particularly skilled flick of your wrist.

“I want to suck you,” you say in between kisses, and he doesn’t let you do it for a time.

He’s too focused on your mouth, and you reckon you want him to keep going at it. To trap you in this moment with him, so that it may never end.

So that you may never have to break up with him.

“Can I fuck you first?” he asks, bucking his hips once more. “I want to feel your tight pussy swallowing my cock.”

“I want to suck you,” you insist as he’s sucking a new hickey on your neck.

He pulls away, meets your gaze with a lazy smile on his lips. “Well then of course.”

In another world his comment would have made you laugh, but the only thing it does is make you push him until he’s lying on his back and you’re kneeling next to him.

You look down at his dick. It’s just as pretty as you’ve always thought it was, with the brownish base to the tip that’s currently flushed red with arousal. Precum makes it glisten in the dim light from the world outside, and you let a blob of spit fall on it to add some lubrication to your jerking off.

When you feel ready, you bend down to lick a stripe along his dick, from base to top, following the thick vein. He groans, and he puts your hair in a makeshift ponytail so he can watch as you swirl your tongue around his tip.

The taste of his salty precum fills your mouth, and you hum in contentment. You wrap your lips around his tip, sucking hard once before teasing his frenulum with your tongue. Your free hand moves between his legs, and you grab his balls, massaging them gently.

They’re already tight, and you know he’ll come if you suck him for too long. You still can’t resist, and you take him as far as you can, swallowing around him so he can feel your throat constricting on him. It makes him moan out your name, which in turns makes you moan against him.

“Fuck, baby,” he lets out.

You move up until almost just his tip is in your mouth, before going all the way in once more. And then you start bobbing you head up and down in a quicker fashion as you drool on your chin, your spit coating his dick.

You squeeze his balls once, not daring to do it for longer than a few seconds. You don’t want him to come, so you let go soon after, hand moving to his thigh. You find the hard knot of his scar, and you lightly trace it with your fingers, almost instinctively.

Another part of him that you want to commit to memory. His scars – they made him into the person that was right for you. You hate that distance undid it, wish you could turn back time but alas it’s impossible.

So you focus on his dick, moving your hand away from the scars. He doesn’t let you suck him for a lot longer. Soon, he pulls you away by the hair, bringing you to his mouth instead. You kiss him as you climb on top of him, and right as he pushes his tongue in your mouth, you grab his dick to align it with your entrance.

Even though he fingered you before, he still stretches you as you sink on him, and you let out a broken moan as you dig your nails in his shoulder, where your other hand has been holding you up since you climbed on him.

You sink down until he’s fully imbedded inside of you, and then you rest your hands flatly on his chest, feeling the muscles of his pecs under your palms. You meet his gaze, hating how he’s looking at you carefully. For a moment, you both don’t move, taking the other in, and you’re struck with the realization that maybe he does know. Because his eyes are infinitely sad, infinitely pained, but when he blinks you think you might have imagined it.

You’re going crazy. You used to be able to read him like the back of your hand, but it seems the pain in your heart is keeping you from doing so, from picking up the book where you left off. Perhaps because you’ve gone blind, or maybe you forgot how to read altogether.

Jungkook feels like a stranger.

“Baby,” he lets out.

“Jungkook…”

He wets his lips, and then brings you closer. Forces you to bend down until he’s wrapped his arms around your waist. He starts moving, incredibly slow, and says, “I just want you close.”

It hurts too bad, and you hide your face in his neck. He tightens his grip around you, and after that all that can be heard in the room is your heavy breathing, mingling with the sound of the TV.

He feels healing, as much as he’s breaking you. Or you’re breaking yourself, you don’t know anymore. You wish to stop time, to interrupt the chronology of it, until all that’s left is this moment in time.

You know you can’t.

Jungkook doesn’t stop moving for a long time, as you let out breathy sounds against his neck. He’s not grunting anymore – you don’t think you or he are enjoying this, right now.

“I really want to suck your dick,” you murmur against his neck, lips tickling him.

“You’re not into this.”

Of course he’d sense it. You wrap your arms around his neck as he slips out of you, and you refuse to move for a little eternity.

“I’m okay,” you lie.

“Stop saying that you are,” Jungkook answers, and his voice has taken a cold tone. Maybe because he’s freezing – you don’t think he’d purposefully speak to you like that. “I know you aren’t.”

“Kook…”

He says your name, a loving plea that could have changed the ending, if the months hadn’t passed.

“We need to talk,” you breathe against his neck.

You think you hear his heart breaking. Like a car wreck: it’s so loud you don’t think you’ll make it out of the crash. Only, he did get out of it once – you can only hope he’ll get out again.

He runs his hand on your back, loses it in your hair. He’s gentle, infinitely so, tracing your body to remember you by when you’re gone. At least that’s what you think it is.

“Yeah?” he lets out with a small, quivering voice.

A tear spills from your eye, falling onto the soft skin of his neck.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

He holds you tighter, turning his face so that he can press a kiss to the side of your head. It’s a desperate move – it holds the weight of the universe.

“I…”

He never finishes the sentence. His words are lost to him, and you steel yourself for the glimpse you’ll give him. And when you do, you see his eyes shining with unshed tears.

“I can’t do the distance anymore,” you tell him.

He nods once. “I’m staying until November.”

He blurs behind your tears, and they roll down your cheeks freely. You don’t try to dry them, and neither does he.

“But then you’ll go again.”

He doesn’t need to say anything to that, because you both know it to be the truth. His reply is physical: his arms let go of you, falling on the bed on each side of him.

You move to sit next to him, instinctively grabbing a blanket to hide yourself. Jungkook shuts his eyes before pressing the heel of his palms against his eyelids. As if that’ll stop him from crying, from shattering into thousands of little shards that will go by the wind.

The end has come. It’s upon you, it’s right this instant in time. You think you’ll forever hate this moment – will you ever recover?

“It’s just better for both of us,” you say, your voice breaking into a sob on the last words. You wish you could be stronger, but you break too hard for him. “It’s been so hard and… we both don’t try anymore.”

“I’m staying until November,” he repeats. He sounds choked, and when he pushes himself up, allowing you a glimpse of his face again, you see that he too is crying. “Please.”

“Kook…”

“No but…” he stops, laughs a laugh that turns into a sob. “I tried.”

“You didn’t.”

Maybe he did. Maybe to him he did, but it wasn’t what you needed.

“You don’t get to tell me I didn’t,” he says and he scoffs, pain laced with his next words. “When I tried, you were the one that was unavailable.”

Because you were already done then, you realize. It’s a startling realization, and you wish it wasn’t real. But it is, as real as the rain lashing at the window, as the agony in Jungkook’s gaze.

His doe eyes are pained, tormented, and you wish you could ease it. Comfort him, but you’re the source of the torture now.

“Yeah,” is all you manage to say.

He looks at you for a time, holds your crying eyes, and then he loses it, hiding his face in his hands as sobs rock through him. You’re shaking like a leaf where you’re sitting, and you feel like you’re going to be sick.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out.

“We can make it work,” he tries.

You’re shaking your head no, sobs racking through you too, when he glances at you. “We can’t. We tried, Kook. We tried and it didn’t work.”

“It’s the distance,” he says. He dries his cheeks, sniffles hard. “What if I drop the job?”

“It’s your dream,” you remind him. “Don’t.”

“I don’t give a shit about this dream if it means losing you,” he insists.

Your expression is apologetic, and suddenly your eyes clear up. Too much – the clarity in your mind feels dizzying.

“It’s too late.”

The words fall like a meteorite – you think they hit harder than the one that killed the dinosaurs, millions of years ago. They hit him so hard you think they disperse the pieces of his heart to the four corners of the Earth.

You want to be selfish, you want to keep a piece of him for yourself, to remember him by, but you let him go. You have to, if you want to make it out alive.

“Come on,” he pleads. “We’ve been through so much…”

You swallow around the lump in your throat. “I know.”

There’s finality in your voice, and he hears it just as well as you do. You think he’ll fight more – Jungkook never backs down from a challenge – but to your surprise he goes incredibly still.

“Nothing I can do or say will make you stay, huh?”

You shut your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He goes cold then – like hell. Empty, freezing over, and he steps out of bed to grab some clothes in his luggage that he’s yet to unpack. You watch him, watch the last tears on his cheeks falling as he bends down. No new ones join them – he’s retracted somewhere inside of himself, probably in an attempt to protect himself. You’re not sure he’s aware of the coping mechanism, but you can recognize it.

He was in that same place when you met him again the year after his accident, before you started dating. Once, he told you that you were the one to rescue him from it.

Who will rescue him now?

You start crying again, and you force yourself to get out of bed. To grab some clothes as he’s zipping his luggage after getting dressed.

“Stop,” you tell him. “I already have plans to go stay with Bridget and Heather.”

He stops moving, and then slowly gets up. He glances at the door of the bedroom. Bam is looking through the small gap, and he gently pushes on the door to open it wider.

“What about the dog?” Jungkook asks, sounding so detached you can barely recognize him.

It breaks you even more. You’re selfish – you wish he’d fight more. You wish he’d convince you to stay, but now he looks like he doesn’t even care anymore.

You probably deserve it.

“You can keep him,” you say, as you struggle to put your clothes on, hands trembling so much it makes you lose your fine motricity. “When you-“ A sob breaks the sentence. “When you leave again I can take him in.”

Jungkook nods, and then he glances towards the television. The movie is still playing, yet it’s nearing the end now.

Everything comes to an end.

“Fuck,” Jungkook curses loudly, and he moves to the bed, grabbing the remote so he can turn the TV off. He then looks at the bed. “You’re leaving with those?”

“Jungkook…”

“You’re fucking leaving with them?”

He’s motioning to Totoro and Appa, and you cry some more as you nod. “Okay. Yes. I’ll come back later for the rest.”

“Okay.”

There’s an immense silence then, as you finish putting your clothes on. As you go to the closet, where you’ve already packed a duffel bag with stuff for a week. Jungkook scoffs when he sees it, and it almost makes your legs give out under you.

“You weren’t going to give me a chance, were you?” he asks bitterly, reproachfully.

“My decision was made,” you answer with a small voice. “I just… it’s too hard.”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

You know Jungkook often hurts others when he himself is in pain. It’s something he said he didn’t want to do anymore, a side of him he told you he hates. You’re not surprised to see it come to the surface right now – you don’t think he’s ever gotten his heart broken like this before.

So you’re not surprised when he adds, “We should have broken up when we fought on the phone. Because why was I so fucking stupid to think you still loved me?”

Your heart breaks. It’s been breaking, but now it’s different. Burning, throbbing pain takes over the beating organ, and you struggle to breathe. The air is boiling in your lungs, and it’s so fierce you feel it in every inch of your body.

“I do,” you tell him. “It’s not because I don’t love you…”

He laughs. He bursts out laughing, and it’s a little crazed, a little scary. “Right. Yeah. Tell that to yourself.”

In that instant, you remember when you’d told him you loved him for the first time. At his art exhibit, choked on emotions you thought you’d always know. You don’t know them anymore, but he’s wrong.

You’ll always love him.

“Kook…”

“Will you fucking stop calling me that?” he asks, and he finally meets your gaze again.

“Sorry…”

He sighs loudly, tongue poking at his cheek. “Are you leaving now?”

It’s weird – the way he says it reminds you of your mother when she kicked you out years ago. It reminds you of the early days with Jungkook and you don’t think you can move. You’re stuck in the spot where you’re standing, watching him as he watches you.

When his gaze breaks and he lets out, “Please”, you finally start moving.

First to the bed, to grab Appa and Totoro, and then towards the door.

You push the door open, and Bam wags his tail as you walk out. You’re crying again – you’re not sure you ever stopped – but the sight of the dog makes everything worse. Because it’s not only Jungkook you’re losing, it’s Bam too.

It’s your life. You’re losing everything that matters to you, in an attempt to save yourself. In an attempt to find something better for yourself, something that won’t ache for months at a time like being with Jungkook now does.

“Hey, Bamie,” you say, and you hold the plush toys away as he tries to bite into Appa’s paw. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

You bend, and you let the dog lap at your cheek, as if he can dry your tears. When he stops to look at you curiously, head tilted to the side, you press a kiss to the top of his head. You can’t move for a time and, as if sensing it, Bam remains entirely still too.

He only moves when you stretch, and it’s to press his body against your legs, as if trying to stop you from leaving. Tears cascade down your face, and you tell him you’re sorry, too. You repeat that you’ll see him soon again, hoping that it’ll help, and then you’re walking around him. Walking towards the door, walking towards the crying world outside.

Jungkook follows behind, silent as ever, hands lost in the pockets of his sweatpants, eyes lost in the void. You put down your stuff by the door, put on a light coat and grab your keys. You store them in your coat pocket, and then head to the door, to put on your shoes.

Every step feels like lead, like death, and you just keep crying. It only stops when you meet Jungkook’s gaze, when you’re ready to leave.

Or as ready as you’ll ever be.

“So that’s it?” he asks.

“That’s it,” you agree, and you wish you didn’t. Wish those weren’t the words you said.

He nods once, looking like he’s burdened with a great fatigue. “Alright.”

You want to scream at him to say more, but he doesn’t. Only stays silent as he looks at you, doe eyes so big. His waterline is wet again, and he’s got red splotches all over his face. He’s fighting the tears this time around and you wish you’d give him a reprieve, wish you’d be able to leave but, once again, you’re rooted in your spot.

Maybe because you still have more to say.

“Thank you for…” You pause, take a deep, shaking breath in. “Thank you for the years. I had a lot of fun with you.”

“Please go.”

You nod once, and then you turn around. It occurs to you that your hands are full, and you look at the doorknob as if it’s foreign. Jungkook must have noticed, because he steps forward, his hand reaching for it.

He stills halfway there, with his arm right next to you. And then you hear him choke on a sob, and you drop what you’re holding to face him, to pull him into a hug.

You don’t know how long you cry, holding onto each other like this. Because the moment you’ve wrapped your arms around his waist, Jungkook wrapped his around your shoulders, and he hid his face in your hair.

You cry and cry, together. The last thing you’ll ever do together, you reckon. You wish it wasn’t the case, wish the ending was still at the end a very long road, but it’s come short tonight and it’s too late to stop now.

You break against him, holding him. He’s shaking in your arms, as much as you’re shaking in his. Both of you trembling leaves in the wake of your end. And then you fall to your demise, carried away by the wind.

You don’t know when you let go of him. Only come to your senses when you’re in bed, sometime between dusk and dawn, away from him.

You’re never going to hold him again.

Teaser | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

Pain. I'm crying again from rereading one last time before posting. Please don't hate me oop- let me know what you think of the fic! Did we like it, even though it hurts? All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2023. Do not copy, repost or translate.

Taglist: (add yourself to the taglist here) (strike through means dumblr isn't letting me tag you)

@pamzn | @whoa-jo | @sugaluvmyg | @kelsyx33 | @mafameal | @allisonstonex | @daisies-and-dandelionpuffs | @nadzzzblog | @bloopkook | @synnfulqt | @ggukiepie | @quarter-life-crisis2 | @amylouisecullen | @melodiesforari | @chimchimmarie | @jk-190811 | @notbotheredtho | @jjkluver7 | @chiefdreamercherryblossom | @soland1s | @kingofbodyrolls | @diorjgguk | @babycandy111 | @mindiary | @moonchild1 | @0funsite0 | @jkslvrs-world | @kookxin | @canyon-lwt | @suciedad-divina | @butterymin | @carzjeon | @libra04 | @jm1003myg | @myabae | @snookerbooker

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Push the Sky Away - Part Three

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x original female character (Lorra Stark) Chapter warnings: Mild angst. Smut. Word count: ~6.7k

Summary: Aemond writes a letter and makes a thousand mile journey.

Author's note: I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Lorra,

Since we are parting ways, perhaps forever, I feel I must unburden my heart. You are the fond object of my affection and my desire.  You, and you alone, are the keeper of the key to my heart.  Please don’t be alarmed -– I don’t expect your favour -– but I can’t, in good conscience, not reveal myself.

I do not wish for a betrothal -– nor will I -– unless it is to you. Since the moment I laid eyes upon you, it has always been you. 

With love, Aemond

Aemond casts his eye over the ink as it dries on the parchment, a hot wave of embarrassment flowing through his body and flushing his cheeks. He has never spoken so plainly with regard to his feelings before, though he has never had such strong feelings to express until now. He quickly rolls it up, before he has the opportunity to change his mind and cast it into the fireplace, sealing it with wax and ordering for it to be sent by raven to Winterfell straight away.

The days pass without word from Lorra. Each of Aemond’s visits to the ravens’ tower end in disappointment when he finds no reply from her. Barely contained rage causes him to clench his hands into fists, stalking away from the maester every time he is told that nothing has arrived.

He wonders if his letter arrived in Winterfell before she did, if perhaps the lack of her response is due to her not yet having had a chance to read it. He ponders on whether he had chosen his words carefully enough, if he could have made his feelings clearer. Will she return to him, or grace him with a letter of her own? As the days bleed into a week, and then another week after that, Aemond’s frustrations simmer to despondency as the sad realisation dawns upon him that Lorra has no intent of writing back to him.

“Your mother asked that I give you time, and I feel that we have waited long enough.”

Otto’s voice rouses Aemond’s attention from the flickering flames of the hearth that he has been staring into, lost in thought, and he turns his head watching as his grandsire settles into the seat across from him.

“It has only been a fortnight since Lorra left King’s Landing,” Aemond replies quietly, returning his focus back to the fire.

“Yes, and almost half a year that you have wasted on a failed courtship,” Otto shoots back, his tone sharp. “Time is not on our side, Aemond. You must marry before the King passes, to strengthen Aegon’s claim to the throne. I intend to write to Lord Baratheon to–”

“I do not want a Baratheon girl!” Aemond hisses, head snapping towards Otto, eye wide and nostrils flared in anger.

Otto sighs in frustration, shifting in his chair. “What you want is of little consequence. You will take your dragon, once I have dispatched a raven, and you will fly to Storm’s End.”

Aemond draws in a breath as the realisation of what he should have done two weeks ago dawns upon him. He gives a slight nod, his eye meeting the weary gaze of his grandsire. 

“Yes, I will take Vhagar. But I will fly North to Winterfell.”

“That is reckless.”

“I can win back the favour of the Starks. Without recklessness I would not be the rider of the world’s largest dragon.”

“An impulsive act that cost you dearly.”

“Yes, my impulsivity may have lost me my eye, but I shall not allow my own inaction to lose me the woman I love.”

Aemond rises from his seat, walking towards the door. In his mind the matter is closed.

“And what if you fail?” Otto calls after him.

He stops momentarily, bowing his head as he considers Otto’s words, then turns to look at him over his shoulder. “If I fail then I will accept whoever you choose for me to wed.”

The journey North the following morning is one of the longest that Aemond has ever taken on dragonback. Even wrapped up in riding leathers, he can feel the bite of the cold at his flesh as he leaves behind the temperate climate of the Crownlands, his body shivering as his gloved hands grip tightly to the reins of Vhagar’s saddle.

Usually Aemond leans into the ebb and flow of the weightlessness that he feels while in flight, but all sensations are dulled by the racing of his heart. No journey feels like it is long enough for him to prepare what he intends to say when he eventually faces Lorra. Will she be prepared to see him, or will she simply turn him away? The idea of the latter causes dread to gnaw at the pit of his stomach.

He glides in a slow circle above the fortress of Winterfell, scoping out where best to land his mount. There is no way he can land close to its walls due to Vhagar’s size. It is insult enough to the Starks to arrive uninvited, without the claws of his dragon causing their walls to crumble.

Satisfied that he knows the layout of the land, Aemond brings Vhagar to land on a grassy embankment on the southern facade of the castle, dismounting and making the rest of the journey on foot.

It is early evening as he approaches, and he is met at the gates by several members of Winterfell’s garrison, their man-at-arms demanding he state his business. Unsurprisingly, there are no Starks present to greet him, but his dragon has doubtless been spotted and alerted them to this arrival.

“I am Prince Aemond of House Targaryen. I request an audience with Lady Lorra Stark,” he states simply.

He is escorted to the Great Hall, disappointed at the absence of Lorra as he enters. Her father, Rickon, is seated alone, his gaze stern as he looks upon the Targaryen Prince. Rickon does not stand to greet him, the informality taking him aback as the garrison bustle out of the hall, leaving just the two of them.

“I hope you will forgive the lack of formal greeting,” Rickon says gruffly, “the raven carrying news of your arrival must have been waylaid.”

Aemond swallows thickly, clasping his hands behind his back. He had not expected a warm reception from House Stark, however, this appears to be outright hostility.

“My visit is unplanned, my Lord, and I apologise for the intrusion. I will speak plainly, I have travelled to Winterfell with the intention of resuming my betrothal to your daughter. I had hoped to speak with her.”

Rickon scoffs, his eyebrows raising slightly. “If I could, I would send you back the way you came. However, it is not my intention for the people of the North to fall foul of the Crown, so I am obliged to offer you the hospitality of our House. You will dine with us this evening and leave upon the morrow.”

Aemond’s heart sinks, fearing he has failed before being given the opportunity to redeem himself, and he has not even laid his eye upon Lorra yet, let alone been allowed to speak to her.

He is shown to his bedchamber, changing out of his riding clothes into more appropriate attire for dinner.

As he enters the dining hall, he freezes, feeling his throat run dry as he spots Lorra seated at the table. In their time apart he had forgotten just how beautiful she is and the sight of her is enough to steal away all the air from his lungs.

“Come, sit, eat,” her mother, Gilliane, beckons from her seat beside Lorra.

Cregan and Rickon flank one side of the table, while Lorra and Gilliane are sat at the other, leaving the only available spaces at either end of it, either next to her mother and father, or Lorra and her brother. Aemond opts for the latter of the seating arrangements, hoping it will give him an opportunity to speak to her.

“I hope the food is to your liking. We were unaware we were to have a Royal visitor, otherwise we would have prepared something befitting a Prince.” Gilliane tells him with a tight smile.

Once again, Aemond is reminded of his intrusion, feeling the tips of his ears burn with embarrassment. He forces himself to look at her, keeping his tone polite.

“It is a fine spread, my Lady, you have my thanks.”

He lowers his voice, inclining his head towards Lorra. “The food is of little importance to me, I wished only to see you.”

“And now you have,” she replies simply without looking at him.

Her response is like a dagger to Aemond’s chest, he recoils slightly, opening his mouth to speak, but thinks better of it. There are a thousand things he wishes to say to her, but not in the company of her family, and so the rest of the meal passes in slow, uncomfortable silence.

When they retire for the evening, Aemond seizes his opportunity to talk with Lorra alone as she walks back towards her quarters. 

“Wait,” he calls after her, striding ahead of her and standing in front of her to block her way. “Did you get my letter?”

Lorra sighs. The expression upon her face as she looks up at Aemond makes his heart ache. She looks tired and sad, and the guilt he feels at knowing he is the cause seems as though it may swallow him whole.

“I did. Pretty words, though they are empty and expressed far too late.”

Aemond’s stomach drops into free fall. His fingers twitch uselessly at his sides, eager to reach out and stroke the soft skin of her cheek, to comfort her. Though she is standing before him, it feels as though a chasm stretches between them, she has never felt more far away.

“Is it too late?” He asks quietly.

“You are leaving tomorrow.”

“Give me one week. A week is all I ask to win back your affection, to prove to you I am a man worth marrying.”

“I gave you six months!” She cries frustratedly. “I am not prepared to waste anymore of my time on a man who does not know how to love. I have no interest in a match that is purely political.”

“Nor do I, not anymore, and I will prove it to you. One week, please.”

Lorra bows her head, toying with her fingers for a moment as she thinks, before looking back up at him. “I shall give you three days.”

She steps around Aemond, walking away and leaving him alone in the castle corridor.

As hard as he tries, sleep will not take Aemond that night. It is not the chill of the Northern air that robs him of rest, as he had anticipated, the hot springs upon which Winterfell is built keep the castle surprisingly warm. He is exhausted from the long journey, and yet his mind will not quiet long enough to allow sleep to take him.

He has just three days to prove to Lorra that he is worthy of her. His station alone is not enough, a royal title is of obvious no concern to the Starks. Aemond has spent his entire life believing that duty alone is sufficient, that love in a marriage is a fanciful, unnecessary component. Lorra has challenged all of that – for her, it is a requirement – and it terrifies him, not the change in mindset itself, but how readily he is willing to accept it.

Aemond drifts off eventually, awakening to the metallic clash of blades outside his window. He rises slowly, groggy with fatigue and walks towards the sound, watching quietly as Lorra and Cregan spar together in the early morning light of the training yard below.

He smiles softly as he looks upon her, noting how quick she is. She is steady with her blade, yet light upon her feet. Though they had trained side by side many times at the Red Keep, he was always too preoccupied with the movement of his own sword and opponent to appreciate her skills fully. Immense guilt washes over him as he remembers how poorly he had treated her the first time she had asked to spar with him.

Now he has the opportunity to remedy that. Aemond dresses quickly, making his way out into the courtyard.

Cregan and Lorra come to a stop at his approach, eyeing him carefully as they lower their weapons.

Aemond gives a polite nod to the elder Stark, before turning his attention to Lorra. “My Lady, would you care to train?”

“I already am,” she says cooly, earning an amused smirk from her brother.

“With me,” he adds, straightening to disguise his discomfort.

“You wish to spar with me? I thought such things were beneath you.”

“I was misguided, allow me to correct the error of my ways.”

Lorra looks questioningly at Cregan, who gives an easy shrug. “Blades are over there,” he nods towards an assortment of weapons propped against the stone wall of the yard as he walks away.

Aemond snatches up a sword, walking back towards Lorra as she takes up a fighting stance. As he takes in the fire that blazes in her bright blue eyes he wonders if perhaps he has made a grievous error in judgement. Challenging the woman he has wronged to a fight would give her ample opportunity to exorcise her vexation, and he half expects her to simply run him through with her blade.

“I am not a child,” Lorra breathes heavily, the flat of her sword pushing back against Aemond’s as she blocks his attack. “You will not appease me with a disingenuous attempt at feigning interest in me.”

“A thousand mile journey is far from disingenuous,” he retorts, side stepping as she swipes at him. “You took the time to get to know me, and I have the genuine desire to do the same for you, though the time I have puts me at a disadvantage.”

Lorra scoffs, dodging as Aemond strikes forward, meeting the resistance of her blade once more.

“You fight well,” he tells her, stepping closer, his chest heaving with exertion. “Visenya Targaryen was said to be a fearsome warrior queen, I dare say even she would be impressed. A trait I would be proud for my wife to possess.”

She blinks rapidly, lowering her gaze and her sword as she steps back, light pink dusting the pale skin of her cheeks. “Flattery will not work upon me.”

Aemond finds boldness in Lorra’s sudden coyness, dropping his sword hand to his side, he closes the gap between them, crooking the finger of his free hand beneath her chin and tilting her face up to his. “Are you certain of that?”

He smirks when she says nothing, and pulls away to place his sword against the wall.

“Come with me,” he tells her, gently grabbing her arm and pulling her along with him towards the gates of Winterfell.

“Where are we going?” She asks with wide eyes as her steps hurry to keep up with his lengthy strides.

“To do something I should have done months ago,” he replies, never slowing his pace.

They pass through the gates and around to the south facade, icy wind nips at their skin and Aemond regrets his impulsive decision for a moment, wishing he had given them both the opportunity to don a coat before heading out, but he supposes in a moment it will not matter, not with the warmth of what he is to show her.

Vhagar is exactly where he had left her when he first landed, though she is now curled up in a sleeping position, the vast expanse of her having squashed the long grass around her completely flat.

Lorra slows, hesitating as the hulking frame of the dragon comes into view and Aemond looks back at her, his grasp slipping from her arm to her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Do not be afraid,” he reassures her, “when you are with me, Vhagar is no danger to you.”

Lorra shakes her head, though she does not pull her hand from his, a gesture that causes Aemond’s heart to soar.

“I am not afraid. I just do not understand the meaning of this.”

“I mean to introduce you, something I ought to have done in the first place, but I foolishly refused. Vhagar is the most important thing in the world to me…well, she was, now I find that someone else occupies that place in both my heart and mind.”

Lorra’s face softens, her big, blue eyes filled with uncertainty as she looks between Aemond and the sleeping dragon.

“Come,” Aemond beckons her forward as he resumes walking. “She is most docile when she is sleeping.”

The air turns humid from the heat that radiates from the great, slumbering beast as they approach her, and Aemond rubs a hand across the hardened heat of her scales, earning a gentle rumble from the dragon which gently quakes the ground upon which they stand.

“Does she not get cold? I cannot imagine the North is a suitable climate for such a creature,” Lorra says, staring up in wonder at Vhagar.

“She is fire itself,” Aemond explains softly, “she is not fond of the cold, but she is able to keep herself warm. Here–”

Aemond takes Lorra’s hand, feeling it tremble beneath his own as he presses it gently against the dragon’s scales, encouraging her to stroke them.

Lorra giggles, continuing to run her hand across them, even after he has pulled his away. “She is not as soft as I expected her to feel.”

“Hmm,” Aemond agrees, watching with a faint smile. “She is old and battle hardened.”

“What will you feed her while she is here?”

He grins, a faint chuckle escaping him at her question. Heat spreads rapidly through his chest at the care that Lorra shows for Vhagar, enquiring after her comfort and wellbeing.

“She is large enough to feed herself, too big even to house within the Dragon Pit of King’s Landing. I have never had to feed her, she fends for herself well enough. I daresay whatever sheep happened to be roaming here have met their end at her appetite.”

“My father gave me a direwolf pup when I was a child,” Lorra tells him, as she continues her absentminded stroking. “When he was old enough to fend for himself, I released him into the forest. It did not seem fair to keep such a creature cooped up in the confines of a castle. Direwolves are not like dragons, they cannot be controlled.”

“The idea that we control the dragons is an illusion. They obey because they choose to. My bond with Vhagar is the only reason she listens to me.”

Lorra turns, her eyes meeting his. “Is there anyone that you are bonded with strongly enough that you will listen to them?”

“No,” he whispers, leaning down so that his nose brushes against the tip of hers, “at least not until now.”

She blushes, turning her face away. “We should be getting back, but thank you for this, truly. I shall not forget it.”

Though Lorra had declined to kiss him, Aemond’s hope feels restored as he sits beside her at the supper table that evening, stirring his spoon through a steaming bowl of rabbit stew.

“We should go hunting tomorrow,” Lorra says to him with a bright smile.

“Making the Prince earn his keep?” Cregan asks with a chuckle.

“If luck is on our side, we may be able to serve Aemond’s favourite for supper, he is fond of roasted venison.”

Aemond sips his wine to hide the smile that tugs at his lips that she has remembered such a detail about him.

“Do you hunt?” Cregan asks Aemond, raising an eyebrow.

“I have never needed to,” he responds simply, doing his best to ignore the feeling of shame that washes over him as Lorra’s brother regards him with narrowed eyes.

“You will need more than luck if you hope to fell a deer between the two of then,” Cregan scoffs, returning his attention to his stew.

“We do not have to go, if you do not wish to,” Lorra tells him apologetically.

“No, I want to,” Aemond insists. “Even if we are fruitless in our endeavours, the time spent with you will not be wasted.”

She grins at him. A dazzling, brilliant expression that lights up her entire face, and makes Aemond’s heart squeeze in his chest as he realises just how much he has missed the sight of it.

Aemond walks Lorra back to her chambers later that evening, stopping as they reach the door. 

“Well, I suppose we both ought to get some rest. We have an early start tomorrow, if we are to go hunting,” she tells him.

“It is still early,” he reminds her, “and I have only three days. It would be foolish to cut the first of them short.”

She raises her brows in surprise at this. “What are you suggesting?”

“I thought perhaps you would permit me to come inside so that we can talk for a while? I promise not to overstay my welcome.”

Lorra chews her lip in uncertainty as she considers his offer, before nodding. “Very well.”

Aemond looks around as he walks through Lorra’s chambers, he has never been somewhere that is so personal or intimate to her, and is eager to learn what he can of her from the space. The rooms are decorated with soft furnishings in greys and pale blues, the colours of her house, with ornately carved wolves’ heads and figures upon the shelves that house her books and personal effects. It is clear she is proud of her Stark heritage, just as he is of his Targaryen ancestry.

He casts his eye over her bookshelves, until his attention is drawn to the parchment upon her writing desk. He recognises it as the letter he had sent to her, picking it up as he reads the familiar words he’d written weeks before.

“You kept it…” he utters softly.

“I did,” Lorra confesses, seating herself on the edge of the bed.

Aemond allows the note to flutter back down upon the desk, turning to face her. “Can I ask, what had you planned to do?”

She sighs, fingertips plucking anxiously at the cotton of the bedspread. “Truthfully, I do not know. I wrote back to you countless times, but tore all of my letters up before I sent them. They were filled with hateful, angry words, which I know I would have regretted.”

Aemond nods, though it pains him to know she could ever think such things of him. “And how do you feel about me now?”

“You have made a good effort to redeem yourself, though I would be lying if your rejection of me back in King’s Landing does not still hurt. I am ashamed to admit that I wept most of the journey back to Winterfell. I had not expected you to come all this way just for me, but I am glad you did.”

Cautiously, Aemond steps towards her and, seeing no sign of protestation from Lorra, sits himself beside her on the bed. “It pains me to know you believe your feelings are unrequited. I should never have let you go.”

“Then why did you?”

Aemond presses his lips into a tight line, a wave of unease washing over him. His first instinct is to pull away, to tell her he does not wish to speak of it, yet he knows if he is to have any hope of winning her back he needs to speak openly.

“When I was a child, I watched my father break my mother’s heart more times than I care to count. The irony of it is that theirs was not a marriage borne of love, yet he managed to hurt her just the same. I swore to myself that I would never allow myself to be placed in such a situation, that when the time came I would do my duty, and matters of the heart would not interfere. Then you came along, and you changed my perception of everything that I believed to be true.”

“That is not a bad thing,” Lorra says softly.

“No it is not. But I have lived my life keeping a comfortable distance from others, I always have. I was content in my loneliness, or at least I thought I was. It is disarming to have someone enter your life and feel that you are willing to risk the comfort found in solitude just to keep them at your side. I have never longed for anyone, and yet when you are not near me I find myself looking for you. I did not know what to do with that.”

“And do you now?”

“I am willing to learn.”

Softly, Lorra cups Aemond’s face in her hands. His eye flutters closed, leaning into the warmth of her palms.

“Will you let me in fully?” She whispers. “Let me see all of you?”

He feels her fingertips creep up his left cheek, gently tapping at the leather of his eyepatch, and lurches backwards, heart pounding.

“It would frighten you.”

“I do not scare easily,” she reassures him, placing her hands back upon his face. This time he does not pull away, though he sits rigid as he allows her to lift the patch away from his head, keeping his seeing eye downcast as he holds his breath, fearing her reaction.

Her touch is featherlight as she traces the scar that runs the length of his face, and when he dares to look back up there is warmth in her gaze, where he had anticipated disgust.

“You are beautiful,” she murmurs.

Shock paralyses him momentarily as she leans in, pressing her lips to his, but he is quick to recover. His fingers thread themselves into the silken ebony of her hair as he kisses her fiercely. The soft plushness of her lips feel every bit as divine as they had the first time, his cock stirring in his breeches as their mouths part enough for his tongue to brush against hers.

Lorra presses her forehead to his when they finally break for air, both breathing heavily.

“We really ought to sleep,” she tells him quietly, “tomorrow is an early start.”

“Oh…yes, of course,” he utters, a hint of disappointment in his voice as he rises, preparing to return to his own room.

She grips his arm, stopping him. “No, stay, please.”

Aemond’s pulse races at the suggestion, yet he nods all the same. Stripping down to their undergarments, they lay snuggled together beneath the blankets. It is an odd sensation to hold someone; she lays with her head upon his chest and his arms wrapped around her. Aemond has never done this with anyone before, but he finds that he enjoys the sensation of her flesh against his, her warmth is comforting. Pressing his nose into her hair, his nostrils fill with the familiar scent of rosemary and lavender. Sleep comes much easier to him that night.

As she had promised, Lorra ensures they awaken early the next morning to ready themselves for a day in the forest. They each take a crossbow and a quiver of arrows, though Aemond is uncertain of how much use he will be with his. His disfigurement leaves him at a disadvantage when it comes to the use of ranged weapons.

“I am assuming you can ride a horse?” She asks, as she leads Aemond to the castle’s stables.

“I am not as proficient as I am on dragonback,” he admits, “but yes, I can ride.”

“I have had the stable hand saddle Cregan’s steed for you,” she tells him, stroking a gloved hand over the velvety snout of a large, black horse. “He is more even tempered than any of our other geldings and less likely to throw you off.”

She winks at Aemond as she walks towards her own mount, and he watches with a smirk as she climbs into the saddle of a strikingly white mare.

“Her name is Nymeria,” she tells him proudly. “Cregan’s is named Rhoyne.”

The ride through the forest is peaceful, their horses trotting at a leisurely pace, side by side, beneath a blanket of deep green fir trees so thick that Aemond almost cannot see the sky above them.

“Your Baratheon girl must not be pleased that you are here,” Lorra says eventually, glancing over at Aemond with a demure smile.

“I have no Baratheon girl,” Aemond tells her.

“Oh?”

Aemond tightens his hold on the reins of his horse, his posture stiffening slightly. “It is…regrettable, what you overheard between my grandsire and I. The truth of the matter is that he had intended to send me to Storm’s End to petition Lord Baratheon for the hand of one of his daughters in marriage. I refused.”

Lorra laughs softly. “He cannot have taken that well.”

“He was not pleased, no. I came here instead, on the promise that I would secure an alliance with House Stark.”

She says nothing, averting her gaze towards the trees, and they continue to ride in silence. Aemond glances at her every so often, hoping to catch her eye, but to his disappointment she is always on the lookout for game, or is at least pretending to be. The quiet hangs heavy between them, the only sounds are the gentle hoofbeats of their mounts and the distant chirping of birds.

“I know it is not ideal,” he tells her, no longer able to bear her silence, “to have this obligation hanging over us, but it is my duty. But I need you to know, I am not choosing you out of duty. To have you in my arms as I did last night was no easy thing for me, and it is not something I take lightly.”

“I know,” she says softly.

“Do you think that joining our Houses is even possible? Your father and brother do not seem fond of me.”

“Lords of the North are not quite so tyrannical over their daughters as they are in the South. My father and brother are wary of you because they are aware you have hurt me. But my father will respect my decision and pose no opposition to an alliance with your House, if I choose to marry you.”

“So, you accept?”

Lorra laughs, rolling her eyes. “I said if.”

They lapse back into a more comfortable silence, though there are no deer to be found. Aemond can feel his teeth begin to chatter, despite how warmly he is dressed, he has not acclimated to the chill of the air of the North. It nips at his skin, feeling as though it seeps into the very bones of him.

“I think Cregan had the right of it,” Lorra sighs, “we are to have no luck today. I expect our chatter has likely frightened off any deer we might have hoped to see.”

“Do you wish to turn back?” Aemond asks hopefully.

“You are cold. Fortunately, we are close to one of my favourite places to warm up.”

Aemond’s curiosity is piqued, and despite the cold that stiffens his joints, he continues to ride alongside her, until the trees clear, revealing an opening in the side of the rock face.

Lorra dismounts from Nymeria, securing her reins to a nearby fir tree, and Aemond does the same for Rhoyne.

“In here,” Lorra gestures towards the rock face.

Aemond’s brow furrows, but he follows her in regardless, immediately enveloped in warmth and darkness alike, the furs and leathers he is wrapped up in suddenly feeling much too hot. He picks his steps carefully, walking slowly behind her until light from an opening above them beams daylight down upon a steaming pool of vibrant blue water, nestled within a basin among the craggy stone.

“Hot springs,” Lorra tells him happily, unfastening her cloak and allowing it to drop to the ground. “It is the best defense against the cold while out on a ride.”

She begins to undress and Aemond freezes, his first instinct being to look away, but he finds that as more of her flesh is revealed to him he cannot keep his eye from her. Desire flickers hotly in his lower belly as he looks upon the swell of her breasts, the inwards dip of her waist, and the curve of her hips as she peels her clothes away from her body, dropping them to the floor, before stepping into the water.

He is taken aback by just how brazen she is, unashamed as she turns, once submerged up to her thighs, and looks at him with a grin.

“Are you going to join me, or just stand there gawping?”

Aemond’s eye widens, he opens his mouth to speak, but finds no words will come to him.

Lorra giggles. “Shall I turn away?”

He clears his throat, shaking his head. “N–no…”

His breaths come shakily as he disrobes, wishing to get it over with as quickly as possible. Once fully bare, he steps into the water, his lack of modesty almost forgotten with the sigh of relief that leaves him as the heat of the water soothes the ache of the cold in his joints.

“You forgot this,” Lorra tells him, stepping towards him and reaching for his eyepatch.

“Wait.” He grabs her wrist, stopping her. “I need to know…if you have not decided if you wish to marry me, then why are you doing this? Sleeping in the same bed with me, bathing together. If this is all a game to you, then I can go no further.”

Lorra lowers her gaze, pursing her lips. “I do want to marry you, my feelings have not changed. But I cannot accept that you have changed on words alone. I need to see that you desire me as a husband desires their wife, I need to know it is real.”

Aemond pulls away his eyepatch, discarding it to the side with the rest of his clothing, and pulls her to him by her waist. He inhales sharply as he feels the softness of her dampened skin meet his. “Is this real enough for you?”

The ends of his long, silvery hair are beginning to form loose waves due to the humidity, and her fingers reach up to stroke through them.

“Do you think you could grow to love me?” She whispers.

Aemond’s thumbs trace lazy circles against her sides as he gazes down at her, carefully considering his words. “I am not certain I know what love is. I think of you often, I crave your presence when you are not there. I feel a sensation akin to physical pain when you are sad, and your happiness serves to elevate my own. Perhaps that is love? And if it is, then I believe that I already do.”

Lorra smiles, her blue eyes shining as she looks up at him. Her hands press gently against Aemond’s chest, pushing him back to sit on a ledge, submerged in the hot spring, where the water rises to just above his navel. She sits astride him, the brush of her thighs and womanhood against him making him painfully hard. His breath hitches, as he clings to her waist like a lifeline.

Her fingers caress his jaw gently, and she kisses him softly, their lips meeting slowly and tenderly in an unhurried gesture of affection.

“I would marry you tomorrow, if I could,” he utters against her lips, “wed you beneath the heart tree in your godswood, in the tradition of the Old Gods.”

“Really?” She sighs as Aemond presses his lips to her throat, his hands sliding from her waist to travel up her torso and palm roughly at her breasts.

“If you wish it, once we are married we can return to Winterfell and do just that.”

“Mmm…I would like that.” She tilts her head back as Aemond lowers his mouth to her chest, capturing a hardened peak between his lips and suckling gently.

Aemond has never desired anyone like this before, though he has never cared for anyone in the way that he cares for Lorra. He craves her touch, the need for her making him feel as though he teeters on the very edge of madness.

He removes his mouth from her breast, an appreciative groan rumbling in his chest as she begins to roll her hips against his, and his lips capture hers once more, gripping her hips to urge on her movements against him.

If he had known she would feel this exquisite, he would have barred the doors of the Red Keep and forbade her from ever stepping foot outside of it.

He pulls away, breathless as he stares up at her. “I want to marry you in the tradition of Old Valyria too. Once Aegon is King, and our ancestral seat is returned to us, we will travel to Dragonstone and do just that.”

“What does that involve?” She asks huskily.

“We shall wear the traditional robes of Old Valyria, red and white, and you will have a beautiful headdress.”

He pauses, eye fixated upon her as she raises up slightly on her knees, causing him to hiss through his teeth as she grasps the length of him, positioning him at her entrance. His stones tighten, mind going utterly blank, rendering him speechless, as the tight heat of her sinks down upon him, his fingertips push into the flesh of her hips hard enough to bruise.

She stills once seated fully upon him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Keep going,” she urges, “tell me more.”

“We will use dragon glass–ah, fuck!” He screws his eye shut, hips bucking up to meet hers as she moves against him.

“Use dragon glass to what?” She asks teasingly, her pace never faltering.

Aemond swallows thickly, the pressure building at the base of his spine almost too much to bear. “To…to slice against our palms...the blood that spills is collected in a cup which we will drink from.”

Lorra whimpers softly in pleasure, the rise and fall of her hips becoming more urgent, causing the water to lap in gentle ripples against their bodies. Aemond snarls at the increase in pace, pressing the flat of his palm tightly against her lower back, as he buries his face in the crook of her neck.

“Is that all?”

“No…” Aemond’s voice is strained, struggling to get the words out against the haze of pleasure that overwhelms him. “We will use the same dragon glass to cut our lips, the resulting kiss in addition to the combined blood we have consumed serving to bind us together forever.”

“If that is your wish…”

“Yes…bind yourself to me…”

Lorra gasps, her arms tightening around him as he feels her insides spasm around him in quick, successive pulses, her body trembling against his. He continues to thrust up into her, until the pressure within him gives way, causing his cock to pulsate as he holds her to him, spilling inside of her.

They remain as one, wrapped around each other in the steam of the hot spring as they each struggle for breath, slowly recovering.

Aemond strokes Lorra’s hair away from her face, running his fingers through it as he takes in her blissful, relaxed expression. In this very moment, he has never been more certain that this is love, and to experience what he has just felt makes him feel foolish for having pushed it away for so long. There is no doubt in his mind that there is no one else in the world for him, only her.

“So, will you?” He asks gently, continuing to stroke her hair. “Bind yourself to me?”

She gazes at him softly, a lazy smile upon her lips. “You have barely used two of your three days yet. I am sure there is lots more convincing you could do until they are up.”

Aemond smirks, tugging her against him in a tight embrace. That is an arrangement that he is more than happy to satisfy.

Chapter two || Series masterlist

[theharrowing]

Collateral 🗡️ 21: It's now or never

Your ex-boyfriend gets in over his head working for the local mafia, and Boss Min has come to collect his payment: You.

But was it simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or has he always had his sights on you?

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

🗡️ Yoongi x Female Reader x Namjoon, Jungkook x Female Reader

🗡️ word count: 19.4k

🗡️ mafia au, strangers to lovers, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+ 

🗡️warnings: anxiety spiraling; Yoongi's scar; baby Jimin is still in a coma; explicit smut (oral, vaginal, and anal sex; face riding; squirting; spitroasting; getting messy with cum; all holes tended to; ass eating and mutual fingering; some very interesting positions that i don't know how to name; subby Yoongi; mc being a bit more dominant; Namjoon is Namjoon; subspace; multiple orgasms; overstimulation; semi-public sex); graphically violent dreams; mc has a lot a lot a lot a lot of feelings.

🗡️note: we're speedrunning the healing time of a headwound okay medical professionals. ignore how fast Yoongi heals. anyway, big should out to @sweetestofchaos for the existence of Dionysus, the club in this fic. more details in the end notes so please check those out!!! also lmaooo this chapter made me and my beta reader cry so good luck!!!

🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin!

🗡️ posted on dec. 2023 | read on ao3

The flight to Hong Kong is a little over three and a half hours, but you are so antsy the entire time that it feels like it takes all fucking day. Namjoon attempts to distract you with episodes of an anime that involves demon hunting, you think, but you are unable to focus on the plot.

He even attempts to distract you with his hands and lips, leaving warm kisses along the expanse of your neck while his hands push up the skirt of your floral sundress, charting familiar paths they took only a few hours earlier and so many times before—many times which had ended with your thighs wrapped around his neck, begging for reprieve from overwhelming pleasure. 

But you are unable to stop your mind from running in circles. You cannot relax.

All you can think about is Yoongi and his wound. Yoongi and his distance. Yoongi and whatever the fuck he is doing in Hong Kong. Yoongi meeting with members of the Busan family—meeting with his ex. 

This morning, lying in Yoongi's bed, it was much easier to relax and let go of your worries. But now, in the air, on your way to see him, you cannot quiet your mind for the life of you. 

Mere hours, laying in Yoongi's large bed with an afterglow from Namjoon's talented mouth and hands, the two of you had a nice talk about his fears and worries, putting a lot into perspective and assuaging all the feelings of bitterness and frustration that you felt over the last several days. You truly do not blame him for needing to have some time and space to himself—he and Yoongi have a bond so deep, it is no wonder that Namjoon's thoughts become insurmountable. 

Namjoon admitted that he had actually not been able to get ahold of Yoongi and that you were going to surprise him with a visit tomorrow, having already spoken to Uiseok about dropping in. Everything he said about Yoongi regretting creating distance and all that was just him babbling because he was high and stressed out—something you relate to after the night you and Jeongguk shared. He was desperate to keep you from worrying as much as he was.

But then Yoongi finally responded to Namjoon's texts and it changed the trajectory of everything, spurring you two to get onto a plane as quickly as possible. What was originally meant to be a trip to bring him home tomorrow became a mad dash to pack a suitcase and get onto a flight as soon as you could. The piggyback ride from Jeongguk's place was only about nine hours earlier, yet it feels like so much time has passed. 

And if all of this is not enough, you spiral thinking about the whirlwind of returning to Namjoon's arms after the tumultuous night spent with Jeongguk, barely able to fathom the fact that you are closing in on Hong Kong and that in the next hour or so you will be back in Yoongi's arms. It takes all the effort you have to not think back to Jeongguk asking those fateful words. Do you think you could fall for someone like me?

All that matters to you is that you, Yoongi, and Namjoon will soon be back together at last. It feels like each time you make progress in your relationship and something good happens that pulls you closer, something terrible happens that rips you apart. You are certain that you cannot possibly handle another thing ripping the three of you apart. Not after all you have been through. 

When the plane finally begins to descend, your heart goes haywire. All you want is to wrap your arms around Yoongi and bring him home. There has been too much distance between the two of you lately, and you are beginning to feel sick with worry. Instead you hug your purse tight to your chest, feeling cool black leather against your palms.

You operate on autopilot as the cabin door opens and Namjoon ushers you out into the cool evening. Once more, you are landing in Hong Kong in the later hours of the day, and once more you have no intent on enjoying your stay, despite how much a small part of you wishes that you could. 

Uiseok and the rest of The Tigers have done absolutely nothing wrong, as far as you know, yet they are the last people you want to sit and schmooze with. Your nerves are too on edge and fragile, and you are not sure you have the patience for any amount of socializing at the moment. 

You practically insist on the pilot keeping the engine running, and you are thankful that the two of you have packed nothing more than a suitcase each with the bare minimum items that you need in order to enjoy a brief stay away from home. A member of the family's staff rolls the suitcases behind you, and you have half a mind to tell him to just leave them on the plane.

"Worst case scenario, we should be able to sleep in Taehyung's suite," Namjoon says as you stomp toward the familiar red and white car, hoping to find Yoongi inside—hoping to drag him out by the lapels and usher him straight onto the private jet. 

You hum in response and round the back of the car, bending low to peer inside, feeling your anger rise when you realize it is only Sohee who waits for you and no other passengers. A low, impatient grumble works from your chest through your lips and you sigh, then reach for the door handle and yank. 

"Welcome back," Sohee sing-songs with a sweet smile, body rotated to face you as best as she can.

Although it feels unconvincing, you smile back, doing your best to appear as friendly as possible given the current circumstances. It is not her fault that you are so pissed off, and you do not wish to take your anger out on her. 

Namjoon surprises you by approaching the front passenger seat and sliding in, and you huff out a sigh as you reach for your seatbelt and fight the urge to insist Sohee drives now before you lose your fucking mind. 

"I would have brought the lover boy but Uiseok mentioned it was meant to be a surprise," Sohee explains as she drives off, away from the jet. "I have a feeling the surprise has already been ruined, however; he was getting into the shower shortly before I left and muttering about getting presentable."

What kind of state is Yoongi in, you wonder. Has he been drinking and doing drugs? Has he been busy with new ideas for keeping the family safe? Is his hair still the same? Has he let himself go? More than a week has passed but it feels like it has been months.

Although you have only been here once, the scenery looks familiar. Green makes up the bulk of the neon lights, with bright bursts of red, yellow, and blue, and you allow your gaze to linger on details just long enough to capture them but not long enough to try to decipher anything. You even space out long enough that when Sohee pulls past a familiar restaurant front, you feel a burst of anxiety and begin to somewhat mindlessly pick at the hem of your soft light blue sweater sleeve. 

Without a word, the three of you exit the car as soon as she pulls up across the street from the pseudo restaurant. If you had a key to the place, you would be sprinting ahead, but instead you linger back and stumble forward at times, unsure what pace your body wants to keep; unsure whether you can handle being here at all. 

Namjoon's hand finds your lower back and the warmth is nice, but everything else about this trip feels ominous and off. There is something in the air that you cannot sort out the weight of, and it makes you want to squeeze your eyes closed and curl into a ball. 

Only when the door to the fake restaurant is opened and you enter the fluorescently lit space, do you realize Namjoon and Sohee are carrying on conversation. But what they are talking about flies right past you. 

That is, until Namjoon says, "Nah, I haven't spoken to her in years."

"Hmm?" you mutter as Namjoon's warm palm guides you to the right, through the kitchen and toward the walk-in cooler. 

"She was much more soft-spoken than I expected," Sohee says, and you turn your attention to your left, to Namjoon, waiting for what he has to say next, in search of context clues because you do not want to admit that you have not been paying attention. You step into the cooler and blink as your eyes adjust to the much darker room.

Namjoon cracks a smile but his eyes are glazed over and distant as he stares ahead. "Her being soft-spoken is a mask, but so is any show of confidence. Truth be told, I don't think her father ever allowed her to learn how to express herself genuinely." He turns to you with a wink and adds, "Which is probably why Yoongi was so drawn to me while they were together," and you realize they are discussing Ryujin. 

"Was she here?" you ask as the three of you exit the cooler and you are forced to go in front of Namjoon while entering the narrow hallway. 

Sohee hums an affirmative with a shrug and halfway glances over her shoulder at you without looking past her curtain of dark hair to say, "But don't worry, Yoongi didn't seem too thrilled to see her."

The implication that you may be jealous makes you somewhat mad but you are in no mood to voice it. Sohee is not exactly someone you are eager to be on friendly or unfriendly terms with, and saying anything one way or another might sway you out of your current stance of perfect neutrality. You would rather keep your mouth shut and accomplish the task that you came here to see through without any conflict. 

You do hum, however. A burst of sound that is vaguely a drawn out consonant. Namjoon's hand rubs a small circle, and you keep your eyes on the furnishings that come into view when you enter the large chaotic maroon and gold space at the end of the hallway, doing your best to avoid looking at Sohee and anyone else who may be in the room. You can already sense that Yoongi is not present because neither Yoongi or Namjoon would be able to keep his presence a secret. 

"Like I said," Sohee yawns, tilting her head toward a hallway to the left, "in the shower."

As soon as the words leave her lips, you can hear the unmistakable sound of running water coming from a room down the hallway, and you toe out of your black sneakers and begin to make your way toward it. 

"Guest room is the third door on the right," Sohee informs and you nod while making your way to that very doorway without hesitation. You can sense without looking that Namjoon is following close behind. 

With heavy footfalls and a light sway to your step, you feel drunk—senses heightened yet somehow dull; details bright and twisted as if through a kaleidoscope. How many more times are you going to have to feel this dreaded anticipation laced with hope? This cannot be the lifestyle that you grow accustomed to and yet, you cannot stop your body from moving forward. 

The door is closed and you do not bother to knock before reaching for the small brass knob and pushing your way through. A terrible, dark part of you expects to find some sign of Yoongi's ex lingering in the room as if she has been the one to keep him company in your absence. But all you find is a small bed with the sheet pulled down on one side, one pillow that is indented and one that looks perfectly untouched, and a metal rack on which several black suits hang. 

A suitcase is sprawled open beneath a window that lets in the glow of streetlights and light reflected from the nearly full moon, and there are shirts, joggers, ties, and a square black bottle of cologne sitting on top. No sign of Ryujin, because why would there be?

The water shuts off in the bathroom, and rather than join Namjoon, who takes a seat at the foot of the bed, you yank the bathroom door open and call, "Yoongi!"

"Darling?" Yoongi responds through the fog and your legs turn soft, threatening to topple you over. 

Somehow your limbs manage to carry you forward, and you step into the yellow tiled room and come face to face with the man you love, gaze gravitating straight to his wound. Yoongi keeps the injured eye closed and you can see the stitches that run over his lid and brow and down to the apple of his cheek, along a reddened gash. Nausea rises, and you stumble to the right, hand gripping to the edge of the sink. 

"Fuck," you mutter before you can stop yourself, but Yoongi's smile does not falter.

He stands before you dripping wet and nude, and if you were not so overcome with the urge to vomit and run far, far away, your hands would be reaching to explore. How could you have done this to him? How can he smile at you as if it is nothing?

"Just a scratch," Yoongi says as he steps close, failing to assuage your anxiety. It almost angers you how nonchalant he is about it. 

"No," is all you can bring yourself to say, voice shaken and deep.

"Darling, please," Yoongi tries, stepping close with a pastel pink towel dangling from his fingertips that he makes no move to use on his wet skin. "You didn't come all this way to be too afraid to look at me, did you?"

Consonants and vowels attempt to pass through your lips as you shake your head, eyes and mouth worried and wide. "N-not— I'm—"

"Hey handsome," Namjoon says from behind you, ripping you from the trance you feel stuck in, and you twist quickly, slamming into Namjoon's chest before scrambling around him, out of his weak attempts at grasping you as you stumble back to the bed. 

All at once your body disagrees with gravity and you fall to your knees, arms reaching out to the bed but barely able to hang on. "What have I done?" you mumble weakly under your breath. 

Your head shakes listlessly while your eyes attempt to focus on the patterns of the comforter that you can feel but cannot see—lines of embroidered thread in shades of pink and red. You feel frantic and dizzy; sick to your stomach, and you are tempted to ask Sohee to drive you back to the jet. 

"I imagine it can't be easy," you hear Yoongi say sweetly in that kind and gentle voice that is reserved for you and Namjoon. "I am not offended in the least."

"Sweetheart," Namjoon calls, forcing your shoulders to lift to your ears. Why can't you disappear, just for a moment? Poof into thin air and become a dust mote while you get your bearings and stop panicking. "Did you take your medication this evening?"

It occurs to you that you have not. You manage to slide your arms down and rotate until you are on your butt on the floor with your shoulder leaning against the side of the mattress. You open the flap of your black leather purse and reach in to grab your phone, wondering why your daily alarm never went off, and you pull the device out only to realize that it has died. 

With a sigh, you rummage further in search of a little square pill packet. Before you can ask for water, you hear the bathroom sink running and a moment later, Namjoon emerges and hands you a small, dark yellow glass cup, which you reach for with shaking hands. You take a gulp of tepid water before setting the cup onto the floor and ripping open not only a packet of your medication, but a packet of Xanax, as well. 

"Would you prefer to stay here for the night or in Taehyung's suite?" Namjoon asks as he crouches before you, lifting a hand to gently rub the backs of his knuckles against your arm. 

"I wanna go home," you mutter weakly before knocking the pills from your palm to your mouth and swallowing them down with another gulp of water. Your eyes stare ahead to the side of Yoongi's open suitcase and the pile of black linen that pours from it.

"We could go home if you wish," Yoongi says, legs coming into the periphery.

You drink the last of the water and clench the small glass tight in your hand, then say, "I'm sorry," while closing your eyes.

"There's no need to apologize," Yoongi responds, voice close as if he, too, is crouched beside you. 

You keep your eyes closed as you mutter, "I didn't mean to react so poorly. It's been a long day…a long fucking week." 

"Care to talk about it?" Yoongi asks.

Namjoon's knuckles continue to run up and down your arm, pushing and pulling gently at the fabric of your sweater, and you squeeze your eyes tighter and shake your head. "I want to sleep."

"Here or in Taehyung's suite?" Namjoon asks once more. 

"Or in the jet?" Yoongi adds. 

What you really want is to turn around and go home. You feel exhausted and seeing Yoongi is much harder than you expected. But it feels like a waste of time and resources to fly all the way here only to go straight back, so you concede to a night in Hong Kong and even allow yourself to consider doing a little sightseeing tomorrow if the three of you feel up to it. 

"The suite," you finally say, and Namjoon stops caressing you in order to stand and place a phone call. 

"Darling," Yoongi tries, and you finally pry your eyes open, finding that you have to blink a couple of times. When you turn to him, his injured eye is still closed and his open eye is downturned and concerned. "Is it really that horrible to see me?"

"No," you admit, because you really ought to stop being such a baby.

"I've missed you so much, but if I am being honest, this is one of the reasons I have been keeping a distance."

Guilt overtakes your fear and you suddenly feel terrible. "Oh."

"I thought that maybe if I healed first, you would want to look at me like you used to," Yoongi says with a frown. 

You begin to peel yourself off the end of the bed and rotate fully to face Yoongi, who crouches in just a pair of black briefs with the pink towel slung around his shoulders. His hair hangs like a damp black curtain around his pretty face, cheeks a little flushed, and you feel the sudden urge to crawl into his arms. 

"It's not that I don't want to look at you," you respond weakly while Namjoon paces around the bathroom speaking into his phone, presumably to Taehyung. "I just feel so awful, and seeing the injury is a reminder of how I fucked up."

Yoongi sighs and his lips turn up to a soft smile. "Darling, I can never hold an accident against you and Namjoon. Please know that I am not upset with you."

"Alright," you respond, unsure whether you are fully ready to accept what Yoongi says, but willing to at least try.

Namjoon returns and says, "Tae's calling the hotel now."

"I took a Xanax," you admit with a frown and both men begin to chuckle. 

"Do you want to try to eat something before you get too sleepy?" Namjoon asks, and you shake your head, making his smile widen. "Alright, then we'll order room service once we get there, because I definitely need to eat something."

The rest of the evening is a blur, in part because your emotions are all over the place, and in part because the medication completely dulls those emotions as you begin to shut down. Yoongi takes no time at all to get dressed and pack his suitcase once Taehyung calls with the confirmation that he has booked his suite for the three of you. 

Rather than ask one of The Tigers to drive you to the suite, Yoongi calls a driver who picks you up in the same type of armored vehicle that the men drive back home. You close your eyes once you are settled in the backseat and barely register Namjoon carrying you from the sedan to the penthouse and tucking you into bed. 

Thrice you wake up—once to pee and once because you hear a loud sound from the main room of the suite, you presume from the television. And then you wake up to the feeling of the bed dipping on either side of you and warm arms wrapping you in an embrace that feels like home.

You are somehow the last to wake up in the morning, and you find both Yoongi and Namjoon getting dressed in black tees tucked into black slacks. Yoongi wears his black eyepatch and has the top half of his hair pulled into a bun atop his head while the rest hangs almost to his shoulders.

"Are we leaving?" you ask, catching the attention of both men, who turn to you with smiles.

"Is it alright that we do?" Yoongi responds, threading a black leather belt through the loops of his slacks. "I know we have never done proper sightseeing here, but I am somewhat eager to get home."

"We can go home," you say as you sit up, stretching your stiff limbs and feeling groggy from getting too much sleep. 

Namjoon adjusts the Rolex around his wrist, then approaches with a smile, kneeling on the edge of the bed to lean close and give you a kiss, which you meet him halfway for. "After we have some breakfast," he says, and you smile widely and nod. 

Part of you laments going home already because you do not wish to return to a world where Yoongi has responsibilities. You imagine how nice it would be to stay in bed all day with the two of them and it tugs at your heartstrings. 

What would it be like to have a couple of days off like regular people? Sure, Yoongi has the money and influence to go anywhere and do anything, but it only feels like an illusion of freedom.

By the time you roll out of bed and stumble into a pair of black leggings and tug on a black sweater, room service is delivered and causing the entire suite to smell of eggs, meats, sweet breads, and coffee. The three of you share an easygoing breakfast with Namjoon and Yoongi discussing the deal that was struck while you space out and stare ahead at the table of food. 

And once you are finished eating, the three of you head back to the airport for a nice flight just short of four hours that involves the two of them talking over the same demon hunting anime that you struggled to pay attention to the first time.

Hoseok greets the three of you at the airport, and you are pleased to see his smiling face. You even surprise him with a hug when he exits the vehicle to hug the men, and you assure him that you have been taking good care of the pajamas he so graciously gifted you.

"So, the deal," Hoseok prompts as soon as everyone is settled, with Namjoon in the front seat and Yoongi joining you in the back.

"The girls are going to back off," Yoongi responds through a sigh as if he is bored of talking about this already. "We are keeping the dock in Busan and I am offering them a higher cut to keep them off our asses. With Jimin still injured, there is nobody I trust to oversee Serendipity aside from Jeongguk, so I have offered it to Ryujin as a consolation prize."

"Eager to keep Jeongguk home?" Namjoon asks.

Yoongi hums in agreement. "We just got him back here full time and I would like to keep it that way. Once Jimin does wake up, he will need all the help he can get at Paradise."

"And did they have anything to say about the attacks?" Hoseok asks, causing you to feel uneasy.

Yoongi hums and takes his time responding, reaching across the empty middle seat to find your hand and hold onto it. You lace your fingers with his and stare down at your conjoined hands, waiting for him to continue.

"Ryujin apologized and admitted she was being a brat. She had the gall to say she was only sending out pawns to shake things up a bit, and that she never expected any of us to get hurt."

"Fucking bitch," Namjoon grits just barely loud enough for you to hear, and although you agree, you are surprised to hear him say that.

With another sigh, Yoongi adds, "She seems very remorseful for Jimin and offered a handsome sum of money to assist with his hospital bills, but I turned her down. The last thing I need is to give her a reason to hold anything else over my head…plus I don't need her fucking money. When she promised never to attack again, it felt genuine, but I suppose we will have to see how it goes."

"And Hyungseo?" Hoseok asks.

"It seems Ryujin has given over responsibility to Hyungseo but still calls the shots in many ways. I can't quite figure the two of them out."

Namjoon turns enough to look over his shoulder at Yoongi. "What do you mean?"

"They seem…close," Yoongi says, gently squeezing your hand as he pauses. 

Hoseok's voice is dripping with intrigue. "Close, how?"

"Too close to just be friends," Yoongi responds, "but maybe I am just reading into things too much. Either way, she kept her distance from me when we met, so whatever Hyungseo is doing, it is keeping her distracted."

"Thank god," you mutter before you can stop yourself, earning another squeeze from Yoongi's hand. 

Before anything else can be said, Hoseok makes a right turn and you hear the telltale sign of the metal gates scraping open, gaining you access to the mansion. And as soon as Hoseok pulls into the driveway, your eyes land on a sleek dark grey Porsche that sits in front of the garage. Atop the sports car is a giant red bow, and you know before asking that it is a gift for you.

"We're still two days away," Yoongi explains, referring to your birthday as he squeezes your hand once again, "but we couldn't resist."

You are so focused on the Porsche that you do not notice Jeongguk until Hoseok pulls up beside the car and he comes walking over from the mansion's front door, twirling the key fob around his index finger. 

Jeongguk is dressed in satin as if he is headed off to Paradise next, and the thought makes you feel sad; you wonder if they will bother to open it back up before Jimin recovers. The feeling does not have a chance to linger, however, because before you can hone in on the thought for too long, Jeongguk is opening your door with an impatient smile, eyes wide as if wondering what the hell is taking you so long to unbuckle your seatbelt. 

"Dollface," he says, kicking up butterflies and anxiety in your tummy.

"Gguk," you respond softly as you reach for the seatbelt and undo it. 

Everyone else is out of the vehicle by the time you are shoving Jeongguk out of the way and placing your feet on the ground. Your legs are tired from sitting for so many hours, and you stand on your toes to stretch before reaching for the key to your new car, which Jeongguk predictably holds over his head. 

With a huff, you reach, but it is no use, making you frustrated enough to shove at his chest with your palms, barely making him stumble backward. Thankfully Namjoon is on your side, and he reaches for the key fob and frees it from Jeongguk's grasp, making the youngest pout. 

"Thanks, Joonbug," you say with a wink as he hands it over, leaning close for a kiss before he lets you have it. 

The car is gorgeous, but there is only one problem…

"I haven't driven in years," you admit sheepishly, feeling your palm begin to sweat as it grips onto the key fob. "I don't know if I even remember how."

Namjoon says, "We'll teach you," at the same time Jeongguk says, "We can take her for a spin," making your cheeks warm. 

You turn to the left to find Yoongi—who has been awfully quiet—leaning against the nose of Hoseok's sedan. He smiles and nods his chin to Namjoon, saying, "He's an excellent teacher," and that settles it. Or, perhaps you will allow both men to give you guidance, and Yoongi if he wants. It takes a village, and all that.  

Although you are thrilled to be trusted with this symbol of freedom, you are also swallowing back so many emotions. This car has to have cost them quite a lot.

"She's armored," Yoongi says, pulling your attention back to him. As he steps toward the car and rubs his palm over the curve of its hood, you laugh to yourself over the way he is already personifying it. 

But then his words sink in, and you understand the gravity of them. Your concern must show, because he cocks his head, searching your face before adding, "As an extra precaution. We armor every car that we buy, darling; no need to worry."

"Of course," you mutter, returning your gaze to the car, then looking around to the men present. Your eyes trail from Namjoon to Jeongguk as you say, "Thank you," before returning to Yoongi.

"Yoongi bought it," Namjoon says playfully. "We just helped pick it out."

"It's beautiful."

"This is the first of many gifts," Yoongi says as he approaches, dragging his fingertips along the hood of the car until he no longer can and letting his arm fall to his side. "You will have plenty to unwrap in the coming days."

Your heart pounds and you smile, taking a step toward Yoongi and reaching for his belt loops, giving him a little tug that makes his smile widen. 

"And what if I just want to unwrap you?" You ask, causing a sigh and a groan from two of the four men present.

"This is my cue to leave," Hoseok announces while Jeongguk mutters, "Take me with you, hyung," and you laugh softly, eyes never leaving Yoongi.

He says, "That can be arranged, darling," and you raise your eyebrows, eager to find out just how much he means it. It has been far too long since you have gotten to enjoy him and now that you are home, you would like nothing more than to climb into bed.

"Alright, peace out," Jeongguk shouts, followed by the chime of a bell, and you turn to find him riding away on the mint green bicycle that feels more like a thing of legend than a real object. 

Without saying goodbye, Hoseok simply drives off, leaving you, Yoongi, and Namjoon alone with your suitcases standing on the driveway. 

"Shall we?" Namjoon asks, and you nod, turning your gaze to him as he begins to unlock the mansion. 

"Yes, please," Yoongi responds, taking your hand and leading you toward the door. 

"The luggage," you say, pulling toward where the suitcases sit, but Namjoon says, "I got it. You focus on unwrapping your present," with a wink.

You are pulled up the steps into the mansion, stopping just fast enough for both you and Yoongi to kick out of your shoes—Yoongi never dropping your hand—then through the mansion and up the stairs to the second floor. Yoongi yanks one of the bedroom doors open and tugs you straight to the bed, then he spins and releases your hand to take you gently by the face and pull you in for a kiss. 

Yoongi's lips are soft and his scent is familiar, causing you to instantly relax into the feeling and lift your hands to rub over his ribs and chest, palms gracing over clothed nipples until he gasps against you. When he mutters, "Missed you," it is into your mouth and chased by his eager tongue, giving you no time to respond. 

As Yoongi begins to pull at your clothing and undress you hastily, you close your eyes and sway to the movements, lifting your arms over your head and slowly lowering them back to his chest. The air hits your bare skin, causing you to shiver, and when he eagerly shoves at your leggings, you begin to giggle, opening your eyes to find him staring at you with his one good eye.

"You're so beautiful," Yoongi mutters softly, squeezing at your heart.

All you can do is complain, "Stop," but he shakes his head and says, "It's true."

Footsteps travel up the stairs and you hear the sounds of small wheels rolling over marble and softening over a rug before the noise ends. You expect Namjoon to join the two of you, but then the sounds of slippers slapping against the steps recede, likely to continue collecting suitcases. 

Yoongi continues to paw at you, leaving the thin lace bra and panties on and pulling you at the hips to get impossibly closer while you begin to untuck Yoongi's black tee and gather the bottom hem before lifting the garment over his head. His hair is a bit wild when you toss the shirt away and you reach to push your fingers into it, mussing it up just enough to make him laugh and shake his head. 

"You're so beautiful," you say with a grin, watching as Yoongi blushes so slightly.

Namjoon's footsteps return and you begin to undo Yoongi's belt, slotting a thigh between his to apply just enough pressure to his crotch to make him hiss. Hands reach around you to assist with undressing Yoongi, and when his pants are dropped to the floor, you turn so Yoongi can assist you with undressing Namjoon.

Without words exchanged, you kiss and touch, caught between bodies, eyes cloudy. The three of you tangle together on the bed and slowly explore one another as if the time spent apart has made your fingers and lips uncertain despite following expertly charted paths. 

You make love, taking turns to focus two on one at a time, worshiping to the point of overwhelm, murmuring soft promises and professions of love. Your heart feels full and your limbs light as a feather, tingling from pleasure as you drift to sleep, unsure how much time has passed save for the gradually shifting light that comes in from outside. 

Even from the moment you wake up, you feel emotionally heavy. Your sky is overcast and the clouds are thick and threatening to burst, unlike the bright evening that greets you from outside. 

Yoongi and Namjoon are fully dressed and curled on the couch watching something on the television while Namjoon plays with Yoongi's hair. As you stir and stretch, both men notice, and Yoongi begins to sit up with a loud yawn, stretching his limbs. 

"Hey guys…" you begin, uncertain. Lately you have really been wanting to visit Jimin. And you are not sure why asking for it is so difficult, but you swallow thickly as the two of them watch you with soft, patient expressions, and you ask, "Do you think we could go see Jimin?"

Yoongi beams and Namjoon nods, and you let out the breath that felt trapped in your lungs. 

"I can call Tae and find out whether we could go right now if you want to," Yoongi suggests, and you nod, stretching one more time.

You hobble out of bed pad over to the closet to change out of the joggers and tee you slept in only to grab a new set. Your sweaters are in your own closet, and you make your way out of the master suite and over to your room, feeling like a zombie with legs that are too heavy with each step. 

Without turning on a light, you reach into the dark space and feel for a cotton sweater, yanking the sleeve out enough to see that it is a nice forest green and then yanking it harder to free it from its hanger. Since you are already in your bedroom, you brush your teeth in your own sink, then you haphazardly yank the sweater over your head and make your way back to where the men are. 

Yoongi and Namjoon stand beside the door to the master suite, and you nod to indicate that you are ready despite nobody asking, then the three of you make your way down the stairs to the main hall. You slide into some black sneakers and open the front door, greeted by a cold wind and warm sun. Winter is on the horizon. 

The walk to Taehyung's place is quiet, save for the crunch of gravel and fallen leaves underfoot. You hold Yoongi's hand on the right and Namjoon's on the left, letting go of Namjoon when you come out of the clearing at Seokjin and Hoseok's home to wave hello to the two of them who smoke on their front stoops, dressed dapperly in black and white. 

Jeongguk is also outside when you come upon his property, and he asks whether you mind that he joins you, stepping in line behind you three and filling the air with weed smoke and light conversation about the quickly changing weather. 

Once you arrive at Taehyung's house, you feel antsy. You have never seen someone in a coma before and you are scared of what you may find. 

Taehyung greets you at the front door, taking the joint from Jeongguk and offering it around before stamping it out. Being high will only make you sleepier, so saying no is easy. 

He leads you all downstairs to a large fluorescently lit space, to the right past several doors. "It is likely that he can hear you, so try not to say anything you wouldn't want to hear while in a coma," he instructs, and you swallow thickly and nod, steeling yourself for whatever state Jimin could be in. 

Only, as you enter the room and approach the bed, you find Jimin looking just as he always does—angelic and beautiful. He lays on his back with his eyes closed and his arms at his sides with various tubes attached to his hands, and there is a steady beeping coming from a monitor on the other side of the bed. 

Chairs already surround him, and as you step closer, Taehyung calls out, "You have company today, Jiminah!"

The way his silence and stillness tugs at you makes tears break instantly. You sit in the center chair closest to where his hand rests, and you take it gently in both of yours, careful not to pull on anything attached to it. 

"Hey, Jimin," you say weakly, fighting the tremble behind each word, "I've missed you a lot. I'm sorry I haven't visited yet."

The others take their seats, Yoongi and Namjoon to your right and Jeongguk and Taehyung to your left. They greet Jimin and tell him the good news about the deal that went through with The Tigers and the Busan girls. Yoongi tells him about your upcoming birthday and you tell him that you wish he could be there as tears pour down your cheeks. 

It feels surreal. Jimin appears completely unharmed and yet he lays there, succumbing to and healing from a pretty serious injury. Taehyung informs the group that the wound on his shoulder from the bullet is healing nicely, but that they are just waiting for him to wake up. He sounds hopeful that Jimin could wake up any time—that his brain is functioning and every once in a while, his fingers ever so slightly twitch. 

The mood is somber but also happy, and you are glad to finally see your friend again. Taehyung and Jeongguk offer everyone a drink, to which you all agree, and Namjoon follows the two of them out, leaving just you and Yoongi at his side. Your hands sweat from holding onto Jimin's so tightly but you refuse to let go. 

Yoongi places a hand over yours, and when you turn to him, tears fill his eyes. Then he blinks and they run down his cheeks, followed by a sniffle. 

"Baby," you mutter and Yoongi shakes his head, wiping at his cheeks with his free hand and saying, "It's alright. He'll come back to us."

The two of you sit a little while longer and the others return with glasses of whiskey. They regale you with stories of the crew from the early days, commenting on how young and innocent Jimin has always seemed but especially back then, and you have a hard time believing his soft cheeks wide eyes could have ever been more cherubic than they are now.

By the time you all decide to head back home you feel much lighter, and with a kiss to Jimin's forehead and cheek, you promise him that you will see him again soon. And then you exit the room beside Namjoon with Yoongi and the terror twins close behind. 

"Do you shave him?" Namjoon asks once you are out of the room.

"Of course I do," Taehyung responds as if offended. "Can't have our angel laying there with a beard sprouting from his face. He would kill me."

You laugh in tandem with the group and imagine Taehyung shaving Jimin's pretty face with a straight razor, or even a knife. The five of you convene upstairs and have one last drink, then you head home for the day feeling a bit tipsy from enjoying so much whiskey on an empty stomach.

"Pizza," Namjoon announces once the mansion is in sight, and you and Yoongi hum in agreement. Pizza sounds amazing.

After a post-pizza nap, you wake up with the desire to touch and kiss the men who hold you on either side. Yoongi is pressed against your back and you arch your body to rub your ass against his crotch while your lips and teeth find Namjoon's neck. 

Namjoon is the first to stir, groaning and sighing as you suck and kiss harder, right hand drifting across his chest and down to his cock which is already erect. He stretches and begins to shift around, pressing against you and muttering, "What's this, sweetheart?"

"Need you," you whine in return, still on the edge of sleep but eager to shake it away as one hand gropes Namjoon and the other reaches behind to paw at Yoongi.

Yoongi finally grumbles, and you look over your shoulder at his pretty, groggy face while Namjoon begins to pull off his clothing and settle on his side. You allow Namjoon to undress you, kicking your joggers and panties down under the comforter while your shirt is tugged over your head. 

With Yoongi waking up and stretching his limbs, you roll onto your side to face him and begin pulling at his clothing. His eyes open and he cracks a sly smile, saying, "Well hello, darling," in a tone that is extra gravely from sleep. 

"I need you, kitten. How should we have you?" you ask, fingers moving to his button and zipper, eyes never leaving his face.

Yoongi's lips open but no sound comes out, and you kiss along his chin and neck, reaching your hand into his slacks to give him a squeeze over his briefs. 

"Excellent question," Namjoon says from behind you, mouth dragging over your shoulders and neck.

You swish your bare ass against Namjoon, causing him to hiss and groan, hand gripping onto your hip as if desperate for you to be closer. You shove at Yoongi's slacks until he finally begins to kick them down, then you yank at his t-shirt, giggling as he groans half asleep and struggles to help pull it over his head.  

"I have an idea of how I want the two of you," Namjoon continues as his hand moves from your hip and gently grazes over your labia in the faintest touch. 

"Oh?" you ask with a shudder, eyes on Yoongi, who settles on his side.

Yoongi leans in close and slots your bottom lip between his, sucking and nipping hard enough to make you groan. You open your lips for him to explore but he sticks to the bottom one, licking and teasing it with his teeth and tongue. 

"I want you to sit on my face, sweetheart," Namjoon says, voice deep and low beside your ear. You feel him reach around you and begin to stroke Yoongi, who whimpers against your lips. "And I want Yoongi to fuck you while I eat you out."

Before you have a chance to say anything, Yoongi deepens the kiss, licking against your lips before probing his tongue eagerly against yours. Namjoon's mouth finds your neck and you gasp and shiver into the feeling, body turning to hot wax between them, melting into the mattress.

"On your knees," Namjoon instructs, and Yoongi breaks the kiss to smile against your lips.

You do as you are told, rotating onto your knees while Namjoon scoots down the bed away from the pillows. Once he is settled you crawl over to his head.

Your panties sit bunched up beside Namjoon’s knees and you grab them and reach back to shove them into Namjoon's face, giggling to yourself as he groans but opens his mouth to accept his fate. Then you settle back onto your knees and straddle Namjoon's head with your hands beside his knees, keeping your hips lifted so that he has to reach for you. 

It is futile to be a tease with two men who are much stronger than you, but you try your best, lifting your weight when Namjoon attempts to pull you into place, giggling and trembling when he gives your ass a playful smack before somewhat roughly forcing you to sit back. 

Your panties are still bunched up around his chin when he holds you in place and begins to lick and suck at your pussy lips and clit, sending a burst of arousal through you. Behind you, the bed dips, and you do your best to sit tall with your back straight, hands anchored against your thighs for stability. 

Namjoon's talented mouth and the sounds he makes when he savors you—hums and groans of satisfaction—work you up quickly, and with each lick and suck your body quakes with pleasure. Yoongi's arms wrap around you, hands claiming and squeezing your breasts while he gets close enough for you to bow your spine and rest your head against his shoulder. 

"Just look at you," he mutters against your neck, teeth grazing over your skin and adding to the overwhelm of bliss. "I want you to cum before I fuck you. Can you do that for me, darling?"

"Yes, sir," you all but moan as the steady tongue and lips work you over and send you close to the edge. 

"That's our good girl," Yoongi praises, pinching and rolling your nipples between his thumbs and index fingers. "Always so perfect for us."

The way the two of them make you feel has your head spinning. Yoongi's words of praise rasped in his deep voice while his hands tease; Namjoon humming and groaning while he pushes you quickly toward orgasm, gripping your legs so tight that you have no choice but to stay in place; everything is a lot. 

"I'm gonna cum," you whimper as your quakes deepen, making your body jerk uncontrollably. 

"Of course you are," Yoongi teases, nipping at your neck, making you feel somewhat humiliated by how he always has to tease you for being easy. "Make a mess of our Joonie."

The thought of Namjoon's handsome face glistening with your cum is the push you need to plummet over the edge, and you bow your back further, digging your head into Yoongi while broken sobs and moans fall from your lips. You cum hard, pressing your pussy against Namjoon's mouth as your body trembles through each heaved breath. 

Namjoon lays his tongue flat for you to use and each movement drags your lips and clit over it, feeling heavenly. That is, until the overstimulation kicks in. 

"Fuck," you whimper as your hips continue to convulse, unable to settle and relax. 

"Bend," Yoongi instructs, releasing your breasts to rub his hands over your back and shoulders only to begin pressing you forward. 

You obey, leaning forward until you are down on your elbows and close enough to Namjoon's cock to begin teasing the tip with your lips and tongue. Namjoon moans and you giggle as his dick jumps from the gentle touch. Precum dribbles from his slit, inviting you to lap it up and tease him with your lips.

Namjoon's lips and tongue continue to pleasure you, and you are thankful that from this position you are able to relax a little more, settling on one elbow while you lift your other hand to slowly stroke his length. Namjoon is vocal, moaning and groaning muffled sounds against your cunt that encourage you to not to stop.

Two hands grip your ass and you expect to feel the blunt tip of Yoongi's cock. In fact, you are so eager to feel him that you clench around nothing in anticipation. When Yoongi's tongue greets you instead, probing into your dripping hole and then dragging up, over your ass, you squeal and dig your face into Namjoon's pelvis. 

Two tongues as skilled as these are dangerous, and you do your best to breathe through the quick pace at which your pleasure builds and threatens to drown you. Yoongi focuses on your asshole, licking and teasing, digging the very tip of his tongue inside and making each breath come out ragged and quick despite your best efforts.

"Oh my god," you moan as the pleasure feels too intense you fear you might not make it out of this alive. You knew it would feel amazing to be devoured by the two of them, but never could you have imagined it would be this good. 

When Yoongi's tongue laps over you one last time and you feel the mattress dip while he adjusts behind you, there is a brief moment in which you are disappointed. But then his cock rubs over your entrance and you feel the eager thrill fill you once more. 

However, before Yoongi presses into you, he drags himself lower. Namjoon's lips leave your cunt and you hear a gasp and a hiss come from Yoongi that makes your heart pound. Yoongi holds onto your hips, digging his weight into you as he thrusts downward and you wish you could watch his cock disappear between Namjoon's full, pretty lips. 

Then Yoongi spreads and slightly lifts you, and before you have a chance to anticipate how he may feel, he thrusts deep in one swift movement, spearing you wide. The stretch makes you shout and whimper, and you bury your head into Namjoon's soft thigh skin while Yoongi pulls back and snaps forward again and again.

Sobs and broken moans fall from your lips, and a second pair of hands grabs your thighs and holds you in place. You feel Namjoon's lips and tongue drag over your clit in broad, sloppy strokes, and any ounce of sanity you had left crumbles away. 

Namjoon's skin is hot and moist against your lips, and you lift your head just enough to take a mouthful of his cock and do your best to suck while Yoongi fucks you. Precum leaks from Namjoon's tip, heady on your tongue, and his thighs quake as he moans loud and eagerly against you, urging you to suck and stroke as purposefully as you can.

"God damn," Yoongi groans as he gives your ass a firm stinging smack, causing a muffled squeal from your throat. "I missed you two so fucking much."

Namjoon groans, "Gonna cum soon," against you.

"I want you both to cum at the same time," Yoongi instructs. Luckily for him, you are very close. 

It is almost comical the way you and Namjoon both suck and lick with a little more intention, eager to push the other over the edge. And it works. 

You feel yourself climbing higher and higher toward the precipice of bliss, and you are right on the edge when a wet finger rubs over your asshole with a hint of pressure. A squeal sputters from your lips, and you drool around Namjoon's throbbing cock. 

"Fuck," Namjoon attempts to warn, but there is no need. You can feel him pulsate against your lips, and you relax your mouth while stroking his shaft in anticipation. 

Namjoon's deep voice cracks as the first spurt of cum hits your tongue, and he muffles his voice against your clit and sucks hard enough to make the dam break once more. Orgasm rushes over you so intensely that you struggle to keep your head steady and end up with ropes of his warm release on your nose and lips. 

"That's it, baby," Yoongi praises, pressing the tip of his finger deeper into your ass and intensifying every little sensation. 

"Fuck!" you scream, drool and cum dribbling down your chin. Yoongi fucks at the perfect angle to make you feel like you might squirt, and you attempt to warn Namjoon, but all you can get out is, "I'm gonna—oh fuck, I'm—"

Yoongi's grip is firm and his hips are punishing. Your body goes limp before it tenses once more and pleasure rushes from you, covering Namjoon. You think you hear deep moans and deeper praise, but your pulse is loud and heavy in your ears and all of reality seems to slip away from you. 

It is a mercy that Namjoon stops licking your pussy and slides back until you are straddling his chest. Little by little, your senses return, and Yoongi adjusts his position, anchoring one foot on the mattress as moans pour from his lips. 

You can hear Namjoon's mouth working Yoongi over, undoubtedly eating his ass, and you wish so badly that you could see it. But hearing it is enough, and you grip onto Namjoon's thighs for stability as Yoongi continues to fuck you at a punishing pace. 

Slowly, Namjoon begins to slide down the bed, out from under you, making you sit up and attempt to give him space. Yoongi very gently pulls you by the shoulders and forces you to stay sitting high on your knees while Namjoon repositions himself on his knees, facing you. His face and neck are drenched and his short dark hair is a wild mess. 

You weakly lift your hand to reach for him, beckoning him close. Namjoon smiles and knee-walks closer, taking you by the chin and rubbing a thumb over the cum that has begun to dry against your chin. "I see we both made a mess," he teases, and you nod as best as you can while moaning through Yoongi's deep, quick thrusts. 

"Fuck, I'm close," Yoongi grits between his teeth.

Namjoon licks his lips with a smirk. "Want you to cum in my mouth, baby," he instructs with his eyes on Yoongi but his lips closing in on yours. 

You lean ever so slightly forward and press your lips to Namjoon, moans and sobs falling with each quick exhale, some of which he swallows and some he merely licks around. Your tongue darts out weakly in an attempt to return Namjoon's sloppy kiss, but you struggle with each movement, hypnotized by pleasure. 

"Joon," Yoongi moans, hands gripping you tightly while he pulls his hips all the way back, pulling out and shifting his body to the side. 

You are held in place while Namjoon drops to his hands and leans forward. Although you turn your head to the left in an attempt to watch, all you see is Namjoon's head bobbing while Yoongi trembles and muffles his mouth against your shoulder. 

Yoongi moans and sobs and Namjoon groans, all the while you catch your breath, sitting in place until you are given instruction for what to do next; unsure whether you could control your body if you tried. 

The room quiets and Yoongi leans a little further into his hold on you before sitting back, causing you both to fall onto your butts against the mattress. When Namjoon returns, taking your face in his hands and pulling you into a slow, deep kiss, his tongue is coated in Yoongi's release, and you lean into it and savor him. 

"More?" Namjoon asks against your lips.

You feel exhausted, but you definitely want more of these two. Anything they have in mind. 

"I wanna fuck Yoongi. How does that sound to you, sweetheart?"

It sounds amazing. "I want to watch you fuck Yoongi."

Namjoon sits back with a grin and nods, then he pats the bed off to the side from where you sit and says, "Come right here, baby. You can watch me stretch him."

It takes a moment for Yoongi to release you, and as soon as you crawl to your spot in the center of the bed, all the sweat and cum begins to turn cold, and you settle with your legs pretzeled and reach for the comforter to drape over your shoulders. 

Namjoon crawls past you to the small table on Yoongi's side of the bed while he instructs Yoongi to get on his hands and knees and crawl just enough that his ass is in view—perky and soft. He settles on his elbows with his forehead pressed into the mattress, and Namjoon opens a drawer and closes it, then returns with a clear half-empty bottle of lube. 

With a chance to settle and catch your breath, you are eager for more. But first, you want to watch Namjoon pull Yoongi apart. You have no idea where you may come into this equation, but you are unconcerned; they will make space for you. 

Namjoon sits behind Yoongi, takes his ass in both hands—dropping the bottle of lube to the mattress—and leans forward to lick over his rim, groaning and devouring him the way he devours you. Yoongi moans into the sheets, reaching for the bunched up comforter and squeezing it in his fist and you feel hypnotized watching Namjoon's tongue lap over him in firm, broad strokes. 

The vision is sinful, stirring arousal deep as you watch as Namjoon's hands squeeze and smack, making Yoongi moan and shake with each movement. Then you watch as Namjoon slicks up his fingers and buries them deep inside Yoongi one at a time. 

You wonder what it feels like to finger Yoongi and you get onto your hands and knees and crawl close, shivering as the comforter falls away, leaving you bare. Three of Namjoon's fingers disappear inside him, and you sit close on your knees, watching intently while reaching first to cup and squeeze at his soft ass and thighs, and then to tease the stretched skin of his stuffed rim with your fingertips. 

"Can I?" you ask, rubbing a finger between two of Namjoon's to slick the tip with lube and gently prod. 

Namjoon twists his hand and pulls nearly all the way out, pointing his knuckles downward and giving you an opening in between his fingers that are in almost a v-shape. You lean close and dribble spit onto his fingers, and then you slide your pointer to fit snug with his and slowly join him in stretching Yoongi wide.

"Oh my god," Namjoon groans as Yoongi trembles and sobs. He feels warm, tight, and soft, and you do your best to match Namjoon's pace pulling out and back in, out and back in. 

You ask, "You like the way we feel, kitten?" as you reach with your free hand to gather the precum on Namjoon's hard, neglected cock and give it a stroke that matches in pace. 

Both men moan and you pull your gaze from Yoongi's greedy ass to look at Namjoon who stares at you with a hunger that only excites you more. You bite your lip and give him your widest, cutest fuck-me-eyes and giggle when his expression morphs from pleasure. 

"You are so fucking sexy," Namjoon groans as he pulls your fingers out completely and takes your hand to lift it to your mouth. "Taste him," he commands, and you obey, lifting your finger to your lips and darting out the tip of your tongue.

Yoongi is heady and tangy-sweet, but his delicate natural flavor is masked too much by the artificially sweet lube. Still, you suck your finger into your mouth while holding eye contact with Namjoon, then you place your palm onto the bed and lean toward Yoongi, eager to taste him a little more. 

You feel a bit shy as you drag your tongue over his rim, but the way he moans and clenches around nothing urges you to do more. Namjoon slowly crawls forward, dick still trapped in your hand, and you spin your tongue over Yoongi, letting drool gather and drip to make him nice and sloppy. 

Namjoon settles with his cock so close to your mouth that you turn and take the tip, sucking in your cheeks just hard enough to make him whine before turning back to Yoongi to lick and tease. You can tell by the quick huffs and sounds Namjoon produces that he is growing impatient, and you continue to alternate sucking and licking until you feel satisfied with how worked up they both become. 

With one hand, you search for the bottle of lube while the other strokes Namjoon against your tongue, which is held out flat and drooling. Then you give his tip one last suck and sit back, popping open the bottle and squirting a generous amount of the sticky liquid onto your palm. 

You warm the lube in both hands and then smear some on Namjoon and some on Yoongi, dipping the tips of your fingers inside him to get him nice and ready, grinning when he trembles and sobs. And you stay on your hands and knees and rest your cheek against Yoongi's hip, spreading his cheeks wide and staring up at Namjoon as he shifts forward and lines the two of them up. 

Namjoon towers over the two of you like a god and you hold eye contact as he slowly begins to press his cock inside. Yoongi quakes and gasps, and you lift your head up just enough to watch as Namjoon carves him open. 

"Wow," you mutter, mesmerized by the sight of Yoongi's tight, perky ass swallowing a cock so big. 

With a deep groan, Namjoon asks, "Like what you see, baby?" 

You look up at him through your eyelashes and nod, responding, "Yes, daddy," in the cutest voice you can muster. Then you sit up on your knees and begin to crawl to Yoongi's head. 

Namjoon begins to fuck Yoongi hard and fast, punching sharp breaths from him and making his voice break. You sit on your knees in front of Yoongi and take a handful of his soft, sweaty hair, then you lift his face out of the blankets and force him to look at you. 

The scar takes you by surprise, making your stomach churn, but you quickly notice the rest of his fucked out, reddened face, and you lift your other hand to slot two lube-sticky fingers into his mouth giving him something to suck on. 

Yoongi sputters and sobs, lips gripping tightly to your fingers while his eyelids flutter, barely open. You very gently say, "Eyes on me, baby," and delight when he opens them wide. 

"Do you like how daddy fucks you?" you ask, giving his hair a gentle lift, causing his eyes to momentarily roll back before he focuses them on you. 

He attempts to say, "Yes, baby," but the words jumble cutely around your fingers.  

A loud smack makes Yoongi squeal, spit sputtering from his lips, and you glance up at Namjoon who stares down at you with a crooked grin. "I have an idea," he says, and you lift your eyebrows and cock your head.

"An idea?"

Namjoon hums. 

"And what is that, daddy?"

With a deep groan, Namjoon slowly pulls out, causing Yoongi's face to screw up with pleasure and then impatience. You keep your fingers nestled between his doll lips, watching as he breathes deeply through his nose, then you turn your attention back to Namjoon. 

"Yoongi baby, lay down on your back."

You slide your fingers from Yoongi's mouth and sit back, watching him flop down to the mattress and roll onto his back. Namjoon grabs his hips roughly and yanks him closer, spreading his legs wide. He wastes no time sliding his dick back inside, saying, "Now you sit on his face."

"Oooh, yes, daddy," you say excitedly, crawling over Yoongi's face. His cock slaps against his tummy, leaking precum, and you settle against him and waste no time reaching for it, eager to suck. 

Yoongi grabs onto your hips and wastes no time licking your pussy, surprising you with his sudden burst of energy as he reaches with one hand to finger you while squeezing your ass in the other. You attempt to moan as you swallow his length, sucking eagerly the moment a mix of his and your fluids grace your taste buds. 

You keep your eyes open to watch Namjoon's cock disappear inside him, and you make loud, needy sounds with the hope of urging one of them to cum again. This time, you want to be the one to swallow. 

Only Namjoon has other plans.

"On second thought, you should sit on his dick, baby."

You suck in your cheeks nice and hard one last time, then open your mouth wide to let all the drool that has collected on your tongue drip down his length. When you begin to sit up and move away from Yoongi's face and hands, he whines and attempts feebly to keep you in place before giving up and letting you go. 

Without anything obstructing his mouth, Yoongi's moans are loud and raspy; music to your ears. You turn around and straddle his waist, then reach between your legs and grab onto his length. 

With one pump of your hand, you line him up and slide yourself down, back bowing from pleasure and causing your head to gently bump into Namjoon's shoulder while you and Yoongi moan in tandem—his trembling from his lips at the rhythm of Namjoon's hips and yours falling short at the end. 

Namjoon wraps his arms around you, holding you in place against him while he fucks Yoongi—one hand slides to your throat and the other grabs onto one of your breasts—and you swish and circle your hips, burying Yoongi deep inside you and reaching spots that make your eyes roll back. 

Pleasure with these two feels like something out of a dream. Yoongi reaches with a slickened thumb and twists it over your clit, and you grind harder, matching Namjoon's rhythm and chasing your next high. You have no idea where you end and where one of them begins, and the sounds the room fills with—the moaning and sobbing; skin against skin—is absolutely hypnotic.

You cum without warning and scream, back arched and eyes wide to the tall ceiling. Namjoon fucks Yoongi hard enough that you barely have to move, body jerking uselessly while your senses tingle and dull once more and you fight your body to stay upright, thankful that you are held in place. 

"Look at him," Namjoon instructs, and you slowly drop your gaze to Yoongi, who lays with one hand high above his head gripping to the comforter and the other reaching for you. His eyes are closed and his mouth is agape, lips trembling around unvoiced sounds. With his dark hair fanning wildly against the bed and his skin slick with sweat, he is breathtaking. 

"F-fuck," he mutters, eyes opening only to roll back again. "I'm gonna— oh my god."

"Cum for us, pretty Yoongi," Namjoon says, hips never losing their steady pace. 

Yoongi moves his lips as if to respond to Namjoon but he appears too lost in pleasure to form words. You swish your hips and squeeze your pussy around him, pleased with yourself when his back bows and he begins to sob.

"What a fucking sight," Namjoon groans and you nod, unable to take your eyes off Yoongi as he squirms and pants, reaching his high. 

Without warning, Yoongi cums, filling you with his warm release while he gasps and continues attempting to form words that never make it past his pretty lips. Namjoon picks up his pace, cursing under his breath as he rattles and shakes Yoongi into a trance with his mouth and eyes wide.

Somewhat frantically, Namjoon gropes your breasts and tummy, squeezing as he huffs and moans against your shoulder, sucking harshly against your skin. He quakes and then freezes momentarily, moaning warm, moist breath into your neck. Then his hips rock in and out and in before he pulls all the way out with a groan. 

"On your back," he commands through an airy tone, and you do as you are told, not sure how he plans to continue going considering all three of you are fucked past the point of exhaustion. 

You hobble off of Yoongi and throw yourself down onto the bed, barely able to adjust before Namjoon has your legs spread wide and his face buried between them. He slurps at your dripping pussy, tongue pressing as far into you as it can, causing you to quake from overstimulation and pleasure as he laps up various fluids inside you. 

And then he breaks away and falls into a seated position and then further back onto his elbows, tilting his head to the ceiling and panting heavily. Your feet slide against the bed and you relax in a heap, instantly turning cold as the sweat settles on your skin.

"Bath," Namjoon mutters, and you nod in return. 

Yoongi grumbles incoherently and you cannot help but giggle.

"Fucked him stupid," you say, staring up at the ceiling and smiling as Namjoon begins to laugh.

After a bubble bath the three of you go to sleep, and you do not dream at all. Endless darkness holds you in its embrace. You sleep until an early hour of the morning, only to wake up and tiptoe to the bathroom, then return to sleep some more. 

You feel rested and happy when you fully rise several hours later, and a little shy when you find the room has been covered in vases full of roses and wildflowers of various colors. 

It has been years since you have celebrated your birthday.

Yoongi and Namjoon dote on you from the moment you wake up until it is time to get ready for your party, bringing you pancakes and mimosas in bed and taking you for a spin in your brand new car to get manicures and pedicures together. You allow them to insist on having your nails painted white with gold french tips, and you delight in how ticklish both their feet are as the poor technicians pamper them. 

Namjoon drives around the city until you find an ice cream stand along the river, and wearing average casual attire with masks covering your faces and baseball hats worn low over your faces, you almost feel like normal people doing normal everyday things—despite the security detail that stays ten feet behind you at all times.

And you capture everything. The flowers, the nails, the ice cream—everything is photographed and added to a folder to be uploaded to Instagram once you return home. Being that you are a semi-public figure, you worry that if news got out about your birthday and you did not post, people might start whispering. 

Yoongi takes a scenic route back to the mansion, holding your hand while he handles your sports car with ease, and you allow yourself to bask in an absolutely perfect day, thinking about how nice it would be if the three of you could exist this simply all the time. 

When you return home, the men kiss you and tell you to wait in your room while they get dressed for your party. Yoongi informs you that you have time to shower if you would like, and Namjoon says he cannot wait to see you all dolled up later. 

You do not feel the need to shower, so you strip down to a little black thong and find a black silk robe to lay around in, holding your hands up high to inspect your manicure and kicking your feet as you smile to yourself. Then you imagine how the giant engagement ring would look shimmering on your finger, and you hold your hands close to your heart.

In the quiet moment all to yourself, you drift in and out of sleep, unsure what to expect from the evening. And although you feel groggy when there is a light knock at your door, you sit up with a start and prance over quickly to greet your guest. 

With Jimin absent, a soft-spoken woman with long, dark brown hair and foxlike eyes named Yeji bows in your doorway. She is dressed like the family men in a black button-up tucked into black slacks, and carries a charcoal grey garment bag draped over her arm and a large black makeup case in her hand. 

You lean-sit against the edge of your bed, suddenly feeling a bit bare in your silk robe while she sets the case down and begins to unzip the garment bag and pull your gown free. To your surprise, the dress is off-white and all you can think about is how much it reminds you of a wedding dress.  

Yeji hands you the gown and turns her back to you as you stand, shed the robe, and begin to delicately step into the garment. You are going to need to swap your black thong for a white one, but otherwise it is perfect.

The top gathers in a halter over your chest, wrapping in a circle around your neck and leaving your back bare. Gold embroidery accentuates the neck and waist, and the skirt flows in layers of chiffon with high slits up the both sides, making you feel like a Greek goddess.

Yeji produces several blue Tiffany boxes and opens all but one of them. She adds beautiful gold bracelets with delicate diamond encrusted vines to your wrists and a matching gold and diamond vine ring to your right hand. Then she recommends several pairs of gold strappy shoes and offers a pair of gold ballet flats for later in the evening, smiling shyly the entire time. 

Your hair is pulled and twisted from your head and your makeup is minimal—hints of black with a dusting of gold on your lids and gold highlights on your cheeks. You assume there must be earrings in the final Tiffany box, but she leaves it untouched and gently lifts her fingers to your chin, urging you to straighten your posture as she scrutinizes your appearance with a soft smile.

"You look like a princess," she says, blushing and averting her eyes as you stand before your vanity and dance your fingertips over the skirt. 

You feel like a princess, and you smile widely as you say, "Thank you, Yeji."

A familiar knock on the door kicks your pulse into high gear and you hold your breath as Yoongi walks in wearing all white. A ruched, tunic-style linen dress shirt with long fluted sleeves hangs somewhat loosely but fitted in a way that shows off his broad shoulders and firm muscle. He wears fitted white slacks, gold necklaces, and his hair is styled in beautiful waves around his face. 

But what really takes your breath away is that for the first time since the accident, both of Yoongi's eyes are wide open and his stitches have been removed. A deep, pinkish-red gash greets you, making Yoongi's fierce dark brown eyes seem even more menacing; a fitting scar for a man in his position.

Your heart sinks at the sight but it also stirs something inside you. Somehow, the scar makes Yoongi even more attractive—a thought that you will need to unpack some other time. 

"Wow," you say, ripping your tear-filled gaze away from Yoongi's face and studying his outfit once more. "You look amazing."

For once, Yoongi is speechless and it makes you feel somewhat antsy. Rather than respond, his eyes continue to take in your outfit and his silence feels maddening. Is he also thinking about how much this gown looks fit for a bride? Is that why he looks at you this way? Luckily Namjoon appears and breaks the tension.

Also outfitted in all white, Namjoon wears a dress shirt tucked into fitted slacks and a white leather belt. His jacket has gold and clear gems embroidered in decorative bursts on the left shoulder and right breast, and gold gems line the wrists of his sleeves. His short dark hair is styled back from his forehead, and he wears dainty gold chains and bracelets, and small gold hoop earrings.  

"Sweetheart," Namjoon mutters as he steps up behind Yoongi and rests his chin on his shoulder. "You look…"

"Incredible," Yoongi finally says, eyes wide and teary with his arms straight down to his sides. 

"Just missing a couple more things," Namjoon says with a smile that dimples his cheeks as he turns to the vanity and grabs the final blue box. "While we were in Paris, Jimin and I went shopping for all of this jewelry. Do you like it?"

You lift your hands and inspect the vines that grace your wrists and finger, and you feel your eyes well with tears thinking about Jimin and the Paris trip that changed everything in more ways than one.

Your voice is soft and laced with emotion as you say, "I love it."

"I was particularly fond of these," Namjoon says, pulling your attention with the sound of the last box opening, "and we crafted the rest of tonight's theme around them."

Diamond encrusted gold earrings in the shape of vines shimmer from the soft blue box, and Namjoon lifts them for you to see. 

"May I?" he asks, and you nod emphatically, tipping your chin to give him access. He gives you the box, which you take in shaky hands, and then he delicately adorns each of your ears, warm nimble fingers working swiftly, giving you shivers as they brush against your skin. 

You glance into the mirror then take a step forward to get a view of your reflection. It appears as if the dainty vines climb up your lobes and they are absolutely stunning. The thought of Namjoon picking out the jewelry makes your heart swell with affection, and when you glance back at him and Yoongi, they watch you with reverence.

"Thank you," you say, eyes roving between the two of them. "This is too much, really."

"Nonsense," Yoongi responds, "you deserve the world. And Namjoon and I intend to give it to you."

Suddenly you feel shy and you lift your hands to cover your face, doing your best to hold back tears. You know in your heart that these men mean it when they say such ridiculous things. And you love them so deeply for it, even if the prospect terrifies you.

Your left hand is gently tugged away from your face, and before you can inspect who is responsible, you feel the cool kiss of gold on your ring finger, followed by the weight of the diamond it holds. Your heart pounds harder, and you continue to swallow back the urge to cry. 

"Shall we?" Yoongi asks, letting go of your hand and revealing a gold and diamond Rolex hiding under his long sleeve. "The party has begun but I thought we should be fashionably late."

Namjoon holds you in place as Yoongi helps you step into gold strappy heels, then he drapes a white fur evening jacket over your shoulders that barely covers your torso. Hoseok is in the driveway sitting behind the wheel of a red stretch limo sedan, and you shake your head at the emissions a beast like this must give off as you approach. 

The door opens from the inside and Jeongguk’s smiling face greets you. Taehyung is in the seat beside him and they are dressed in white fitted tuxedos and gold bow ties. 

“Dollface,” Jeongguk beams, taking your right hand while Namjoon steadies your left arm and you hoist yourself into the vehicle. 

“This is fucking ridiculous,” you laugh as you get seated facing the partition behind the front seats. Jeongguk and Taehyung have their backs facing the partition, creating a large square shaped space littered with gold confetti and buckets containing iced bottles of champagne. 

“How is our honorary buttercup?” Taehyung asks as he pops a bottle open. Yoongi enters to your left while Namjoon gets settled on your right. 

“A little overwhelmed,” you mutter while Taehyung pours a flute that Jeongguk holds onto before handing it off to you. 

“Well, I hate to break it to you, darling, but the night is young."

You turn to Yoongi and lift your brow. From behind the black partition, Hoseok begins to leave the driveway as you ask, "And what is that supposed to mean?"

Jeongguk pipes up, "Means you're gonna be overwhelmed as fuck when we get to Dionysus."

Everyone laughs and you join in, only somewhat showing your unease. The cold, bittersweet champagne helps calm your nerves, but it is difficult to feel settled when four pairs of eyes pierce into you—even Taehyung stares more openly than usual. 

You are tipsy by the time Hoseok reaches the city, and you silently pep talk yourself as the vehicle pulls up to a tall marble building with a red carpet outside. To your surprise there is a crowd waiting.  

Namjoon gets out first and steps aside, offering you his hand, and cameras flash in your eyes as you take it and slowly climb to the rug below, attempting not to stumble and struggling to lift your eyes. Although there is a stir from your presence, people begin to clap and cheer when they see Yoongi. 

You cannot fathom who any of these people are, nor can you imagine so many strangers so openly recognizing him. Are all of them somehow involved in the syndicate, as well? Does Yoongi have another reputation that you are unaware of?

The unmistakable whispers and murmurs begin about his scar, about your dress. Once Yoongi is by your side, crooking your arm into his elbow, Namjoon gets back into the stretch sedan and Hoseok drives off, leaving the two of you to make an entrance. 

You keep your eyes ahead, too shy to look at the crowd, and you walk under a large white and gold awning that stretches from the sidewalk to the large glass doors. Camera flashes threaten to temporarily blind but nobody stands in your way, and when you enter the hotel, everyone follows behind. 

Large gold and crystal chandeliers brighten the massive hotel lobby, and the red carpet stretches through the space, stopping at a set of gold elevator doors. You glance around at the light marble, white furnishings, and confused hotel guests littered throughout, noticing several armed guards stationed around the space dressed in white with gold bow ties, similar to your friends.

"What is this place?" you ask with wide eyes. 

"This is the hotel that I sold to lady Choi, the woman who was friends with my mother," Yoongi mutters close to your ear while you walk ahead, eyes dancing over the marble and gold, appreciating the extravagance. "What did Hyungseo refer to it as? One of my less flashy hotels?"

You remember the night in front of Paradise when Hyungseo taunted Yoongi—the night Jimin was shot. If this is what she refers to as less flashy, what do Yoongi's other hotels look like? Surely, she was just trying to rile Yoongi up, and you can see why it may not have worked. 

Yoongi leads you through the lobby to a gold elevator, and you are not in the least bit surprised when it takes you to the uppermost floor. You are surprised, however, when the doors slide open and the scene before you is somehow more decadent than the one you left. 

"This," Yoongi says magnanimously, "is Dionysus."

The tall walls and high arching ceilings are made of white iron and glass, allowing the glow of the moon and light pollution to add to the ambiance. Large arches of elegantly designed iron spandrels and ornate columns draw the eye to a second floor mezzanine that wraps around the space where guests stand with drinks, some dancing along to the music that sounds modern and downtempo but unidentifiable to your untrained ear. 

The floors are ash grey hardwood, and the furnishings are white and gold with the exception of  a massive oval-shaped bar made of dark hardwood in the center of the space. Tracking lights hanging from the grandiose ceiling assist delicate white and gold sconces that are placed throughout to brighten the space. 

"For obvious reasons, we chose to move your party," Yoongi informs as you step forward, gaze landing on more people you do not recognize than those you do. Changkyun and the rest of the members of the security team wear white tuxedos with gold bow ties, as well. Other guests are dressed in an array of colors, but it appears that nobody else wears white. 

An attendant approaches to take your jacket and you bow your head at him, shivering from the lack of warmth as Yoongi continues. "We renovated Paradise for this occasion, but I felt that having the party there might be too painful for all of us. Of course, a larger venue called for a larger crowd."

You hum in response, still taking in your surroundings, undoubtedly with your mouth hanging wide open. "Wow," you finally mutter, lips moving like a fish out of water as you struggle to find the words to describe the way you feel.

Dionysus is massive, and the lengths staff members must have gone to in order to decorate for your party do not go unnoticed. Gold streamers and green vines entwine, snaking up columns and along the edge of the mezzanine and bar, and gold balloons are placed throughout accentuating corners, tables, and various other points, along with piles of gold disco balls scattered around shimmering with reflected light. 

The staff wear gold leather and latex. Clothing is scarce, barely covering them, and they are painted from head to toe in gold glitter as if carved from the shimmering alloy, carrying intricately carved golden trays of food and drink. 

"Are you pleased?" Yoongi asks. 

You nod emphatically and turn to Yoongi with tears forming, forcing yourself to look into his eyes and not stare at the reddened slash that cuts over one of them. Although the sight makes your stomach momentarily ache, you are undeniably happy. 

"Yes," you say, taking a step forward and placing your palms over Yoongi's chest. The giant rock on your left hand shimmers in the bright light of the venue, sending a pang of uncertainty and worry to your gut that is only somewhat masked by your joy.

"Let's get you a drink," Yoongi says, gently grabbing your wrists before spinning around and linking your right hand in his left while tugging you toward the bar. 

A nearby server carries a gold platter of champagne flutes, and when Yoongi reaches for one and hands it to you, there are even gold flakes floating around inside. Ridiculous, you think to yourself, but also very thoughtful.

One sip of the champagne takes you by surprise; it is light and sweet, different from what you are used to. And, to your delight, the gold flakes seem to have no flavor. 

"Ah, here they are," Yoongi announces, and when you look up, the other five family men—dressed in the same white and gold attire—are approaching, holding matte black gifts of various shapes and sizes.

"Oh, no," you mutter to yourself, feeling your cheeks become hot. "This party is already enough."

"Nonsense, darling," Yoongi whispers close to your ear, voice deep and inviting. 

The music changes and suddenly the entire room is singing happy birthday. You feel embarrassed enough to hide behind your hands, but Yoongi gently takes your champagne flute and sets it aside, then tugs your wrists downward, forcing you to watch as the family men approach with their gifts.

"I thought the switchblade was my present," you tease, looking between Jeongguk and Taehyung the moment the song stops. Of course, since that fateful night, you have not moved the switchblade from where it sits in its case atop your bedside table in Yoongi's bedroom.

"Well, since you must announce the elephant in the room," Taehyung teases, holding out a rectangular box about five inches long and two inches tall, "we worried that you may hold some animosity toward that weapon and decided to gift you another option."

Another weapon, he means. You already know from the size and weight of this box that Taehyung is gifting you a handgun. Still, you tear at the matte black gift wrap and pretend to be surprised as you reveal a black velvet box containing a subcompact Glock. 

You do gasp, however, when you notice the beautifully carved flowers and vines along the handle of the gun, and you feel somewhat emotional when you look back at Taehyung and say, "Wow, this is beautiful."

"We have a variety of holsters that you can choose from," Taehyung says with a proud smile. "Come by anytime to rummage through our collection."

"Alright," you respond as you turn to hand the gun off to Yoongi. Staff seem to have carried over a round high marble-topped table and he sets the box in the center.

Next is Hoseok, who gives you a stunning Tiffany statement necklace that is shaped like a gold scorpion tail, and Seokjin gives you a dainty gold Rolex watch with a mother of pearl face.

Jeongguk steps forward and hands you a box that contains a little metal cocaine vial and you laugh so loud, your voice echoes through the large venue. "I have one more for you," he mutters quietly, "but it would be inappropriate for you to open it here, so you'll have to come by my place some time soon."

Namjoon kisses your forehead with a smile, making your cheeks warm at the thought of the crowd noticing as he says, "The rest of my gifts are at the mansion." 

You shake your head, knowing that all of the jewelry you wear is from him, muttering, "You've already done too much."

But then he hands you a small gift box and says, "This one is from Jimin."

Suddenly your heart feels heavy, and you accept the box with a tremble in your hands. You rip at the matte black paper but your hands shake so hard that you have to turn and set the box onto the table just to open it. 

You expect more jewelry to greet you and it takes a split moment to process what you are looking at. In a small pile against black velvet is a gold keyring containing three keys and a golden dove charm. You lift the keys to inspect them, finding each one inscribed with one word: Paradise, Studio, and Home.

Tears well and you drop the keys back into the box, cursing the universe for being so unfair. Jimin has given you sanctuary in so many ways and you are unable to thank him. 

Shaking your head in an attempt not to cry, you are hit with a dizzy spell, but in an instant, arms are around you on three sides, pulling you into a soft shield of material and warmth. You keep your head tilted upward, worried about staining anyone's white jacket, then take in a deep unsteady breath. 

All you can think about is how happy Jimin had been for your approaching birthday—how excited he seemed about your gift. Although you just visited with him yesterday, you miss him now more than ever.

Yoongi, Namjoon, and Jeongguk take a step back, and you smile, wiping the tears from your face and gently as you can, worried about smearing your makeup. 

"Thank you," you say weakly, causing the room to erupt with cheers and clapping, reminding you that you are surrounded by strangers. 

Another table has appeared while you were not paying attention, and one after another, strangers bring gift bags. You are informed by a member of the security team that each gift has been carefully inspected, but you feel too embarrassed to watch as guests come and go, bowing and muttering words of thanks without looking anyone in the eye, and turning instead toward the bar. 

Yoongi sidles up to your right and turns you gently by the shoulders to face him, rubbing his thumbs beneath your eyes. To your left, Namjoon orders seven glasses of neat whiskey. 

Guests come by to wish you a happy birthday as you wait for your drink, and you thank them politely and glance around the space looking for somewhere to go to have some privacy. When Namjoon finally hands you a glass, you waste no time gulping down some of the rich liquid. 

"Do these people know who I am?" you ask into your drink while smiling and waving to strangers who greet you from a distance. 

"In theory, yes," Yoongi responds, placing a hand on your elbow and leading you past dancing bodies to the far side of the space. "They know who I am, and they know about the ring you wear."

"They're treating me like I'm the queen of England," you complain, slamming back the rest of your drink.

Yoongi's voice gives you chills as he leans close to say, "That's because you're the queen of Seoul, my love."

Ahead, under the mezzanine and past a group of partygoers, is a black curtain hidden somewhat inconspicuously with Changbin clad in white and gold standing guard with a wide smile.  Changbin greets you with a warm hug while Yoongi pushes the curtain aside revealing a door through which you quickly walk, finding a carpeted storage room full of cardboard boxes and stacked tables and chairs. 

"Thank god," you grumble, turning to Yoongi to begin searching his pockets for his cocaine; yours is out on the gift table. "This is a lot more overwhelming than I expected."

"We could find another way to overwhelm you, if you'd like," Yoongi offers with a grin, leaning his forehead against yours as you unscrew you the vial and lift piles of white powder to one nostril after the other.

You inhale harshly and rub a knuckle against your nose, asking, "We?"

Seconds pass before the door opens and in walks Namjoon and Jeongguk. 

"We," Yoongi finally responds, lips tugging into a devious smile. The cocaine shimmers through you and you waste no time taking him up on his gracious offer. 

"Yeah, okay," you say, grabbing a chair and sitting with your legs spread wide, bare from the high slits in the skirt that make it fall open on each side and between your thighs. "Do your worst, gentlemen."

The three of them drop to their knees, Jeongguk crawling forward first, hands rubbing over your calves, up to your thighs. "I should be quick and get back out there," he says, wasting no time lifting the skirt flap that covers you and burying himself beneath. 

He makes a mess of your panties, nipping and sucking over the mesh, driving you wild with anticipation long enough to make you begin whimpering, "Please, Gguk. Please stop teasing me."

Jeongguk yanks your panties to the side and devours you, lips and tongue dancing a familiar, glorious dance over your clit, making you sink in the hard wooden chair while doing your best not to let your hair touch anything. Although you are sure nobody on the other side of the door can hear you, you muffle your voice with the back of your hand and use the other to grip Jeongguk's head as best as you can with layers of fabric in the way. 

It takes very little time for Jeongguk to make you cum, back arching off the chair and hands falling to your sides to grip its wooden edges to keep you from sliding to the floor. Jeongguk appears from under your skirt, face flushed and hair tousled, wiping your release from his lips and chin with a dopey smile. 

"Bathroom is to the right when you exit," Namjoon teases as he begins to use his fingers to fix Jeongguk's hair. Jeongguk stays for a moment longer on his knees, searching your face as if he has something he wants to say before finally getting to his feet, leaning close, and pressing a heady kiss to your lips.

"Happy birthday, beautiful," he mutters, though his eyes say a lot more. 

"Thank you," you respond meekly, struggling to hold his soft, caring gaze. Your mind echoes, Do you think you could fall for someone like me? And once again you think that you could.

As soon as Jeongguk turns to leave, Namjoon lifts the center flap of your skirt and tosses it over your hips, revealing your cunt, which feels cold behind wet mesh. Yoongi spreads you further as he crawls beside Namjoon, and the two of them take turns using their hands and mouths to slowly pull each thread of sanity from you. 

You cum twice more and the two of them keep going, ignoring your pleas for mercy, teasing as they say, "I can't take anymore isn't your safeword, baby."

"Too bad we can't make a real mess of you," Namjoon complains as he nips against your thigh and keeps the thrusting of his fingers to shallow movements. 

"Tonight," Yoongi insists, and you nod robotically, feeling too fucked out to do anything but let pleasure overwhelm you, just as Yoongi promised it would.

Your legs may as well be cooked al dente by the time they finish and you stand in an attempt to straighten yourself out. Spit and cum cause your panties to stick uncomfortably but you feel too blissed out to care. 

Namjoon goes ahead, placing a soft kiss against Yoongi's lips and then yours, and Yoongi delicately does his best to clear away any makeup that has smudged beneath your eyes. He kisses you deeply, moaning in tandem as you melt against him and taste yourself on his lips, and you think to yourself that this night is nearly close to perfect.

"I have one more thing," he says, and when you meet his gaze, it is soft and a little worried. "I hope you don't mind how unromantic this room is…I just can't bear to wait any longer."

You continue to catch your breath after the orgasmic ringer those three put you through, and when Yoongi reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small blue box, your brain screeches to a halt before attempting to make sense of what you are seeing. 

Yoongi holds up the box and says, "I just want you to know that when you feel ready, this one is the deal," but the words do not compute. That is, until he opens it.

Nestled in blue velvet is a platinum band adorned with three diamonds. Although the center stone is much smaller than the ring you wear, there are two pear-shaped stones on each side. Tears cloud your vision and the sound of your pounding heart is deafening. 

"Namjoon helped me pick it out," Yoongi continues as if you are not in total physical distress, falling apart with each second that passes. 

Your next breath heaves from your lungs and you feel your knees threaten to buckle. Is Yoongi actually proposing to you on your birthday, tucked away from everyone else? A promise for when you are ready to receive it is still a promise that is spoken in real time, and the weight of it is crushing. 

"Darling?" Yoongi tries, but his voice feels distant and you stumble backward, feeling as if you might faint. 

Yoongi is quick to catch you by the elbows and sit you back down on the chair. "Darling, are you alright?" he asks, but you feel too sluggish to respond, heavy-blinking but unable to focus on him. 

Yoongi takes out his phone and thumbs around. "Taehyung," he says, voice laced with worry. "Come to the storage room quickly."

Although you want to shake your head and insist that everything is fine, you are not sure you can do that much. Time and space elude you, your ears ring a high, terrible pitch, and you squeeze your eyes closed, only opening them when a cold compress touches your forehead, zapping you into the present.

"There you are," Taehyung responds, gently rubbing his knuckles along your cheek. "We lost ya for a bit."

Your skin is cold and clammy, and you shiver, wishing you had your jacket. To your surprise, Yeji is at your side with a stoic expression, and she opens her black makeup case. 

"Sorry," you mutter, dizzy and uncertain of what just happened. Yoongi and Namjoon stand behind Taehyung watching you with concerned expressions, and you begin to worry about how long you have been away from the party. 

"You didn't miss much," Taehyung says as if reading your mind. He lifts a small flashlight to your eyes from the side like he did the night he checked you for a concussion. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired," you admit with a sigh. "Hungry."

Taehyung hums and nods, saying, "Once she touches you up, come back out to the main hall. I'll tell them to bring out the cake."

Cake sounds incredible and you nod, mouthing, "Thank you," with barely a sound coming out. 

Yeji touches you up quickly, blotting away sweat and applying a little makeup before bowing and taking her leave. And when you stand, you feel much steadier on your feet, albeit a bit jittery. 

When it is just Yoongi and Namjoon left in the room, the two of them kiss before Namjoon kisses your forehead and leaves. Yoongi swallows thickly and watches you as if he is waiting for you to speak first, so you do, voice trembling and weak.

"That wasn't a reaction to the ring," you lie. It may have been, but you do not want to face that possibility at the moment. "I don't know what came over me. Sorry, baby."

With a nod and an uncertain smile, Yoongi takes your hand in his and tugs you to the door, out into the small dark space and past the black velvet curtain. And in an instant, you remember that you are completely surrounded with strangers and that you need to keep your cool and stay on your feet. 

As soon as the two of you walk out into the main hall, staff members cart out a massive cake while more of them carry bottles of champagne crackling with sparklers. The room erupts into shouting and clapping and you feel yourself go hot under everyone's stares, wondering whether anyone is speculating on what happened while you were away. 

You eat a slice of decadent strawberry jam cake, and once you feel better, you drink and dance and drink some more, doing your best to push out all thoughts of that ring. Felix even joins you, spinning you around and laughing like old friends. Euphoria kicks in with the family men around, and you find it easy to return to the feeling of joy, eager to face everything else in the morning. 

By the time you return to the mansion, you are stumbling from your feet aching but also from all the champagne and whiskey. Namjoon carries you from the stretch sedan to the front door and Yoongi peels away your strappy shoes before taking you into his arms so that a drunk, clumsy Namjoon can get out of his shoes. The three of you make your way upstairs and you bury your face into Yoongi's neck as you ascend. 

"We still have more gifts," he mutters and you sigh happily, insisting, "Tomorrow."

"Would you like to sleep now?" Namjoon asks. "Or shower first?"

Although you know that you should clean your face, you are exhausted and whine to be taken to bed. Thankfully Yoongi carries you into the ensuite first and sets you onto the cold marble counter so that he and Namjoon can gently wash off your makeup, remove all of your jewelry, and encourage you to brush your teeth. 

They help you undress and step into warm joggers, pulling a soft black tee over your head. And the moment your head hits the pillow, you are out like a light. 

You are riddled with nightmares and toss and turn, struggling to stay asleep but too groggy to stay awake. 

In some, Yoongi's wound bleeds while you grip onto the dripping knife. In another, he and Namjoon have cast you aside and left you to fend on your own with nothing but the little black dress and combat boots that you wore into the mansion on the very first day they kidnapped you and brought you home against your will. 

They laugh and tease and make you feel foolish. Like a conquest and nothing more. Cheap, tossed aside, and all used up. 

But the dream that really shakes you to your core is one of Jimin's funeral. He lays in a glass casket wearing a gorgeous black lace gown and veil, face pale and lifeless as marble, and you sob uncontrollably, throwing yourself at the glass and begging for him to wake up. 

The funeral crowd erupts in cheers and laughter, and when you glance up, hundreds of the man who shot him surround you, holding out his smoking gun. You lift your gun and shoot, sending hundreds of the man to the floor with his brains leaking through his many foreheads. 

And then you wake up screaming. The room is empty with the exception of the many flower vases that surround you, and you feel dizzy as soon as you quickly sit up, grabbing for your pounding head.

Moments pass with nothing but your own sobs and you cry loud and horrific, clenching the black and gold comforter close to your chest with one fist, desperate to get the image of Jimin lying dead out of your mind. But it is no use; you can feel residual anguish leftover from the dream clawing its way into your heart for safe keeping.

Footsteps rush to the door and you hear Namjoon barrel forward, shouting, "Sweetheart, what is it?"

Unable to speak, you shake your head, but then a piercing pain around your temples and in the back near your neck halts your movement and you cringe and grab once more onto your head, leaning forward. 

You hear, "Darling," but Namjoon quickly says, "Get Taehyung!" and Yoongi's voice drifts away as he shouts for him. 

You wonder if they have been meeting in the main hall, and you thank your lucky stars that they are all there. Then you feel the urge to vomit, scrambling for something to get sick into before everything fades to black.

In a blink you are on your back, laying in bed with a cold wet compress against your head. The family psychiatrist Christopher is there and he and Taehyung are muttering about medication side effects as you blink them into focus and stretch your limbs. 

"Buttercup," Taehyung says softly as he approaches and leans close, feeling your forehead. "What do you say we take a trip to my examination room so I can have a look inside that pretty little head of yours, hmm?"

"Oh," you respond sluggishly, licking your dry lips and weakly nodding your head. You ask, "Did I faint again?"

With a frown, Taehyung says, "I'm afraid so."

Namjoon approaches with a hoodie and Taehyung helps you sit up. In the back of your head there is a sharp pain, and you feel nauseated the more you move. They slide one arm after the other into the sweater and then Namjoon sits on the edge of the bed with his back to you and tells you to climb up. 

It takes effort but you knee-walk to Namjoon and fling yourself over his shoulders. He stands slowly and adjusts your legs in his hold, and you bury your face against his neck while he carries you from the room, down to the main hall, and out the front door. 

You hear the voices of the other family men but none of them regard you, and for that you are thankful. The air is chilly and you hold tightly to Namjoon, listening to the familiar crunch of gravel and leaves underfoot while Yoongi and Taehyung chatter lowly behind you. Briefly, you think you may begin to fall asleep. 

The examination is not so bad, but the MRI makes you nervous. The whir of the machine is scary, and although your eyes are closed, you feel claustrophobic inside the enclosed space. After getting a good look at your brain, Taehyung checks your heart, draws blood, and leads you to a small bathroom where he asks you to pee in a cup. 

Then he asks you to meet him in an examination room where he will join you shortly, but you go to a different room instead. With a sigh pouring through a smile, Taehyung assists you with gently moving Jimin's arm, making space on his small bed, careful of all the wires and tubes.

You lay on Jimin's bed, head against his chest and listening to the steady beat of his heart with your eyes closed against bright white fluorescent light. Namjoon and Yoongi sit on the other side of the bed with their heads leaned close, not speaking a word, and after you find yourself drifting off for a moment, Taehyung returns. 

"I can't determine a physical cause for your sudden bout of fainting spells," he says, which should be good news but not having an answer is also worrisome in its own right. "They began before you started taking your medication, so the best I can surmise is that it is not a side effect to that medication, and that it is likely caused by trauma and stress."

You hum, unsure what to say. Yoongi and Namjoon also say nothing. 

"Did you take your medication yesterday?"

Truthfully, you are unsure, but you are inclined to think that you may not have. Shaking your head softly against Jimin, you mutter, "I don't think so."

Taehyung hums. "I want you to be a little more mindful of your medication, alright? Lay off any drugs or alcohol for a little while, and eat on a regular schedule. We're going to monitor your heart rate and blood pressure regularly, too. Does that sound alright?"

"Alright," you respond automatically, attempting to let everything sink in. 

Trauma induced fainting is not something you want to deal with on top of everything else. And with Yoongi's most recent proposal of sorts, nausea kicks up and you begin to fear for the worst.

"Could be that you need a vacation," Taehyung continues, writing on a pad of paper as he speaks. "A lot has happened around these parts lately, and perhaps this is your body telling you to get away for a while."

Get away for a while. 

You know in your heart that getting away could be the only option. With your mental health deteriorating so fast, it is hard to imagine it won't get worse. 

But how much time away from the mansion is long enough? How much longer will you attempt to heal and move on from everything that has happened while surrounded by your stressors and waiting for the other shoe to drop?

The only solution is to get away entirely.

How will you break things off with Namjoon and Yoongi, especially after that gesture last night? Whereas the ring you have been wearing symbolizes a fake union, the ramifications of it have always been real. Real threat of danger; a real target on your back. 

Now, with the prospect of genuine engagement looming over your head, your fight or flight instincts have you feeling the strong, overbearing urge to run far away and never look back. Playing mafia wife is one thing but becoming a mafia wife is petrifying. 

How long will you be able to look Yoongi in the eye knowing that you gave him that scar? And if Jimin never wakes up, how long before you stop blaming yourself for his injuries? It is easy for Yoongi to assure you that he does not hold anything against you now, but how do you know that won't change? 

And if you are at the heart of one more tragedy—one more grand fuck up—and Yoongi dies with a needle in his arm, will Namjoon not blame you? Is that something you can live with?

Sometimes important decisions—ones that we know we have to make—still hurt like hell.

"Alright," you mutter again, unsure what to say. 

On the other side of Jimin's bed, Yoongi and Namjoon hold onto one another while you think about how you are going to approach Seokjin. After all, he is the one offering you a way out. 

You hate that this might be the last time you ever see Jimin again, but you feel grateful that at least Yoongi and Namjoon have each other. At least all of the family men have each other, you tell yourself. They can and will get through this next phase together. 

It will hurt like hell. They may all come to hate you. It could even push Yoongi over the edge. 

But you are certain that you cannot be around to witness another crack in the foundation. And you cannot put your well-being on the line just because someone else's may be threatened. 

You cannot keep doing this, but there is no other way that you can see turning down another one of Yoongi's proposals without disappearing instead. Even imagining the prospect of walking away breaks your heart and causes tears to form in your eyes.

Maybe in another life you could have been perfect. But in this life, all you have is heartache. In this life, all you have is fear and uncertainty and the brassy scent of blood. 

The only way out of a life like his is death.

Above all else, you know that you can not wait around to watch someone die. You cannot hope and dream and wish for a normal life while the men you love continue down paths of uncertainty and danger. 

You deserve a chance at a normal life. You cannot keep living this way. They cannot force you to stay in the mansion and live like this any longer. 

It's now or never. 

Calm myself A cup of tea Could give me good comfort Calm myself A couple of weeks Could make me forget you

🎵 visit the playlist

ONE MORE CHAPTER, AHHHH!!!! and then a sequel!!! don't worry this is not the ending!!! but it is still an ending so to speak, so HOW DO YOU FEEEEELLLLLLL??? any ideas of what Jungkook gifted her for her bday???

you may have noticed that some of the scenes did not get the usual Collateral treatment of the reader being fully aware of everything mc is aware of, including the mention of a conversation mc & Namjoon had at the start of the chapter, as well as the conversation that happens when Jimin is in a coma where i breeze over her being regaled with stories from their past. the first conversation is in Namjoon's POV scene, and i have been planning for a long time for the conversation at Jimin's bedside to be the topic of Yoongi's POV scene, so i left those details out. more information, including a teaser for Yoongi's scene to come in the near future! (sorry for the cross-outs, but i made some changes!!!)

as promised in the beginning notes, let me distract you a little with Dionysus!!!! it is actually a club in Chell's fic Blessed With a Curse (which you should absolutely read!!!) and i became obsessed and wanted to steal it (with permission!!!) (it turns out it's a real place lolol.) much of my ability to describe it at all came from Chell's writing and i am so grateful to have an amazing friend who allows me to use their inspiration for my own. she's a super talented writer who is also a big fan of this story, and more than anything i wanted the presence of Dionysus in this story to be a nod to her because i care so much about her.

check this fucking place out:

obviously i changed some details here and there, and really did not even fully go into detail because it is a lot and architecture words allude me and i really have no idea what i am doing. (if you know more technical terms that could add to the description, i would love to know!!! i have no qualms with sneaking info into the fic on the sly.)💜

these end notes are becoming so fucking long lmao i am so sorry. i used to put nothing at the ends of fics/chapters and now i am writing entire dissertations.

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE THE LIFEBLOOD OF THIS SITE, BUT LIKES ARE ALSO SUPER APPRECIATED!!! THANK YOU FOR READING, I LOVE YOU!!!

tag lists will be on separate reblogs! they’ve gotten too big to contain as one! if you would like to be tagged in this fic, please let me know!!! 💜💜💜

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

Collateral is copyright 2022-2023 theharrowing, all rights reserved. no translations of reposts allowed.

[kwanisms]

Library of Illusion — the Lobby

masterlist | next »»

➥ no pairing

wc: 2.5k

summary: With the death of her parents, Y/N inherits the house and finds a box of old research her father left behind that talks about a legendary place. After months of research and searching, Y/N has finally found it.

The Library of Illusion beckons.

genre/themes/au: fantasy, slight horror elements; non idol au

warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, mention of death

permanent taglist: @yoonguurt @wonderfulshinee @candidupped @dejavernon @violagoth @tigermoonbiss @katsukis1wife @luvsooby @thesolarplanetarysystem

ateez taglist: @2hodefender @cixrosie @pyeonghongrie-main @flowerboykun @sanjoongie @anyamaris @stardragongalaxy @kpop-stories-21 @wooyoungmybelovedhusband

special tags: @thelargefrye @hwasdollie

Join my taglists: permanent | group

a/n: here it is finally! I have been so FREAKING excited about this event since we first started planning it. I hope you all love it as much as I loved writing each part and before I go off on a tangent, I'll let you all read! As always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only. banner made by me. I do not allow reposts or translations of my works. All my works are ©️ kwanisms.

═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════

You’d always been told stories all throughout your youth about a mystical place known only as the Library. Your mother used to tell you grand stories about the place when she was putting you to sleep so she and your father could head out for an evening, leaving you in the care of a babysitter.

Your father always added onto these fantastical tales, painting vivid images with his words as he explained the Library in full detail, almost as if he had been there. The stories weren’t special to your family though. Lots of your peers heard similar tales, told to them by their parents at bed time.

And so it became sort of like a ritual. Until one day, it wasn’t.

You weren’t sure when you stopped caring about the wondrous and whimsical tales of the Library but it had to have been around the time you started showing an interest in things other than fairy tales.

Your parents still tried to instill the element of wonder into your life up until you left home, hoping to find something other than elaborate tales of a made up library.

Your parents were gone. Passed in an accident only a month ago today.

You hadn’t seen or spoken to them in years, preferring your circle of friends and work life you’d grown accustomed to.

After the funeral, you gained possession of everything they owned and while going through a box in the attic with only a bottle of wine to keep you company, you stumbled on something you probably never should have seen.

It was what you could only assume was a case file about a place called the Library of Illusion. As you flipped through the pages, sipping from your glass of red, your eyes widened reading the words you’d only heard from your parents' mouths as they tried to lull you to sleep at night.

Your father had been a professor of archaeology all throughout your life while your mother was an appraiser of rare antiques. They both loved old things.

As you scanned the documents you learned three things.

1. Your parents were obsessed with this Library, believing it to contain treasure.

2. Your parents, mainly your father had set about finding the location

3. Your father actually found the location just before his untimely death

As soon as you looked over the maps and checked it with known maps, the decision was made before you.

Wine in hand, you booked a flight, made accommodations, and hired a local guide.

Getting to the dense jungle where the Library was rumored to be was easy but traversing the jungle was another story. Your guide halfway through called it off but you were determined, taking the map and satellite phone and continuing alone on your journey which brought you to where you were now standing.

The Library was an very old stone structure, made of some kind of smooth sandstone. Most of it was covered in thick vines, the dense trees growing around the structure and making it seem very much a part of the jungle.

Two stone slab doors stood between you and the contents of the building as you checked your father’s notes, comparing them with the notebook he’d stashed with the other items.

Entering the library was no easy task but it wasn’t impossible.

A complex series of dials must be turned according to a riddle which was already solved by your parents. As you turned the last dial and it clicked into place, a mechanism behind the stone started to move and before your very eyes, the doors opened inward to reveal the inner corridor was nothing but a dark and empty void.

Taking the flashlight from your pack, you turned it on and headed inside, reminding yourself to put one foot in front of the other as you started into the blackness.

Your footsteps echoed around the walls as you walked down what seemed to be an impossibly long corridor, turning your flashlight around to keep a sharp eye on anything you might encounter from jungle animals to deadly insects or even plants. Your guide had warned you of the many dangers that awaited in not only the Library but the jungle as well.

Finally, just as you were about to give up, a dim light could be seen in the distance. Speeding up, you continued on your way, the first real sign of promise within your grasp.

As you neared what you assumed to be the end of the tunnel, the shape of the light grew in size until you emerged from the passage into a round room with a domed ceiling.

Around the walls were various bookshelves that had clearly seen better days. Old ruined books and stacks of yellowed paper lined the shelves and a thick layer of dust coated everything. Between breaks in the shelves were arched doorways.

You counted seven in total.

In the center of the room was what you could only describe as a stage, octagonal in shape and made of the same pale sandstone. Stone pillars stood in the eight corners, reaching from floor to domed ceiling and matched the same color of stone that everything else was made of.

Standing atop the stone stage, was a dark redwood desk. You carefully glanced around before ascending the few steps up to get a better look at the desk. It was a curved semi circular shape with a few stacks of aged paper as well as an old writing set.

As you inspected the desk, a voice rang out, echoing off the domed stone ceiling.

“Who are you?”

You nearly screamed as you jumped, spinning around to find you were not alone in the room as you had previously assumed.

Standing before you was a man. He had black hair, golden skin and was tall with a slim figure. He wore an entirely black ensemble, complete with a black brocade vest, black dress coat, and black trousers. His shoes were made of a shiny black leather with golden metal tips at the toe.

Your eyes snapped back up to meet his curious gaze.

When you didn't answer him, he spoke again.

“Who are you?”

Taking a quick breath, you answered him in a rush.

“I'm so sorry, I had no idea anyone was here!” The words burst from your mouth before you had a chance to stop them. You apologized profusely as the man looked at you, amused.

“Why are you apologizing?” he asked and you froze, uncertain of how you should respond before finally settling on an answer.

“I guess I just got nervous,” you answered sheepishly. The man tilted his head, like a puppy would upon having its name called.

“Why?”

You shrugged in response to his question. “I suppose I just wasn't expecting to meet anyone here.”

The man smiled again as he closed the distance between the two of you slowly, his footsteps echoing around the room with each step.

“And what are you doing here?” He asked. You hesitated to respond.

How exactly would you explain your reasoning for being here?

'My parents died and my father had a box of stuff relating to this place?'

No, he’d think you were absolutely mad.

Sensing your hesitation, the man took another step forward, climbing the steps one at a time. “You’d be surprised by the answers I get,” he started as he ascended the steps, stopping just before you.

You looked at him as he studied you. This close, you could see his dark brown, almost black eyes, darting around your face, seemingly taking in every feature.

“I’ve heard it all,” he continued, starting to circle you slowly as he looked over you.

“Fame, fortune, glory,” he rattled off as he continued to circle you like a predator.

“But what’s your excuse?”

You cleared your throat, turning to look at him behind you where he had stopped, meeting your gaze with an unreadable expression.

“Legacy I suppose,” you finally answered. The man’s eyes narrowed.

“Legacy?” His tone was curious and he waited for you to continue.

You decided there was no reason for you to lie and so you told him everything.

When you were done explaining the bedtime stories, the death of your parents, the inheritance, and finally the box in the attic, he continued to look at you curiously. “That’s a new one,” he admitted. “I’ve never heard of someone continuing in their parents’ steps before. So you aren’t here for the treasure?”

You shrugged again. “If there’s one to find, I’m not opposed to that, but that’s not entirely what brought me here. I’m fueled more by curiosity.”

The man smirked at you. “Curiosity is a dangerous thing,” he replied, continuing his circling from before. “They say curiosity killed the cat.”

His eyes met yours and you could have sworn you saw a flash of color in them.

Pushing it from your mind, you spoke up in retaliation.

“They also say satisfaction brought it back.”

The man’s smirk widened until he was chuckling.

"And so it did,” he said softly, moving to stand in front of you, his face mere inches from yours. “And is that what you hope to find, kitten? Satisfaction?”

Your stomach knotted at the use of the nickname, heat rushing to your core as you stared back at the man. “Perhaps,” you answered, trying to remain as unaffected as possible. The man chuckled again as he stepped around you and over to the desk.

“If it is satisfaction you seek,” he continued as he took a seat at the desk and glanced up at you. “Then perhaps you will find what you seek.” You watched him as he stared back at you.

"Satisfaction takes many forms," he continued, eyes studying you carefully. "I myself am also looking for it, in a way," he added before opening a drawer and reaching inside.

You watched as he pulled out a wooden box and set it on the desk.

You stared at it for a moment and then looked up at him. “What is it?”

The man gestured to the box. “Open it,” he said simply.

Sensing your reluctance, he sighed and reached over to undo the clasp holding the box shut and opened the lid, turning the box to show you the contents.

Or lack thereof.

You stepped forward, closing the distance between you and the desk to peer into the box.

A velvet lining covered the inside with indents in the material where something or rather a few somethings had been housed. Six of them to be precise.

“What’s this?” You asked, looking up from the interior of the box to meet his eyes.

“If you seek satisfaction, you’ll find it here in the Library,” he started, looking at you with his sharp eyes. “But to seek anything in this library, you need my permission first.” You narrowed your eyes at him.

“What, are you the librarian?” you snorted. The man smiled, clearly amused as well.

“Of sorts,” he answered. “Come,” he stated as he got up and beckoned you to follow him.

Descending the steps, you followed him around the room until he stopped near one of the doors. “Each door is locked,” he started to explain, taking the knob in his hand and trying to turn it and showing how it didn’t budge.

You glanced up at him as he looked down to meet your gaze.

“So how do I get in?” The man shook his head.

“You humans are always so eager. Just go in blindly without knowing what you’re looking for or who you’ll meet,” he said, sounding mildly annoyed.

It was your turn to sound annoyed.

“Okay, then explain it to me.”

The man crossed his arms over his chest and studied you for a moment before answering.

“I assume you don’t need an introduction to the Library. You clearly know what this place is.”

You nodded in response. “This place is home to a legendary treasure,” the man continued. You nodded again. “Yes, everyone knows that,” you interrupted.

The man’s smile was replaced with a frown. “Don’t interrupt,” he said sternly. You shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “Sorry,” you whispered.

“As I was saying,” he continued. “A legendary treasure is hidden here. As you stated, everyone who knows about this place, knows this. What they don’t know is where that treasure is hidden,” he added, his smirk back as your eyes widened.

“And you do?”

The man nodded slowly. “That I do.”

“Well, that gives you a distinct advantage,” you replied. “Why not take the treasure for yourself?” The man laughed loudly at this.

“What need would I have for the treasure?” He asked, shoulders still shaking from his laughter as it started to subside. You shrugged your shoulders. “What need does anyone have for treasure?” You asked in response.

The man chuckled again. “You humans are always so predictable. Greedy, selfish, self destructive,” he said, stepping forward, forcing you to back up until you were caged between him and the end of a shelf. “Us humans?” You asked, realizing you hadn’t picked up on it before, but he’d referenced a difference between himself and your species.

“Are you saying you aren’t human?”

His smile widened as he looked down at you. “You’ve finally caught on,” he said, sounding both pleased and disappointed. “I figured you would have noticed by now.” You glanced over him quickly. “You look human,” you noted.

He shook his head. “You aren’t looking. Truly looking,” he replied.

Before you had a chance to ask what he meant, he pulled away.

“But we’re getting off topic,” he said, taking a few steps away and turning to look at you. Staring at him, trying to see what he meant earlier, you noticed something different. At first glance, he looked completely human but then his eyes did that same thing, a flash of color before they returned to the same dark brown.

He seemed to have an aura about him. Something you couldn’t quite see but you could catch glimpses of it. Almost like a flicker. As you stared at him, witnessing these phenomena, he smiled.

“There,” he said finally. “You see it.”

You stared in awe. “What are you?” You asked, not even realizing how rude it might sound. The man didn’t seem to mind however.

“I’m something your kind cannot comprehend,” he answered. “Not fully anyway.”

“Who are you?” You asked in response to his answer. He smiled wider.

“See, I asked you that same simple question earlier,” he said, in the same amused tone from before, the same smile present on his face as he studied you.

“A question you still haven't answered,” he noted, one of his eyebrows raising up.

You realized he was right. He’d asked you much earlier who you were and you hadn’t answered him. “I’m Y/N,” you replied. “Y/F/N Y/L/N.” The man crossed the short distance between you in moments, startling you.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he replied, face inches from yours again.

“I’m Seonghwa and I’m the Keeper of Keys," he replied.

"Welcome to the Library of Illusion.”

[backjustforberena]

Ok, so this question has been hurting my head for a while and I had to ask this because I love your analysis of Rhaenys's character.

How do you think Rhaenys's relationship maintained with these people over the years?

Daemon, Viserys, Aemma, her mother Jocelyn, Jaehaerys, Alysanne, Laena, and Laenor.

I'm so sorry if it is too much to ask!

Hello! Okay, so I'm going to keep this brief because that's quite a lot of people and so I'm just going to go with general vibes and first thoughts, and stick with later-in-life stuff rather than childhood, and if you want me to go into more specifics or have any questions, then absolutely follow up. It's based mostly on the show but for some characters, I have used book facts and events.

DAEMON: I think the big thing that I have, as a personal headcanon (or just the way I look at the relationship) with Daemon is that Rhaenys has to make an active choice, probably fairly early on, that she cannot love him. She can't let herself. Eve has spoken before about how Rhaenys keeps Daemon at arms' length and how she has a profound distrust of him and sees him as just this chaotic element, so I think that she makes a decision that there have to be boundaries in place. Just for her own sense of safety and stability. Daemon orbits her family: they're blood but also he goes to war with her husband and son, he marries her daughter, he's the father of her granddaughters. But I think Rhaenys is just far too aware that he hurts. He causes immeasurable pain and, in the end, there's an understanding of him - he will never spite himself to help her: he keeps her daughter from her, he "murders" her son, he has respect for her but little regard.

I think the relationship ebbs and flows from enjoying his company, tolerating him and then wanting nothing to do with him. It alters throughout the years but she will never be caught out by him. I don't think she really likes him. Perhaps for the boy he was, she does - they are definitely still familial. What Daemon gives, he gets in return, I think.

VISERYS: There's love there. It's one of the relationships that I find the most tragic because they're cousins torn apart by the choices of others and the positions they find themselves in. They can never be as close as they want to be. I think Rhaenys's first loyalty is to the home and house she's built with her husband, which directly conflicts with Viserys, on occasion. I think they probably did go three years without speaking to one another (possibly missives to congratulate on births etc but nothing of note) because of the Stepstones War.

I think it does become "us vs them" with Rhaenys on the outside because his family keeps being responsible for the destruction of hers. And then we get to this place where he's having this happy family meal and she's in a crypt. When you think about how close their fathers were and how close they might have been or wanted to be, once upon a time, then that's tragedy.

AEMMA: Poor Aemma. We don't see them ever interact in the show, but it's easy enough to imagine that they were friends from childhood and family in that way. I think they grew apart, in adulthood, given the way their lives went. But we have deleted dialogue where Rhaenyra recounts coming to Driftmark with Aemma and collecting seashells with Laena. I like to imagine that wasn't too infrequent. I think they probably kept in touch via letters: neither woman had many female relations to speak to.

JOCELYN: My opinion is that Jocelyn lives at High Tide after Aemon's death, until her own. So, maintaining that relationship is pretty easy as they live in the same place. We don't know when Jocelyn dies or how. But I sort of take my opinion that Rhaenys isn't too dissimilar to her parents and that Jocelyn and Rhaenys probably relied heavily on one another. I think she would have been a very present and active grandmother: she had no other duties, nowhere else to be, nothing else to do.

JAEHAERYS: My feeling is, a bit like with Daemon and, to a lesser extent, Viserys, that when it becomes an "us vs them" she cuts the feeling off as much as possible. When Jaehaerys chooses someone else as his heir, when she is discarded, she has to stop treating him in the same way she once did. She has to choose herself, she has to be something different. I think, in the latter years, she'd only go to court if summoned. She'd only act the part in public.

I think she probably understands and sympathisers with her grandfather and the choices he made (to a point) but she doesn't agree, she doesn't find comfort in that, it hurts and she's aware that there is a danger now, to her, because of the choices he makes. I don't know if I'd say she hates him. I think, certainly by the time we get to HOTD, the feelings have been processed somewhat and Rhaenys is someone who doesn't waste time on things that won't accomplish anything.

I think it's also, likely, easier to do so because I don't think she sees him as family from her father's death onwards. The most prevalent thing he is to her is her King. And once Alysanne retires from King's Landing, she has no reason to return until Jaehaerys is on his deathbed. I imagine she'd visit him on his deathbed.

ALYSANNE: She loved Alysanne. So, I'm thinking letters, visits, dragon flights. I think Rhaenys visits her whenever she's on Dragonstone and then writes when she's in King's Landing. I think Alysanne would visit Driftmark, if allowed or it was okay PR-wise. I think that Rhaenys could have become a primary visitor or carer for Alysanne when her body and wits began failing. Alysanne never forsook her, or her children. Alysanne would understand things so many wouldn't: marriage, children, dragons, being a Targaryen. And it's reciprocated.

LAENA: Letters. So many letters. I think mother and daughter were very close. It kills me to know that Rhaenys knew of Laena's desire to not just come back home, but to remain there. To stay and be close to her family, rather than be across the Narrow Sea. For Rhaenys to know this, and to know it was Daemon who was causing the problem, tells me that Laena told her and therefore feels confident in her mother as a confidante. It's also worth keeping in mind that, for at least three years, it was just Rhaenys and Laena together - whilst Corlys and Laenor were in the Stepstones. And then it was Laena almost as an only child again until she was married.

We know how Rhaenys reacted to her death, to her funeral, to her daughters, to her legacy. Moreover, we know that Laena has been raised by her mother with her eyes wide open - it's Rhaenys who informs a 12-year-old Laena that she will not have to bed Viserys until she is 14, it's Rhaenys who overlooks the walk with Viserys and (at least I presume) picks her up at the end of it. I think Rhaenys just loved the bones off of that girl and was so proud of the woman she became.

LAENOR: Similarly, once he's married, I think it's letters. However, I don't believe they are as candid as Laena's. I think Laenor probably retreats into formality - we know that he doesn't even divulge incriminating details in letters to Laena, his sister whom he adored. There are so many things he'd just not want to discuss with his mother: things she'd worry about. I think Rhaenys visits court when she can and when she's invited. Whether that's often, I couldn't say. She does seem to be in tune with the cost the arrangement of his marriage takes on Laenor, however, when she mentions it to Corlys in Episode 07.

I don't think the distance has quite taken root but I think she fears something drastic will happen to the relationship. She sees her son's misery and she fears losing him from an emotional perspective. She fears a precipice or an implosion: a breaking point. I think she wants change, in Episode 07. Maybe she hopes that something can be done and it seems to be on her to do it, whatever it is. Maybe she'd also hope that the move to Dragonstone would help - Dragonstone is closer to Driftmark.

Of course, she does end up losing him in a way she couldn't imagine. And whatever hopes she could have had die with her.

[zaceouiswriting]

Fairy Prince - Hearts of Leviathans - Ch.42

Character: Sky x male reader, Riven x male reader, Brandon x male reader

Universe: Somewhere in Winx Club/Saga

Warnings: None

Author's note: This chapter is a bit different from the others. We are now a little over halfway through the story.

(Riven)

(Sky)

(Brandon)

(Callisto)

There is an awkward silence in the room; none of the usual antics or the laughter of their fourth member can be heard. The mood is almost as if someone has died. None of the three can look at the others, sitting further apart than usual. They have waited all night, but their roommate has not shown up. None of them have closed an eye because feelings of guilt plague them. The night before, they talked about what happened in the cafeteria after their friend left with Callisto. After hearing one of the freshmen speak, they realized how foolish they had been to believe a girl's accusations blindly. Greyn, the boy who had spoken, shattered the image many had of their roommate. Although they had all had an inkling of it, hearing it from someone who had known him for a long time, the ground beneath their feet broke. He enlightened them that it is impossible for (Y/N) to attack a girl in such a way, as he has no interest in the female gender.

But since that conversation, they've been silent. All they can do is wait patiently, but no matter how long they sit there, their roommate doesn't show up, not in the morning, afternoon, or evening. They didn't even go to class; they were waiting, hoping to be able to apologize. But nothing. Everyone was silently wondering if they were already too late.

Late in the evening, when it is almost time for the roommates to finally go to sleep, the door handle is suddenly pushed down. As the door opens, they jump up simultaneously; all tiredness instantly disappears. Their eyes look hopeful, but their faces quickly fall.

"Were you expecting someone else?" A cold, deep voice asks rudely. When the three roommates realize who it is, they see Callisto already standing steadfastly in their suite; his expression couldn't be more disgusted. "(Y/N), I won't be coming back. And before you try to argue about it, we already know that Greyn has cleared his name. You even had the chance to make amends, but your pride and idiocy cost you his friendship, probably forever."

Sky, Brandon, and Riven look at each other, visibly panicked. The latter steps forward. "What do you mean? We want to apologize because we realized we shouldn't have blindly believed rumors." 

Callisto scoffs, obviously even more disgusted than before. He walks past Riven, shoving him with his right shoulder so hard that the smaller guy almost falls to the ground. Sky and Brandon are too stunned to do anything and can only watch as their roommate falls.

Callisto immediately takes big steps in the right direction and quickly reaches the door that leads to (Y/N)'s bedroom as if he knows where to go. As soon as he opens the door, the same smell that still clings to his clothes hits his nose. A hidden smile forms on his lips that he can no longer suppress. He silently wonders if he will be rewarded for his help. However, his thoughts are anything but innocent.

But his thoughts quickly step aside, knowing full well that it's too soon for that, especially since he knows that (Y/N) isn't over his first love and probably never will be. He can only hope that one day he might get a chance. The situation doesn't even look so bleak anymore, as most of his competitors have eliminated themselves out of sheer stupidity.

Instead of rummaging through the things, Callisto gathers everything together and packs it into the suitcases he was told were the ones (Y/N) came with.

Only minutes pass before Callisto goes back into the suite. A hand pulls him back as he tries to get past the three residents. He turns around with fire in his eyes and stares at Sky, who is a bit shorter than him. "What?" he spits out in disgust.

"I wonder what he would think if I told him that you are only approaching him to get his help in your little plan to overthrow your cousin." With a smug smile, Sky doesn't even bat an eye before threatening Callisto.

Callisto's face darkens for a second; a certain vulnerability can be seen in his striking features, only to transform into a stoic countenance. When he starts to sneer at Sky scornfully, the blonde tries to step back, but he grabs him by the collar with a veiny, irritated hand before he can get too far. "You little, despicable, spoiled prince. Do you really want (Y/N) to have no one right now, or do you believe it would get you back in his good graces? Are you that delusional?" Callisto is ready to fight, but remembering the quietly spoken words he promised to abide by, he closes his eyes and throws Sky away with a dejected sigh. "He already knows; he is aware of everything and promised me weeks ago that he would help me if need be. There's literally no reason for me to help him, but I'm doing it because he's my friend, and I trust him. Friends don't abandon each other because of rumors. But I expected nothing better from you or Riven, considering how you captured him under false accusations and then tortured him in our school dungeon. What would everyone else say or do if this came out? Hmm, Sky?"

Done with the conversation, Callisto finally reaches the door of the suite. When opening the door, he must control his strength so as not to tear it off its hinges. Afterward, it takes him several trips to get all the suitcases out. 

However, as he stands in the doorway, he dares one last look back. "Besides, he will be pleased to hear that you all knew he was a prince, perhaps even from which world, and that you never did anything to help him, support him, or anything else." His words are full of sweet venom. "It raises the question of whether you ever truly saw him as a friend or just a useful object." 

With these last words, he slams the door, the sound echoing through the hallway and the suite simultaneously. The three roommates are stunned, Sky still lying on the floor, reeling from what has happened. As if that wasn't enough, the room begins to shake; from the floor to the walls up to the ceiling, everything returns to how it was when they arrived there, even the open staircase leading up to the tower, which has been hidden by magic for so long.

The stunned silence lasted for a long time, and no one moved for even longer. Her mind was completely blank, for the shock had overwhelmed them.

"Do you think he's right?" Brandon's voice is the first to echo through the now much smaller room. The uncertainty in this otherwise confident guy also tore the other two out of their silence.

Sky finally stands up and wipes his hands on his pants. "Considering he didn't trust Riven and me much before, I don't think we stand a chance-" Suddenly, he stops and fixes his eyes on Brandon- "You, however, especially since he made out with you before and oddly trusts you, you probably stand a chance."

“Do you truly believe that?” asks Brandon, smiling broadly.

Riven slowly walks up to Sky and talks to him, while Brandon has his arms crossed in front of his chest and can't stop smiling. He jumps a little, but suddenly, his face turns serious. "What do you mean I made out with him?" His voice is unusually high.

Eyebrows raised, obviously confused, Sky stares at him as if he's grown a second head. "We've already talked about this," he begins, clearly already at the end of his patience. "Someone caught you guys. When I heard him talking shit about it, I had a little conversation with the guy to make sure he kept his mouth shut."

Brandon's nerves are clearly fraying as his face turns bright red, but his wide, big smile returns. "Do you think he likes me? I mean, he's the first person I've really wanted to be with; he's so sweet and-"

"Calm down, big guy," Riven says smugly, shaking the atmosphere. Sky knows immediately that something is very wrong. Before he can stop Riven, he steps forward. "He lets me cuddle him every night and is always extremely happy about it."

Sky’s eyes widen in shock, not even him had known about it. He feared Brandon would do some thing stupid like punching Riven and this would lead to an fight, but he doesn’t do anything, except clenching his fists, even his face looks the same. But he only let his guard down, when Brandon stormed off. After scolding Riven loudly, he also left the room, now that they had to use the common bathrooms.

The second Sky enters the communal showers, half a dozen guys look at him in shock, asking about the large bathrooms in his suite. When he tells them they are no longer there, he has to explain that (Y/N) actually made the room that way and that he switched rooms after the incident. As soon as he mentions what happened in the cafeteria, the room falls silent. That's when he realizes how popular (Y/N) had actually been with the specialists and how bad they all feel for thinking so poorly of him. This only worsens his mood further.

He steps out of the steamy room and puts on his sleeping clothes, a pair of baggy old sweatpants, and an undershirt. But as he approaches his dorm, he hears something that strikes fear into him. As he opens the door, he immediately knows he is not properly dressed for what he must do next. Armor or his specialist's suit would be much better.

[Masterlist]

[strykingback]

My Reply to Stop The Hate 2.0

Okay so I know I prompted to stay quiet about this one anti/RWDER but you know what screw it. When I saw what they were posting yes it left me a bit disturbed, but also the fact that he was liking some incredibly wild shit. But one post caught my attention the most and it was and I quote: "Stop The Hate 2.0." So I took a read at it and little to know surprise in the words of Genji from Overwatch.... I'm not impressed. and surprisingly this person needs no introduction I'll just get right into the nitty gritty of this poor individual who has entered the Thunderdome. papitimefire177.

Before I continue with this, I just want to immediately say this: Please for the love of god and all things holy. DO NOT WITCHHUNT Do not send any anon hate just do what I did. Block and Move On. Anywho lets get into it.

This individual here first off says things such as calling people who criticize Jaune (ala Jaune Haters) as fucking stupid and categorizes them all as he quotes: Fucking Morons and how we bitch about "made up stuff that is not true."

Okay, first things first is Jaune has basically stolen a lot of screentime from RWBY. How much? Over around 5,489 Hours of Screentime. Which is one hour thirty-one minutes and twenty-nine seconds (Counting from Volumes 1-6) And oh do please use this chart here. Special thank you to Emotional-Feed 5489 on the r/RWBYCritics subreddit for going through hell and back to get these results.

Further note- This is only going from Volumes 1-6, Seven is not included since he did not get any screentime until Volume's Eight and Nine.

Secondly, Jaune really began to grind my gears when Volume six had to reinforce the fact that Pyrhha is gone. Okay. We get it already Pyrrha is dead and Jaune is literally mourning her still. At this point lets just get it over and done with and move on. Yes, I am fully aware that Pyrrha's death has lingered heavily for him but at the same time it does not take you three entire volumes to take a deep breath in and a deep breath out to carry on.

What really set me off was in Volume nine after, Ruby who had one of if not the MOST SATISFYING mental breakdown scenes and calling out her teammates (Especially Yang) for being horrendous teammates when throughout that whole volume Ruby was going through the shitter, only for Jaune to steal it all the way cause "I suffered more than you have."

Yes Jaune as if you have the whole world on your shoulders? Like dude grow the fuck up. Because you are also talking to someone who is fifteen years old (once again this could be the case of time goes forward but the characters don't age trope.)

Then right after Ruby literally "Ascends" by drinking the tea. It's time for more Jaune angst cause he's going through it more than Ruby did?! It took Weiss, Yang, and Blake almost the entire volume to care about Ruby but it took them just a few minutes in an episode to hug Jaune for his "angst" fuck that.

Now moving on. Of course lots of people do write him out of their stories but some people do keep him only for him to have atleast one or two arcs depending on the writer of course and have him die or keep him around to develop him better than what RT's writers could do. Once more his historical allusion is to the legendary female knight Joan of Arc and I have spoken with a few friends of mine who did have plans for their RWBY Re:Write to have him transition into a woman to better fit the allusion and have him die a hero.

Gee it's not like I have MADE A POST ABOUT THIS.

Also furthermore I did do some research trying to find that "Jaune Arcless" video paptimefire177 talked about in their Stop The Hate 2.0 message. Instead I didnt find jack diddly shit at all. So I can only assume they pulled that out of their ass to try and get their point across as they go on to say that Who wants that because Removing Jaune is fucking stupid.

Which as my counterpoint. Lots of people do want Jaune to be out of the picture whether if relegated to side-character status for him to not be so damn annoying where he wont step in whenever characters like Oscar for example who in Volume 6 got a wardrobe change and some development only for it to be stolen away for a fucking statue sequence.

Or how at the end of Volume eight he could have healed up Penny and got her across the gate to Atlas so that way she could also have the relic with her. Nope lets have him kill her so he can have angst in Volume nine!

And lastly he goes off on a rant stating how Jaune Haters are pathetic along with the hate for Jaune and stating how people who hate Jaune need to wear diapers and go back to the basement we have come from.

Okay Papi. since you wanna ball. We're gonna ball. You are the pathetic one seriously do you really think people are going to follow you? You who have used ableist language against someone calling them a slur in DM's no less. Want proof?

Or how you claim to not be a race fetishist but at the same time you liked this.

WARNING RACEPLAY BELOW

(When I looked back in there again to find this man in the likes section of this post I could not find his name but earlier when I did my first post of Jaune Arc A Horrendous Example of A Knight. I did see his name amongst those likes)

Lets also not forget that you would happily block evade through your other accounts as well. Now then are you listening there amigo? Cause I can keep this shit up if you arent too busy. Oh wait, whats that?

You claim RWDE has made as you quoted yourself: "Sends Death Threats, Suicide Bait, False Accusations, Being general assholes, Bitches about everything"

Really then? Where is your evidence? What is your source where made those bold accusations from?

So papitimefire177 do me a favor and go outside, touch some grass, walk around take in nature itself. Instead of trying to start fights with your raceplaying ableist ass... cause guess what. Ain't nobody got time for that.

And if you do plan on replying, you aint gonna be sayin' shit so whats it gonna be!?

[eventinelysplayground]

One Thing

Kinktober Day 22: Mutual Masturbation | Hate/Angry Sex

Pairing: Jude x Female Reader

I'm going to start this off by saying I do not know that much about Jude other than the few event stories in English so far and the fanfics I've read on here so I could be completely off on his character. That said his personality is pretty up front so I think I'm at least in the ballpark for him but if not I apologize in advance. You and Jude get into an argument that has a more pleasing outcome then usual. CW ⚠️: some light choking and roughness, possibly some consent issues (sudden/surprise kisses and touching) but is made clear it becomes consentual. This fic is NSFW so minors do not interact. WC approx 1757.

Jude was in an even fouler mood than usual today. It had been three weeks of having to put up with you tagging along with him and Ellis and he was fed up with it.

What the hell was a bird like you doing waltzing into a house late at night anyways? Not a bit of common sense in that bird brain of yours and today was no exception.

“Get in there.”

“Ow, you're still hurting me!”

You had come to the docks with him while he was doing his day job and your day dreaming almost got you smacked in the head with a heavy wooden crate as it was being moved. If he had been even a second slower in reacting he would have had a hell of a time explaining to Victor about what the hell happened.

“Stop your complainin’!”

Jude opened the door to his office with a bang as he shoved you inside. He released his grip on your arm and slammed the door shut behind the two of you. He looked at you as you rubbed your arm where he had grabbed you.

Freaking fantastic, now I'm gonna have to explain those to Roger! What the hell’d I ever do to get stuck babysitting her?

“What the hell's wrong with you!?”

Jude stared at you waiting for an answer meanwhile you just stood there continuing to rub your arm while glaring daggers at him.

I don't got the patience for this.

“If you're too dumb to-”

“I'm sorry it won't happen-”

The two of you had spoken over each other. Jude let out a frustrated sigh and motioned to you.

“Go ahead and finish Princess.”

Jude couldn't help but smirk at the furious look on your face.

“I was going to say it won't happen again and thank you for saving me but now never-.”

“You should be saying more than a simple thank you to me for not only saving you but having to put up with you.”

“Put up with me!?”

“Ya, do you have any idea how much of a nuisance yo-”

“Hahaha!”

“The hell are you laughing at?”

“You're complaining about having to deal with me? That's rich, I'm the one that's had to put up with your horrible attitude and violent threats the last three weeks!”

“Why you-”

“You know I think I should have chosen to just have Crown kill me that night, at least then I would be in heaven instead of whatever type of hell this is!”

You little bitch.

Jude didn't even think, he was too pissed off as he walked towards you and wrapped a hand around your throat then backed you up against the wall.

“What did you say?”

“I said I'd rather be dead than living in the hell that is having to follow you around.”

The hell is with this bird? Why the hell is she always getting under my skin like this?

Jude tightened his grip around your throat and he felt you swallow.

“I can make that happen, the lectures and dirty looks would be a lot easier to put up with then you.”

“Then go ahead and do it.”

Jude tightened his hold around your throat even more. He was making sure to keep the pressure just below where it could seriously harm you but he heard the way your breathing changed anyway. It was more ragged and shallow now and he looked into your eyes expecting to see fear but instead they were full of a fiery defiance.

Damn it this ain't working.

“What are y-”

“Shut up already.”

Jude brought his face to yours and kissed you. Your lips were just as soft as he’d thought they'd be as he forcefully claimed them. The way you squirmed under him trying to fight against him made him smile and he felt weeks worth of anger and frustration start to melt away. He loosened his grip around your throat as he pulled away and smirked seeing the blush on your cheeks and ears.

“What…what the hell do you think you're doing!?”

“I figured I'd try this release first, if it doesn't work I can always still kill ya.”

Jude took advantage of your brain trying to process what he said and kissed you again. It was more forceful this time and he nipped at your lower lip wanting to taste you more. You just squirmed more under him while trying to tilt or twist your head away from him.

“Open your mouth.”

Jude growled when he went to kiss you again and felt that your lips were still closed followed by you shaking your head.

“I wasn't asking Princess, now open your mouth.”

When he kissed you this time he found your lips parted for him and he smirked. He slipped his tongue into your mouth claiming every inch of it as he took your breath from you. He swirled his tongue even deeper in your mouth trying to catch your tongue. You fought him on it but only at first, soon he felt your movements slowing and he was able to catch it twining it with his own.

Soon he was out of breath himself and when he'd pulled away from you he saw a mix of lust and furey in your eyes.

“That's a hell of a look, looks like you can't decide if you want to fuck me or kill me.”

“I definitely don't want to fuck you!”

“You sure about that?”

Jude reached his free hand under your skirt and up between your legs. Just as he thought as soon as he pressed on your underwear he felt the wetness start seeping through.

“With how wet you are you still gonna try and say you don't want me?”

“That's…that's not because of you!”

Jude couldn't help himself and he laughed at your stubbornness.

“Then it's from what I did to ya. I never thought you were such a nasty lil bird.”

“It's not from that either!”

“Gotta be one or the other Princess, and while you're thinking on which one it is...”

Jude moved his hand out from under your skirt and heard the whine you tried to hold back.

“I'm gonna take these off.”

I ain't able to hold back much longer, how the hell do you keep driving me so mad? I should of just let the damn crate hit her…

Jude kissed you as his skilled fingers undid your skirt. He let gravity do the work for him as he ran his hand along your hip and top of your thigh before slipping off your underwear then bringing his fingers back between your legs. He let them glide over your clit and your wet folds and he smirked when you moaned into the kiss.

“Which one is it Princess?”

Jude stopped his fingers waiting and you glared at him.

“You're such an ass.”

“That ain't an answer and I'm not moving till I get one.”

“You're serious?”

Jude didn't respond to you with words, instead he caressed your throat with his thumb.

Hahaha if looks could kill.

“Fine, it's from both okay! Now can you please finish what you started.”

“Anything for a Princess.”

Jude crashed his lips into yours again and this time you kissed him back as he felt your arms snake around his neck and pull him closer. He quickly undid his pants, taking out his cock before he finally released his hold on your neck. He pushed you harder into the wall then lifted your legs up and wrapped them around his waist before guiding his hard cock into you.

“Ahhh!”

Judes hands dug into your thighs and lower ass leaving behind shallow gashes as he held you up. He felt your hands slide over his shoulders and dig into them through his clothes as he kissed down your neck before biting it and you moaned.

“That's it, sing more for me.”

Jude thrusted deeper now hitting a spot he hadn't before. He wanted to go even faster but despite how wet you were you were still so tight and he was afraid of hurting you, not that he'd admit it out loud. He kept going deep and slow while biting at the soft skin on your neck and drawing out more moans.

“Jude...go faster.”

Jude raised an eyebrow before he looked at you.

You got any idea what you're saying, any idea how much I'm holding back so I don't hurt ya too badly?

As if you heard his thoughts one of your hands slipped from his shoulder and began undoing the top buttons of your shirt exposing the tops of your breasts.

“It's already embarrassing enough to be fucking you don't-”

“Hey!”

Jude shouted at you and you stopped talking then he kissed you roughly. No longer caring if he hurt you or not he began thrusting as fast and deep as he could and you cried out into the kiss. He moved his lips down the marred flesh of your neck to the newly exposed skin on your chest. He bit and sucked at the skin turning it shades of red and purple as your hand wrapped around the back of his head.

“Oh God Jude!”

Jude felt your walls tighten even more around him and he winced.

It's like a vice down there, who knew you were hiding something like that.

Jude barely had time to finish that thought before he felt your walls tighten even more and he felt you arch into him.

“Yes! Ahhh!”

Jude moved one of his hands from supporting you up your side to lightly wrap around your throat again and it made you moan even louder. He felt your grip on him loosening as he pulled out leaving just his tip in you and then he slammed back into you and you yelped. He kept pulling almost fully out and slamming back into you until he felt his cock twist and he pushed as far into you as he could, filling you up with his cum and kissing you as he did so.He took his hand off your throat again moving it back to support your bottom as you collapsed into him with a contented sigh.

You really are a strange bird.

“Hehe, looks like I found one thing about you that's likable.”

Jude couldn't see your face but he knew from the huff you let out that you were glaring at him again.

“Keep letting me fuck you like that Princess and I may eventually stop hating you.”

Tag List: @nightghoul381, @queengiuliettafirstlady, @nani-nani-nani, @floydsteeth

[halfway-happyyy]

into gold IV {rooster bradshaw}

synopsis: rooster bradshaw’s emotional baggage could fill a cargo container ten times over. he is the single father of a precocious and bubbly six-year-old, and despite his best efforts, has fallen head over heels for someone arguably more damaged than him- his daughter’s first grade teacher.

characters- bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw, frankie bradshaw, female ooc scout wallis (she/her pronouns)

or- the one where they break each other's hearts.

word count- 3200+

part one

part two

part three

Scout spends the better part of her Saturday evening declining drinks from what she can only assume are some of San Diego’s finest gentlemen. So, she is surprised to find that come one o’clock in the morning, her entire world is spinning on its axis with no intention of letting up anytime soon. She reckons it might have been the three tequila shots taken at her grade partner (and dear friend) Lou’s behest. It could also have had something to do with the whiskey flight she consumed that Lou had ordered but never actually touched. Whatever it was, has led her out into the balmy evening air, with her finger poised precariously above Rooster’s phone number.

All the text messages he’d sent since the last time they shared dinner, had gone woefully unanswered. Scout could easily pin the blame on ‘end of the year chaos’ but something told her he’d see right through it. Someone bumps into her from behind just then, causing her finger to graze the number and with a sudden gasp, she hits decline. For a moment she thinks she’s successful; the moment passes, and her phone begins to vibrate with Rooster’s incoming call.

“Hello?” She hiccups.

“Scout, are you alright?” He immediately sounds concerned.

Fighting the bile rising in her throat, she takes a breath of fresh air, but all she gets is a lungful of acrid cigarette smoke- compliments of the young woman standing a little too close to her.

“Hey, I know this is a long shot because we haven’t spoken in a while and it’s totally okay if you can’t because of Frankie, but I was wondering if you would be able to pick me up?”

If she were any less inebriated, she might have heard his feet hitting the hardwood floor beneath his bed. She might have heard him bounding down the staircase, or the jangle of his car keys as he fished them out of the ceramic bowl in the front hallway.

“Frankie’s with Mav and Penny tonight. Where exactly are you?”

Scout turns to the person beside her and asks where they are. “I think it’s called the Whiskey House?”

She hears the Bronco roar to life in the background. “Alright, hang tight Scout. I’ll be there in about thirteen minutes, give or take.”

A sudden rush of loud music emanates from the open door as Lou stumbles out next to her. She wraps her arms around her frame and kisses her cheek, and Scout’s grateful for the cuddle as it helps to ward off the evening chill.

“How are ya, kiddo?” Lou asks.

A violent shiver wracks her before she hiccups and says, “I’ve been better. Who knew tequila and whiskey weren’t friends?”

Lou laughs. “We’ve always known that haven’t we? But rules go out the window when we play.” Reaching into her clutch, she retrieves a cigarette, positions it between her perfectly stained lips and lights it. “How will you get home?”

Scout’s bashful gaze travels to the ground and Lou laughs, breathlessly.

“You absolute minx. You called him, didn’t you?”

Scout’s cheeks burn and she nods. “Yeah. I did.”

“Good for you,” Lou takes a drag off her smoke and nods her head in approval. “He’s a good egg, Scout.”

Scout swallows. “How can you tell?”

Lou’s gaze drifts to her; there is something unreadable in those beautiful orbs of hers. “Well, for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve built up walls around your heart. And for good reason, I suppose.” She takes another drag and rests her head against the black brick of the building. “I can only imagine what losing a husband does to someone. But for as much as you want to resist it, you have let him, and Frankie dismantle some of those walls.”

Scout wants to say something else, but a wave of vertigo washes over her and she must lean against the wall to keep from losing her balance. The Bronco rolls to a stop in front of the bar. Rooster cuts the engine and joins Lou and Scout outside the entrance. And- goddamn, the man is a sight for sore eyes.

“Fun night?” He simpers and leans in to give Lou a quick hug. “Happy birthday, Miss Rutherford. Do you have a ride home?”

Lou ashes out the rest of her cigarette beneath the heel of her worn cowboy boot. “Sure do, thanks Rooster.”

“Of course.” His gaze travels to Scout’s, assessing her level of inebriation. “Let’s get you home, hmm?”

Lou presses another kiss to Scout’s cheek. “See you on Monday, sweet Scout. I do love you.”

Scout grins drunkenly at her friend. “I hope that you had the best birthday, Loumeister.”

Rooster helps her into the passenger seat, gently buckles her in and then settles in beside her. She mumbles her address to him, and then they’re off. Halfway through the ride, she asks if she can have the window down, knowing that the cool evening air will do wonders for the waves of nausea roiling in her belly. Rooster does as he’s asked and then says, “Scout if you think you’re going to be sick, you need to let me know, alright? Because I can pull over, I just need to know.”

She shakes her head, already feeling much better with the brisk saltwater breeze in her face.

“Don’t worry babe, I won’t be sick.” She murmurs, sleepily.

The term of endearment had been an accidental slip, but if she had been any less inebriated, she would have seen the smile that nearly split Rooster’s face in half.

When he gently shakes her awake fifteen minutes later, she is disoriented. He helps her from the car and holding her by the hand, leads her up the stone path to the front door of her duplex. When she drops the keys twice trying to fit them into the lock, he picks them up, unlocks the door, and follows her into the front foyer. Shrugging the jean jacket from her shoulders, he hangs it up in the front hall closet and follows her down the darkened hallway to her bedroom.

“I should go.” He murmurs.

And that’s the last thing that she wants, so she tries her luck a final time. “Please don’t.”

Regarding her in the low morning light, he finally relents. “Okay, Scout. I won’t.”

She tells him to come in after sixty seconds have passed. Shutting the door behind her, she frantically kicks stray pieces of clothing under her bed. Changing into a pair of pajama pants and a worn tank top, Rooster enters her room just after she’s thrown the last sock into the wicker hamper by her bed. She taps the space of made-up sheets next to her. “Let’s talk.” She yawns.

Rooster hesitates but does as he’s told and settles down next to her. “I’m not sure how much talking we’re about to do.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been so silent lately.” Scout whispers.

Rooster shakes his head. “No apologies.”

She gazes at him, and though her thoughts are the farthest they’ve been from sharp in a long time, she doesn’t think she’s ever seen someone more clearly.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you it was rude to stare?” He whispers, his honeyed voice is thick with the weight of looming sleep.

Scout smiles. “You have the most beautiful eyes, has anyone ever told you that?”

The smile fades from Rooster’s face, and the razor-thin scars on his cheeks stand out amongst the blush that floods them.

“Thank you for picking me up tonight.”

Rooster nods against the pillow. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

“Oh, poppycock.” Scout yawns.

“Poppycock? What are you, eighty?”

She shrugs. “Maybe.”

“You look amazing for eighty.”

She attempts a wink. “My plastic surgeon is a wizard.”

It’s silent for a little while before Rooster clears his throat. “That’s what we are though, Scout. We’re friends. And there isn’t much I wouldn’t do for a friend.”

And in her alcohol-induced drowsiness, Scout doesn’t realize she’s mumbled, “But I’ve always wanted more than that with you, Rooster,” out loud.

She wakes up the next morning to a dull throbbing behind her eyes- nothing a strong cup of coffee can’t remedy. The expanse of the bed next to her is empty, and she wonders if she dreamt Rooster had been there with her at all. It had seemed so real at the moment; the heady warmth of his hand in hers, the subtle dip in the mattress from his weight as he laid down beside her. She wonders then, with a fleeting feeling of shame, if she had said something to him in the clutches of whiskey that made him leave. With a sigh, she gets out of bed in search of coffee. To her amazement, Rooster is seated at the kitchen island, and when he sees her, he sets his phone down and offers her a slow smile.

“I was beginning to wonder when you might surface.”

She stands on tiptoes to retrieve two mugs from the cupboard beside the fridge.

“I thought I’d dreamt you.”

He clears his throat. “You didn’t. But if you require further confirmation, I could pinch you.”

She laughs. “No need. How do you take your coffee?”

“Black, please.”

It’s silent in the kitchen while she focuses most of her energy on making their drinks. There are a million things she could say, but none of them feel quite right so she settles for, “I’m sorry for last night.”

Rooster waves it off. “It’s not a problem, Scout. I was happy that you got a hold of me- happy to know that I was able to take you to a safe place.”

When she turns to view him in the growing morning light, she wonders for the first time, what it would have been like to meet him at the right time. She does her best then, to ignore the voice in her head that says, but now is the right time, Scout.

“Can I be honest with you about something, Scout?” Rooster asks.

She tries to fend off the sudden feeling of unease as she pours cream into her coffee. Joining him at the island, she slides his mug over and nods her head.

He purses his lips as if trying to figure out the best way to go about it all. “I don’t think that I can be just friends with you.”

Scout knows then that this is it; knows that if she can’t decide one way or the other, she will likely lose him and Frankie forever.

Rooster clears his throat. “And friends would be one thing- but Scout, I can’t even get you to respond to my messages.” Guilt manifests as a hard lump in the hollow of her throat. “I’m laying this all out on the line for you because I’ve had my fair share of loss and it’s made me hyper-aware of what I want for my life, and what I don’t want.”

She’s on the precipice of throwing it all in for him; she was there last night. But something is holding her back. Perhaps it’s the idea of finally having everything she’s ever dreamed of, and then having it all ripped away in the blink of an eye again that scares her so much.

“I was pregnant,” Scout says, softly. And she isn’t doing this for sympathy; she’s doing it because if she doesn’t get it off her chest, it may just crush her one day.

Rooster blanches and the color drains from his face.

She continues, knowing that if she stops, she may never start again. “I found out two weeks before Beau passed. I had meant to tell him, but then the mission happened, and I figured it would have been a pretty good welcome home surprise.” Scout swallows. “But then he died, and every fibre of my being wanted to die too. But I had the baby to think of. Even though it was only ever just going to be the two of us, I knew we’d be alright.” She clears the emotion building in her throat. “But when I went in for my next scan, they failed to find a heartbeat. And when I left the clinic that afternoon, it was just me again.”

Sorrow washes from Rooster in palpable waves.

“So, I know a thing or two about loss as well, Rooster. I know what it can rob a person of.”

Time, love, life.

“I am so sorry, Scout.”

She shakes her head. “That’s life Rooster. It’s no one’s fault. But I’m not there yet; I don’t think I’m capable of giving you and Frankie the kind of love you deserve.”

Words are meaningless after that; the shattered look in Rooster’s eyes says everything he can’t. He parts only after he's pressed a last, lingering kiss on her cheek. Scout feels the sharp knife of his absence immediately; where sunshine followed in his wake, a shadow now looms over her. She retreats to the darkened stillness of her room, crawling back under the weighted protection of her covers. After a while, her eyelids grow heavy and she gives in to the alluring siren song of sleep.

When she stirs awake hours later, her room is still bathed in the same indigo hue from the morning. She reaches over to the space of bed beside her, where Rooster’s body had been hours earlier and the ache to have him back in her orbit again is almost overwhelming. Something flips inside of her; and before she can talk herself out of it, she’s en route to Rooster’s house. She’s had the entire ride there to formulate what she would say to him when she saw him again, but the minute he opens the door to her, any semblance of an explanation evaporates into thin air. She almost expects him to be angry with her, but he’s anything but.

“I’d be out of my mind to let the two of you go, Rooster.”

This is me, laying everything out on the line for you.

In one swift motion, he has her pinned against the wall of the front hallway. His warm, slightly calloused hands (a product of working on planes in his spare time) caress her face as if it were the most precious thing in the world. His lips hover mere inches away from her own, and she shivers in anticipation as his breath washes over her in warm waves. He searches her gaze for anything in her eyes that might tell him to stop, and when he doesn’t find it, he gets closer to her still.

A small, wet cough sounds in the distance behind them, and Rooster pulls away from her as if he’s touched fire.

“Papa, I threw up.”

Frankie’s raw, fragile voice shatters the tension as if it were glass. Her Moana nightgown is covered in pink vomit, almost as if someone had thrown a full bottle of pepto bismol at her.

Rooster's transition into dad mode is seamless as he bends down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Oh, sweetheart. Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

His sympathetic gaze travels to Scout’s. “Do you mind getting her into the tub while I change her bed?”

Scout shakes her head. “Not at all,” She walks over to where Frankie stands and takes hold of her small, clammy hand. “Come on, Frankie. I know just what to do to help you feel better.”

Once in the bathroom, Scout helps Frankie rid herself of her soiled nightgown and gets her into the warm, bubble-filled bath. She watches the little girl carefully, searching for any sign that she may be sick again. “How’s your tummy doing, Frank?” She asks.

Frankie settles back into the lavender suds and sighs. “It’s much better now, Scout. I think I ate too much bubblegum ice cream before bed.”

Scout lets out a small, relieved laugh. “I’d say so.”

They’re quiet a moment before Frankie asks why Scout’s at their house so late.

Scout shrugs. “I missed you guys.” And it’s god’s honest truth.

This answer seems to satiate her because all she says in response is, “We missed you too, Scout.”

By the time she’s finished getting her cleaned up, Frankie’s eyes have started closing on their own volition. Scout manages to get her out of the tub, dried off and into fresh pajamas before she’s comatose. Rooster tucks his girl in, and they’re about to leave before Frankie’s tiny, mouse-like voice rings out into the humid air before them. “Please stay, Scout.”

“Of course I will, Frankie.” She squeezes Rooster’s hand, knowing that as soon as the little girl is asleep, she’ll find her way to his room.

“Goodnight, Papa.”

Rooster smiles. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Alright, scooch over kid,” Scout whispers, climbing into bed next to her. Frankie’s head fits perfectly into the rounded nook of her shoulder blade, and the notion of it causes a happy tear to gather in the corner of her eye.

“Will you tell me a story Scout?”

She realizes now that the chances of ever denying Frankie of anything are entirely non-existent. “Anything you want, Frank.”

A persistent banging on the front door downstairs jolts Scout from a surprisingly sound sleep. She waits to see if the noise has roused Rooster yet, and when it doesn't, she peels herself from under Frankie’s impossibly warm body to investigate. Tiptoeing down the stairs, the banging grows ever louder. “I’m coming!” She calls out, somewhat irritated. It can’t be any later than seven o’clock in the morning. With a sigh, she swings open the door to reveal a beautiful, waifish blonde woman on the front porch. They stare at each other expectantly, and the longer Scout looks, the more she realizes how much Frankie resembles this woman.

“Can I help you?” Scout asks.

The woman scoffs. She’s about to answer when Frankie’s girlish squeal reveals her identity.

“Mommy!”

Scout doesn’t have time to register this information before the woman pushes past her to gather Frankie into her tan arms. She peppers the little girl with kisses and then turns to Scout, her expression disgusted.

“I’m Frankie’s mother. I’m taking care of her until Bradley returns from some sort of work thing.”

A mission.

An invisible trapdoor opens beneath Scout and she’s powerless to do anything but tumble right down through it.

Rooster appears from out of nowhere then, his beautiful brown eyes wide with shock and anger. “Sara, we’ve been over this before; you cannot just show up here like this,” His helpless gaze travels to Scout’s. “Scout, I can explain, just please don’t leave.” He pleads.

Scout’s mouth is void of any moisture; she couldn’t bring herself to say much even if she wanted to. She grabs the car keys next to Rooster’s and turns to Frankie, and all she can manage is, “You feel better today, Frank?”

The little girl nods her head, with tears swimming in her eyes.

Scout swallows back her own tears. “That’s good. Remember to tell Papa to keep on top of your medicine if your tummy starts hurting again, okay?”

Frankie nods and reaches both arms out for Scout to take her. Scout shakes her head, clears her throat and kisses her goodbye.

She doesn’t allow her tears to fall the way they need to until she’s put as much distance between herself and Rooster Bradshaw as possible.

[katsona-the-katsequel]

ALRIGHT, BOIS HERE WE GO! WHO WILL BE THE LUCKY CHARACTER TO GET THE SPOTLIGHT???

Fate has spoken. Today we will have a Character Spotlight for...

Hifumi Togo

Story Summary

Hifumi was born to Mitsuyo Togo and an unnamed father. Her name has the following meanings:

東 -> "east, oriental, tokyo."

郷 -> "village, hometown, rural area."

一 -> "one, single, alone."

二 -> "two, second."

三 -> "three, third, threefold."

Hifumi's father was a pro shogi player (more on that in the following section). He taught Hifumi how to play ever since she was little, using image training to help her learn the rules. This would later make Hifumi act like the queen of a kingdom whenever she played. Mitsuyo was a local TV announcer, but after her husband fell ill with an unnamed illness, she had to quit to take care of him. Mitsuyo began working at a nightclub (or someplace similar) to support her family, resenting shogi for the role it played in pushing her husband to the edge and ruining her own career.

Around the same time, Hifumi won a grade school shogi competition, making Mitsuyo realize that she could fulfill her dreams of fame and success through her daughter. Hifumi agreed only to help with the family finances. Mitsuyo began arranging photoshoots and interviews, as well as fixing matches, all to rise Hifumi's star higher. It was Mitsuyo's plans to slowly transition Hifumi from shogi to an idol career to gain more fame and prevent her from ending up like her husband. Hifumi was well aware of this, and had more than one fight with her mother.

With the help of her fixed matches, Hifumi won the female shogi league (possibly the Women's Meijin). This would lead to resentment from her fellow players, though believed to be because of jealousy, would be because they knew of the fixed matches. No one would want to play with Hifumi after that, and since her father's condition had worsened to the point he was unable to play, Hifumi was left only with a friendly priest as her shogi partner.

Enter Akira, who became Hifumi's student and second playing partner. Around this time, Mitsuyo arranged an exhibition match with an actual pro, telling her to lose to gain sympathy points from other women. Basically, she wanted to go for the "yass, girl!" route when Hifumi made her eventual comeback. Hifumi refused, having another fight with her mother.

After the Phantom Thieves changed Mitsuyo's heart, she told Hifumi about the fixed matches. Hifumi confessed the truth to the media before her exhibition match, and realized her true skill level when she got annihilated by her opponent. She was good, but she wasn't that good.

Hifumi made the decision to quit the Ladies Professional Shogi-players' Association and start over as an amateur.

Lost in Translation

JAPANESE CHESS?

How do you play shogi anyways? Is it like chess? Well...

Unlike chess, Black moves first. This also lets us know which "color" Hifumi favors, since she starts the game when Akira first meets her. You win by capturing the opponent's King. Each player gets 20 pieces which can be divided in stepping pieces (those that only move one square at a time), ranging pieces (can move any number of unobstructed squares in a line), and jumping pieces (can jump over other pieces to reach their destination). For those familiar with chess, we could assign the pawn as an example of a stepping piece, the rook as a ranging piece, and the knight as a jumping piece.

With shogi, the pieces are named as follows:

King: can move one square in any horizontal, vertical, or diagonal direction.

Rook: can move any number of squares in a horizontal or vertical direction. It can be promoted to a Dragon King, in which case it can move one square in any diagonal direction. That is one cool name for a piece.

Bishop: can move any number of squares in a diagonal direction. Can be promoted to a Dragon Horse, which then can move one square in any horizontal or vertical direction. I want to see a dragon horse.

Gold General: can move one square in any horizontal or vertical direction, or one square in a forward diagonal direction.

Silver General: can move one square in any diagonal direction, or one square straight forward. It can be promoted to a Gold General (see above).

Knight: can move one square straight forward followed by one square to either forward diagonal. It can also be promoted to a Gold General.

Lance: can move any number of squares straight forward. Another piece that can be promoted to Gold General.

Pawn: can move one square straight forward. Unlike in chess, it doesn't capture pieces by moving diagonally, only forwards. Can also promote to a Gold General, in which case the piece is called a "Tokin".

Any pieces you capture become yours, and can be "dropped" back into the board. This is wild. Imagine you're about to win a match when a random piece appears between yours and the opposing King. I would flip the board.

PROFESSIONAL SHOGI

Professional shogi is more intense and harder to get into than one might imagine. Chess relies on a ranking system depending on how many games you win or lose. Ranking in shogi starts at 15 kyu (basically a beginner). After that, one can ascend to 14 kyu, then 13 kyu, and so on until you reach 1 kyu. Then you can ascend to 1 dan, then 2 dan, and so on until you reach 6 dan. At this moment you stop being considered an amateur. Pros have their own rankings, allowing them to climb through their own dans up to 9 dan. In other words, a pro 1 dan would wipe the floor with an amateur 1 dan.

There are many titles in professional shogi, but the most important one is that of Meijin. There are preliminary tournaments one must win to compete for the Meijin title. A player must be at least 15 years old and have had excellent results in amateur tournaments to qualify to take the exam to enter the Shogi Association. Said exam consists of different matches against other candidates, a match against a Shogi Association member, an essay, and an interview. Before 2021 you also needed to do a written exam. After all of that, the final decision on your admittance depends on a board of directors.

As of 2024, no woman has ever become an official pro player. Its because of reasons like these that the Ladies Professional Shogi-players' Association was founded, which Hifumi used to be a part of. I suppose now you understand how big her decision of starting over as an amateur truly was. Especially since Hifumi aims to become the first female pro player.

Shogi has been declining in popularity over the years (follow the blue line). Nowadays there are less players than fans, which would explain why one of Hifumi's reasons for going along with her mother's plans was to help shogi become more popular.

Art Imitates Life

HIFUMI KATŌ

The inspiration for Hifumi's name, Katō is a retired pro shogi player who achieved the title of Meijin during his career. Katō is also a Catholic, which would explain why Hifumi usually hangs out at the church.

MANAO KAGAWA

Kagawa is a woman's 4 dan shogi player who began her pro shogi career when she was 15 years old. Some consider that a great part of Kagawa's fame is due to her beauty, without considering her high rankings as a female shogi player.

SŌTA FUJII

Though he gained fame after Persona 5 came out, Fujii is added to the list due to his amazing feats at such a young age. He became a pro at 14, won his first 29 games as a pro (breaking a new record), current holder of at least seven titles, and just last month became a Lifetime Kisei at 21. In fact, he defeated Katō in his debut game as a professional, which was huge news, considering Katō was one of the shogi players. Hifumi Togo might not be real, but at least a young player with a fiery passion for the game did help bring back some interest for shogi in Japan.

The Cards Will Tell

XVII. THE STAR

Hifumi shares an Arcana with Ulala, Rea, Mamoru, Akihiko, and Teddie. Hope is the main force behind this card. No Star will be winning any "social expert" prizes anytime soon, but their relentless spirit gets them through. The main purpose of the protagonist is to help the Stars figure out what they truly want in life, which reflects on Hifumi's conflict over her shogi career. Does she really like shogi or is it just a way for her to earn money? Should she continue playing shogi or should she get a job to support her family? Is she any good at shogi at all?

Hifumi decides to set her sights on the title of Meijin, and with renewed hope for the future, shoots for the stars. Hifumi rejects any façades and deceptions by revealing the truth of her fixed matches, showing everyone her true skills during the exhibition match. In a way, the entire match was a way to say "this is who I really am".

Hifumi even confesses that if she'd gone with her mother's vision, she would have started to resent shogi, becoming disengaged and basically becoming a Reversed Star. Akira had to help her reconnect with her passion and remind Hifumi why she liked it in the first place.

Favorite Moments

Whenever Hifumi began to get intense while playing shogi. I would love to see an entire shogi match with Hifumi talking through it.

Not shown onscreen, but when Hifumi chose to reveal the truth of the fixed matches. Doing something like that takes a FUCK TON of guts. Especially before an important match.

Personal Headcanons

The reason Hifumi is fond of a specific katsu curry from a specific restaurant is that it was the place her father used to take her to celebrate whenever she won a match. This would parallel with the hotel buffet Mitsuyo usually takes her to which Hifumi doesn't like all that much

Hifumi is the one in charge of cooking in her house, since her father is too ill and her mother never learned. She's not that good, but she gets by. Whenever she can't cook due to shogi matches, they order takeout.

Hifumi really enjoyed teaching Akira, so she decided to start shogi classes for little kids and expand the game's popularity. The kids love her due to her chunibyo tendencies. Whenever she's playing against them, Hifumi is the definition of "almost threw hands with a 13 year old".

Further Reading

GNU Shogi Manual. https://www.gnu.org/software/gnushogi/manual/Index.html#SEC_Contents

Japan Shogi Association. Female Shogi Player Database. https://www.shogi.or.jp/player/lady/40.html

Monthly News. (2004) The Girl Who Hopes to Become a Professional Shogi Player. https://web-japan.org/kidsweb/archives/news/04-12/shogi.html https://web-japan.org/kidsweb/archives/news/04-12/shogi.html

Sensei's Library. (2024). Meijin. https://senseis.xmp.net/?Meijin

The Guardian. (2017). Japan's love of shogi reignited thanks to 14-year-old record-breaker. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2017/jun/27/japans-love-of-shogi-reignited-thanks-to-14-year-old-record-breaker

The Japan Times. (2016). Boy, 14, breaks record for youngest pro ‘shogi’ player. https://web.archive.org/web/20160905133404/http://www.japantimes.co.jp/news/2016/09/04/national/boy-14-breaks-record-youngest-pro-shogi-player/#.V810V3bgozY

[alexissara]

Upcoming Sapphic Games "Goddess List" Part 2.

I’m back with a new Sapphic Games Goddess List this list will mostly not be touching on any game I mentioned on the previous list so do check that out for even more upcoming sapphic games. A lot of the games from the previous list have now been released but plenty are yet to see their day in the sun yet so do give it some love, I am giving a forecast of what I see in the horizon for 2024 and beyond. I will likely make a new one of these lists when I think I have enough games to talk about. If you know about any games coming with any significant Sapphic parts of their narrative or gameplay please let me know and I will happily include them in the next list. 

I am just making these lists because for me, at this point I mostly want to play games I feel represented by so I am doing this research anyway, I may as well share with you all. That said this research is hard and long, I play every demo I can for games labeled LGBT that have a shot of being sapphic, I try asking devs if their game has sapphic content, I try to find every single place the games been spoken about, not to mention actually hunting down these games. It is a big process and if you would like to support me doing this research over on Pateron or Ko-fi that would be amazing, plus you’d be helping me make more sapphic art like my work  in the TTRPG space but also I am low key working very slowly on a video game because it’s something I always wanted to do. Could be 25 years for now but every dollar makes it more possible for me to make more polished art from comics to games but anyway, let’s move on from asking for cash to tempting you with things to spend cash on with the list. 

Non VNs

Sunnyside

Sunnyside is boasting a large as hell roster of romanceable characters with 24 characters being boasted to be on release. Like most farming sims you pick from the fabled three pronouns She/He/They and customize their character. You pick your gender on a slider from Female to Male so you describe your gender through the place in the slider you picked and characters have a preference inside of that. They said on a live stream that the minimum options you should have is 4 which I took to mean maybe if your gay or a lesbian you might only have 4 of those 24 options to romance which is not great really to know the game has so few options for you out of all the options in the game but we'll have to wait and see on how it plays out. There is also no polyamory in the game, you can be dating a few characters at a time but there is a lock in point where you must be monogamous. It's one I am keeping my eyes on but has it's ups and downs in it's approach to gender and sexuality. I do really appreciate it boldly moving outside of the norm though and actually standing out in the crowd of dating sims.

Witch and Lillies 

A dungeon crawler all about forming relationships between women and killing monsters in a dungeon. Characters form relationships and can even have stumbles in them similar to a game like Miitopia but a bigger focus is put on romance and all the characters you can generate are women. This game does not seem to have a focus on narrative even below the degrees of something like Etrian Odyssey but if you just want the story to be the mechanics that are in play and the building relationships of these women you create then it’s gonna be a really perfect game.  

Keylocker 

A tactical RPG with a cyberpunk flare and a built in relationship system. This game is a really flavourful game that just has an art direction that just totally captures the kind grim but with a sliver of hope cyberpunk it wants to capture. 

Dustborn

Dustborn labels itself as LGBT on steam, it says you can shape relationships, the main girl looks gay, I am gonna put it here and not in speculation despite it technically being speculation. Some people say this game looks cringe but honestly, I am cringe and I am free, I think it looks stupid in a fun way but we’ll see how it is when it comes out. 

Izrand allure

Izrand Allure is a game set in the world of one of the creators previous games Luxarane Allure, like that game this game will feature an all WLW cast giving us plenty of good sapphics, lesbians, yuri, etc. This game will be a complete standalone RPG with no need to have played the previous game and promises some evolved mechanics job system and a much larger cast too with 7 party members. If you were ever like I wish there was a game like Final Fantasy but lesbians were in it then I suggest you keep your eye on this one [and go download Luxarane Allure, it’s free and if you like it you could give the dev money].

Rouge Labyrinth

Rouge Labyrinth will contain romantic epilogues with characters including a poly option. There will be sapphic romance included within these although idk if the poly option is multiple women + Non Binary people or if it is as it is in the majority of poly representation in games one man and one woman. Time will tell on that but what I can say is this Rougelike game looks really fucking cool, fighting colonisim is an all time hobby and this is a game I am really keeping my eye on. The game has a demo so I for sure recommend you check it out and see how it feels for you. 

Narrative Games 

Living the Dream

While the game failed it’s kickstarter goal the developer hasn’t given up in fact the game’s scope is being increased. The game is a very queer game in general but when talking to the developer I did get it confirmed that this body swap adventure has sapphic romances inside of it and the designs are super cute. 

Renai Bakudan

Can love bloom in a love hotel, probably, ya, almost certainly.  Coming from the developers of Good Lucky Baby! and LOVE BAKUDAN comes Renai Bakudan an 18+ Yuri game all about lesbians [and probably other sapphics] lesbianing it up in a love hotel. Inside of this game is even more gayness with unlockable gay erotic written by sapphic erotica writers. You play as Ex-yakuza Juri Kido who know is a cleric at a Love Hotel and ends up meeting lots of hot women. There is 7 whole romance routes with one that’s going to be voted for because it hit the stretch goal. It’s an impressive piece of sexy accomplishment and one you should keep your eyes in. 

Lock and Key

A married couple of magical girls are having a pretty nice life. Only issue is magical girls lose their power at 30 and a murder mystery is brewing. Can they figure out what the hells going on while they still have their powers? While I don’t love the lose your powers when you turn 30 plot point I do think murder mystery and magical girls and lesbians is like a ton of good shit all backed into one good package. The demo is really solid and I think it’s a game you really should check out.

Our Home, My Keeper 

A writer goes to the countryside and finds love, a classic. That writer falls for a fairy in a really sweet little lesbian romance game. It’s not a dating sim where you're going to be picking between love interests but it’s a narrative adventure where you’ll learn about these characters and their world.

Summer At The Edge Of The Universe

A solar punk game with a bigger edge towards the scifi then the majority of Solar Punk. The game has two romances one with a non binary character and one with a woman. In addition there is an aro woman who you can make out with but is not interested in a romantic relationship, just friendship. 

The Phantom of the Black Rose Revue

Capturing a clearly classic manga style, The Phantom of the Black Rose Revue is the most aesthetically unique VN I’ve seen in a long time with a bold black and white take. You play as Chihiro Sato who has a dream of being famous for her acting in her all female theater troupe. She starts getting obsessive letters and mystery, romance, and more begin to take this story in all sorts of fun directions. Act 1 is all up for playing but there is more to come in the future. 

Read Only Memories: NEURODIVER

Midboss are one of the biggest people in Gayming. A sequel to Read Only Memories, a very classic VN in the indie scene, brings us more gay adventures with our sapphic lead who was a character from the previous game elevated to main character. This game gives a stunning cyber punk vibe that is a visual treat and delight. 

Call Me Cera

I got like a tiny bias in this in that they have made a little spinoff game and in it the characters play Thirsty Sword Lesbians which I worked on but they didn’t even mention any of the stuff I made for TSL in it and I also do not make royalties on TSL but I wanted to mention that the creator has great taste I guess. The game is focused on making meaningful connections and an attempt to move these games into a place where you make healthy decisions for you not just the right options to win someone's affection.

Skate & Date

Roller Derby is for the sapphic, we know this to be true and yet there is such a lack of Roller Derby sapphic romance games but what’s this on the horizon a derby filled game about girls who are gonna do a kiss. This game sounds really cute and it’s one I have had my eyes on for a while. 

Decent Gay Potential 

Project L

While project L does not currently have any of the many canon queer characters in the LoL universe as playable it is very likely that at least one of the canon sapphic characters are included in the roster of the game just given their popularity and that they are compatible with this kind of fighting game. If the roster leak is accurate we’ll have Vi in the game, which makes sense, big fists, in Arcane, one of the most popular characters, and just so happens to be a lesbian. Even if the leak was totally wrong, Vi feels fairly likely even with the already existing inclusion of Jinx and Ekko just because Piltover and Zaun in the Runeterra universe are probably the most popular region. 

Outside of Vi at present Nekko, Diana, Leona, Caitlyn and Nidalee are all canon sapphic women who could end up in the game as playable characters. Riot likes to reveal about 3 gays a year as has been the pattern since 2021, 2 at pride and 1 randomly in the year so it is possible 3 more women are added to this list before Project L’s release if it came out in 2024 and 6 are possible if it comes out in 2025.There will probably be some queer men, maybe they’ll finally say the one obvious trans woman is trans, we can’t know for sure but of the many characters in the their world I do think at least one of these women have a shot at making it in the starting roster. 

SaGa Emerald Beyond

There is a pair of bonnie and clyde styled cops and while ewww pigs they do seem kinda gay so I gotta mention it here it’s possible is all I am saying. The Saga series way back in the day had a Lesbian main character, it really wouldn’t be out of the blue for the game to include a new set of sapphic women. Especially given in the gacha game it is very clear that the sapphic women are two of the most popular characters given they have been given many alts and they would only get alts if those alts sold. 

Eiyuden Chronicle: Hundred Heroes 

This game is called 100 heroes, if they are gonna have 100 characters there should at least be one lesbian and 1 bi woman and they should get together. I think it could happen.  There is nothing to say for sure but I believe.

Mahou Senshi Cosplay Club

It’s listed under LGBT games and their previous game Chroma Squad had optional sapphic romance depending on what characters of what gender you put in what role in the game. There was no real way to know you were gonna end up with that but since then they know that they have a decent queer fan base so I think it is very possible to get some sapphic fun even if it’s chose your own gay style. 

Double Shake  Loam and Dinx seem to be intended to get together and the game is listed as LGBT+ so I am gonna go out on a limb here and say, probably sapphic. It could be that idk Loam is trans or Dinx is Ace/Aro idk for sure but I think sapphic. 

HellMall

It’s a gay furry game, these things tend to lean towards men but it is possible that this is a gay fury game with some goodies for the Lesbians. 

Spirit City: Lo-fi Sessions

This game probably doesn’t include proper sapphic representation but it’s kinda just a playlist and screen filter idling game to have on as you do work. What it does promise is some pride flags and maybe there will be some other queer things inside of it.

[acourtofthought]

This is going to be a bit of an Anti Azriel post because I'm tired of seeing E/riels tear Lucien down because they're so desperate for their ship to happen that they need to create a version of Lucien that doesn't exist so they can pretend he's not a viable option for Elain.

Do they honestly believe SJM wrote Azriel to be a better male than Lucien (not equals, but better than)? Just because Azriel is a warrior which somehow makes him superior to Lucien, who is the younger of the two and still hasn't found his place in the world? Who is still searching for his own found family (which may not even be Vassa and Jurian as they may have a mortal life span?) and doesn't even know the truth about his father? Who is still developing new powers as the series goes on?

Azriel may have had a shitty childhood but at least his family did him a favor by getting him into training at a young age. Lucien's family never directed him towards any path. His studies, his training, all came about from his own desire to learn.

Azriel can't control himself and starts fights in important political meetings all because Eris said something insulting. That somehow makes him the better of the two?

Lucien wasn't able to do more for Feyre in ACOMAF because he was stuck between doing what was best for the entire Court, what his High Lord asked of him (a High Lord who was also a long time friend but one who also physically threatened Lucien whenever he tried to speak up) and what one female needed. Azriel was never even threatened by Rhys yet he was still willing to lie to Feyre about her pregnancy. Then Azriel even admitted that Nesta deserved to know about the swords yet he still ended up keeping it a secret from her. That somehow makes Azriel the better of the two?

Azriel, who is so jealous of Lucien simply because he was given a bond with "the third sister" while Az was not (basically Lucien was the final piece in the "three brothers" with three sisters" puzzle and it pisses Az off because he's the real third brother and he feels left out of what Rhys and Cassian got). Who has no issues with the thought of killing Lucien (an ally) or the thought of Grayson being killed while Lucien has never mentioned wanting to harm either Grayson or Azriel? Considering cruelty bothers Elain, how does that make Azriel the better of the two?

Azriel who stares at Mor with hunger and longing and cares more about what Mor knows of Feyre's pregnancy than Elain while supposedly being in love with Elain at the same time? That makes him a better male?

Azriel who was more concerned about Mor during the King of Hybern face-off than Elain as she experienced the most traumatic event of her life over Lucien who broke free of his restraints to go to Elain's side. That somehow makes Az the better of the two for Elain?

Azriel who offered to show Elain the garden only after Lucien suggested it. Azriel who offered Elain TT only after Cassian first offered her a weapon. Azriel who said he was getting Elain back only after Cassian first said they'd get Elain back, that makes him a better male?

Azriel who has never thought of a future with Elain and thinks she can't handle anything dangerous even though he was witness to her handling a dangerous situation. That makes him a better male?

The author has put Lucien in every single one of her books and always intended for him to have a Mate which she has spoken of in interviews. He was always destined to be someone in the series.

It is canon that multiple characters comment on how intelligent Lucien is yet I don't really remember anyone regularly commenting on Azriel’s intelligence. That's not to say Az isn't intelligent however Lucien definitely is.

It is canon that Lucien shows restraint in various situations yet Azriel is never written to be very good at restraint.

It is canon that Amren, a 15,000 year old character who has seen some stuff (meaning she knows a little about what she's talking about) suggests Lucien be made High Lord (pages after meeting him for the first time) while she refers to Azriel as a "dog" (after knowing him for centuries).

Claiming Lucien is weak is ignoring the fact that SJM wrote in SF that he is developing the ability to command someone with a single word. That she is giving him the dominance that only a High Lord possesses which forces others to bow to their orders. That he is someone the members of the IC look to in order to help them obtain information. No, he didn't start the series that way but Feyre didn't start the series being the powerful High Lady she is today. The fact that SJM started him being the friend of a High Lord who wasn't as powerful yet has continued to build his character into someone that can stand equal to other High Lords shows how "not weak" Lucien is and is becoming.

Sure she's excited to write Azriel’s story but she has said Lucien is one of her favorite characters. What good is it doing someone to try to make him "less than" when the author herself says the opposite?

[flamehairedwritings]

Stray: Chapter Seven

Characters: Lt. Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Female Reader 

Rating: E, 18+ ONLY

Words: 10.5k

Summary: Ghost has a fine time making you admit you need want him.

A/N: Chapter Seven of Seven, the true finale. <3

Entire Story Tags: hurt/comfort, angst, enemies are lovers, porn with plot, they're not nice people, but are they

Chapter Tags:  Fighting, shooting, explosions, guns, fire, blood, talk of murdering, death, fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk, creampie

Read on AO3

Stray Masterlist

Please don’t copy or steal my work, and please don’t post it on any other sites. I do not consent to my work being used for AI purposes.

─

Chapter Seven ─ The Manor

Three Weeks Later

Large bronze bowls line the long driveway, fire crackling within them. They stretch on, reaching right from the high gates to the grand manor at the end, which itself is illuminated by them and lights planted into the ground before it.

Newly released and vintage cars roll up in a neat, single file, people adorned in jewels and expensive fabrics stepping out of them so a valet can swiftly drive the cars away to the underground garage. It leaves the guests to move along the red carpet and up the steps to the huge, open oak front doors, where their names are checked and they are then welcomed in.

The security scanners are hidden by garlands of the finest and freshest flowers, cut and arranged that morning, though weapons are handed over before guests pass through.

Gianni rolls his eyes good-naturedly before lifting his suit jacket, revealing he has nothing on him before raising his eyebrows as he looks at you. Or, more specifically, at the silk gown you wear, the material gathered at one side of your waist and falling down to graze the floor.

“You manage to hide the bazooka in there, amore mio?”

You laugh, pulling an equally good-natured face. “Not this time, darling.”

The security guards laugh, too, as they allow you through, your arm looping through Gianni’s. You smile warmly as he nods and smiles at those you pass, murmuring their names into your ear, sometimes just to remind you. He leads you straight to a drinks table rather than over to talk to anyone, though, and you leave your warmest smile for him as he passes you a glass of champagne.

“Amore mio,” he murmurs as he clinks his glass against yours. “To us.”

Your smile widens, affection pure and bare in your gaze, and you place a hand on the back of his neck, your fingers gently caressing.

“To us.”

As his arm settles around your waist, you lean your head against his shoulder, both of you gazing at the other guests. You’re in the main, grand foyer where you’d all been told tonight's celebrations would begin, and heavily-vetted servers wander through the crowd, offering canapes and drinks. The marble floor has been polished to perfection, the garlands continue throughout the space, lights hidden amongst them twinkling, and people laugh and embrace each other.

You raise your glass and smile at those who meet your gaze, until it finally comes to Francesco Vitale, who’s laughing with his brother and wife, telling a story that they all seem to know very well but love regardless.

His wife notices the pair of you and beams, waving enthusiastically. You laugh softly as Gianni smiles, and Francesco lifts his hands as he grins, beckoning you both over.

“Here we go…” Gianni murmurs, his hand sliding into yours as you start to head over.

You’re just smiling, beaming.

His family adores you.

They’re delighted you’re here, clearly, delighted they can bring you into the fold.

Not fully yet, of course, but enough. No business is to be spoken of tonight unless behind closed doors, but they’re all here. Every single member.

Your smile lingers as your gaze drifts across the room.

Every single one.

—

Guards cover the expansive garden, patrolling, only some stood by the walls of the manor, some sat by the pool, having a sneaky game of cards. Every now and then he hears a radio when a guard draws closer, but they never come close enough.

Standing hidden in the treeline, Ghost watches them, watches the bright lights that illuminate the building, the routes of entry they show.

He hears someone approach from behind, but doesn’t move, eyes flicking from balcony to balcony.

Soap clears his throat quietly, clasping his hands together as he stands beside him. “I know why you don’t want me in there, but can ye at least reconsider takin’ someone?”

“No. It needs to be just one of us. Just me.”

He doesn’t look at Soap, but hears him clear his throat again.

“Right. Cameras have been intercepted. They won’t see ye comin’.”

“Cheers.” Looking to Soap, he raises his eyebrows. “If this goes tits up, don’t bother with a funeral.”

Soap snorts. “Ye think they’d bother givin’ any of us one?”

“They told me they would me. I’m special.”

Soap’s chuckle follows quietly after him as he moves down the grass, keeping low and out of the lights. He has to time it right, has to reach the section of wall he’s chosen just as the guard to the right turns…

When the man does, he breaks into a sprint. Using a window sill as leverage, he vaults up and grips onto the bottom of a railing before hauling himself up onto it. Crouching, he peers through the glass door into a dark room. Finding it empty, he waits until the guards playing the game below laugh and cheer, and then uses his gloved fist to smash the glass—

It doesn’t break.

What the fuck.

Shaking his hand out, he presses his lips together.

Fucking hell.

Looking at the keyhole, he sighs quietly.

The old fucking fashioned way, then.

Using a knife, it doesn’t take him long to unlock it, and he pushes the door open, glancing about the room again before he steps through. Closing it behind himself, he straightens, keeping his eyes on the room.

It’s a library of some kind, armchairs here and there, a huge fuck-off fire place, though he doubts much reading gets done here.

Heading to the door, he listens, then opens it. The hallway is empty, clear. He can faintly hear the party coming from the floor below, voices and music muffled. He waits a beat, then—

He frowns as he notices a trail of clear liquid that runs down the corridor, covering the wooden floor.

What the fuck… Has someone pissed here?

It doesn’t smell like it, it smells… clinical.

Maybe a cleaner had been careless.

Pushing it aside for now, he listens, hears no one approach, and then he moves, swift and quiet down the hallway, avoiding the liquid.

The first guard he comes across he kills swiftly. The second spots him a split second before he attacks, but he goes down easily. The third goes like the first. The fourth and fifth put up a good fight together, but the music from the party below drowns them out, and they were too proud and arrogant to reach for their radios.

Moving down a dark landing, he pauses by a door, sounds coming from it, but swiftly realises it’s just two people having sex. Maybe three.

He’s about to move forward when he hears voices coming up a side stairwell.

Dropping back, he crouches by the railing at the corner, hidden, eyes fixed on the stairs.

A small group emerges, men talking quietly together, smiling, and he notes Francesco amongst them.

Not who he’s here for. Not today.

He stares at him, though, stares at the smiling fucker and all his mates.

His smile is reminiscent of Angelo’s; easy, arrogant, cuntish.

Watching them enter a room, he waits until the door is closed before he turns his radio on, murmurs the location of the room into it, and then switches it off.

And he continues on.

Heading down the back stairs to the ground floor, he steps off the last step and he’s about to head round closer to the party to find a place to hide and observe, when he notices a slight bulging in the curtain at the window in front of him.

… Right…

Moving closer, he reaches out and swiftly tugs it aside… and exhales a breath.

A guard sits on the floor, blood dripping from his throat, dead.

Fuck…

Pressing his lips together, he looks left down the hallway then right, and sees a door just slightly ajar, at the very end.

He sees something else, too; another fine layer of clear liquid leading from the guard’s body to that door.

Dropping the curtain and adjusting it to cover the body, he then moves down towards the door, one hand hovering near his gun, just in case.

Leaning back against the wall beside it, he nudges the door open a little more, revealing a stone stairwell that leads down into darkness.

… Right.

Taking a last look down the hallway, he then heads through the door, pulling it quietly shut behind him, and moves down the stairs.

He goes slowly, knowing any little sound will echo here, though he can’t hear a thing from below just yet. Maybe he’s just wasting his fucking time, maybe a server or guest had left it open by accident and—

A muffled crash echoes up the stairs.

He pauses, eyes on the darkness.

Nothing.

He starts moving again, only pausing for a moment when another crash comes, a little louder. And then he sees it; a small, flickering light.

It grows larger as the crashing sounds grow louder, until, finally, he reaches the bottom step.

Entering the cellar, barrels line either side of the walkway before him, and right at the end of it, a warm light glows from behind a door left ajar.

The crashing sound comes from within. No, more like smashing.

Glass breaking.

It’s slow, nearly rhythmic.

Smash. Beat. Smash. Beat. Smash. Beat.

Placing his hand on his gun, he approaches the door.

Moving to one side of it, the side that’s ajar, he leans back against the wall, and tries to peer in. A figure moves within, sometimes blocking the light that shines into his eyes. Blinking against it, he tries to focus on the person, but the light is too bright, and the door isn’t open enough.

Pressing his lips together, he removes the gun from its holster and, with his other hand, carefully and quietly tugs the door open a little more—

He stills.

Your back is to him.

His chest tightens.

Your hand reaches out every other moment, taking bottles of wine, whiskey and vodka from the rows and rows of shelves.

And you drop them onto the floor.

Moving to another row, rounding a wooden table, your heels crunch the shards to finer pieces, and his gaze drops to them.

He knows those heels.

Hello, old friends.

Eyes trailing up from them, up your long, silk, green dress, up your back to your head, he quietly holsters his gun.

You inhale a breath as you glance over the label of a bottle before dropping it, feeling the red liquid bathe your feet as it smashes beside them.

What next…

“Well, that’s a waste.”

You spin, glass crunching beneath you.

Ghost stands in the doorway, filling it, his head bowing slightly so he can fit.

Of course.

You’re unsurprised, but still feel irritation prickling at you.

“I promise they won’t be.”

Turning back to the shelf, you pull out another bottle and drop it.

As it smashes, he takes a step forward, and pulls the door shut behind him. As you withdraw a bottle, he pulls the bolt across it, locking it.

You pause, head turning, eyes darting to him.

He lifts his hands in a small gesture of peace before folding his arms. “I did that so we won’t have any surprises, not to trap you in here with me.”

“Right.” You drop the bottle, pull out another. “Why are you here, Ghost.”

“I think you can guess.”

You drop it. You pull out another.

“I want to hear you say it.”

You hear him exhale a quiet breath. “I’m here to bring you in.”

“Right.” You look over at him. “Plenty of opportunities to have done that before now.”

“Two birds, one stone kind of night. We’re gathering evidence of Francesco’s and the family’s dealings, too.”

“Right. Busy night.”

You drop another bottle.

His eyes haven’t moved from you. “What are you doing?”

You inspect the next shelf for bottles at the back, removing a vintage whisky. “I’m going to burn this place and everyone in it to the ground.”

He exhales another breath. “I can’t let you do that.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

You drop the bottle.

“Stray, I…” He presses his lips together, but anger doesn’t lace his tone as he says, “Can you look at me, please?”

You don’t, half-reading a label for the alcohol percentage with your back to him.

And he looks at you, the curves of your shoulders, neck and arms. He thinks about how he feels in that room, looking at you, having you close again, finally.

Being with you.

Licking your lips, you drop the bottle by your side, tilting your head back to look at a shelf above. The bleach you’d been able to find in one of the bathrooms had sufficed for the upper levels, but it felt fitting to use Francesco's lovingly curated cellar to start the blaze. Only the very old and high percentage stuff, though, the random cheap shit could be left alone.

You just about manage to ignore Ghost’s eyes on you. He’ll either do his best to take you in, and you can hate him all over again and rage and scream, or he’ll try and talk you down.

You don’t fancy his chances with either. And there’s nothing else he can d—

“Stray, I’m sorry.”

You still. 

The words had been quiet.

Staring at the shelf, your jaw moves slightly.

“It’s no use trying to stall me, Ghost.”

You hear him shift, release a breath that sounds both weary and resigned. “I’m not… I’m not trying to fucking stall you, Stray, I mean it. I’m sorry.”

Your tongue runs along your teeth. “For what?”

You wait for the silence, for the sigh, for the empty words, for th—

“For betraying you. For not… trusting you.” He shifts a little, clears his throat. “I should’ve, I fucked it, I know I did. I knew it then and I’m sorry I didn’t say it. I need you to know, though, that I didn’t mean it. What I sent to Vitale. I didn’t mean I was done with you or that… I didn’t mean to imply you meant nothing. To me. Well, I did, but to him, not to you, you weren’t meant to see those. I wanted to make the cunt angry, and Soap was supposed to be there, I promise you he was, but…” He clears his throat again. “That doesn’t matter ‘cause I should’ve told you. You put your trust in us, in me, and I… I let you down.”

Let you down.

It was such simple phrasing.

But the simplicity of it… the normality of it… Your vision is starting to blur slightly as tears come suddenly.

And he continues.

“I didn’t want to do that, Stray. I…” You hear him shift again. “Since then I can’t stop thinking about how you were lookin’ at me. About how you must’ve felt. You should’ve torn me apart. I wouldn’t’ve blamed you.”

You’re silent, gaze fixed on the shelf.

And he continues.

“This… thing we have, had, you and I… I’m not good at it. I don’t think I’m made for it. But with you… When I was with you… When we had our times together… It felt… good.” He clears his throat once more. “Feels shit that we don’t have it anymore. And I know that’s ‘cause of me. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for causing you to have to go back to him. I’m sorry he hurt you… and that it was because of me.”

You’re silent.

And he continues.

“I hate that he was the better option than me. But…” You hear him release a breath, and his tone, already quiet, already sincere, softens. “... What did he have on you, love?”

Love. 

You hate the way it so easily rolls off his tongue, how it travels across the space between you, licks up your spine and makes your chest ache.

Licking your lips, you inhale a breath and turn to him, managing to keep your breathing steady.

“Take your mask off.”

He’s now silent, looking at you.

And it stretches on.

You give a slight nod, a small, humourless, resigned smile on your lips.

Turning away from him, you look at the bottles before you but you’re not really seeing, because you know you’re never going to see him again and the acceptance of that makes yo—

A gloved hand grips your bicep and turns you, shoving you back against the shelf.

Inhaling a sharp breath, you stare up at him. “What the fuck are you—”

“Don’t move,” he commands, the hand moving to your shoulder, keeping you in place.

You shove his arm away, trying to straighten to your full height. “Get off me—”

“Stay still.” His knee presses between your legs, thigh against your stomach, keeping you in place.

“Get off—”

He covers your eyes with one gloved hand, plunging the world into darkness, and you hear something clatter to the ground and then he’s gripping your hand and lifting it and he presses it—

He presses it against his cheek.

His bare cheek.

You still, breaths coming out a little harsher.

It’s the only sound that fills the stone room.

After a few moments, your fingers flex a little and he releases your hand.

And you keep it there.

When he doesn’t say a word, doesn’t move, you slowly draw your hand back until it’s just your fingertips against his skin.

He doesn’t move.

You glide them slowly up to his cheekbone, then drift them along it.

You reach his nose.

Your fingertips travel over it, up the bridge.

It’s strong, a little longer than you thought.

You glide them up, to his forehead.

You keep waiting to feel a mask but… nothing.

Just his bare skin.

Drifting your fingertips across his forehead, you trail them down his temple—

You feel hair.

You pause.

Then, you move your fingers closer to his hair.

He doesn’t move.

You move again… and your fingers sink into his hair.

It’s a little longer, and much softer, than you had imagined.

You can’t help yourself; you slide your hand through his hair and find that it ends at the nape of his neck. 

You don’t realise that the corners of your mouth lift a little.

Your fingers glide around the side of his neck, your hand coming up to cup his face, and your other lifts, too, cupping his other cheek.

The masks are off.

You can feel his face.

All of it.

And you can feel slight rises and dips here and there, scars, many of them.

And you can feel his stubble, too.

All of it.

All of him.

One of your hands moves, your fingers wanting to stroke over his cheek again, and you caress them down to his lips, over them—

You feel it.

His breath, shaking.

Carefully lowering your hand, you place it on his vest, and feel it rising and falling a little faster.

Your lips part.

He’s… You don’t know.

Frightened? You can never imagine him that way.

Apprehensive? Not that either.

But… maybe this is it.

Your other hand, still on his cheek, moves a fraction, your thumb gently brushing back and forth over his skin.

You don’t want him feeling that way.

When you don’t move again, you hear him swallow lightly.

“This…” His voice is quiet, rougher. “... This is all I can give you… for now…” He swallows again. “… I’m sorry it can’t be more. And I’m sorry, for all of it. Sorry that this is a shit apology, too.”

For now.

Inhaling a quiet breath, you lick your lips.

“Say it again.”

There’s a small pause, and you wish you could see him.

“… What?”

“Say sorry.”

There’s a smaller pause, and you feel him inhale a deeper breath.

“I’m sorry.”

“Again.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Again.”

“I’m sorry, Stray.”

Your hand moves from his cheek to the back of his neck, and your fingers curl a little into the ends of his hair.

And you pull.

He allows you to, lowering his head to yours.

“Again.”

“I’m sorr—”

You steal the last syllable from him by capturing his lips in yours, and the kiss is firm, deep. Your hand lifts from his vest, settles on his cheek, and you still can’t believe you’re touching him.

Splaying your fingers, your thumb brushes over his cheekbone once more, and as you do, he releases a breath through his nose, and then you feel his other hand on your waist. You brush your thumb again, stroking gently, and his hand slides further, moving to your lower back. When your fingers slip into his hair, curling in, he pulls you against him, a low sound coming from the back of his throat.

“... I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” he mumbles against your lips as you press against him, trapped between him and the shelves, and a small, soft moan escapes you as his tongue strokes against yours.

With the heels giving you a few more inches of height, you can easily wrap your arms around his neck, and you keep your hand in his hair, fingers tangling in tighter, and he groans.

His breathing has quickened, too, though so has yours.

“Can you keep your eyes closed? Please?” he suddenly mumbles against your lips.

There’s something quietly desperate in the way he says it, and you nod, breaking your lips from his.

He doesn’t move, though, and you can just hear your breathing as you feel his face close to yours.

And then he lifts his hand away from your eyes.

Swallowing involuntarily, you exhale a breath.

You could open them. Really fuck him over right now. See his face, use it to trade, to barter, to blackmail. Betray him like he betrayed you.

You keep your eyes closed.

There’s another moment in which you don’t hear him seemingly doing anything, and then you hear him move, and realise after a beat that he’s on his knees.

His hands are on your dress, you can feel the skirt of it moving about your legs, but before you can release another breath, you hear a ripping sound. Followed by a very long ripping sound.

“Are you ruining my dress, Lieutenant?”

“I am.”

You can’t stop your lips from twitching as the ripping sound comes again.

“I really like this dress, you fucker.”

“I’ll buy you a new one. A better one.”

You hear him move, then he seemingly pauses.

“What is it?”

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t move.

It startles you slightly when you finally feel his fingers, now bare, drift over your thigh. Or, rather, the bullet-hole scar you know is there. He traces around it gently, so gently.

“I wanted to kill him after that.” His voice is quiet. “My own teammate.”

You don’t answer, just focus on his fingers stroking over it.

His bare fingers.

When he rises after a few moments, you lick your lips and lift your head, trying to imagine how close his lips are.

But it’s his fingers at your shoulder you feel next, and they pull the thin strap of the dress off your shoulder, fingertips trailing down your bicep to the scar there.

“I couldn’t look at him for days without thinking of murderin’ him.”

It sounds like a pained confession.

You like to think it’s the first time he’s said it out loud, that you have that privilege.

He lowers his head, and kisses it.

You can’t help the slightly ragged inhale you take, and then his head lifts, lips millimetres from your jaw.

“That’s what you do to me,” he murmurs. “That’s what I’d do for you. I’d fuckin’ kill for you, Stray. I should’ve killed Vitale, I’m sorry I didn’t.”

You angle your head a fraction closer to him.

“I’m glad it was me.”

You feel the breath he exhales, the fingers on one hand touching against your hip.

“It shouldn’t’ve had to be.”

Before you can respond, his head and hands are suddenly gone, he’s pulled back, and then you feel something silky cover your eyes, and it’s swiftly tightened and knotted at the back of your head.

He’s used the strip he’d ripped from your dress to blindfold you.

“Very creative,” you murmur, a corner of your mouth lifting.

“I’m very intelligent.” His hands now cup your face, and you have to try with everything in you not to lean your head into one of his palms, because your lips twitch again, ruefully.

“Not about everything.”

He exhales a small breath. “Nah, not about everything.”

Silence falls as you press your lips together a little, try to quell the desire and need and want that is burning inside you because the still logical and hurt part of you is demanding you to not crumble, to not give in to him, to hate him, to hurt him—

He kisses you, softly, tenderly, and it takes you by surprise.

It’s so… nice. It’s nice to be kissed this way, sweetly, intensely, nothing else to it except just wanting to.

It’s nice to have it done by him.

But… Fuck… But the last time this happened…

“What is it?” he murmurs as you break the kiss, your chin tilting down a touch.

“You… Last time…”

He gives you a moment before he quietly prompts you.

“What?”

Inhaling a breath, you lick your lips. “You kissed me like that last time.”

“Like what?”

“Like…” Like you care. Why can’t you just say it. “... Gently.”

“Oh. Right.” There’s a pause, and his hands fall from you. “... I didn’t realise I… You didn’t like it?”

Your bitter-sweet smile returns, your voice quiet. “I liked it very much.”

Your own, pained confession.

Swallowing lightly, you have to add, “... It was what came after.”

Releasing a breath, he shifts slightly. “That night…” His voice is quieter, lips still close to yours. “... I meant everythin’ I said and did, except the messages to Vitale. And I didn’t mean for him to take you. For you to go to him, I mean. I’m sorry.”

You’ve met a lot of expert liars in your life. You’re one of them. It’s why you’re so good at what you do. It’s what you’ve been hired for. You know when someone’s lying; you can feel it, sense it. Even if it’s just the slightest, smallest thing, a little alarm will ring in your mind.

Your mind is quiet.

“I know.”

“You do?”

There’s the quiet desperation again.

“Yeah.” Pressing your lips together a little, you have to force yourself to say it. “... I just don’t know if I can… if I can trust you, again. Because I did trust you, Ghost. With my life. And… all of me.”

You wish you could see him.

“I know. Believe me, I fucking know.” He shifts again, and you think you might, briefly, feel his hand by your waist, but then it’s gone. “... Do you… Could you give me the chance to earn it back?”

Silence.

You’ve thought about it over the last year. Of killing him. Of forgiving him. Of thinking and doing nothing at all. Each time had been a different answer, a different resolution. But that had all been before.

Before you’d seen him again.

Before he’d come to warn you about Francesco.

Before he’d offered to help.

Before he’d taken his masks off.

Before he’d kissed you like that.

You know what kind of man he is. His flaws, the limits of his emotional capability.

How things have changed.

That’s what had first drawn you to him. A quick, satisfying fuck with nothing else attached, that led nowhere. 

How things have changed.

If he didn’t care, if this all meant nothing, then why do all of this?

You want to ask that very question… but there’s still something in you that just…

“If you do something for me.”

You hear the small breath he releases, clouded with relief, and he asks instantly, “What can I do?”

Lifting your chin, you wet your lips. “Help me burn it all.”

You expect the pause, but not how short it is.

“Is that what you want? Is that what it’ll take?”

“It’ll take more, Ghost,” you murmur, knowing, and hoping that he knows it, too, that it’ll take a whole lot more. “But it’ll be a start.”

“Then I’ll do it, love.”

Your eyebrows lift slightly before you swiftly catch your features, holding them expressionless. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He’d murmured the affirmation, and before you can speak again, he surprises you by pressing a small kiss to your lips. Then another, then another.

You’re returning them before you realise it, a faint smile pulling at the corners of your mouth.

“You going to defy orders for me, Lieutenant?” you murmur, your hands lifting and resting on his vest.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he rumbles, and you now allow your eyebrows to rise, his lips brushing against yours.

“I need you to tell me about every time, in explicit detail.”

“Later.”

You very much like the sound of that.

Later.

Still, you can’t let it be that easy.

“That’s very presumptuous, Lieutenant,” you murmur, a light warning in your tone.

“Wishful thinkin’,” he murmurs in reply, and his hand cups your cheek, and… you indulge.

You lean your head ever so slightly into it.

It also serves as a reminder that you can touch his face. Raising your hands, you cup his cheeks, fingers splaying a little. Then, moving one hand to the back of his neck, you lift your chin and press a kiss to his cheek. It’s lingering, soft.

When you end it, you pause because you just… You just want to be in that moment for a second longer.

And he doesn’t move either.

But, no, then he is, his head tilting, and his lips brush against yours.

He’s changed.

Something about him’s changed.

Why else would he be here? Why else would he be this… undemanding? The Ghost you’d first met would have you halfway to a base right now.

The Ghost you’d first met would have done a lot of things differently.

That’s why the betrayal had hurt you so much. Because it felt like the man you’d first met.

And you’d thought he’d changed.

Because of you.

For you.

And he… he has.

That’s why this is so terrifying, yes, you’ll admit you are just that; terrified. Because you don’t know, if you truly and fully forgive him, what territory that leads you into. Uncharted waters. Something new.

Something lasting.

Something that’s not really… allowed, in your world.

And you never thought it would be possible, not in your profession, not with all that you’ve seen, experienced. But if tonight goes as you plan, as you hope, then maybe…

Parting your lips, you kiss him.

He returns it instantly, moving as slowly as you do.

It’s strange, kissing him and not feeling the roughened material of his mask on your skin. Just his skin.

His bare skin.

A small sound comes from the back of your throat, and his hands are suddenly on your waist, sliding around to your back and holding you against him. 

And your arms, of their own accord, go around his neck as you press into him.

And he doesn’t push for more.

You’re just kissing.

…

Oh, fucking fuck it all, maybe you can let it be that easy.

You’ve hated yourself for it, but you’ve missed him. You’ve dreamed about him, imagined him, fucking pined for him.

It’s fucked up and fucking unexplainable, but you need him.

“What you doin’?” he rumbles as your hands go to the fastenings of his vest, fumbling a little as you try to find them.

“Take this off,” you breathe.

He does as he’s told, helping you and dropping it to the floor. Next you find the zipper of his jacket, yank it down, and go straight for his belt, unclasping it once you feel it. One of his hands grips the edge of the shelf beside your head as his other settles on your hip, gathering the material of your dress, fisting it.

“You want me here? Right now?” he gravels, and you can just imagine his eyebrow arching, that smug fucking smile on his lips.

“Yes. Is that a problem?” 

“Thought you had business to attend to.”

“I’ll allow them a few more minutes to live.”

Your hand finds the back of his neck and you pull him closer and kiss him, deeply, intently.

“You can be fuckin’ terrifyin’,” he mumbles against your mouth, and you smile.

“Don’t you forget it.”

Opening your mouth, your tongue strokes at his, and you moan as he gathers the skirt of your dress higher and higher until his fingers can stroke against your thigh.

“Touch me, please,” you murmur, and he groans quietly.

“Where? You said only a few minutes.”

You nip at his lower lip. “Are you doubting your capabilities?”

“Nah, I just like to take my time with you. Wanted you begging for my cock.”

“If you ask nicely, I might.”

A corner of his mouth lifts higher than the other. “Oh, that’s how it’s gunna be, is it?”

“Yeah, so be a good boy, and ask nicely.”

“All right.”

Before you can nip at him again, he moves his head to the side, lips drifting over your ear as he starts to murmur, “Will you beg for my cock, love? Will you beg for me to fuck you open? Fuck you nice and deep? So slow you can feel every inch of me stretching you?”

You moan as he starts to kiss at your neck, your hands gripping at his biceps.

“Will you do that for me, love? Hm? Will you drip down my cock and squeeze me until I cum? Will you?”

You’re gasping quietly, breaths ragged.

“You didn’t… say please…”

You feel him smile.

Oh, fuck…

His lips are at your ear once more, and he murmurs deliciously low, “Please, love. Please beg for my cock.”

Oh, fucking hell…

Inhaling a jagged breath, your nails bite into his shoulders. “I need it, please.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, please.”

“Mmh, let’s see, shall we… You wet enough for me yet…?” His hand slides across your thigh, heading towards your—

“No knickers? You really are about savin’ time.”

You release a short, breathy laugh that swiftly morphs into a gasp when his hand slides down your pussy lips, palm rubbing over your clit.

Your knees nearly buckle as he chuckles lowly.

“Fuckin’ hell…”

When three of his fingers push into you, your head drops back against the shelf as you release a loud moan.

“Fuckin’ Christ, can you take me already, yeah?”

You’re nodding before he’s finished, wetting your lips as you breathe faster.

“Yes, please, just give me your cock, I need it.”

“I know, love, I know… Here…” He grips your thigh and lifts it, hooking your leg over his hip as he widens his stance. Then, you hear the zipper of his trousers coming down, the rustling of material, and then the grunt he gives as he pulls his cock out.

You imagine he strokes it a few times, considering the groans that follow, and then, fuck, you feel the tip against your pussy.

He glides it up and down through your lips, wetting it with your slick, and you inhale a breath of surprise when you feel his forehead touch against yours.

“You ready?” he murmurs, and you nod a little.

“Yes. Please.”

Slowly, he pushes his cock inside you. 

Gripping at his shoulders, you cry out softly, your mouth open, and your forehead remains against his.

“Fuckin’... Christ…” he grunts, a hand back on your hip, holding you against the shelves as he slides further and further inside you.

When he’s finally all the way in, you release a breath, feeling him do the same, mouth so close to yours.

Fuck, you’d missed feeling him. Missed the way he stretches you so perfectly. So fucking perfectly.

You can’t help yourself, you start to rock your hips instantly, a soft, almost whimper coming from the back of your throat.

“Oh, fuck… Yeah?” he breathes, and you nod, you can only nod, mind blanking momentarily at the feel of him dragging in and out of you.

“All right, love, hold on.”

Your arms wrap around his neck as he moves one hand to the back of your head, his forearm against your back, making sure you won’t hit your head against the shelf as he then starts to increase his thrusts, harder and faster.

“Oh, fu-uck…” you gasp, pleasure pulsing through you with each thrust.

He’s grunting, teeth nearly gritted by the sounds of it. “... Christ… You’re so fuckin’... Take me so fuckin’ well… So wet and tight…”

A breathless smile pulls at your lips. “Hearing you say sorry… had me fucking dripping.”

He chuckles roughly. “I’ll be sayin’ it a lot fuckin’ more, then.”

“Good… ‘cause you’re always fucking up.”

“And you’re always right, aren’t you.”

“Yes.”

He groans, fingers tightening on your hip. “Guess we know where we stand, then.”

Do we?

You’re about to ask him so; with his cock dragging in and out of you, spreading you open, your arms tight around his neck, alcohol covering the floor with a matchbox in sight and rooms of ruthless murderers above, you’re about to ask him what the fuck you two are.

But he kisses you before you can, hard and deep.

You moan against his lips, feeling his nose against your cheek and you just still can’t believe you can feel all of him.

Him having done that… it must mean… it has to…

“... Simon…”

He almost doesn’t register it, thinks he’s imagined it, your little fucking delicious moan sounding like his name.

But then you gasp it again, he having thrusted harder without realising, and yes, it’s real.

He’s Simon again. Not just Ghost, not cunt, not fucker.

Simon.

And you’d moaned it like a question.

“Yes, love?”

It takes you a moment, a litany of moans falling from your lips as he hits a sweet spot on his next thrust.

“... You said… I don’t mean… nothing to you…”

He has to quickly quell the slight panic that sparks within him, looking at the silk strip, where your eyes are. “Yeah?”

“What… do you feel for me, then?”

He stares at you, panic rising again as his brow dips even though you can’t see it. “...You know… You know, don’t you…?”

There’s the slightest shaking of your head

Fucking hell…

Right here, with you squeezing around his cock and moaning his name and a fucking crime syndicate not too far away?

“Simon?” you prompt, in a fucking little breathy way that has his cock aching.

“For fuck’s sake, I care about you, you silly cunt,” he gravels.

He’d thought ever saying the words out loud would be with resignation, with a sense of signing a death warrant on someone’s name. But the way you smile, the way your slick pussy grips at him… He wishes he could see your eyes…

He’d promised it a year before to himself, but now he does again.

No one’s going to fucking hurt you ever again.

“You do?”

“You heard me, woman.”

“Say it again.”

He sighs. “Fucking he—”

He breaks off with a groan that comes deep from his throat because your hand has gripped his hair and pulled.

“You cheeky cunt,” he mutters, head tilted back, his cock twitching with pure lust.

“Say it,” you half-hiss, and “I care about you,” he hisses back.

You shove his head closer to yours and your lips crash against his. It’s a hard, sloppy kiss, and his hand tightens on the back of your head, keeping you close.

“I care about you, too, fucker,” you mumble, and he groans again.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Fucking hell.

The tightness that had taken hold of his chest releases, and something that feels, despite everything, like peace drifts through him.

He fucks you harder, deeper, but when you break the kiss with a sharp gasp, he doesn’t release you, keeping you close still.

“Yeah?” He mutters again, lips nearly brushing against yours, voice strained as he looks at you, as he tries to hold off, keep his orgasm at bay just a little bit longer. “You gettin’ close, love?”

“Yeah…” you breathe out shortly, gripping at him tightly.

“Get yourself there, love, rub your clit while I fuck you.”

Your hand drops instantly, finding your clit and fuck, he loves watching you, loves seeing the pleasure on your face, the way your brow goes between dipping and rising, how your perfect mouth stays open.

“You gunna cum on my cock, darlin’?”

The moan you release should be embarrassing, but he’s never called you that before.

You could get used to it.

“Mmh, fuck… Yeah…”

“Let me feel you cum, darlin’, been waitin’ so fuckin’ long to feel it again, been thinkin’ about you every fuckin’ day, remind me of how fuckin’ good you feel, come on, love…”

You’re moaning, gripping at him desperately, nails digging in deep.

And he doesn’t take his eyes off you.

“Cum for me, come on, cum for me… Cum on my cock like a good girl…”

Tipping your head back into his hand, you cry out as you cum, and his lips are on your neck, kissing, sucking, licking and biting, and it sends you spiralling higher in your orgasm, your bones nearly turning to liquid.

And he doesn’t stop.

He fucks you through it, grunting against your skin as your slick walls squeeze and flutter around him.

It just keeps the pleasure going, and your hips buck as your hand flies up to grip at his hair.

“Fuck, fu-uck, Simon… I…”

“I know, I know…” he hums against your ear. “... Feels too good, doesn’t it, feels too much… Just a bit longer, I’m nearly there… Good girl… Fuck… Yeah, squeeze me… Yeah, yeah…” 

His thrusts become harsher, quicker, and his head rests against yours so you can hear every short, grunted breath he gives. When he inhales a sharp one, you sink your teeth into your lower lip, pull his hair, tighten your pussy around him… and he cums with a long, loud groan.

You mewl almost pathetically as you feel his cum inside you, feel his cock twitching.

Fucking hell, which you’re definitely going to, you’d missed this.

Missed him.

A few more, deep groans fall from his lips, and then you’re both still, just your breathing filling the room.

Slowly, your grip softens on his hair, and you only slightly register that you’re stroking it gently.

It’s a few more moments before you feel him lift his head, but he doesn’t move any further.

When he releases a breath closer to a sigh, you raise your eyebrows a little.

“What is it?”

“You… You look beautiful.”

That takes you by surprise, your brows lifting higher.

He’s never said that before.

Your lips twitch a little as you try to stop a smile. “Thanks.” Wetting your lips in another valiant effort to hide a smile, you clear your throat. “Can I—”

He kisses you. It’s firm, but undemanding. 

When it breaks, you take in a soft breath, and try again, lifting a hand and pointing at the slip of silk around your eyes. “Can I take this off?”

“Not yet.” 

He’d said it quickly, and you feel him stiffen slightly before he straightens, and your hand darts to his arm, gripping it.

“Wait. Can I feel your face again?”

He’s still.

Then he lowers his head, and takes one of your hands, guiding it up.

The moment your fingertips touch his skin, they move. You glide them over his cheeks, feeling his stubble and scars, down his nose, over his lips.

You don’t know when you started to smile, but it widens a little more.

“You feel handsome.”

You think you feel him smile.

“I am.”

Exhaling a laugh, you then inhale a sharp breath as he pulls out of you.

Gently lowering your leg from his hip, he then steps back and you hear him tucking his cock away and sorting his trousers. Then he moves somewhere else, and you stay where you are, trying to imagine what he’s doing.

When he steps towards you, you lift your chin a little, and then his hands are at the back of your head, untying the knot. As the silk slips from your face, you keep your eyes closed.

He releases a breath through his nose. 

“You can open your eyes, love.”

Doing so, you blink a few times, adjusting to the light.

And then your eyes find his.

There’s lines around them; he’s smiling.

The corners of your mouth lift, and you arch an eyebrow.

“You’ve fucked my mascara up, haven’t you.”

“Not for the first time.”

Lifting a hand, the other pushing the strip into his trouser pocket, he swipes his thumb under one of your eyes, then the other, wiping the mascara and flecks of eyeshadow that have smudged from the silk strip.

When he drops his hand, you wet your lips and tilt your head.

“How do I look?”

“All right.” He lifts the strap of your dress back up over your shoulder as your lips twitch.

“Good.”

When his hand drops, you look at each other.

Fuck, you want him all over again. But not now, not yet.

Later.

“So…” The word prompts him into action, and you watch him zip up his jacket and then pick his vest up, fastening it back onto his chest. “… Shall we burn this place to the ground, Simon?”

Lifting his eyes to you, you see the lines again. “Absolutely.” Moving to the door, he unlocks it and holds it open for you. “After you, love.”

A smile on your lips, you grab a matchbox and a set of keys he hadn’t noticed from the shelf, and head towards the door, passing through.

And then, you swiftly pause and grip his chin and jaw.

He hisses out an almost incredulous breath as you raise your eyebrows.

“If you betray me tonight, or again, I’ll cut your dick off.”

He just looks at you. “Good thing I’m not plannin’ on doin’ that, isnt’ it.”

“It is.” Releasing him, you rise up a little higher in your heels and press a kiss to the cheek of his hard mask. “Let’s go.”

Shaking his head as he follows you up the stairs, he keeps his voice low.

“So what’s the plan, then, boss?”

“Lock all the doors except the front one for me.” Half turning as you ascend, you hand him the keys. “Take out any guards you can but be discreet. This won’t work if there’s panic and they scatter.”

He slips the keys into his pocket. “Any kids here?”

You snort. “What do you think I am, a monster? No. Adults only party.”

“Copy that. What are you gunna do?”

You smile. “Start the fire, darling.” Reaching the outer door, you push it open a little, check the hallway is clear, and then hold it open for him, smile widening. “So you’d better be quick.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Moving through the door, he then turns to you. “Where will I meet you?”

“The foyer. They’ll all have moved into the ballroom. Lock that one last, it’s connected to the foyer.”

“All right.” You’re just about to turn away when he adds, “One more thing…”

“What?”

You arch an eyebrow as he leans closer, his voice low.

“Is my cum dripping down your thighs?”

The sinful smile that lifts your lips has his cock nearly hardening again.

“What do you think?”

He grunts, eyes flicking down to your legs, then back up to yours.

Your smile widens.

“Off you go.”

Shoving his chest, you then turn from him, moving down the stairs. He watches you, releasing a long breath.

Then, before he can stop himself:

“Stray?”

You pause on a step, turning to him.

His jaw moves a little.

“Be careful.”

It’s now your turn for your eyes to flick over him.

Then, you smile.

“You, too.”

—

He moves quickly, as instructed. Handily, the keys are all labelled, thank fuck. Taking out any guards he comes across and locking doors, he skirts around the vast puddles of clear liquid that coat the floors of some of the corridors.

The ground floor is a little trickier, people having snuck off for conversations, or to have a quick fuck. Luckily, though, they all value their privacy, so the doors are already shut. He just has to lock them quietly.

Piece of cake.

Glancing at his watch as he locks the second to last door, he presses his lips together.

He was supposed to check in five minutes ago. Johnny’ll know something’s up. Hopefully he puts a little faith in him, though. Gives him more time.

More time to think about how to fucking explain this.

Heading down the backstairs, he then halts swiftly.

Fire burns at the bottom of it, climbing up the walls and thick curtains of the window.

Fuck, you did work quickly.

Turning, he takes two steps at a time, heading for the hallway he’d come down. Striding down, he opts for the main stairs, why the fuck not.

Jogging down them, he glances at the front door as loud music drifts through from the ballroom.

Two security scanners with flowers draped over them are by the front door, which is closed, and two guards stand by it. They talk together, and as he nears the middle of the stairs, one of them looks up.

Hello, mate.

Withdrawing two knives, he hurls them at them, watching them sink into the men’s chests before he picks up the pace, not wanting anyone in the ballroom to catch a glimpse of him. 

As the two men choke on the blood filling their lungs, he pulls the knives out, then sinks them into their necks, the choking abruptly cutting off. Wiping the blood on his sleeve, he then holsters them and, one at a time, grabs the men by the legs and drags them off to the side.

Piling them in the corner, he then strides to the ballroom doors.

Pressing his back against the wall, he peers in.

Three guards stand on the other side, facing the party, fucking idiots, and what a fucking party it is.

People are dancing, there’s lights and flowers everywhere, there’s laughter, and the band sound fucking top notch.

He’s about to feel sorry for the players when he realises they’re made up of members of the family.

Ah, well.

His hand darting out, he grabs one handle, yanks the door closer, then the other and does the same, and when they’re near he grips both and pulls the doors closed. The music is now muffled, and he can hear the guards talking to each other, asking what the fuck happened, and his hand darts into his pocket for the keys. Finding the right one, he swiftly locks the doors just as the guards try to turn the handles.

Well, he can’t promise it won’t cause a panic, but it’s been done.

Pocketing the keys once more, he turns and strides for the front door, ignoring the banging on the ones behind him.

Removing his gun, he opens one of the doors and peers out, finding the driveway empty, quiet.

He closes it a little, leaving it ajar, and checks his watch.

Any minute now, you’ll be here.

Lowering his hand, his lip curls slightly as he starts to smell burning.

Not even just that, he can hear it, too.

There’s screaming coming from somewhere, maybe the ballroom.

He glances at the landing above, then the stairs, then checks his watch again.

Where the fuck are you.

Something is twisting in his chest, rising.

Unease.

Seconds tick by.

A minute.

Minute and a half.

His teeth gritting, his head suddenly whips to the side as he hears a commotion, something crashing to the ground.

Somewhere, either a ceiling or a wall has caved in.

Fuck, where the fuck are you.

His chest twists again.

You wouldn’t. 

You wouldn’t just—

You wouldn’t leave.

You can’t have.

You can’t—

There’s the muffled, distant squeal of tyres on tarmac and the roar of an engine from outside. His head whipping to the open door, a half-second later he then lunges for it, gripping the handle and pulling it wider.

Stepping out, he strides across the stone and down the steps to the red carpet, just as a car roars out of the underground garage and shoots across the gravel, the tyres spinning.

No.

No, you can’t—

A burst of gunfire erupts from his right and on instinct he ducks, and then his head snaps up to see—

You.

You’re striding out of the tunnel leading to the garage, rifle raised, and you’re aiming at the car. As you fire again, he looks to the car, watches it swerve, and then the back tyres burst. It swerves again, crashing into one of the huge bronze bowls, and the engine immediately erupts into flames.

Fucking hell.

Pressing his lips together, he looks to you, watches you lower the rifle and stride towards the car.

You look fucking… Well, he has to focus on his anger to stop his cock from rising.

He strides towards you, swiftly catches up and falls into step with you.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he grunts, and you glance at him.

“Calm down, I was getting the servers out. And someone caught on. Well, someones’.”

As you nod in the direction of the car, he looks to it again, and sees three people emerging from it, two men and a woman. The woman’s sobbing, clutching her fur coat to her as she tries to run across the gravel.

Exhaling a breath, you raise the rifle again and fire at her.

She goes down with a cry instantly.

Mariana Vitale. Weapons dealer.

One of the men yells out, raising a handgun and firing at you.

Simon grips your arm, pulls you out of the way of the bullet with a grunt, and you stumble slightly in your heels.

He holds you upright, and you look up at him, smiling.

“Thank you, darling.”

“Don’t mention it.”

He releases you, and you raise the rifle as the man yells again.

You shoot him, and he slumps against one of the car doors before collapsing to the ground.

Roberto Morelli. Money launderer and diamond mine owner.

You and Ghost continue to walk towards the burning car, hearing the manor burn behind you, part of the roof collapsing.

There’s one person left.

Nearing the car, Ghost hangs back a little, adjusts his grip on his gun.

And then there he is.

Gianni rises from the other side of the car, hands raised, eyes wide.

They dart between you both, and he steps out from behind the car, hands shaking.

“Amore mio? What is this? Wh… Why are you with him?”

Raising the rifle, you shoot him in the head.

He collapses to the ground, arms and legs splayed out.

Gianni Vitale. Human trafficker.

Blowing out a long breath, you gaze at his body as you shoulder the rifle, straightening your back.

Ghost keeps his gun to hand, looks to the long driveway, the trees, just in case anyone is out there.

When you turn to manor, he does the same, glancing at you then at the—

His gaze darts back to you as you reach into the bodice of the dress and remove a small remote.

His mouth opens to ask what the fuck you’re doing, when you press the button, and part of the manor explodes.

The ballroom.

Squinting slightly against the light of the blaze, he raises an arm over you in case any debris should fall.

You’re far away enough, though, and it falls short, pieces of wall, ceiling, furniture, and yeah, probably people, falling to the ground a good several feet away.

Lowering his arm, he just watches it with you.

And neither of you speak.

The roof starts to cave in all over, the flames reaching up to the sky, angry and swift. Smoke billows out, and walls collapse, and he finally holsters his gun, folding his arms across his chest.

When he suddenly hears a sniff, he looks over at you.

Your jaw is set, and a few tears slide down your cheeks, but you’re smiling.

He gazes at you, and after a few moments, he looks to the manor again.

He hopes you have your peace now.

Whatever comes next, he hopes you—

“I was part of a unit once.” 

He doesn’t know what startles him more. The fact you spoke, or what you said.

He looks at you, still.

Wiping at a cheek, you then fold your arms, still gazing at the collapsing building.

“For years. A group for hire. Shadow operatives. Didn’t belong to anyone. Didn’t even know much about each other, but we were a good team, the eight of us. We were on a job one day, like any other, but it all went south.” You sniff. “Went to absolute shit, actually. Angelo was the job, and one by one his mercs picked us off. I was bleeding out, I’d taken a bullet here.”

You point to your side before tucking your arm back against your chest. He knows which scar you mean.

“They didn’t finish me off, though. They took me in, patched me up, brought me back to life. It wasn’t until I was stable that I found out I was the only one left. They’d killed the others.” You wet your lips. “When they took me to Angelo, he told me of how his people had kept me alive, by his grace. How he hadn’t had to do that. How lucky I was. He said I owed him.” You snort humourlessly, as if he was right before you again. “I said I owe you fuck all, if my team are dead then kill me. He smiled. Fucking awful smile. And then he said if I didn’t serve him when he called then he’d kill their families. I didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about, whose families, I said.” You stop for the smallest of beats. “And then he showed me pictures of them all. These people that I had no idea existed. Friends, family, children that looked so much like their parents—” Your voice catches slightly, and you swallow before continuing. “... If I told anyone, if I refused at any point, then he’d kill them. I knew he meant it, but…” You swallow again. “... When I said no to killing you…” Your voice catches again. “… When I went back to him he told me what he’d had done. Three families killed. He told me how it had happened. How it hadn’t been quick. How that was all my fault.” Tears are dripping down your cheeks and you inhale a shuddering breath. “I hated myself. Still do.” Sniffing, your tone hardens. “But it was his fault. And I knew I had to kill him.” Wiping at your cheeks, you sniff again. “When I killed him, I knew his people would think it was you, your unit. I knew his people left over, whoever would take charge next, wouldn’t care about the families, but I made sure they were safe, warned. But I just couldn’t live…” Shaking your head, you wet your lips. “... Knowing those people were out there, doing the shit they were doing. When I recovered, I came up with this. Tracked down Gianni, gained his trust. Bided my time. And…” You release a shaking breath. “... Now, it’s over. It’s finally over.”

Simon hasn’t looked away from you for one moment.

Something burns in his chest, hotter and more furious than the fire ahead of him.

And it burns for you.

But he can’t say it, doesn’t know when or even if he’ll ever be able to.

If he’s capable.

Maybe.

Maybe one day.

Silently, he pulls the silk strip out of his pocket and holds it out to you.

Looking down at it, you smile, exhaling a small laugh through your nose.

“Thanks.”

Accepting it, you wipe at your cheeks and eyes, blowing out another breath.

Gripping the neck of his vest, he finally pulls his gaze from you, looking back towards the manor.

“What happens now?”

Sniffing, you fold your arms again. “All the family are in there. If there’s anyone left anywhere else, they won’t mean shit. Won’t do shit.”

“What if they broke the windows, got out?”

You raise your eyebrows, a smile lifting your lips. “The great thing about the rich is that they’re arrogant. Shatterproof glass on all the windows.”

“Ah.” 

That explained the fucking balcony, then.

He’s silent.

You are, too.

It nearly startles him when you tilt your head back and release a loud sigh.

“Fuck, I feel like I should light a cigarette.”

“Can kill you, that, smoking.”

He glances at you, catching your trying-to-be-unamused look.

And then he chuckles quietly as you laugh, watching you look back towards the blaze.

Yeah, maybe one day he’ll be able to say it properly.

“Oh, are they your boys?”

Lifting his head, he looks to the treelines beyond the manor, finds the figures darting out, nearing the building.

Shit.

“Yeah. Stayed out past my curfew.”

“Shit. Sorry.”

He shrugs. “Nah, don’t be. They’ll be pissed but…” He looks at you, shrugging again. “This is a good outcome. We can figure out the rest.”

“Good.” Smiling, you gaze at him.

Fuck, he wants to kiss you, wants to feel your body against his, wants to tell you that he lo— cares about you, again.

He’s just starting to lower his arms, is about to close the distance between you, when you turn.

And you fucking start walking away.

Staring at you, he raises his eyebrows. “Where the fuck are you goin’?”

You release a long, contented sigh. “To a nice hotel. I’m fucking exhausted.”

Fucking hell.

“Right.”

Turning to him, you walk backwards, smile wide. “What about you, what’s your plan for the evening?”

“I’ve got a fucking psychotic woman to catch.”

“Ah.” Your smile widens into a beam. “Best of luck. I hear she’s in the market for a new job, you know.”

His head tilts as something dangerously like hope sparks in his chest. “Same industry?”

“Yeah.” You shrug. “Stick with what you know, y’know.”

You can’t see his smile as he folds his arms. “I’ll ask around.”

“Thanks.”

Your smile softens as you look at him, and he doesn’t think he imagines that your gait slows a little.

And then you’re turning away, and striding down the driveway.

“See you around, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he calls after you.

Watching you go, he shakes his head as you lift a hand and wave it, not looking back.

Fucking Christ… You’re in it now, son.

Finally making himself turn away, he starts walking towards the ruined building, lifting his hand and turning his radio on. Voices burst out of it, shouting orders to each other, and he sighs.

Suppose once I explain it all, they’ll want to offer her a position again.

Wonder if I’ll have to declare this relationship to HR.

… She’s gunna love that joke.

─

A/N: You! Reading this! Yes, you! Thank you so much for making it this far, I appreciate it so much. To those who left comments, thank you from the bottom of my heart, you kept me going and kept this fun for me.

I hope you all enjoyed this story, and this pairing, and I hope you have a lovely week!

─

Reblogs and comments make my day in a way I can’t describe.

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged or removed in my future works! (Note: I'll only tag if age is in your bio) Sorry if the tag doesn't work!

Masterlist

Tagged: @sistasarah-sallysaidso, @gifsbysimplysonia, @ryethebrokengae, @poohkie90, @corvusmorte, @captainutsstuff, @ff-huntress

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Meet The Addams Family | Rhett Abbott x Addams!OC Imagine

Takes place before the events of ‘Wednesday’ and after OR S1

Link to my Rhett Abbott (plus Addams!OC) Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Rhett Abbott x Persephone Addams!OC (Romantic), The Addams Family (Wednesday version)

Content Warnings: profanity, fluff, light angst, blood, mentions of torture and attempted assault, implied smut. | Female OC (she/her) | wc. 5.2k (unedited so I’m sorry for some grammar/spelling mistakes)

Premise: Months after Rhett Abbott’s first date with Persephone Addams, the time to finally meet her family has arrived. And the Addams family sure know how to throw a dinner party.

Note: Sorry for the late update on this crossover series I have. I’ve had so many ideas for TGM that I’ve focused on those, also I was catching up on S5 of Yellowstone to inspire me for my Lana Dutton!OC x Rhett Abbott series.

Rhett adjusted his shirt for the fourth time in a single minute. His expression was one of unease, causing Persephone to run a hand up his arm, “You appear in distress, my darling. What’s got you worried?”

How could he possibly tell her? The last thing Rhett wanted to do was let his girlfriend down by saying he was close to shitting his pants at the thought he was about to meet her parents for the first time.

Morticia and Gomez Addams. An odd but loving couple to the naked eye, they were hopelessly devoted to one another and their children. First meeting as teenagers at Nevermore Academy, the two traveled the world before settling down to have three children. Then they went on family adventures, moving all over the US and finally settling in the small ranch town of Wabang, Wyoming. Using their wealth they pretty much grew the town by bringing jobs in with the many businesses they created and invested in.

Rhett had never spoken a single word to the Addams, only ever seeing them from afar. Now he’s about to come face to face with their entire family. Marking their sixth month of officially seeing each other, Persephone invited Rhett for Sunday family dinner. The cowboy was hesitant, but he was serious about his feelings for Percy and had dragged the meeting long enough.

He just feared he’d make a bad impression. Percy meant a lot to Rhett. The two were already half a year into their relationship since their first coffee and dinner date. They’d traveled together to Montana, Colorado to see the Stanley hotel, and have plans to go to Vermont in the upcoming year. Love was something he never thought he’d have, but with Percy he felt it second he was breathing. He was head over heels for Percy and Rhett knew how important family was to her. They still had yet to introduce the eldest Addams to his parents…..which would likely happen in a few more weeks so he needed to prepare that. Of course his folks were aware of the relationship, they just had never met the woman.

The other day while visiting Percy in the shop, Rhett kept babbling about what to wear, what to bring, etc. “This ain’t just a regular dinner, baby,” he took the box she handed to him, placing it by the empty bookshelf she was about to fill, “This is dinner with your folks—and your siblings! Who I ain’t ever spoken to ‘fore. I wanna make a good impression, s’all.”

Percy just looked up at him with a loving look, “honey you are worrying too much. Don’t give me that look,” she pointed a finger at said look, “You could walk in wearing your chaps and beat up flannel and my parents would not pay any mind. They’ve been looking forward to meeting you for months. Just be yourself and they’ll love you—it’s how I fell in love with you.” She didn’t miss how his cheeks blushed at her words. Kissing his jaw, Percy looked him in the eyes, “My family is providing dinner and expect no welcome gift—so don’t feel pressured to bring one. Just bring your good looks and attitude—you’ll be great.”

Rhett chuckled, shaking his head before leaning down to kiss her. “I can’t with you sometimes.”

Although she told him not to bring a gift, Rhett did buy a nice bottle of red wine. He didn’t have much when it came to nice clothes, but he pulled out his button down reserved for special occasions and a good pair of slacks.

“Just nerves, darlin’,” he told her, interlacing their fingers. The radio was playing old classical music, which surprisingly helped calm his nerves a tad. “Don’t wanna disappoint ya, s’all.”

Percy leaned over to kiss his cheek, “You could never disappoint me, cowboy.” For the remainder of the drive her head laid on his shoulder, the clear surroundings of the valley disappearing as they cut through the tree line.

Deep in the woods just outside of town stood the Addams family mansion. An eerie yet beautiful sight, the home stood as high as the tallest tree with an iron gate surrounding its perimeter and personal cemetery off to the side. What made it more spooky was the home seemed to have its own personal fog despite no ocean nearby pushing it onto the land.

The iron gate opened automatically allowing Lurch to proceed into the long driveway before coming to a stop in front of the stairs. When the car door opened, Rhett exited first then extended a hand to help Percy out. His nerves were still swirling as Percy led him up the stairs. They were met with the door opening when they hit the second to last step, and Percy’s parents greeting them with excited expressions.

“Hello, hello!” Gomez extended his arms out before moving to embrace Percy. “Welcome back, my little spider.” Percy said hello before moving to her mother, meanwhile Gomez turned his attention to Rhett. “And you must be the man who’s taken my daughters heart hostage,” Gomez held a hand out, Rhett immediately accepting it with his own. Gomez’s handshake was firm but warm and friendly. “Gracias, I haven't seen my little pomegranate this happy since she mentally tortured an old professor who harassed her.”

Unsure of how to really respond, while noting to ask Percy of said story, Rhett simply smiled, “It’s a pleasure to know I’ve held her attention this long and hasn’t gotten tired of me yet.” It must've been the right answer because Gomez looked like a kid in a candy store. Rhett then added, “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Addams,” he turned to Morticia who was now staring at him, “And you as well, Mrs. Addams. Percy has told me lot ‘bout you two.”

“And yet you stayed,” Morticia smirked to her daughter. “I’ve taught you well.”

“I learn from the best, mother,” Percy moves closer to Rhett, placing a hand on his arm. “Rhett, darling, this is my mother, Morticia Addams, and my father, Gomez Addams. Mother, father, this is my boyfriend, Rhett Abbott.”

“Welcome to our home, Rhett,” Morticia’s teeth were blinding white as she smiled, “We’ve been looking forward to this day since our daughter told us the news. Please, come in.” Together they follow Percy’s parents inside the grand estate with Lurch closing the doors behind them. The butler, however, returns to the car before driving off back towards town. “Our apologies, but dinner will be later than planned. Wednesday is at fencing practice and should be home within the hour. Pugsley is doing homework.”

“Oh that’s no problem, Mrs. Addams. I ain’t in no rush this evenin’. You have a beautiful home,” Rhett compliments, taking in the gorgeous staircase with a crystal chandelier draping frown from the high ceilings. The outside looked like a castle, and the inside was just as grand. “Oh and this is for you,” he hands over the bag containing the wine.

“Why thank you, Rhett,” she pulls out the bottle and grins. “This is one of my favorites. How did you know?”

“Lucky guess,” he shrugs with a smile. Truth be told he didn’t have a fucking clue when it came to wine. He just remembered Percy say their family only ever drinks red wine the color of blood and went with it. Then he asked his ma about the good brands and she pointed him in the right direction. In the store he literally bought the first one his eyes landed on.

It sure was a lucky guess.

Percy looked into the living room to find the playpen was empty. “Where's Mona?”

“Down for her afternoon nap, darling. I wasn’t sure if you wanted her at the table with us, but made sure she had her nap so she wouldn’t be fussy.”

Percy gave a look of thanks, “I appreciate that, mother. Thank you. I’ll go check on her,” she tugs Rhett to follow her, “and may as well give you a tour of the house, mi amor.”

“Well see you back here for dinner,” Morticia tells him, Gomez waving a hand. Rhett smiles, letting his girlfriend lead him away. She shows him the main living room, the kitchen, the exit to the backyard which in turn leads to the family cemetery.

They move up the grand staircase to the second floor. “Over here is Pusgley’s room, Wednesday's is on the other end with a bathroom in between. On the third floor is Lurch’s room as well as a room reserved for my Uncle Fester when he visits.” Traveling to the opposite side of the second floor, Percy stops in front of an onyx black colored door. “This is where I reside,” pushing it open, the room is revealed to Rhett.

Everything about it screamed Persephone. Her vintage gothic aesthetic, her artwork, her love of literary tragedies and Edgar Allen Poe. It was a huge room—twice the size of Rhetts. Ravens painted the ceiling, black sheer curtains over the canopy bed and arch window. Black bookshelves filled to the brim took up a corner of the room connecting to a long wooden desk. An easel stood in another corner where sketches had been taped on the wall beside it. The bedspread appeared to be silk sheets, no doubt of expensive taste. Rhett spotted an open door that looked to be a walk-in closet, another leading into a personal bathroom.

“Wow,” he muttered, following Percy he let his eyes take it all in. Dropping her purse on the desk, Percy headed for another door located on the right side of the bedroom. Rhett nearly missed it, head tilting in confusion as he watched Percy slowly open it to peak in.

Then her lips broke into a grin, “Look who’s up!” A baby-like giggle was the response, making Rhett form his own smile. As they entered the connecting nursery, Desdemona had pulled herself up in her crib, and waited for her mother to take her out. Now one-year-old, little Mona was becoming an explorer.

“Someone must’ve heard us come in,” Percy lifts her daughter into her arms, placing a kiss to her chubby cheek. “And could not wait to greet us.” Upon seeing Rhett, Mona wiggles with excitement in Percy’s hold.

“Hey, munchkin,” Rhett immediately takes her from Percy, lifting her high before kissing her cheek to the sound of her baby laughter. Stroking Mona’s hair, Percy leans into Rhett’s side, “I’ll never not adore how you are with her, Rhett.”

“It’s what she deserves,” He turns to her, “what you both deserve, darlin’.” Kissing Percy’s forehead, the couple move back into the room with Rhett taking claim to one side of the bed. Percy lays on the other side with Mona climbing onto Rhett’s chest.

“How are you, mi amore? I know my parents can be….something. Well all us Addams are something, but you understand what I mean.”

Rhett places Mona in the space between them for tummy time, turning to lay on his side, “I’m doin’ great, Percy. I was a little worried, but your parents are very welcomin’. I’m glad I finally got to meet ‘em.”

“Well the night isn’t over just yet,” she teases. “You still have to meet my siblings…..and survive a dinner with us.”

About an hour goes by of the two just lying in bed with Mona, tickling and playing with the babygirl while exchanging kisses and talking before they’re called down to the dining room. As they come down the stairs, Mona in Percy’s arms, Pugsley races around the corner. “Hey, sis.”

“Hello, Pugsley. How was your day?”

“Boring. My teacher gave me extra homework because in our mock trial of Macbeth I said the verdict was bullshit and my classmates would never make it as lawyers.”

“Was it bullshit?” Percy questioned with curiosity.

“The prosecution forgot to present the evidence and the jury found him guilty.”

Percy tsked, shaking her head, “I do believe that your words were true then, brother.” Motioning to her boyfriend, she introduces the two, “Pugsley, I’d like you to meet Rhett Abbott. Rhett, this is my brother, Pugsley.”

Rhett tips his hat before extending his hand, “Nice to meet you, Pugsley. I’m Rhett.”

The boy shakes his hand, nodding to his Stetson, “Are you a real cowboy? That’s so cool—can you teach me to ride a bull? I wanna see how much air I can get when I fly off—.”

“Pugsley,” Percy gently cuts him off with a chuckle. “Let us eat first and then you can ask Rhett all the questions you have.” He pouts but nods nonetheless. They follow behind him into the dining room where the rest of the family is waiting for them.

Wednesday is the only one standing, staring Rhett down as he enters. Her face is blank, hands clasped in front of her, and she’s dressed in her usually black dress and Doc Marten shoes. There’s no telling what she’s thinking, but her stare alone is enough to send chills down the cowboy’s spine.

Percy places Mona in her high chair, “How was fencing, sister?”

“Like everyday,” her voice is monotone. “The other students have trouble accepting they lack skill and talent no matter how many times I have to tell them. Pouting and throwing tantrums each time I ruin their ego. It’s a wonderful feeling.”

“Glad to hear it’s going so well,” Percy smiles, motioning for Rhett. He adjusts his collar, feeling the nerves resurface as he comes face to face with the infamous Wednesday Addams. “Wednesday, this is—.”

“Rhett Abbott, son of ranchers Royal and Cecelia Abbott. Brother to Perry Abbott and uncle to Amy Abbott, and bull riding champion,” Wednesday interrupts, causing Rhett to still. The fact she already knew who he was and who his parents were worried him. Wednesday’s expression remained emotionless, “I know who you are. When I gathered all the names of those involved in humiliating my sister ten years ago, you were the only one who didn’t repost the video nor was a part in the act itself. You’re the only one who’s not on my list of revenge because Persephone never spoke ill of you. Considering you two are in a relationship, it must mean you are all she voiced you to be, and I would never harm someone my sister cares for. Unless, of course, you hurt her,” Wednesday tilts her head, as though to challenge Rhett, “Then I will seek what is needed to get even, Rhett Abbott.”

Before Rhett could respond, Wednesday turned around to take her seat. Giving his girlfriend a look, the cowboy made a face that read, ‘She scares me,’ to which Percy only patted his shoulder with a nod. “Come on then, lover, let us eat.” As they approached their own reserved chairs, Percy leaned over, “You'll get used to it. Eventually.”

The food was bought out and served to everyone’s plate. Percy fed Mona in between her own bites while Rhett made small talk with Gomez and Morticia. “Our daughter tells us you are quite the act at the local rodeo,” Morticia cuts into a piece of meat, “What is it you do?”

“Oh uh,” Rhett wipes his mouth with a napkin before replying, “I ride bulls, ma’am. I do the circuit—tournament when it comes ‘round.”

“Fascinating,” Gomez awes, “Have you ever been trampled, dear boy?”

“Father,” Percy warns.

“Oh my apologies,” the man places a hand to his chest, “I’m just curious after all the stories we’ve heard. Not to mention we saw Mr. Patterson’s son in a wheelchair not too long ago—said he was thrown off a bull. Marvelous animals those creatures are.”

“It’s alright,” Rhett assures, bidding Percy a glance. “But yes sir, I have a. In fact, it’s how I got this scar on my shoulder,” he pats a hand over the material of his shirt where said scar laid. “Wasn’t the first time and sure won’t be the last.”

“Why you do it then?” Pugley questioned with a mouth full of food, earning a look of disapproval from Percy.

“Cause it’s one hell of an adrenaline rush—‘scuse my language. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, darling,” Percy smiles, eyes full of mischief, “This table has heard worse than a few foul words.” Refilling her wine, she directed her attention to Wednesday. “Rhett’s niece, Amy, recently read The Prince by Machiavelli, sister. She had many questions I unfortunately could not answer, but I told her you were more suited in that area of expertise. She asked if you would be interested in having a discussion on it someday.”

“I am impressed to find there is someone else in this town with exquisite taste when it comes to classical literature,” Wednesday replies in her usual monotone voice. “I would be interested, however I am quite busy these days. Possibly once the school term ends I would be open to hearing her thoughts.”

Percy nods, glancing at Rhett who looks flabbergasted. “We’ll make sure she gets the message. Right, darling?” He just nods, mouth still agape and Percy pats his cheek lovingly. “How is your plan coming along, Wednesday? Any recent developments?”

The lips of the teenager curl up, giving her an almost sinister appearance. “Tex Garrison was arrested this morning after I emailed the evidence of his text messages with an underaged girl to the sheriff. Macy and Oliver Kilt were seen at the local divorce lawyer—Friday he received my folder compiled with all her bank statements from her hidden checking account and photographs with Brian Quinn—Brian’s wife also received a folder, but I have no update on them yet. I’m working on the main group as we speak. I’m hoping for it to be set in motion once they are all in town again.”

All those names were known to Rhett. Classmates from when he and Percy were in school. All of whom were involved in video recording the incident and posting it online for everyone to see.

Wednesday wasn’t joking when she said she had a list of everyone who played a part. And it wasn’t hard to piece together who the ‘main group’ was….with Maria as the mastermind.

‘Well shit,’ he thought, taking a large gulp of wine. It was going to be interesting what Wednesday had in store for them. Even with those who simply recorded and distributed the video, she not only fucking ruined their lives but exposed some sinister traits they were hiding. The news of Tex was surely going to spread like wildfire. Rhett made a disgusted face as he remembered the things Tex would say in class to his friends. It shouldn’t surprise him he was a piece of shit.

“Do let me know when the time comes,” Percy’s voice snapped him from his thoughts. Turning, Rhett recognized the look in her eyes. It was one of bloodlust.

He’d only seen it once, but it sure sent chills down his body whenever he thought of the memory. Two months prior they were at the rodeo and Percy was waiting for Rhett just off to the side where he would exit so they could head home for the night. Buckle bunnies would try to flirt but Rhett paid them no mind as he made his way to Percy. From where he was he could see her, dressed in denim and leather and giving him a look he knew all too well. When they made eye contact she winked, causing Rhett to quicken his pace, but before he could reach her a buddy of his cut in front to have a quick chat.

Neither saw the man approach Percy from behind with a predatory gaze. Something sharp was in his hand, a wicked grin on his face when Percy didn’t even flinch when his free hand came up to cover her mouth with the knife against her throat.

“Make a sound and I’ll cut you right here,” he whispered in her ear, unaware she was rolling her eyes. Thinking he had the upper hand he adds, “Now you’re gonna walk backward with me and turn around when I say—OW FUCK!!” Simultaneously Percy bit his hand and stomped his foot while her hand came up beneath the blade to pull his arm away. The sound alerted Rhett, his buddy, and another rider—all three snapping their gaze to witness Percy throw her head back against the man and flip him onto his back, taking his own knife in her hands to hold against his neck.

“Not so lucky now, huh?” She hissed, eyes blaring with fury that had the man nearly shit his pants. This was not the outcome he was expecting when he set his eyes on the pretty lady standing alone.

“Percy!” Rhett shouted, racing to his girlfriend who was seconds away from committing murder. He could see the knife in her hands and how close it was to the drifter's skin. One move and she would surely send him to meet his maker.

Others followed after him, one lady who was a barrel racer on the phone with 9-1-1, but Percy spoke for only the man to hear, “You were hoping to spill some blood tonight?” The question was rhetoric. It wasn’t her first rodeo dealing with scum. And this man was on a mission. If it hadn’t been her, it would’ve been another poor girl.

The drifter paled, pleading with her to take the knife away. How ironic……“I’m s-sorry! I-I—!”

“Blood will spill,” she smiled menacingly, onyx eyes staring into his soul. It was like looking the devil in the eyes, “But it’s going to be yours.” Then without hesitation, Percy brought the knife to his cheek and sliced it. Red liquid poured from the wound causing him to howl in pain. “Sleep with one eye open tonight.”

Rhett ran up to grab her while the other guys pinned the drifter down. “Baby,” he checked her for wounds, out of breath from running so fast. When he cupped her face to look at him, Rhett felt chills up his spine.

Her eyes were so dark he could hardly make out the pupils, and her face was void of emotion. Nothing but bloodlust was present.

It almost scared him to see her like that. Percy was normally warm in nature when it came to him. He’d never seen her so cold. How she appeared was likely how she was when she took revenge on Maria. It was a chilling scene.

But Rhett was more infuriated with the man getting handcuffed by the on duty officer at the rodeo who was waiting for backup. A nasty cut, courtesy of Percy, was on his face. It was so deep he was going to need stitches.

“You fuckin’ piece of shit,” Rhett went to approach but was held back by a few riders. “Think you can just threaten my woman like that? Ya lucky it’s only ya face that got sliced,” he pointed a finger at the bastard, “Knowing what you probably had planned I should’ve just let her finish you off. Lord knows she can and would have.” Rhett paused to spit on the drifter, “Bet you didn’t fuckin’ expect that, huh? Serves you right for tryin’ to do harm to a lady.”

The drifter was hauled into the back of a police car, Rhett going to Percy to take her in his arms. She wasn’t shaking or anything which concerned Rhett. Surely after being attacked she would be shaken to her core.

“I’m fine, darling,” It was like she could read his mind. “I’m right here. Nothing happened to me.”

His lips pressed against her head, “But somethin’ could’ve happened. That drifter tried to hurt you, Percy. I don’t care if it’s over with, that still scared the fuck outta me. I was right there and didn’t see the bastard walkin’ up to you.”

“I have good reflexes, Rhett Abbott,” she lightly teased, “I knew he was behind me. His smell was too overpowering.”

Tilting her jaw up, Rhett took a sharp breath. Though her smirk was teasing, her eyes told a different story. Glancing to the officer walking up to them, probably needing to take Percy’s statement, Rhett leaned in to whisper, “What’re you thinking right now?”

Percy remained collected, “Do you know what plausible deniability is?”

“I know it means to be willfully ignorant because you don’t know the actual details of something which can keep you from gettin’ in trouble.” Catching the shift in her expression Rhett adds, “Why?”

“Do you trust me?”

The officer was about fifteen steps away, but Percy kept her eyes on him, waiting for his answer. Rhett moved his lips to kiss the top of her cheekbone, “with my life.”

He didn’t know what she was cooking up for that drifter, but Rhett wanted nothing but for him to experience hell for what he tried to do. Percy smiled, though nothing about it was warm, “I’ve got it handled, darling. Don’t you worry.”

The next morning while Rhett was fixing to head to the barn he was stopped by Sheriff Joy, who looked at him with slight suspicion. “That drifter who attacked Persephone Addams last night was rushed to the hospital this morning.”

“What for?” He asked nonchalantly, shrugging his jacket on.

Joy leaned against the side of her vehicle. “Torture wounds. Pieces of his skin were flayed off, cigarette burns to his face, and it looked like he was bit by several venomous spiders. Black widows to be exact.” Rhett remained stoic, though part of him wished he could smirk.

Persephone Addams strikes again.

“I hear you and Addams are rather close.”

Rhett raised a brow, “yeah. And?” The whole damn town knew they were together.

“Would you mind telling me where you two went after last night’s incident?” Joy looked around to see if she could spot the Addams family car. “You two were seen leaving together.”

“What’s this gotta to do with what happened to that drifter, Sheriff?” Rhett saw her faultetr at his bluntness, but he wasn’t gonna let her come accusing them of something she had no proof of.

And he knew she didn’t have proof. Percy made sure of that.

Joy hesitated then said, “our security system was hacked into around three in the morning. None of our officers' key cards were used to get into the cell the drifter was held in and our night shift guard was rendered unconscious with chloroform. The system got back up at five just before the shift change. The guy claims he didn’t see who was torturing him—they blindfolded, bound, and gagged him before he could even react. Know anything—or someone who is capable of doing something like that?”

“Obviously not, sheriff,” Rhett scoffed, looking dead in her eyes. “Don’t really associate myself with those types of people. You know?”

“Look, Rhett,” Joy raised a hand, “I’m not trying to accuse you two of anything—.”

“Well it sure sounds like it.”

She made a face at the interruption, “but this drifter pulled a knife on your girl—who proceeded to give him a nasty cut when she shockingly managed to overpower him—.”

“She’s overpowered me plenty of times,” Rhett commented, biting back a smirk. “My baby knows a thing or two about self defense. Maybe she can teach your deputies a thing or two—.”

“My point,” she snaps with a glare, “is I know Persephone Addams has a thing for black widows and there’s rumors she’s done plenty to people who’ve wronged her. The drifter needed stitches with how deep she cut into him and I know all about what happened with Maria Olivares ten years ago.”

“Those charges were dropped, Joy,” Rhett interrupts, tone rising with anger. “It ain’t fair for you to be using that against Percy when you damn well know what Maria and the others did. And why the fuck are you faulting her for cuttin’ that drifter when he was fixin’ to kidnap her! If she hadn’t fought back who knows what the fuck could’ve happened or what if he chose some other poor girl as his target. A blind man could see what he was plannin’ to do,” Rhett shakes his head, “You’d be dealin’ with a whole different situation, Joy.”

That had her speechless, the officer bringing a hand up to caress her jaw. Rhett had a point and she knew it. But still, as much as she agreed with him and didn’t blame Percy for cutting the man last night, she was still an officer of the law. The drifter was tortured under their custody and they have no idea who did it. She had a job to do. “Rhett, I promise you nothing will come to Percy in regards to what happened at the rodeo. She was in the right and it was self defense, and the bastard is going to prison. But I just need to know where you two were after you left so I can clear you both.”

Rhett took a deep breath remaining silent. Then before she could ask what the fuck he was thinking Rhett removed his hat, jacket and began untucking his shirt. “Wha-what are you doing?”

“Showin’ you what we were up to last night when we got back,” the shirt was removed and Rhett turn to display the array of scratch marks on his back. The ones his lady were responsible for after they spent hours in bed. There were also some on his chest from when she was on top at times.

“Jesus Christ,” Joy looked away after getting a good look. “Why are you showing me that?”

Rhett shrugged, pulling the shirt back on. “Thought it was better than to say, ‘I fucked her on every surface until the sun rose and her voice was gone from how much she screamed,’. Or would that have been better for you, Sheriff?”

At that moment Joy received a text from her deputy saying Percy’s cell phone pinged at the tower closest to the Abbott ranch all night and there were no fingerprints left behind at the station that matched hers.

The deputy also relayed that when he stopped by the antique store for her alibi, that Percy showed him the various love bites courtesy of Rhett and that her voice was in fact hoarse that she could barely say words.

Yeah Joy didn’t have much to go with after that. She took her leave very quickly, but there was something about the whole situation that still left an odd feeling in her stomach. But unfortunately for her, there was no physical or even circumstantial evidence besides suspicion that would help her case.

One point, Persephone Addams.

Rhett hoped he’d never see that look of bloodlust in Percy’s eyes again, but knew if he did it was because the person her mind was set on deserved it. Seeing it at the dinner table of her family home proved that. Wednesday was planning something for Maria and the ones who played a key role in humiliating Persephone, something they sure would not be ready for.

Just like that drifter was not ready for what laid in store for him when he targeted the oldest Addams.

A coin is flipped when one meets a member of the Addams family. All they can do is pray it lands on the right side.

……………

Addams!OC taglist: @endofdays56