#planning on posting this once I reach ten chapters

[bahablastplz]

All In | Chapter 8

pairing: Lee Felix x f!reader (mafia au)

summary: You didn't know what you were getting yourself into when you started dating Yang Jungwon, notorious mafia boss. Your life gets flipped upside down when you're found beaten and bloody by SKZ, the rival mafia group, and you're quickly integrated into their lives. What will happen when you try to leave your old life behind and start anew?

chapter summary: you must come to terms with what has just happened and face the fact that you’re still no longer safe

a/n: early chapter post because I’m at a music festival this weekend (not lolla) and it’s my birthday!! if there are any formatting issues it’s because i’m in the middle of fucking nowhere and i had to upload on my phone. enjoy!!!~~

warnings: please see series masterlist for all warnings

series masterlist ~~ series taglist ~~ main masterlist

Felix drives you in a car that you have been in before. You have half the mind to think that you’ve never really seen him drive before, but instead you let yourself wallow in your sorrow. Neither of you speak on the drive. Your tears don’t stop flowing, and he doesn’t bother to ask you about it. The silence is welcomed.

Until he gets a call about twenty minutes into the car ride. Your silence is interrupted as he picks up the phone. Voices are muffled, and you know it’s intentional that he doesn’t put the phone on speaker. You don’t try to eavesdrop anyway. You’ve had enough drama for the night.

Or so you thought. Because when Felix suddenly hangs up the phone and whips the car around 180 degrees, that same panic from earlier bubbles back in your throat.

“Sorry,” he winces as you hold onto the car door handle, taken aback from his movements. You look at him with wide, sad eyes and you can tell from the grimace present on his features that he’s hesitant about what he’s about to tell you. “Um… change of plans. So, we have Minho, erm, Lee Know. He’s safe but his condition is rapidly declining. Really bad news, um, Lee Heeseung was planning an assassination attempt against Jungwon. Either way now that Jungwon is… gone, Heeseung is the next in charge and, from what Lee Know gathers, you’re next on his list. The house is not safe for you.”

You don’t even answer him, finding yourself subconsciously rocking back and forth to soothe yourself. You bury your head in your thighs, instead. A hand touches your shoulder, hesitant but rubbing soothing circles into your skin. With a deep sigh, you welcome it.

“Where are we going?” you finally muster up the courage to ask without looking at the man beside you.

“We’ll find somewhere. Hyunjin sent me the location of a motel in the area.”

You nod at him, and it’s not much later that you pull up into the lot of said motel. It’s packed, but Felix manages to find an empty parking spot and flips the car in with ease. You go to open the door but he stops you.

“Um, I think I need to go inside alone, just to book the room? Um, sorry it’s just, you’re covered with blood, and there’s no need to raise suspicions yeah? It’ll take five minutes, promise.” He goes to open up his door but looks at you. “Will you be okay?”

You’re about to point out that you’re not the only one covered in blood, suddenly noticing the crimson substance tainting the elegant white suit from earlier this evening, but as if he’s read your mind he shrugs off his jacket, leaving just his undershirt. You stare for just a second too long.

“Hmm? Yeah, I’m fine,” you say. He nods his head. You both know it’s a lie.

“It’ll be alright. Just lock the doors once I’m gone. Five knocks and I’m back, okay? Five knocks for Felix. Right. Okay then.”

And the door slams shut. You roll your eyes at the suggestion of locking the door–you would be just fine without it–but still, reach and hit the lock button the second he’s out of sight. You hit it ten times more, just to be safe.

And you’re left in the car, alone. The only thing to be heard is your breathing, heavy and loud, but it gets you to take notice of how abnormal it is and you will yourself to slow it down. You close your eyes, reclining the seat, listening to the beating of the wind against the car door, as it creaks and sways.

You’re alive.

After all this time, you’re alive, after you’ve kissed death’s doorstep more times than you’d like to admit.

When the five knocks come on the car window, you jump despite knowing it's coming. You unlock the car and Felix opens your door, looking at you sheepishly. An arm wraps around your waist and he helps you out of the car, allowing you to put your weight on him. He guides you to the door of the motel in silence. When he unlocks the door and swings it open, you laugh. You can't help it.

“Felix, why is there only one bed?”

He guides you to sit down on it and you look up at him as he locks and deadbolts the motel door behind him.

“This was the only vacancy left,” he says softly. Tears are running down your face and it feels ridiculous that you allow something this small to push you further down the edge.

“We couldn't have found another fucking motel?” It had been a long day, and you had just wanted to lay down, alone.

“Just um… for your protection, the more people around, the harder it is to find you.” It was strange seeing Felix so flustered, a slight blush running uncharacteristically up his cheeks and ears. You roll your eyes, a slight pang in your chest for giving him such an attitude when he hadn’t done anything wrong. You don’t vocalize that, though.

“Whatever, yeah. I'm going to go take a shower. This dress is fucking uncomfortable.” You storm into the dingy bathroom, not meaning to slam the door behind you. The lights flicker to life, buzzing and giving you an unflattering glow in the mirror. You peel the dress off and it slumps to the floor. A layer of blood, dirt and grime covers your skin everywhere but where the dress covered your figure. Your makeup and hair that you had spent so long delicately applying looks wrecked, large clumps of black mascara congealed on your skin. You’re covered in scrapes and scratches all over, a small bruise already forming from where Woojin had struck you.

When will you be able to look in the mirror and recognize yourself again? These past few weeks have left you beaten and bruised and your life has been turned completely upside down. Everytime you look in the mirror a situation leaves you with a new wound, a new something to take care of, a new array of ugly purples and greens and browns littering your skin. Your wrist brace is still on, despite everything, though it’s filthy as well, and removing it reveals the same ugly hues on your skin you had come to hate. What have you gotten yourself into?

You cry when you're in the shower. You really, really cry. It's ugly, it's loud, but it's cathartic. You have cried so much more than you’re willing to admit these past few days. Tears and snot run down the poorly cleaned motel shower drain along with the evidence of the past day. The evidence that Yang Jungwon is dead. The evidence that whatever you've become a part of there's no leaving. No amount of scrubbing your skin raw with a rough washcloth and cheap vanilla soap can erase this fact.

You feel like you’ve been born anew by the time you step out of the shower, thoroughly cleaned yet a little emotionally drained. As you towel dry your body, you look at your gown’s place on the ground. No way in hell are you going to put that on your body again. Wrapping yourself in a slightly fluffy yet matted white robe, you peek outside the bathroom door.

“Felix, I don’t have any clothes–Felix?” As you peer outside into the small room, one thing is evident. Felix is not here. The motel door is no longer deadbolted. Your thoughts run faster than you’d like.

Where is he? Did Heeseung come and get him? Does that mean that Heeseung is around here somewhere as well? Are you in danger? Is Felix okay?

“Felix?” you call. You start looking around the room frantically despite all logic. You open the closet door. You even look under the bed, as if he would be hiding there (He’s not). Your breathing gets heavy and frantic, not for the first time this night. “Felix! Felix? Where are you? Felix?” As you reach to open the door, someone beats you to it.

You scream.

A hand covers your mouth, barely muffling your noises, but as you cry you hear the familiar cadence of his voice. “Shhh, shhhh, hey! It’s okay. It’s alright, I’m right here.” When you see Felix in front of you you wrap your arms around him for a second. His hand touches the small of your back, a gesture of comfort. Then, as if better judgment has appeared, you shove him away harshly. When you look at him you feel anger bubble up in your chest.

“Where were you?” You hate how anxious his brief absence made you feel.

“I had to make a call. And um, get some supplies.” He lifts up the contents of his hands that you had failed to see. Two plastic bags. You take a moment to look Felix up and down. Dark circles frame the undersides of his eyes and his hair is the same amount of disheveled as yours was before your shower.

When he unpacks a box with greasy diner food you nearly moan. The hunger in the pit of your stomach hadn’t made itself apparent until just now, probably overwhelmed with the amalgamation of other emotions swirling in your gut.

He throws you the contents of the other bag. Clothes. Thank God, you think, though you haven’t had time to become embarrassed by your current state, clad in loosely-tied bathrobe. Wordlessly, you step back into the bathroom and change.

You laugh in disbelief when you see the outfit he purchased. You’re thankful nonetheless, especially for the thoughtfulness behind buying you a bra and underwear, even if they’re cheap.

When you step out, you look at him inquisitively.

“Felix, where did you find an ‘I love New York’ t-shirt?” You ask, looking down at your new apparel. “We aren’t even in America.” You don’t mention that your pajama pants are at least two sizes too big.

“Listen, it's three A.M. This was all I could find,” he explains. 3 A.M.?! You realize the implications of his words, meaning that you had been in that warehouse for at least five hours, and you suppress a shudder. You shrug your shoulders and sit down, accepting the food that Felix offers.

When Felix leaves to shower, you cozy up into the motel bed. You appreciate the silence, though the air conditioning rattles and the shower stream can be heard. In the meantime you turn off the overhead light and flick on the bedside lamp. You flip through the TV and turn on the first thing you can find to distract you. It's some RomCom you haven't seen before and you chuckle at the irony of it. While you wish your life could be a RomCom and you are surrounded by attractive men at every corner, they're the most dangerous men in the country and some of them want you dead.

You start to drift off when Felix steps out of the bathroom. He is illuminated by the lamplight, showing his wet hair that sits just past his shoulders. You smile to see that he is wearing pajamas identical to yours, and for a second you think; you are the same. But you are not the same. You and Felix are here for very different reasons. You smile nonetheless.

When he grabs a blanket and sits on the floor you furrow your brow.

“Felix? What are you doing?” You inquire. Your voice comes out quiet, riddled with a sleep-like haze.

“I was going to sleep on the floor,” he says softly. “Don’t worry about me. Just go to sleep, okay?”

You sit up in the bed and yawn, stretching your arms out in a way that is not unlike that of a cat. You rub your eyes in confusion as his words register with you.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” you say. “Get in bed.”

“No no, it’s okay,” he responds. He stretches out on the floor and closes his eyes, as if to show you ‘no really, I’m comfortable down here.’

With a loud groan you get out of bed, wrapping yourself tight with your blanket as you flop onto the floor on the other side of the bed, just out of sight.

“No no no,” he says, though the way his accent softens the vowel and makes your lips quirk up. “What are you doing?”

“If the only way to get you in that bed is for me to not be in it, then so be it, Felix. Now, let me sleep,” you grumble. You’re being petty and you know it, but you really feel adamant about him not sleeping on the floor. You were just being a pain earlier and you didn’t mean your words.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor, Y/N,” he says. You can hear him sit up.

“Watch me,” you spit. “You’re sleeping on that bed whether you like it or not.”

“Y/N.” He says your name seriously this time, like a warning.

“Felix,” you respond in the same tone. “Just lay in the damn bed. I’ve had a long day and I’m tired of fighting, what the fuck–” Before you can register it, your body is in the air. Because you’re wrapped so thoroughly in your blanket, any attempts to flail your limbs about are futile. Felix lifts you so effortlessly that it’s almost laughable, and when he throws you on the bed you noticeably bounce. A sound leaves your body that’s like a mixture of a laugh and a scream, but you try to cover it up with the words that leave your mouth next:

“Felix I swear to God if you don’t sleep in this bed instead, oh. Okay.” You’re silent as Felix gets into the bed next to you with a huff and rolls over, not facing you. You can tell he’s annoyed by your kerfuffle, though you’re not sure if he really means it. You reach over finally and turn out the bedside lamp, submerging the room in darkness.

“Sorry,” you whisper. The word dissipates into the air, spoken to no one but yourself.

Despite knowing that you are both far from asleep, you don’t talk. There’s nothing to talk about, and nothing either of you want to hear. You’re grateful for Felix in this moment, though, and you feel more protected than you have in a very long time just having him by your side.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You’re running through the forest. That very same forest that you ran through that first night, a glimpse of freedom away from Chan and the madness that comes with staying in a house full of men from the mafia. You’re barefoot, vulnerable, broken wrist and probable concussion. You’re running as fast as you can and you’re out of breath, looking behind you every few seconds. You feel as if you are being chased. Who are you running from? Why are you so scared?

You come into contact with something and you hit it hard with a thump. You look up and realize it’s a person that you’ve come in contact with.

“Love,” Jungwon says to you. He hoists you to your feet, gripping your arm harshly. “There’s no use running. They are always going to find you.”

You whip your head around, seeing Chan emerge from the darkness. He’s not even out of breath even though he was clearly the one chasing after you. The expression on his face is nothing less than murderous.

“He doesn’t love you,” Chan spits, gesturing to the man holding you tightly in his arms. “He never loved you.” Jungwon’s grip on your arm tightens, and he wraps his arms around you in what he tries to convince you is a loving embrace.

“I loved you so much, but you gave me up for Chan,” he cries. “How could you do this to me? You’re the reason I’m dead. You know that, right? It’s all your fault.” You turn around to look at him, to refute his claims, but as you do you hear the bang. You don’t have to look to see that Chan was the one that shot him, but Jungwon falls dead in your arms.

As you hold his lifeless body, you’re screaming and shaking him, begging him to wake up. You feel an arm on your shoulder, and you know who it is, but you scream and you scream and you–

“Y/N!”

You’re screaming, you realize, though a hand is over your mouth, trying to muffle the noises. You’re thrashing about, trying to release the hold someone has on your shoulder. You recognize your breathing is fast and your heart is beating rapidly out of your chest, and you vaguely recognize that your skin is damp from your own sweat.

As you try to jump up you feel the arms pulling you back down, and before you can scream again you finally recognize the voice trying to soothe you and bring you down from your high. When you turn and see Felix, his eyes wide in concern, you begin to cry. You bring a hand to cover your own mouth as you remember your nightmare, and you do little to keep yourself from hyperventilating. You turn your head and your whole body away from Felix, not wanting him to see you like this. Suddenly hyperaware, you stand up, ready to run into the bathroom and hide yourself from him when he stops you.

Proving himself to be faster than you, you all but run into his chest. “It’s okay,” he says, and his arms wrap around you tight. You bury your head into his shoulder and try to force your body to untense, focusing on the soothing circles he rubs just below your shoulder blade.

“It’s okay,” he repeats.

“No it’s not.”

“I know.”

He guides you back into the bed and you focus on your breathing. He doesn’t ask you to talk about it. He doesn’t have to, and you both know it.

When you both lay back down in bed, he grabs the TV remote and turns on a movie wordlessly. You’re not sure either of you really know what you’re watching. You lean your body into his slightly, and you match your breathing to his, allowing your chests to rise and fall to the same cadence.

He wraps an arm around you and you lean into his chest. You know he’s just doing it in order to calm you down and that it’s a gesture of kindness, nothing more. Somehow, you fall asleep much faster than the first time and it is restful and dreamless.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

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[fictionalthrill]

Forced Hand Chapter 2 - Looking Ahead

A/N: Greetings! First of all, I want to apologize for taking so long to upload this second chapter. I have had a lot going on since posting the first one and it wasn't until recently that I had the chance to complete it. For those who have been patient and are still sticking around, thank you! I will try and make more time to roll out the chapters at a reasonable schedule.

Once again, I want to stress that I will now be presenting my blog as an 18+ space given the route I plan to take with my writing. I don't plan on posting anything that is explicitly salacious, but there will be suggestive themes and topics which is why I want to be cautious.

Follow this link for the first chapter in the Forced Hand series.

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Description: Lady Y/N's reluctance of marriage is clear, and her distaste is noticeable when Prince Qoren of Dorne arrives to court her. Meanwhile, Gwayne and his father set out to Blackstone castle.

WARNINGS FOR THE CHAPTER: Suggestive themes.

Pairing: Female Reader (Lady Y/N Blackstone) x Gwayne Hightower

Overjoyed by the return of her sister, Y/N spent most of her time with Lorenah. Y/N had her recount her time with Aianna and all she got to see.

     “My quarters in Lord Corbus’s castle overlooked the water and every evening I could watch the sun set. It appeared as if the sea would swallow it whole every day.”

     Y/N smiled as she listened to her sister. The two sat in a gazebo overlooking the gardens of the castle. The gardens held a prominent place in her heart, as they reminded her of her mother.

     Lorenah continued. “But enough about my travels. How do you feel about father offering your hand?”

     Y/N’s smile faded. “I do not wish to think of it, let alone speak of it.”

     “I have avoided the subject long enough…” Lorenah sat up straighter in her chair. “I can understand why you are upset, but marriage is a good thing.”

     “What do you know of marriage, Lorenah?”

     “I am ten and four already, I am not a child.”

     “Being ten and four does make you a child.”

     “Does not. And I know what I have been taught, as well as what I have seen. Besides, it is what I have been raised for. It is my duty, just as much as it is yours.”

     “You are beginning to sound like Sesa.” Y/N shook her head.

     “Because I believe marriage is a good thing? Because I long for it?”

     “Because you are trying to convince me of something I already believed in once. Until I was let down.”

     “It does not mean you cannot try again.”

     “Lorenah, please. I do not wish to discuss this.”

     Suddenly, Sesa appeared in a hurry before the two sisters. “There you are.”

     “Is everything alright, Aunt Sesa?” Lorenah asked.

     “A carriage is about to arrive at the castle. They have requested an audience with Lord Blackstone. We must receive them with him.”

     The girls stood up. “Were we expecting someone?” Y/N asked.

     “No. They have asked for passage through the Riverlands but not before stopping here. Off we go!” Sesa practically pushed them towards the castle.

     When they nearly arrived at the entrance of the castle, Lord Blackstone came across them as he was making his way outside to receive the carriage. “Girls, Sesa, what are you doing here?”

     “We have come to receive the visitor with you, my lord,” Sesa said.

     “Who exactly are we meeting, father?” Lorenah asked.

     Lord Blackstone coughed before he answered. “The Prince of Dorne.”

     “The Prince of Dorne? Well, we must not keep him waiting, my lord,” Sesa said.

     As they reached the outside of the castle, a carriage with a small company of Dornish men, came to halt. The driver of the carriage jumped to the ground and opened the door, revealing a tanned and muscular man with dark hair. As he stepped down from the carriage, he looked towards the Blackstones and flashed them a grin.

     “Good evening, Lord Blackstone,” he said. His accent thick but his words were clear.

     “Good evening, Prince Qoren,” he said as he walked down some steps to meet him halfway. “To what do I owe this unplanned visit?”

     “My apologies. You see, I was returning to Dorne, after my visit to King’s Landing, when I caught word, in my passage through the Stormlands, of one of your daughters’ availability for marriage.”

     When Y/N heard this her heart climbed to her throat and she did her best to hide both her fear and anger.

     Lord Blackstone took a quick glance at her. “Right, well, I see word travels fast.”

     “Faster than my carriage, that is for sure,” Qoren put on his most charming smile, “You see, Lord Blackstone, I am seeking a wife at this very moment in my life. And when I heard of your daughter, I thought it best for me to introduce myself personally, and try and vie for her hand, with your blessing, if granted.”

     Blackstone coughed. “Yes. Well, I do appreciate your decision to come yourself.”

     “Of course. I only request an audience with you and…” he locked eyes with Y/N “that your daughter give me a moment of her time so that we may get to know one another.”

     “I would not mind an audience, but it is the evening…”

     “Yes, I apologize for arriving so late. As I mentioned before, we were riding through the Stormlands when I heard the news and diverted our path here, not really anticipating if we would arrive by the morning or by the night. But I would gladly come again tomorrow to do things properly if I am welcomed.”

     “That would be preferred.”

     “Excellent, my company and I will set camp near your castle for the night. Do you approve?”

     “Yes.”

     “Very good then. I shall see you tomorrow, Lord Blackstone.” Qoren turned his attention to the women standing at the top of the steps and bowed his head in acknowledgement. “Ladies.” Prince Qoren climbed back into his carriage and left along with his company.

     Lord Blackstone walked back up the steps and passed by his daughters and Lady Sesa. She, however, did not waste any time intervening.

     “My lord, this prospect will surely be beneficial to Y/N.”

     Y/N rolled her eyes and scoffed at Sesa’s comment.

     “Beneficial how, Sesa?” Blackstone asked.

     “It could heighten the interest of another suitor. And more suitors means more choices.”

     Blackstone stopped in his tracks and turned Y/N. “Is this something you would be willing to entertain?”

     “Are you seriously inquiring me on this?” Y/N said.

     “He is a prince, I thought—”

     Y/N scoffed. “You really believe I would see a prince and my opinion on an arranged marriage would change? Do you think me that shallow?”

     “No, Y/N, I—”

     But before he could speak his daughter left. Blackstone, Sesa, and Lorenah watched as she stomped away.

     “I will go check on her,” Lorenah said.

     “I admire your bravery, my dear. But I believe it is best we leave her alone.”

     “I understand, father.”

     “Let us go prepare for dinner,” Blackstone said.

--

     The ride from Oldtown to Blackstone Castle in the Riverlands was a rather long one. It was proving to be exhausting to both Gwayne and his father. There was a silence in the Hightower carriage for the first half of their journey.

     “Once we arrive, I will request an audience with Lord Blackstone,” Otto said. “I will want you there so that he sees you are willing to face him after all this time.”

     Gwayne cleared his throat. “How are you so sure he will receive us?”

     “Blackstone is not one to hold a grudge. He will at least hear us out.”

      Gwayne only nodded his head.

     “How do you intend to win her over?”

     “I am not sure. It certainly was not something I expected to have to do… again.”

     “Should we stop for a gift on our way? Jewelry, perhaps?”

     “She is not one for jewelry.”

     “No? A dress, then? Some type of sweet? Or do you know of something she would prefer over those things?”

     “Flowers…” Gwayne glanced out the carriage, “She adores flowers.”

--

     The next morning Y/N awakened from her deep slumber when the doors to her chambers burst open. In stormed Sesa with three handmaidens. She walked towards the windows and spread the curtains, allowing the sunlight to beam through.

     “Time to wake up, my dear niece, it is long past dawn.”

     “Aunt Sesa, I do not remember requesting a morning call.”

     “You did not, I took it upon myself,” Sesa looked at a one of the handmaidens, “Prepare her a bath.”

     A handmaiden rushed out of the room.

     “And you, bring the finest dresses she owns, especially the ones sent by Aianna.”

     At her order, another handmaiden proceeded to gather Y/N’s dresses.

     “What exactly is the purpose of this wakeup call?”

     “Do not pretend to have forgotten, dear niece. You will have a gentleman caller today; it is critical you look your best and are prepared.”

     “I would hardly call him that,” Y/N commented.

     “He is a prince, with an interest in marriage, and above all, an interest in you.”

     “He is the Prince of Dorne, I am sure he has women dropping to their knees for him, both literally and figuratively.”

     The handmaiden that carried the dress options snickered at Y/N’s statement.

     “Y/N! A lady is not to speak in such a manner!” An outraged Sesa said.

     “A lady is not to speak truth?”

     “Enough. I will leave you to be bathed and dressed.” Sesa glanced at the handmaiden with the dresses and pointed at one of them. “That one. Aianna certainly has great taste.”

     At Sesa’s exit, Y/N looked at the handmaiden. “Is it too much to ask for you to submerge me in the bath?”

     “My apologies, my lady, but it would not be ideal.”

     “Figures.”

--

     After her bath, the handmaidens helped Y/N into one of the dresses her sister Aianna had gifted her. It was a fully gray with gold detailing, ensemble. The top was a body corset with gold buttons and a slightly open high neck and open collar. The skirt was straight with a bit of flare, mostly noticeable when she walked. Once the handmaidens finished, Y/N joined her father, her sister, and her Aunt Sesa for their morning meal. Though she attempted to enjoy her meal in silence, it proved difficult to avoid the conversation about the dornish prince.

     Still, when the prince’s arrival was announced, Y/N realized she would have preferred to endure a whole day of conversations about the prince than to have to speak with him. But alas, this was the hand she was dealt in life. It was not as if it could be any worse.

     While her father met in his study with the prince, Y/N waited for the inevitable in the gardens. Sitting at their gazebo, she twiddled her thumbs as she stared towards the doors that led from the castle to the gardens.

     “Mind if I join you?” Lorenah asked.

     “Of course.” Y/N forced a smile.

     Lorenah acknowledged her sister’s discomfort. “You look beautiful. Aianna’s gift suits you well.”

     “Thank you.”

     Lorenah took a deep breath. “Would you like for me to speak to father? Perhaps if I say something he—”

     “No, Lorenah. I appreciate you wanting to help, but I believe it is best you not get involved in this.”

     “But—”

     “No. Thank you, but no. Let us allow these things to unfold on their own.”

“I know I said I believe marriage to be a good thing, but I must confess, I do not like the idea of you living in Dorne.”

“Stop, I am not going to Dorne. It is not as if an engagement with the prince is definitive. I will make him wish he had gone to his homeland sooner rather than later.”

“Y/N, you mustn’t be rude either.”

“I won’t be,” she said. "I will simply highlight just how incompatible we are."

Just then, she spotted her father entering the gardens with Prince Qoren. As they approached the gazebo, Y/N stood before them, Lorenah was a few steps behind.

“Prince Qoren, I would like to formally introduce my daughter, Y/N Blackstone,” Lord Blackstone said.

As Y/N curtsied, the prince reached for her hand and placed a gentle kiss on the back of it. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Y/N.” His eyes surveyed the young woman, not hiding his intrigue.

Fighting the urge to toss him a sarcastic comment, Y/N smiled at the man, and he released her hand. Her eyes scanned his appearance; a golden, deep V-neck top that exposed most of his chest, while his dark curls dripped over his shoulders.

Lord Blackstone watched them closely before introducing his youngest. “And that little one behind her is Lorenah Blackstone.”

Lorenah curtsied and the prince bowed his head in acknowledgement. He cleared his throat before speaking. “Might I request an audience with you, Lady Y/N? I would very much like for you to get to know me and assess my character yourself.”

Y/N took a deep breath. “Right, father?”

“I think that is a wonderful idea. Feel free to stroll the gardens while you do so. Lorenah and I shall chaperone from here.”

Qoren took a step to the side granting Y/N the room to walk ahead. As she proceeded through one of the garden paths, Qoren gave one last curt nod to Blackstone and joined Y/N’s side.

“I am grateful for the opportunity you have granted me, Lady Y/N.”

“Of course, my prince.”

As they took a couple steps in silence, the prince spoke again. “Might I be so bold to state that you are without a doubt, a stunning woman.”

Though her cheeks grew warm, Y/N attempted to play off the comment. “I appreciate your compliment, but I have seen dornish women. I do not come close.”

“I respectfully disagree. I believe you would fit right in with the women of Dorne. You are undoubtedly beautiful.”

"And you are rather forward."

"I am honest."

"Is that what you call it?" Y/N said.

Qoren chuckled. "In Dorne, we never let a woman's beauty go unrecognized. And after my time with the Dothraki, I have not missed a single opportunity to admire the beauty around me."

His statement on the Dothraki caught Y/N's interest. "The Dothraki? You lived among them?"

"Yes. I was with them for some time. Learned a great deal from them."

"And what exactly can one learn from the Dothraki?"

     "For one, how to fight. They are fearless warriors. I also had the pleasure of embracing their culture and their language. It is quite rich and unlike what you are all used to in Westeros."

Y/N continued to listen to Qoren. "Seems like it was a rigorous experience."

"It was. I was there for five years."

Y/N stopped by the forget-me-nots at the end of the path. She examined them closely and took in their scent, all the while Qoren admired her. Y/N then turned to Qoren.

"Since you are being honest, might I be frank?"

"Please."

She continued walking and Qoren joined her side. "I confess, Prince Qoren, I no longer harbor an interest in marriage."

A grin broke along his lips. "Lord Blackstone may have alluded to that. I do appreciate your frankness."

"I am surprised my father alluded to it, as you said."

"Might I ask why it is that you are no longer interested in marriage? Do you disapprove of the institution or me as your suitor?"

Y/N locked eyes with him. She sighed deeply. "I have nothing against you, my Prince. I simply lost interest in the idea of marriage."

"Might I ask what led you to make this decision?"

"Not what, more of a who… You know nothing about what happened?"

"I am afraid I do not."

"So, you just changed course to try and court someone you knew nothing about?"

     Qoren shrugged. "You could say that."

     "I did say that. Now, I thought you were honest. Do not start to hold back now."

     "I must admit, I did not know much about you. But what could be so bad that a woman like you would be unmarried at this stage of her life?"

     Y/N took a deep breath and did her best to avoid the conversation. But Qoren continued.

     "Trust me, Lady Blackstone, there is nothing about you or your past that would lead me to look at you differently. I would not refrain from courting you unless you want me to."

     Y/N locked eyes with the prince again. She contemplated telling him the truth, not that she cared what he of all people thought. She simply hated to relieve the reality over and over again. She tore her eyes away from him.

     "I was engaged once. The eldest son of family I had known my whole life, he asked my father for my hand in marriage. I was…"

     "In love?"

     "No… not--I do not know…"

     Had she been in love? All she could remember was the humiliation and above all, the hurt.

     "I remember I looked forward to it."

     "What happened?"

     "He called off the wedding. Two days before I was set to walk down the aisle."

     "Do you have any idea as to why he did it?"

     "No. And I do not care to find out."

     They walked in silence for a couple of steps before Qoren spoke again.

     "I am sorry that happened to you." He snuck a glance behind her to see just how much of his actions his father and sister would see. The rows of flowers and small trees hid them a bit. Qoren stepped closer to Y/N and tucked some of her hair behind her ear. His eyes bore into hers. "And know, that if it had been me, I would not have hesitated to marry you."

     His closeness threw Y/N off. She cleared her throat and turned her eyes to the flowers as she glided past him. "I appreciate your… kindness? But I do not believe we would be a great match."

     "Why is that?"

     "We are just too different. We come from very different places."

     He sighed. "My lady, I understand the idea of Dorne can be quite intimidating, but if you gave it a chance, you would realize," he leaned towards her, "that Dorne is actually better." He whispered that last bit.

     "Better? In what way exactly?"

     "We provide the freedom for people to express themselves. To explore their desires."

     "The freedom of expression and exploration of desires you speak of mean something entirely different from what you are conveying."

     "Is that so? Care to tell me what it is I am conveying?"

     "A reality that I should not discuss, least of all with a male suitor."

     Qoren licked his lips as he attempted to hide his amusement. "I had forgotten there are more puritans than free people past the border of Dorne."

     "If you think of us as such puritans, then why pursue a wife here?"

     "I thought it would be in our best interest to show unity with those beyond our land. And I wanted to explore my desires beyond Dorne."

     "Well, I am sorry that you have come all this way to be disappointed."

     "Who said I was disappointed?"

     "I assumed you would be, seeing as we are so different. And I would clearly be out of place in Dorne. I have no desires like your people do."

     "No desires? See, on this I believe you are wrong. Everyone has desires, we all desire something. Some people just need someone to help bring them to the surface."

     Y/N shook her head as she laughed at the prince's words.

     "I am glad I amuse you. It is a good sign."

     The two continued to chat as they toured the outside quarters of Blackstone castle. When Y/N noticed only Lorenah remained in the gazebo, she figured her father was in his study. So, she rounded the castle with the prince until they reached another entrance, and she guided him inside.

     "Where are you taking me, my lady?"

     "I am sure my father would want speak to you after our little stroll, so I am taking you back to his study."

     "Perhaps you could show me your own private quarters," he suggested. "I am curious to see what they are like."

     Once again Y/N shook her head and rolled her eyes at the man who grinned mischievously at her.

     "I am sure the women in Dorne would leap at the opportunity to do that, but I am not like them. Besides, you would never get my father's approval--"

     Y/N's words were cut short when she stepped inside the open study and her eyes landed on the three men that sat in the room. Her father sat at his desk and across from him to his right was the Lord Hand himself, Otto Hightower, and to his right the Hand's son.

     "Gwayne…" was all that left Y/N's lips.

     Upon seeing her, Gwayne rose to his feet clumsily before composing himself. "Lady Y/N," he said.

     Shocked, Y/N turned away, expressing a low apology before disappearing from the room. Gwayne and the rest of men remained quiet after her exit.

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

Adding two readers that asked for tags. Thanks for reading y'all! @deniixlovezelda @wallacewillow0773638

[lostbookmark]

MDNI 🔞

Main Masterlist here

Whispered Vows Masterlist here

Summary: You thought planning your wedding was going to be a magical memory. You didn't realize that it might make you second guess everything.

Pairing: Fiancée Yoongi x Insecure F. Reader

Genre: Romance, Angst, Smut, Hurt-Comfort

Warnings: Explicit Sex, Toxic Family Dynamics, Arguments, Sex Toys, Self Doubt, Over Thinking, Yoongi Overworking Himself, Reader Just Needs To Speak Up.

A/N: I know I just posted chapter 5, but I'm in a good mood. Here is chapter 6.

Chocolate cake is perfectly moist, raspberry filling a touch too tart. You write down your thoughts on the provided worksheet the bakery supplied you after you swallowed the chocolaty goodness. You have been looking forward to your cake tasting for weeks now. Now, as you sit at the table with ten beautiful cupcakes before you, it just feels empty. Your eyes turn to look out the window and see Yoongi pacing up and down the sidewalk in front of the bakery while on the phone with Namjoon, running his hand through his hair. He promised that he would help you with this, but once again, here he is working. Your patience is almost nonexistent at this point. You just wanted this one day with him, and he couldn't even give you that.

Reaching out, you grab the next sweet confection, cut into it with your fork, and take a large bite. Vanilla cake is moist and sweet, lemon curd filling has a perfectly smooth texture, and vanilla buttercream is not too sweet. Favorite by far. You place your pen back down and sigh as you swallow that bite. You look at Yoongi through the window again and see him hang up the phone before entering the bakery. Sitting next to you, he opens his texts, and you see him message Hobi something. Your eyes drift back to your notes, and you think you might go with the vanilla.

“You can go,” you tell him softly while still focused on your paper but not really reading anything. You just wanted to make sure your handwriting was neat and legible. This would be a nice little keepsake.

“Hmmm,” he says, still looking at his phone as his fingers fly across the screen. His face is scrunched in pure concentration as he rereads what he just typed. “What? What did you say?”

“You can leave,” you say louder, looking at him, and his head finally snaps to you. “You clearly don't want to be here, and I don't want to force you to be here. You can go.”

“I took the day off to be here,” he tells you, furrowing his eyebrows. “Why would you say that? You know how hard it is for me to make time for anything right now. We should be lucky that I am even here right now.”

“You took the day off? Did you really?” You question him and sip on your water that was provided to you to cleanse your palate.

Yoongi hasn't touched his water nor his worksheet. He probably hasn't even looked at the cupcakes that the baker worked hard on. The beautifully piped buttercream and colorful fruits and chocolate pieces were probably not appreciated. You appreciated them.

“I'm right here,” he argues and touches his chest with both of his hands to prove the point that he is indeed there. "I'm sitting right next to you."

“No, you're not,” you whisper. His phone rings again, with Namjoons name popping up on the screen.

“There is something wrong with our software at the studio. We lost a bunch of files,” he explains, gripping his phone tightly when the ringing stops. “You just don't understand. This is really bad.”

“I understand,” you tell him, nodding your head. “I do, I get it, and I said you can go.”

“It's not like I wanted this to happen,” he argues a bit too loudly, causing the bakery staff to look over at your table out of curiosity. You want to shrink away from embarrassment at their stares, and he quickly changes his tone. “We just lost weeks if not months of work,” he said much more softly. “All this time that I had to be at the studio, working all those long hours. It was all for nothing.”

Your heart sinks into your stomach as he starts getting texts in rapid succession, his phone continuously chiming. It rings so loud in your ears. You're tired. You haven't felt this tired in a long time. Not since that night you thought he was cheating on you. You're tired of dealing with this wedding and making these damn choices. You're tired of worrying about him. You're tired of sleeping alone at night. You're tired of being patient. You're tired of being tired.

“Yoongi,” you say and take a deep breath. “Please leave.”

“That's not fair,” he said. “This isn't my fault that this happened.”

“I…I don't care. I want you to leave,” you tell him as you turn back to the baked goods and take the card in front of the next dessert. Chocolate cake, salted caramel filling, and chocolate buttercream. “This experience is ruined. I'm just going to choose a stupid cake that you don't give a shit about and be done with it.”

“Y/N,” he says your name softly.

You ignore him and take a bite of your next pastry. Picking up your pen, you get ready to make your notes. Yoongi’s phone rings in the background, and you can hear him swear. Cake is a little crumbly. The filling is delicious with the right amount of saltiness, and buttercream could be a little sweeter. You can hear him sigh loudly before he gets up from the table and walks out of the bakery. You breathe deeply through your nose and blink rapidly, trying to stop the tears that threaten to fall.

“Is everything okay over here?” The owner and head baker asks as she approaches the table quite cautiously.

“Yes,” you say, giving her a small smile. “I'm ready. I think I have decided.”

“Oh, perfect,” she says and claps her hands together lightly. “I'll go get my tablet. We will get you ordered and get you scheduled on the calendar.”

Your smile drops as she walks away. You are such a liar. You are not ready. Not even in the slightest.

“I'm calling the wedding off,” you say as soon as the door opens.

“I'm sorry….WHAT?” Jisoo says clearly in shock. You push past her and enter her apartment, making your way to her couch where you collapse face first into the cushions in exhaustion. “I think that I heard you wrong. Please say that again and maybe more slowly.”

“No,” you said, your voice muffled by the cushion. You don't even bother looking at her. You know she is looking at you like you are crazy. “You heard me right.”

Jisoo sits on the floor next to the couch and moves your hair out of your face. She gently continues to stroke your hair in a comforting manner. You close your eyes and relax into her touch. She smiles sadly as she looks at you.

“I don't think you really mean that,” she tells you softly as she pulls her delicate hand away. You huff out a breath of irritation and sit up on the couch, pulling your knees to your chest. “Tell me what's going on.”

“He's been so busy, and I don't see him that often unless I make the effort to go to his studio. Then, I just end up cleaning the studio for him. I finally got him to help me with the cake tasting, and work still came first. I don't know if I can live like this forever,” you tell her. “I don't know if I want to.”

“Have you talked to him about this?” Jisoo asks, moving from the floor to sit next to you on the much more comfortable couch.

“Not really,” you admit, shaking your head. “I just miss us. I miss how we used to be before he got all busy, and the studio became everything to him.”

“Relationships change,” Jisoo tells you. “You may have hit a small rough patch now, but is it worth throwing it all away? After everything that you have been through. Do you want to throw it away?”

“Sometimes, I look at you and Seungkwan or Lisa, and Jimin and I get so jealous. You get to go out on dates and sleep next to them every night. You get to have real conversations and homemade dinners,” you explain to her. “I get to go home to a frozen microwavable dinner and a television for a companion. Sometimes, it's like he doesn't even exist, and it feels like I'm back on my own again.”

The door to the apartment opens, and you see Seungkwan enter. You watch as he takes off his shoes and hangs both his coat and bag on a hook, protruding from the wall before entering the room. He spots you on the couch and gives you a contemplative look.

“Well, that explains it,” he says and walks away to the kitchen.

“What?” Jisoo asks her boyfriend. You can hear the refrigerator open and close before he walks back out with a bottle of water in his hand. “What explains what?”

“I needed something signed, and Yoongi…well…he was grumpier than normal when I went to his studio. He also, kind of…” he trailed off for a few seconds. “Looked like he had been crying. Maybe? Does he do illegal substances?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head at him.

“Then he was definitely crying,” Seungkwan confirms.

On one hand, your heart sank as the words Seungkwan just said sank in. Had he been crying? Maybe you were too hard on him. Maybe you shouldn't have kicked him out of the bakery. You guess you probably could have been nicer about it. On the other hand, it just made you even madder. You were suffering too, and you still don't think that he cares. If he cared, he would have turned his phone off and stayed with you today. However, he didn't. He left. He left you there alone to order one of the plainest wedding cakes there probably ever was. He left in his car, leaving you to take the bus to Jisoo's.

“Can you please give us a minute,” Jisoo asks her boyfriend. Without a word, he walks down the hall and into the back of the apartment to the bedroom. You don't speak until you hear the bedroom door shut.

“Do you think….” You trail off in a small voice. “Do you think I should be getting married?”

Jisoo wraps her arm around you and pulls you down into her lap. She once again moves her hand to your hair and gently smooths it away from your face. She doesn't answer your question right away. It probably takes her a full two minutes before she finally speaks.

“I can't answer that,” she tells you, and it makes you clench your teeth in frustration. “I won't tell you not to marry him. It's okay to be jealous of me and Lisa and our relationships. However, I get jealous of you, too. The way that Yoongi looks at you, Y/N. Jimin and Seungkwan don't look at us like that. Yoongi looks at you like he would hang the moon for you. He would burn the world down for you.”

“I know he would,” you say as a tear drips down your face.

“If you don't love him, then I say don't marry him. If you do love him, then I say fight for him. You tell him how you feel and you fight,” she says seriously.

“I already told her to talk to him weeks ago, but no one ever listens to me," Seungkwan called from the back of the apartment. You and Jisoo start giggling and sit up to look at her. Her nosy boyfriend clearly had been listening to your entire conversation. “I would also hang the moon for you too, Jisoo.”

“Please don't tell Lisa about this. I don't need her saying anything to anyone,” You look at her, hold your pinky finger out. “Jimin loves gossip just as much as she does.”

“I won't. I promise,” she said softly and wrapped her own pinky around yours. “I promise.”

You checked the apartment first but you were not surprised when you found that he wasn't there. Now, you stand outside of his studio door, not sure if you should ring his doorbell or enter the code and walk in. You look up and down the deserted hallway before you slowly raise your forefinger and push the doorbell. Standing up straight, you wiggle your fingers that hang loosely at your sides as you wait for him to open the door. Your heart feels like it's going to pound out of your chest. You take a deep breath through your nose and slowly release it out of your mouth. Again…again…again.

“Y/N?” Jungkook says as the door finally opens and loud rap music flows out of the darkened room from the speakers.

You look over Jungkook's shoulder and see Yoongi look at you from his chair in surprise. His hair was disheveled and sticking up in all sorts of directions. He had changed into black track pants and an oversized white hoodie. They were both wrinkled, and the hoodie might be a little stained. You'll have to try and wash it for him later. Hopefully, you will be able to get the stains out. Yoongi stands from his seat and stares at you but doesn't say anything.

“Umm, can he and I have a minute?” You ask Jungkook, who still stands in the doorway. “Unless you're too busy.”

“NO!” Yoongi exclaims as he takes a few steps away from his chair. “Kook was just leaving.”

“Yeah, I was just leaving,” Jungkook agreed and nodded his head. “Everything is all set now. Have a good talk, bye.”

Jungkook practically runs out of the studio and down the hallway, nearly tripping over his own feet. Yoongi catches the door with his hand before it closes and opens it for you again. As you walk in, you notice that it was pretty cluttered with several discarded white styrofoam carryout boxes on his table and couch. A small pile of dirty laundry sat on the floor in the corner of the room. You can't even begin to imagine how long they have been there for. You know that you haven't been by in a while to clean up for him, but this was ridiculous. It even smelled a little bit, and it made you scrunch your nose as the stench hit you. Yoongi dropped his head and rubbed the back of his neck as he caught your facial expression. Good, he should be embarrassed.

“Is everything…” you trail off and motion to his work space.

“Oh, yeah. We got the files back pretty quickly, thankfully. I hurried back to the bakery, but you were already gone.” he explains.

“Oh,” you say softly and continue to look at his mess.

“You weren't at home either,” he tells you, and your eyes went back to him. “I figured you probably went to Lisa's or Jisoo's.”

“Jisoo's,” you confirmed. “Seungkwan said he saw you today. He said it looked like you had been crying. Were you?”

“He's got a big mouth,” Yoongi snaps, turning away from you. He pushes his chair, and it goes rolling across the room before hitting the wall. It makes you jump just a tiny bit.

“Were you crying over me or the lost files?” You ask, crossing your arms.

“Are you seriously asking me that?” He asks, turning back to you. “You think I would cry over work. Baby, I hurt you. I hurt you, and I took you for granted. You take care of me, you have been planning this whole wedding by yourself and I can't even do one damn thing for you.”

“Yoongi,” you say with a sigh and drop your arms.

“No, it's true,” he argues. “I don't even know why you are still with me. I would have left me a long time if I were you. Jungkook is even surprised that you're still here. Jimin tells me all the time that Lisa is worried about you.”

“Do you want to marry me? Be honest with me,” you plead.

“Yes, of course I want to marry you. I want nothing more than to be yours…forever,” he assures you.

"It doesn't feel like it,” you say, kicking a stray chopstick that was on the floor. “It feels like you don't care about the wedding at all. You’re always so busy.”

“Do you want me to quit? Make Namjoon buy me out so I can work some crappy, dead-end 9 to 5 job? Have us both worried about making ends meet? Working paycheck to paycheck?” He asks, throwing his arms in the air out of exasperation.

“Now you're the one not being fair, Yoongi. If you can't figure out how to balance your life with me and work, then maybe…” you say, but he immediately cuts you off.

“Stop right there,” he growls at you and points his finger at you. “Don't you dare finish that sentence. I am trying my best.”

“I don't know how much longer I can do this,” you tell him as you will yourself not to cry. You want to be strong. For once in your life, you just want to be strong and not run away to lean on someone else to help you. “If I knew how alone I would be all the time I….”

“Stop!” he says loudly. “Don't you think I get lonely too? Don't you think that I miss you? It's not easy to live like this. I get that!”

“THEN WHY CAN'T YOU JUST COME HOME!” You scream at him.

Immediately, you feel guilty for yelling. The two of you both stand there, glaring at each other, breathing hard. A large lump has formed in your throat, and your heart starts to race once again. The tension in the room is heavy and thick but not in a good way. It's never been this way between you two, and you don't know how to climb and claw your way out of it. The music in the studio changes over to something slower and almost melancholic. It feels fitting for this moment.

“Y/N,” he says quietly, breaking the silence.

“I’m sorry. I'll clean up,” you whisper as you turn toward the messy couch.

“No,” he says, grabbing your hand, pulling you to him, and you let him. You don't want to fight him anymore. It hurts too much. Your heart hurts so freaking much.

Yoongi guides your hands up and around the back of his neck, and he wraps his arms around your waist, pressing himself right up against you. Yoongi buries his face into your neck, and you rest your own on his shoulder. He gently starts rocking the two of you back and forth. Dancing? Dancing to that slow beat pouring out of his sound system in the middle of his dimly lit studio. His arms and hands cling onto you as if you are his lifeline. Like he would drown if he were to let go of you. You lift your face and kiss the side of his neck softly, lips barely touching him. Yoongi pulls his face back and rests his forehead against your own. Your bodies are still gently swaying side to side in your own little world.

“Please, don't leave me,” he gently begs, “I promise I'll do better.”

“Don't make promises that you can't keep,” you say, looking right into his eyes.

“I promise,” he says again, leaning toward your mouth. You close the gap and gently kiss him on the lips. “Tell me to quit, and I will. Tell me to run away with you, and I will. Do you want to move to Paris? Our own little island? I'll make it happen. I would do anything for you.”

Jisoo was right. He would probably burn the world down for you.

“I know you will,” you tell him and lay your head against his chest. Yoongi rests his head on the top of your head. Your bodies still sway with the music. Dancing. Dancing in your own little world in the middle of his studio. “I know you will.”

Tagged Readers:

@mggv97, @granataepfelchen, @kam9404, @svnbangtansworld, @futuristicenemychaos, @notarshia, @busanbby-jjk

[howlinchickhowl]

Ristretto - mini update

Hey! So, uh. I've been working on the next chapter of Ristretto for a good long while now. I'm finding it challenging because it's a lot of spice and that's one of the things I find hardest to write well. The next chapter, May, the lusty month of may, is planned as basically a five + 1 of fucking, and I have completed one section! So I have decided what I am doing for this chapter is mini updates by section here on tumblr, and then whenever I have all the sections complete I will update on ao3. In all honesty I just feel like I need the boost of actually posting something right now.

If you remember this fic and want to read the updates separately as they come, great! If you would rather wait and read them all in one go as one whole chapter, also great!

If you have no idea what Ristretto is, it's my coffeeshop AU I have been writing forever and a day and you can read from the beginning here.

And now without further ado!

Chapter 9(a) - rated E

May

By the time Ian closes the store, Mickey has taken to the break room for a nap, and Ian completes all of his nightly cleaning duties to the sounds of him snoring deep and rhythmic. When he’s done Ian shakes him awake and is treated to a full ten minutes of Mickey yawning and squinting like a sleepy baby while they gather their shit and lock up. They walk to the L and it seems to dawn on Mickey just when they’re getting on the train that he doesn’t actually know what Ian has planned, or where they’re going.

He gripes when Ian refuses to tell him, makes a few guesses but doesn’t get anywhere close. When they get to their stop he looks confused, wary, like maybe Ian’s playing some sort of trick on him. But he follows all the same. 

They get off at 47th and cut back across the 90 towards the maze of streets they both sort of call home. Ian leads them through Fuller Park, past the train depot, and the little league field.

“I peed on first base here once.” Mickey tells him, with a childish sort of pride, hooking his fingers into the chain-link fence and stopping to stare out at the spot in question.

“Why?” Ian stops beside him, watching his face as he looks, remembers. Mickey shrugs, like he doesn’t know why, but there is a faraway look in his eyes that suggests that this is not really the case.

“Bet you were a little terror.” Ian jokes, bumping Mickey’s shoulder with his own.

“I was a Milkovich.” Mickey smiles, licks his teeth, kind of feral, and pushes off from the fence. “We got far to go?” He asks, and Ian shakes his head no, pushing off as well and steering them across the little patch of green adjacent to the field so they can hang a right onto Normal.

A couple of blocks and a couple of turns later and they’re there. A road of empty homes, a tiny ghost town in the middle of the night. It’s eerie, actually, Ian thinks as they walk. They reach their destination, two doors down from Lip’s new place, a little square box of a home with faded gray walls, an overgrown front yard, and, crucially, a shitty back door with a broken lock.

Ian leads them through the little wilderness of the yard around to the back, jiggles the handle a little in the way that he has figured out gives him the quickest access, and ushers Mickey inside.

The electricity is out but Ian is prepared, he reaches over to the counter and flips on the camping lantern he had set there for this exact purpose. It’s not bright but it gives off just enough light for Mickey to see the selection of snacks Ian has set out next to the sink, the array of candles he has prepared on most of the other surfaces, ready to light, and through the open door into the next room where he has set up a little nest for them.

Mickey’s back is to him and he hasn’t spoken yet, and it’s making Ian kind of nervous. Was this a weird thing to do? Was it too much? Maybe he should have talked to him about it before? The seconds tick by and neither of them speaks and Ian’s heart starts to pound like that time he and Lip had boosted a car and ended up in front of a cop car at a red light, holding their breaths and hoping like hell that the car hadn’t been reported stolen yet.

Sucking in a deep breath he moves past Mickey and starts to light the candles, just to give himself something to do.

“It’s not much, I don’t know, I thought…”

He trails off, holds his lighter to the wick of a dusty teddy bear shaped candle Debbie had been throwing away and chances a glance at Mickey, nervous, but unable to stop himself from trying to figure out what he’s thinking.

Mickey’s eyes roam around the room, taking in the sight as the newly lit candles cast warm flickering shadows over his impassive face. They land at last on Ian’s, reflections of the flames dancing against the black of his pupils.

“It’s private.” Ian shrugs.

Mickey cocks an eyebrow, drags his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment and nods.

“Private, huh?” He asks, stepping closer so their bodies brush against each other. Ian reaches around past him to light another candle, no noise but their breathing and the soft swish of his sleeve against Mickey’s.

He lights the candle, and the one next to it, placing them gently back in place on the counter, and when he turns his head towards Mickey he is right there. Their faces are inches apart, so close he could count the individual freckles on Mickey’s eyelids, could extend his tongue and lick the tip of his nose.

Their eyes lock onto each other’s and his breath is suddenly coming in shallow little huffs that blow the stray hairs hanging over Mickey’s forehead up.

“Tell me Gallagher,” Mickey’s voice is hushed, a low rumble of a thing that gets Ian’s nerves tingling as Mickey squares up to him, getting his body even closer and laying assured hands on Ian’s belt buckle. “What do we need somewhere private for?”

His eyebrows tick up again, suggestive, knowing, and his fingers find stronger purchase on Ian’s belt, the backs of his first knuckles brushing the sensitive skin of Ian’s stomach while his thumbs trace the outline of the buckle. Ian sucks in a sharp breath, Mickey draws in his own, long and slow and he waits.

Ian moves first, slamming his face into Mickey’s with enough force to push him back into the counter and latching his lips onto Mickey’s with almost desperate fervor, and after that it’s pointless trying to say who is kissing or grabbing or undressing whom.

Tongues and lips and teeth all slide and catch and drag, Ian pulls Mickey’s jacket down his shoulders, Mickey gets Ian’s pants open and shoved down over the swell of his ass. They move as one frenzied unit, pulling and grabbing and pushing and shoving, until Ian’s pants are around his ankles and they are tripping and stumbling and laughing into each other’s mouths trying to stay upright.

Mickey grabs a fistful of Ian’s shirt and yanks it up in an entirely ineffective attempt to get it off him, growling when he is unsuccessful.

“Fuckin’, take your fuckin’ shirt off asshole.’ Mickey yanks again and Ian pulls away just enough to get his shirt over his head, tossing it blindly and praying it doesn’t land on a lit candle and start a fire. He should be more careful, he knows, but he can’t focus on anything but Mickey right now, Mickey who is looking him up and down and licking his lips like Ian is a big juicy steak he’s looking to devour.

“Fuck, yeah.” Mickey breathes, getting both his hands on Ian’s traps and sliding them, firmly, down over his chest until just his fingertips are brushing over Ian’s abs. He rests there, and the muscles in Ian’s stomach jerk under his touch.  

“This is the most of you I’ve seen all at once.” Mickey tells him, breathless, giddy, running his eyes up over Ian’s chest and shoulders and then down to where his hands are resting, plucking gently at the elastic waistband of his underwear, index finger rubbing idly over the little thatch of coarse red hairs that line it.

Ian leans in to drop a kiss on his open mouth, slack and wet and eager against Ian’s own. He moves over to leave kisses against his cheek, his jaw, nosing up behind his ear into his hairline and breathing in the scent of his skin, intoxicating and so intense just there that Ian can hardly bear it.

“You want to see more?” He asks, pushing the flat of his tongue against the skin of Mickey’s neck and dragging, slowly, as Mickey shivers against him.

“Wanna see it all.” Mickey’s voice catches as Ian flicks at his earlobe with the tip of his tongue, and he shoves his whole hands down into Ian’s shorts, palms flattening over his hips and fingers digging into the flesh of his ass in retaliation. The movement pulls them right in close, and Ian’s cock ends up shoved right up along the length of Mickey’s where’s it’s hard in his jeans.

It’s like a whole series of flashbulbs go off in Ian’s brain, one after the other. Flash. Flash. Flash. His whole brain lighting up with the contact, a full-body shudder running through him, forcing his breath right out of his chest in short little vocal puffs that he can’t contain. He shoves his forehead into Mickey’s shoulder and breathes there, letting the soft, musty scent of Mickey’s skin soothe him until he has a better hold of himself. 

Mickey’s fingers twitch, urgent, and it is that impatience helps Ian focus, helps him find it in himself to drag his mouth up Mickey’s neck, take his earlobe between his teeth in a sharp tug and then whisper.

“Take them off then.”

That’s all the permission Mickey needs, he shoves Ian’s shorts down and the two of them are off again, hands and tongues and lips everywhere at once. Ian gets distracted running his hands all over Mickey’s back and shoulders and waist, feeling the warmth of his skin seeping into his palms and getting lost in the sensation so much that he barely notices Mickey huffing and puffing about having to take off his own pants, since Ian isn’t gonna do it for him.

They laugh together when he can’t get enough room to open his fly button. Ian leans his hips back to make some space and gets with the program enough to help Mickey get his jeans and underwear down until there is a matching pool of fabric restricting his ankles as much as Ian’s. And then they laugh again.

“Should probably take our shoes off.” Ian murmurs, pressing kisses to Mickey’s lips, pressing the whole length of his body along the whole length of Mickey’s and trying not to hyperventilate at how good it feels to feel him.

“Later.” Mickey grunts, shoving his hand between them and grabbing hold of Ian, firm in the way he’s come to learn that Ian likes best. He slides his tongue sloppily into Ian’s mouth in time with his thumb rubbing over the head and it’s almost  enough to make Ian’s knees buckle.

“Mickey.” He tries to say, muffled against Mickey’s lips, hindered by his seeking tongue and his clever little hand starting to stroke.

“Mickey!” He succeeds this time, firmly, grabbing whole handfuls of Mickey’s ass and pulling him tight to Ian’s body, trapping his hand between them and halting his movement with a grunt. Mickey’s answering huff is petulant and it’s pure instinct that has Ian pulling him in even harder, letting his fingers pull at Mickey’s ass-cheeks so that they part, exposing him to the open air, letting him feel it until his panting breaths turn vocal and he stops trying to move.

Mickey’s eyes catch on his, they’re dark with want, pupils blown wide enough that Ian can barely make out the blue in them. Up to now their encounters have been marked with both an overwhelming intensity of desire and a level of humor Ian never knew could be a part of sex. Sex has never really been fun in this way, before. Fun in the way where you get your rocks off and it feels really fucking good and someone thinks you’re hot and that feels amazing or you’re super high or out of your head and everything you do is fun. But fun like this, stupid fun where you’re held captive by your pants and your lover won’t let you do anything about it kind of fun, that’s a new thing. That’s a Mickey thing. It’s the best thing Ian’s ever had.

But now it feels like they are teetering on the edge of something else, something new. Not wholly new to Ian, he’s dangled his feet in these waters a couple of times before, and the heat in Mickey’s eyes suggests that it’s not his first dip in this particular pool either, but new for them, together, and just the thought that they might be on the same page, compatible in this as well, it’s a whole new thrill. 

 “I had a plan.” He tells Mickey, low and serious, letting his thumb rub over the swell of one ass cheek, feeling the fuzz of the surprisingly light colored hairs that grow there. “Got a mattress all set up in the next room, comfy pillows, soft sheets.”

“Not a fuckin’ princess Gallagher.” Mickey grumbles, and Ian clenches his fingers harder, pulling his cheeks further apart. He can’t see, but from the sharp grunt that Mickey lets out he can tell the tension is starting to stretch his hole open ever so slightly.

“No.” He says, easing up just a little.  “Just thought you might appreciate getting fucked without getting carpet burn on your ass.”

Mickey’s mouth turns up in a smile that is somehow equal parts flirty, filthy, and sweet, and his tongue flicks out over his lips slow, tantalizing.

“Awful thoughtful of you.” He tilts his head up into the space below Ian’s chin and Ian shivers as the flat of his warm, wet, tongue slides over the underside of his jaw.

“Yeah, I’m nice like that.” His focus is split, the sharp spikes of Mickey’s stubble following the path of his tongue like tiny electric shocks against the sensitive skin of his throat, but he manages to loosen his grip and slide the fingers on his right hand all the way into Mickey’s crack and stroke them up and down a couple of times, fingertips catching gently against his rim as they move.

“Hmm.” Mickey sucks in a slow breath, and Ian can feel all the muscles in his ass twitch, uncontrollably. He likes that. “Other ways too.”

“You think I’m nice?” Mickey’s teeth join the party, scraping over the hinge in Ian’s jaw, adding a new sensation to the wet and sharp in a way that makes Ian’s knees threaten to give out. Ian rewards him by allowing the tip of his middle finger to sink in, breeching the tight circle of muscle just enough that it clenches around him. Just enough that he can now officially say he’s been inside Mickey Milkovich.

A soft vocal puff of breath blows out against Ian’s neck, wet with saliva and just a little itchy where Mickey’s been working it over with his lips and tongue and teeth. 

“What’s that?” Ian inclines his head, pushing their temples together. He pushes his finger a little deeper and then pulls it back almost immediately, Mickey’s body moving with him, unconsciously trying to keep him in. Mickey grunts. Ian pushes at his cheek with his nose, lays soft kisses on his cheek, against the corner of his lips. “Say you think I’m nice, Mick.”

He gets at Mickey’s lips, hot and wet, slides his own over them, breathes a hot breath into his mouth, swallows the breath that Mickey gives him back. He lets his finger push back in, as far as it will easily go.

“Mickey.”

Mickey kisses him, one sweaty hand coming up to grip at his shoulder and the other grabbing him at the hip. He kisses him dirty, lips and tongue dragging hot over Ian’s own, slow and wet and it’s so fucking hot Ian makes a sound he’s never heard outside of porn, like a grunt and a moan had a filthy high-pitched baby and it gets Mickey grinning against his mouth until he’s basically kissing teeth.

“Nice guy, huh?” His lips pluck at Ian’s again, nose bashing nose as he draws his head back so their eyes can meet. “That what you think you are?”

“What else?” Ian shrugs, drawing his finger, still resting just inside of Mickey’s ass, in tight little circles, just the tip really, swirling around, feeling his walls, the heat, the jolt of Mickey’s muscles as they pulse at the contact. He could just stay there forever, just rubbing at him, feeling him, but at the same time he’s desperate to get a rhythm going, add more fingers, taste him, get something else inside him, he wants everything all at once and it’s like he’s just feeling too many things, he can’t take it.

He buries his face in Mickey’s neck and clenches his hands, one holding steadfastly to Mickey’s ass-cheek, one spread so that he can keep his finger inside, but still clenching against the sheer strength of what he’s feeling.

It’s a lot, he thinks, as Mickey gasps against his ear, he must be pulling at him pretty hard, dragging him from the inside. He tries to relax, tries to think about releasing his muscles and slowing his breathing, think about things that calm him down. Soft music, going for a run, the sound of Mickey’s voice lately.

“Mick.” He about manages to grind out against the flushed pink skin of Mickey’s shoulder. “What else?”

“What, if you ain’t nice?” Mickey’s voice is soft, kind of high right there against the shell of his ear, soft lips mouthing at his earlobe as small warm hands run up and down his sides in slow, firm strokes. It must be clear to Mickey that Ian is on the brink of falling the fuck to pieces. He manages a juddery kind of nod, face still buried in Mickey’s skin, hands still fighting to tense, and he feels Mickey’s chest rise and fall in a deep breath, feels him relax his body against Ian’s.

The kisses that follow are gentle, soothing, along his hairline, down his forehead, over his cheeks and jaw, and punctuated with that sweet, husky voice, not quite whispering, but not quite talking aloud either, talking him down with each pointed breath.

“Well you’re really fuckin’ hot. So there’s that.” Kiss. “Funny. When you’re not trying to make a dumb pun joke.” Kiss. “Strong.” Kiss. “I like that you’re strong.”

He can feel it working, feel himself settling back into his skin, his heart slowing back to a regular (if aroused) rate. He manages to press a kiss into the ball of Mickey’s shoulder and is rewarded with a questioning “hmm?”

He gulps in a breath and focuses on relaxing his hands, soothing his thumb over Mickey’s almost certainly bruised ass-cheek, retracting his finger in a long, slow, slide that has Mickey’s breaths coming in short sharp vocalisations, almost giggles, like the sensation is more than his body can bear.

He drags his face up to Mickey’s for a kiss, and as he melts into that mouth it’s like he’s fully back inside his body again. He can feel every place where his skin is sticking to Mickey’s, pulling in little painful drags as they move against each other. He is aware once more, of Mickey’s dick, resting, a little twitchily, beside his own, pressed between them both and dribbling into his pubic hair. Ian enjoys how wet he gets, can’t help but reach between them to feel along the sticky length of him and give a couple of short tugs, coating his fingers in pre-come and sucking in the little huffy breaths that Mickey puffs out as he does.

“What else?” He asks, dragging his hand back around and sliding his finger back inside, crooking his knuckle to stretch out the rim a little before diving properly in.

“Fuck.” Mickey breathes against him, and Ian swallows it, his words, his breath, the intoxicating smell of him swirling inside Ian’s mouth and resting against his palate.

“What else?”

“Jesus Christ you uh.” Ian licks at his lips as he is trying to form the thoughts, a little more sensation, wants to see if he can get Mickey to shake out of his skin just the way Ian almost just had. “You kiss good.”

He licks him again, closes his lips over Mickeys in a reward of a kiss, rubbing at his rim with the tip of his ring finger, testing the waters to see if they’re there yet. Mickey’s moan is loud, fills Ian’s mouth with its neediness as he throws his arms around Ian’s shoulders and presses himself as close to Ian’s body as he can get. Second finger it is. On the next draw back, he pushes two in. Mickey’s whole body shudders against him.

“Mickey.” He loves the feel of Mickey’s entire weight hanging off him, pressed against him, clinging to him like he’s a life-raft and Mickey’s adrift at sea. “What else.”

Mickey whines, and it is such a sweet sound. Ian buries his fingers as far as they will go and swallows the noises his lover makes.

“Christ, Ian, I don’t know, if I say you’re nice will you stick your fuckin’ dick in me?”

If he’d thought laughter would break the horny spell he’s under, he would have been wrong. He’s so turned on he’s not quite sure what to do any more. He’s laughing straight into Mickey’s mouth and buzzing with desire and fighting the instinctual thrust of his hips all at the same time, so many sensations warring for attention he hardly knows how he’s still standing up, except that Mickey’s body is supporting his as much as Ian’s own is supporting Mickey’s. And God does he want to stick his dick in Mickey, more than anything he thinks he’s ever wanted. There’s only one thing stopping him.

He pulls his mouth from Mickey’s and unceremoniously drags his fingers out of his ass, grabbing a cheek in both hands and squeezing.

“Not without lube.”

Mickey rolls his eyes, leaning back in, but Ian stops him short with a hard smack and pushes him away.

It’s only when he makes for the little nest he’s set up in the next room that he remembers his pants are still around his ankles and he’s still wearing his boots. It’s Mickey’s turn to laugh as he very narrowly escapes tripping over his own feet.

“Shut up and get your shit off.” Is all Ian says, working on freeing his feet and admiring the lines of Mickey’s body as he hops about pulling his own boots off and shaking his legs out of his pants until at last he’s standing in nothing but his socks, a mile and a half of pale skin lit only by the soft glow of the candles and making Ian��s breath catch in his throat.

He has to kiss him again. His pants have barely hit the floor and he’s got Mickey gripped by the hips and is smashing their lips together even as Mickey’s shit-eating grin gives way to open-mouthed laughter.

He keeps kissing him as he uses his body to move them through to where he has stashed the lube, keeps kissing him as he backs him toward the mattress he has topped with piles of blankets and pillows gathered from every corner of the Gallagher household (and washed on a super high heat to remove any trace of Frank that might have been lingering), keeps kissing him, though not with a whole lot of finesse as he lowers them both down horizontal and reaches blindly around the side of the mattress for his little kit of supplies, and Mickey just keeps kissing him back.

Back when Mickey had first come around the Tamp and Grind, refusing to order his drink the way he wanted and barely looking Ian in the eyes some days, he would never have imagined, in a million years, that Mickey loved kissing as much as he does. But he really fucking does. He’s almost always the first one to lean in, and never the first one to pull away, he leads with his lips, a total kiss slut, and Ian loves it, loves that he is maybe the only person to know it. He kisses him and kisses him and gets hold of the lube and kisses him and vows that he will never deny Mickey a kiss when he wants it. He deserves all the kisses.

Although maybe he needs to take a breath, his thoughts are getting a little loopy.

He gets the lube on his fingers and fumbles around beneath them, sliding two straight back in to Mickey’s hole without much pre-amble and smiles when Mickey gasps beneath him.

“Yeah?” He asks, not really pulling his face back from Mickey’s, their mouths still connected though not quite in a kiss.

“Fuckin’ warn a guy” Mickey murmurs, lipping at Ian’s bottom lip a little, not quite a kiss, not anything really but some contact.

“How’s this for a warning?” He brings his ring finger into play, running it along Mickey’s rim to position it in the sort of ridge formed by his other two fingers and pushing, just a little, before pulling back again.

Mickey sucks in a deep breath, blowing it back out warm over Ian’s mouth as the finger slides in next to the others. There are so many sensations, warm breath on his face, soft hairs against his cheek threatening to tickle, sticky skin pulling against his own wherever they move, and the sucking heat surrounding his fingers, Ian revels in in, how completely physically consumed he is by this man, how absolutely lost he is to anything outside of his body and Mickey’s body right now.

He twists his fingers and pulls out a little before pushing back in, trying to give him a little stretch on every move, he grins at Mickey, thinking about why he needs the stretch, and Mickey’s returning grin is filthy and harsh.

“You gonna fuck me Gallagher?” He grunts as Ian makes his two main fingers into a scissor inside of him.

“Uh-huh.” Another kiss, another thrust, and now Mickey’s hand is worming in between them to grab at Ian’s dick, firm and sure in a way that makes Ian jolt.

“Think you got what it takes?” He starts up a stroke, nice and light, not letting his hand catch where Ian is sticky from pre-come, and Ian gives him a couple of thrusts in time with his fingers and fuck it feels really fucking good.

“Fuckin’ know I do. You’re desperate for it.”

Mickey licks his grinning lips, thumbing at the head of Ian’s dick.

“That right?” He squeezes a little, and Ian jerks.

“Fuckin’ greedy for it, you think you can take it?” He needs a condom, where did he leave them? He knows it was close by. He throws his arm out over their heads, feeling blindly as he sucks on Mickey’s lips. He comes up triumphant, waving it between their faces with a grin which Mickey returns, eyebrow cocking up toward his hairline.

“Only one way to find out man.” Mickey says, and all at once they are moving together, getting the packet open, getting Ian suited up and ready, and then both of their hands are there, covering him together, guiding him together, until he is finally sinking into the sucking heat of Mickey’s body and the both of them stop breathing for a minute as he slides all the way in.

It’s like time stops still. Like the whole world shrinks down to just him and Mickey and the points of contact between them, the heat that surrounds his cock and the light hairs tickling his elbow where it is bracketing Mickey’s arm, the short bursts of air that are passing between them as they kind of gape open-mouthed at each other, adjusting, feeling.

He thinks he could stay there like that forever, just locked inside Mickey for the rest of time, and be perfectly content with his lot in life. Mickey, though, he senses, is about to get restless.

He opens his mouth, no doubt to give Ian some patented Milkovich sass, so Ian takes his moment, right before Mickey speaks, and strikes, pulling out almost all the way in one swift movement, before grinding his way back in, pushing even further when he bottoms out so that Mickey’s hips tilt up off the mattress and a short grunt comes punching out of Mickey’s mouth.

He seems to like that move, so Ian goes with it, adjusting his weight so that he is able to grab hold of a seductively thick thigh in each hand and push upwards, holding Mickey’s weight so he can pull out again and grind back in, using every ounce of muscle control he’s worked so hard for to tilt his hips at just the right angle and push himself forward at just the right pace to get Mickey’s knees to twitch and his thighs to clench around him.

He goes at it like that for as long as he can, sweating and gasping and rolling his hips, rewarded for each thrust with a soft breathy ‘uhn’ from Mickey and the occasional half-hearted bite to his jaw or his ear or, at one point, his nose, though he does wonder if that was just bad aim. He doesn’t know how long he manages, maybe a minute, maybe less, before he starts to get that tight feeling in the base of his spine and his toes start to tingle and clench. His movements grow less smooth, less sure, jerking forcefully instead of gliding with purpose and he hopes he’s done enough to get Mickey there as well because this is apparently going to be a short performance.

‘Mick,’ he manages to gasp, eyes zeroing in for a second on a sweaty lock of hair that’s dangling out of place, ‘Mick, I’m—’, the force of his breaths blows the hair away again and Mickey’s face, flushed and glistening with sweat, comes back into focus.

‘Yeah, yeah.’ Mickey says, hushed and dark and right there with him, thank fuck. Glassy eyes lock onto Ian’s for just a second before Mickey’s reaching down between them to get a hold of his own cock and the sensation forces them closed, head tipping back, hips jolting upward with a force that nearly knocks Ian sideways. He pulls back, bringing Mickey with him so that he’s resting back on his knees, Mickey splayed basically in his lap. He does his best to grip Mickey’s hips despite the sweat and his waning co-ordination, juddering through the last thirty seconds of thrusts as Mickey urgently strips his cock, bringing himself to the edge and throwing himself off it seconds after Ian shudders and jolts and grinds to a seizing halt. He empties into the condom with great heaving groans, laughing as Mickey’s face twists up in bemusement at the noises he makes. A whole body shiver runs all the way through him and he leans into it, shaking his shoulders and head like a dog, spraying sweat everywhere and arching his back into a stretch.

It’s only when Mickey grunts and gives him a half-hearted kick against his right side that he realizes all of this movement is probably a bit much for the man he’s still inside of thirty seconds after he’s blown his load.

‘Fuck.’ He breathes, running his hands over Mickey’s hips in a way that he hopes is at least a little soothing. ‘Sorry.’

Mickey’s whole body seems to go limp, legs flopping down, head tipping back onto the mattress as his breathing slows. There is a small bruise starting to come through just beneath his clavicle, a dark blue just beginning to bloom, and Ian is struck with the overwhelming urge to taste it.

He tips forward, softening cock slipping out with the movement and earning another grunt out of Mickey, whose hands are covering his face now but who adjusts his body to the shifting weight of Ian leaning down over him. He brings his arms down around Ian to run light fingers over his back as Ian mouths gently at the darkening mark. They catch their breaths with soft touches and light kisses, Ian can hear the slowing thud of Mickey’s heart beneath his skin and he tries to match his own against it, breathing slow into his chest, contemplating what it might feel like if they were to somehow become one single being.

Mickey’s fingers in his hair tug him back to reality, and his brain suddenly starts whirring in a different direction, one that plants the seed of worry as he goes back over the last half hour, cataloguing everything he could have done different, better.

“Sorry.” He says again, propping his chin up on Mickey’s chest so he can look up at him. “That was—I can do better than that.”

Mickey waves a dismissive hand between them before planting it back in his hair.

“Nah,” He says, twisting a damp curl just starting to form around his middle finger, “you’re a fucking stud Gallagher.”

It’s dumb, and it pulls a groaning laugh out of Ian, but it’s enough to quiet his doubting mind and he buries his face in between Mickey’s pecs as the both of them give in to a few giggles.

“I can do better, though.” He says eventually, “I got a bit overwhelmed but usually I don’t just lose my shit like that.”

Mickey pulls at his hair, forcing him to look back up and meet Mickey’s eyes, cool and sharp, assessing Ian as they look him over.

“Alright,” He says at length, dropping his head back and giving Ian a couple of gentle pats on the shoulder, “well give me a minute to get the feeling back in my legs and you can prove it to me.”

...

part b coming soon??

[melis-writes]

Moth to Flame (Part II) [Michael Corleone x Reader Series, 18+ Smut] Chapter 42 – Matrimony.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 41 / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

“You’re a Corleone woman now, after all." / “You’re my bride. You deserve that and all the more, do you understand?”

You married Michael Corleone in the summer of 1949, binding the allyship of your two families together but sealing your matrimony with love, bliss and trust. Falling in love, compatibility, love languages and a change in your lifestyle met you in an instant, and being Mrs. Michael Corleone altered your life forever. You can still remember how you fell for him and every bit of affection and intimacy shared from the beginning. You remember; you remember it all, and as you look into the past to compare it to your present and expect for your future, you realize nothing remains changed.

[WARNINGS]: Mentions of virginity/loss of virginity, nudity, sexual themes & depictions, heavy touching & kissing, fingering, mentions of pregnancy & planning for children, sex.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: The first in-between chapter of Moth to Flame: Part II is finally here!! 😫🙏🏻 I'm sooo sorry for such a delay in posting this chapter, but life has been extremely hectic and busy. 😭 The Vichael girlies are going to adore this chapter is all I'm going to say! We delve into Victoria and Michael's marriage from the very beginning! 🤭❤️‍🔥 This is filled with romance, fluff and domestic wholesomeness. How Victoria and Michael fell in love to how their lives changed as husband and wife and more is all included. I wanted this to be very romantic and sensual before we dive back into the action of current day Moth to Flame! 😳

1956. Your name is Victoria Ferrari Corleone, and you’re the wife of the most powerful mobster in North America–Michael Corleone. A lifestyle of crime and secrecy is all you've known and ever wanted to know, complimenting the cruelty of Michael Corleone's influence in the United States. With your enemies fallen before you and all loose ends tied up, you continue your life and marriage with the Corleone family while refusing to look back on your past. Yet it's the skeletons in your closet that a shine a light on revealing you're a true mafiosa. Ensnared in the shadows just as much as Michael is, you find yourself betrayed by the unexpected with all of your secrets ready to spill–especially ones you've hidden from Michael. With more than one pair of eyes watching your every move, you find yourself trapped amidst potential scandals and a familiar, lovesick secret admirer adamant on removing Michael out of the picture to have you all to himself. Like a moth to a flame, you've reached the point of no return and the light that breaks down the darkness threatens to take you next.

Bouquets of pink and white roses, white silk, lilac adornments, angel food cake, the lace finishing over your wedding gown, and the taste of Michael’s lips over yours; you married Michael Corleone in the summer of 1949.

Planning for your wedding was one of the few and only times in your life when you felt you had a million things going through your mind at once. 

After weeks of careful planning, the hardest part—the wedding itself—came in bliss and resonated perfectly with everything you had in mind for your perfect wedding day. 

The colors you chose for your wedding ranged from an equal hint of décor in baby pink, lilac, and beige, whereas peonies, lilacs, and dahlias were your flowers of choice.

Silk tablecloth, handcrafted Italian furniture imported from Sicily, seven-tier angel food cake, seven varieties of cannoli from pistachio to limoncello, over a hundred bottles of wine—Grilo, Inzolia and Grecanico just to name a few—aged at least ten years, French champagne, little pastries of sorbets and mini cheesecakes served throughout and freshly squeezed juice from the fruit from the Corleone garden itself were just some of the highlights of your wedding day.

Even your wedding gown itself had been custom designed and tailored with the finest Italian silks and fabrics, following a lengthy session of perfecting your hair, makeup, and manicure with your mother, Mama Corleone, Connie, and Sandra down to rehearing how you would walk down the aisle to which sets of jewelry with diamonds and pearls suited you best. 

Everything was planned and executed to perfection—to say the least. Scarcely were there moments throughout the planning period where the wedding wasn’t mentioned in one way or another; it was the only topic on your mind for days to come.

Consummation of your marriage was expected next from all through tradition and customs, but it wasn’t a concept you and Michael personally believed in. 

Although you were a virgin before you met Michael, he most certainly was not. After his brief marriage with Apollonia, the concept of no intimacy until marriage let alone time spent together or some form of physical affection before marriage was seen and strictly enforced as heavily taboo in Sicily only reminded him of how backward he believed the concept to be, as did you.

Of course, you and Michael were both anticipating and thinking about the intimacy you’d share with one another after your wedding celebration, but not immediately after. That would be eagerly waiting for the both of you at the end of the night.

With the wedding cake having been cut, final drinks served and last dances shared, both of your families collected together all of the bridal gifts, thanked and said goodbyes to every guest they could get to while the wedding staff began to clean up.

Michael and you stood for more photographs by and with guests, thanking them for attending as well before you both made off with security to the vehicle that would take you to your first estate.

You’d both arrive at your new estate by the time security did a full sweep and search of the Corleone manor and all festivities had officially come to an end.

Before you and Michael would settle down for the remainder of the day after the wedding, you both went to meet with your families and new in-laws.

Tomorrow morning there’d be the wedding reception to look forward to after all, but there was more than enough for both you and Michael to think about and do before then.

~

Upon stepping out of your chauffeur’s vehicle at your new estate’s grounds, the first thing your eyes found were those of your bodyguards surrounding your new estate.

Noting the heavy yet inconspicuous security around, it was only a split second longer before you blinked and a warm smile crossed over your lips in reaction to Michael standing by your side; his hand laced with yours as you both began to make your way inside the estate.

Just a few feet from the front door you could already hear the cheerful voices and banter of your parents and in-laws in the foyer; you couldn’t help but feel your exhilarated mood amplify with excitement once more.

“Victoria! Michael! Sweetheart!” Your mother beamed, extending her arms out as she skipped over to the both of you.

Hugged, congratulated a dozen more times, and kissed by your parents and new-in-laws, happy tears are shed once again for you and Michael as a newlywed couple.

“Promettimi che mi chiamerai se ti serve qualcosa!” (Promise me you'll call if you need anything!) Carmela gently squeezed your shoulder after pulling away from a hug, smiling at you. 

“Home sweet home,” your mother cooed, bewildered by the grandiose luxury your new estate has to offer just by standing in the foyer alone. “How wonderful.”

“We’re looking forward to that wedding reception,” your father grinned, redirecting his gaze to Michael. “It’ll be an honor to dine in the newlyweds’ home.”

“It’s an honor to host,” Michael agreed, giving a small, quick smile. “I look forward to it, Don Ferrari.”

“Mm,” Vito nodded, approaching both you and Michael. “And the bridal gifts… I had them arranged to be placed in your guest room. Humble gifts as they may be from our family friends, but they’re close to overflowing.”

“A problem I’d actually like to deal with,” you giggled back. “Thank you, father.”

Naturally, the gifts you received from attending friends, family, and guests aren’t exclusive to gifts newlyweds would benefit from, but a wide variety of items ranging from cash bills to jewelry almost as if the givers were trying to appease you and Michael directly.

Without even having to look inside all of the bridal purses and open each individual gift, you already assumed to yourself there are thousands of dollars worth of gifts there alone waiting for you and Michael that may very well take days to completely open.

Your families deliberately didn’t stay for long to give you and Michael as much privacy as possible today, and you and Michael were more than happy to see them out with waves and smiles before settling down for the rest of the day.

“It’s not over for them,” Michael commented by the gates of the estate, loosening his tie.

“No, it isn’t,” you let out a light laugh, smoothening down your wedding gown. “Not until after the wedding reception, at least.”

Michael chuckled—a rare first time he’s in a somewhat lighthearted mood for the entirety of the day. “Do you need anything, darling?”

“No,” you blushed, gesturing down to your dress. “Only to get this lovely gown off of me in one piece and my makeup at last.”

Just a split second later, you both heard a sharp whistle come towards the gates of the estate which prompted you and Michael’s attention immediately. 

“Hey, Mikey!” Sonny hollered from the gates, leaning against his car and waving at both of you. “No invitations for Tom, Fredo, and I to see the new place, eh? Come on down!”

“I’ll be right with you,” Michael glanced back at you.

You nodded understandingly, relieved you’ll at least get the time to quickly undress and take off your makeup before finally getting to spend some time alone with Michael, and you’re more than happy to have Michael bond with his brothers before retiring for the rest of the day with you too.

The endless amounts of gifts and stuffed bridal purses crossed your mind once more as you entered the estate, imagining you and Michael would more than likely have to get Tom to secure any precious assets or cash bills while the other items remain secure.

You carefully slipped out of your wedding gown and let the lacy, tulle fabric pool at your feet as you grabbed a white, silk nightgown to step into; careful not to let any of your makeup smear against the fabric.

You’re not one to wear a full face of makeup on any regular day, but outings, special events, and evenings—especially your wedding—remain exceptions each time you enjoyed getting dolled up, but your daily beauty routine only consisted of your normal skincare steps, light eye makeup, a bit of eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick.

Upon Michael’s return inside the estate and to the bedroom to undress and unwind, it was his first time gazing upon your face without any makeup as you cautiously stored your nightgown away in an empty closet.

You hadn’t even noticed Michael’s eyes on you at first but picked up on his presence immediately; right then and there, Michael had found himself admiring your beauty and looks, stunned by your natural appearance.

“More congratulations?” You smiled shyly, turning around to face your new husband.

“Something like that,” Michael answered, tossing his tie onto the edge of the bed. “Nothing we both haven’t heard enough of.”

You held back your laughter, “then I hope you don’t mind I retired my glamor for the night already.”

“Not at all,” a ghost of a smile crossed Michael’s lips as he slowly began to approach you. “I’m sure the bridal gifts have nothing but your name on them, after all. I don’t think I need to go and see for myself.”

“Oh, please,” you felt a blush stinging your cheeks as you gazed up at Michael.

“You look beautiful,” Michael murmured, tilting your chin up to face him. “You know that?”

Your skin gave a healthy glow under the evening light as Michael admired every inch of you from the shape of your cheekbones to the color of your eyes, the curve of your lips, and your body language towards him filled with desire.

You expected then and there for Michael to lean in and kiss you, and he did, but gently upon your forehead as he let his warm lips linger over your skin.

You closed your eyes for a brief moment and embraced your husband, taking in the scent of his heavenly cologne as your heart began to race in your chest against his.

“You should expect all of this, you know,” Michael spoke to you in an ushered voice. “You’re a Corleone woman now, after all. Those gifts want nothing more than to appease and impress you, I’ll make sure of it myself.”

Michael’s intention is to spoil you to no avail and not only with material gifts but your every request; the luxurious lifestyle you can expect to live with him as Michael’s wife and the future mother of his children holds you on a separate pedestal next to being Don Ferarri’s wife, and Michael will continue to keep it that way.

The very gifts with your name engraved upon them awaiting you consisted of everything from cosmetics, luxurious perfumes, oils, and creams, full sets of dazzling jewelry set with diamonds and precious stones, congratulatory letters, towel sets followed by pacifiers, bibs, baby bottles, and cloth diapers that made you blush as you unwrapped them—knowing all would be expecting the news of your first pregnancy next.

An amused look crossed Michael’s eye as he wrapped his arms around you seeing you open the final present for today a set of two pacifiers, he saw a look of excitement over your own expression but also blush spreading over your cheeks as the two of you made eye contact once again, knowing the rest of the night began to the both of you. 

~

The first home you and Michael owned together and settled in was a grand estate in Long Island but outside of the Corleone mall unlike Connie and Carlo’s home and that of Sonny and Sandra’s that were inside the gated family community.

Still, your new home was not far from Michael’s family or yours, and you could make the commute in twenty minutes. 

The plot of land in which your new estate would be built was purchased immediately on the day of your engagement ceremony with construction where your father and Vito had given the green light for construction to begin the day of.

Normally for the size of your estate, it would have taken a good construction crew six months with daily work, but the home was completely finished in just one. Bringing in extra of the best workers and paying a premium always worked well in the end. 

Your grand estate stood at just slightly over five thousand square feet with state-of-the-art architecture, taking inspiration from Modern American design to Italian fixtures and marble imported from Rome. 

Your estate was two stories, finished with an attic consisting of a master bedroom with a walk-in closet designed to be almost the size of a small bedroom for you and Michael, a study that was half a private library, two guest rooms downstairs, a nursery upstairs, a wine room in the basement, full front and back yard, three other extra bedrooms, an office for Michael and four bathrooms.

A mid-sized swimming pool was built in the backyard where your home’s carefully curated and trimmed garden surrounded the sides and fences protected your family’s privacy so one could neither look into the estate grounds nor out of it.

Twenty-four-hour surveillance was always to be expected with varying bodyguards and a careful selection of specific windows—such as the ones in Michael’s office—were selected and built to be soundproof.

Your bathtub had 24k gold claw-finished, quartz countertops as well as in the kitchen, marble floors, a foyer in the front of the estate fit with a French handcrafted chandelier, a private exit to the gardens and plenty of storage with a full laundry room at the end of the hallway downstairs.

Crown fixtures adorned the kitchen and a wide spiral staircase decorated with a blood-red carpet led upstairs to where one of two hidden emergency exits only you and Michael knew how to activate could be found.

The price of your home came to a grand total of $250,000 and was exactly where you and Michael wanted to be; exactly where the two of you planned to start your family and raise your children.

Michael and you had both grown up in Long Island; meaning nothing short of symbolic with the feel of home settling into your first house in New York together.

You and Michael only had a brief discussion about where your first home could be since the two of you came to an agreement so quickly to choose Long Island to stay in.

At the time, thoughts of buying another home elsewhere or even moving in the future were not on your mind although Michael had begun to think of Nevada and a villa in Sicily almost immediately on; the latter being a familiar and mutually agreed upon idea to you.

Of course, both you and Michael’s family knew just as well as the both of you why you didn’t have a honeymoon after your wedding, and there were no questions asked or teasing to be made.

Going on a honeymoon with Michael after your wedding was in your mind just as much as your wedding was, but the same could not be said for Michael who was much too preoccupied with the danger and threat of another family war, especially with hostility coming from the Ricci family.

Going outside of New York—let alone going to Sicily—would paint a clear, red target over both your and Michael’s backs and especially create vulnerability within the Corleone family considering Vito was semi-retired at the time.

It didn’t matter if you and Michael decided to visit Rome, Venice, or anywhere else in Italy just for the sake of visiting home but staying away from Sicily; the mafia families including the Ricci’s still had power stretching there legitimately.

Naturally, both you and Michael yearned to take a true honeymoon trip to Sicily and Sicily only. Even with the rest of the world as a choice to visit, you would have rather continued to postpone your honeymoon until you could safely visit Sicily again without having to worry about anything but how to spend quality time with your husband.

You’d very well have your honeymoon with Michael a little after your first anniversary together, somewhat defeating the purpose of a true honeymoon but with the threat of your lives and your family on the line, it was all very worth it with a legitimate reason to delay.

In Michael’s second marriage now come hell or high water he would never risk a slight chance of you being anywhere where there’s a notion of danger, even if you begged him to.

“Well,” you bit your lip, shrugging your shoulders. “I’m a little disappointed, but I understand.”

“I know, darling,” Michael raised his water glass to his lips, taking a sip. “I feel no different than you do.”

You brushed your fingers against the fabric of the window’s curtains and glanced over to Michael again. “They’ll know, won’t they?”

Michael’s eyes met with yours almost instantly; his expression appeared grim knowing you referred to the Ricci family, but with the Barzinis and Tattaglias to worry about as well.

“As they do,” Michael replied and set his glass down. “Does it bother you?”

“Not exactly,” you shook your head and faced the window—blushing as you felt Michael’s presence approach you from behind. “But it’s been on my mind again and again these past few weeks. I can’t shake it off.”

“And on mine,” Michael lovingly embraced you from behind and lightly pressed his chest against your back. “As much as I would like to degrade them to such, they’re not animal enough to disgrace a wedding, even without an invite.”

“They should know better,” you murmured under your breath.

“And they more than likely do,” Michael nodded and moved his hands down to your hips to tenderly caress them. “None of those men deserve further justifications, but above all, they’re curious about you, and just who you are.”

You placed your hands over Michael’s and gave them a soft squeeze as you remained quiet.

“If it’s about safety—” Michael began.

“I feel safe with you,” you told him as you turned around.

Michael’s eyes locked onto yours as he gave you a small nod; you swore to yourself for a moment that you could see a glimmer of a brief smile over his plush lips. 

“I do,” you continued, “always. And as you can guess…” You blushed sheepishly, “I was thinking about our honeymoon too, and we can’t even go.”

“We will soon enough,” Michael rubbed up and down your arms gingerly. “When we are able to and when we can. You know it’s not something I want to put aside to forget or neglect.”

“I know, baby,” you smiled back shyly. “I believe you.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Michael lowered his tone of voice and pressed a warm kiss over your forehead. “I promise I will. None of what our family is going through now will last. I personally guarantee it,” as Michael moved back from the kiss, he tilted your chin up to gaze directly into his eyes. “You’re my bride. You deserve that and all the more, do you understand?”

Blushing furiously and feeling a wave of butterflies rush to the pit of your stomach, you nodded at Michael before leaning up to give his lips a sweet kiss.

“I’ll wait until you say we can go,” you whispered against his lips as you wrapped an arm around Michael’s shoulders.

“Until then,” Michael murmured and closed off the distance between both of your bodies, ensnaring you in a deep kiss once more.

~

Michael’s changed lifestyle to a mafioso and your continued one as a mafiosa would never change. You both married one another knowing what your lives are and would continue to be, but also remaining unaltered.

You’re a lawyer, after all, and a skilled prosecutor with a name made for herself—reputation and all—in New York. Your career is more than something you see to corrupt and use for your “family business”, but is also a passion; something you want to continue doing until you feel ready to retire.

Michael was always impressed as to how you were able to find a passionate career that also benefited both sides of the family business. 

Through being a lawyer, you also bonded well with Tom and had another fellow lawyer as a brother-in-law to bond with.

Regardless of whether you and Michael choose to have one child a fear down the line or four back to back, Michael has no intention of interfering in your career or keeping you from it; the same can be said for any of your other passions and hobbies.

You already know your maternity leave from work and raising an infant will take priority in your life which will result in a break from work, but you’ve accepted it and will make it happen. 

Perhaps if you weren’t a mafiosa yourself from a powerful crime family, you would have fit the bill as a mafioso’s housewife better but Michael recognizes your true talents and abilities just as well as you know yourself.

Now married, you attend trials and continue with your cases at most three times a week. After all, you’ve always been careful in choosing which cases to get involved in while maintaining a flexible schedule for yourself.

You built a reputation with your prowess this far without Michael and his family’s influence, which begs the question of what Michael’s lifestyle has become after marrying you.

Michael is always working, even when he’s not. More than ever, Michael spends time with his father and brothers. Even when Michael is alone in his own office, he’s talking over the phone to his men or family and constantly keeping himself preoccupied until he’s with you.

Michael’s unwavering dedication to the family business, his loyalty, and his work ethic don’t bother you. As a matter of fact, it’s everything you expected from Michael and saw coming before you married him.

What you love about Michael’s work with the family business is that he can separate it and he will separate it very well from his personal life. 

Michael does not mention anything related to his work when he’s with you regardless of how casual the circumstances or if your own curiosity arises since your family is also almost always involved. 

You know then and only in those scenarios would you ask Michael a question if you had one and your family could not answer; you know your boundaries and where the line remains when asking Michael about his work.

To Michael, any mention of what he does and what he is outside of work is nothing but severely unpleasant and he would rather avoid it altogether; something you respect and agree with.

At dinner one evening, you saw Michael’s tension settled within him as he ate—sitting across from you in silence. 

Michael sighed quietly and took a sip of his red wine before his eyes met yours; seeing curiosity spark in your expression.

“Ready to settle down, baby?” You asked with a soft smile.

“Something like that,” Michael nodded, continuing to eat his risotto. 

“Everything alright with your father?” You asked and rose up from your seat to begin cleaning up. 

“He’s fine,” Michael’s answers were dry and to the point on purpose. “We’re working on it.”

“Alright,” you gathered a pile of empty plates, brushing off crumbs upon the tablecloth next to Michael.

Only a split second later did you look back up at Michael and catch his eye—almost feeling embarrassed for asking but you neither see annoyance nor discomfort in Michael’s expression. 

You understood Michael didn’t want to talk about this with you and you didn’t push it. You also knew last night he didn’t come home from his father’s estate until 2 AM, and you had no intention of bothering him about it now. 

You’ve always had more than enough to do for yourself and for the home regardless of how long Michael worked in or out of the manor. 

You’d have your own day to worry about; cleaning up after breakfast, prepping for lunch, tidying up the house, laundry if required, getting any other daily errands done, focusing on a bit of your own work projects, then relaxing with a good book or in front of the television with a glass of wine. 

You could step out into the garden for some fresh air, pull weeds, water the lawn, go for a walk or a dip in the pool; you balance your work and life well and you’ve never felt neglected or lost without a sense of purpose.

The compatibility between you and Michael is like none other and the two of you have always recognized this; there is no lack of transparency or intimacy, and there is no elephant in the room blocking the two of you from bonding with one another.

You and Michael could and always will make it work. 

~

When it came down to planning to start a family with each other, having children was brought up immediately between Michael and you; a crucial concept and the second step into a married life with one another.

Of course, the brief conversation that only consisted of asking one another if you wanted children when you and Michael had first met did not count as a real and insightful conversation, it did strike you that Michael was a mature and serious man, ready for fatherhood and expecting to start a family in the very near future.

Michael would not have minded waiting a year or two before having children, but he would personally not wish to delay it any further past that.

To Michael, it was as if he had an urgency of some kind to start a family but there was no reasoning behind it or pressure coming from anyone. Still, you came to appreciate how much Michael anticipated entering parenthood with you, regardless of his reasons.

Perhaps you did sense Michael’s urgency when he first met you and asked if you wanted to have children in the future, but you simply had brushed it off for all that it was—a simple question.

You were twenty-five years old when you met Michael, and you were the second youngest sibling in your family and the only daughter.

With your little brother Dante being fifteen years younger than you, you practically raised him alongside your brothers and because you came from an equally large extended family, you loved children for as long as you could remember.

Just as you and your brothers had grown up, you knew the importance of proper parenting and how love would mold a child’s life forever.

Michael believed children were the products of their parents’ discipline, love, and behavior, saying, “If adults can bring out the worst in each other, they can do the same for children”.

Michael himself was twenty-nine when he met you and neither of you had objections of any kind to starting a family immediately after getting married.

Coming from the families and reputations you both grew up in and had, things such as time and money would simply not be an issue for you and Michael.

It was more of a matter of readiness and active parenting heavily required from both of you equally, not just yours as the mother. 

You also knew Michael would be a stricter parent than you, but this did not imply anything harsh or along the lines of cruelty whatsoever. 

Michael is not the type of man to ever raise a hand against a child or even raise his voice; calm, and collected, and with thorough explanation comes discipline and understanding. Michael knows how a child’s mind copes and works. 

You are most definitely not the kind of parent to yell, threaten, let alone glare at children to have them respect or tolerate your fear let alone beat a child.

Neither Michael nor you ever faced such things growing up, but you both saw your fair share growing up with other children at school and in the neighborhood who did not have the same childhood as you two did.

Any type of abuse or psychological manipulation was a severe hard line; it was something you and Michael would never subject any child to, ever.

From being the only big sister to your little brother Dante, you knew there were a million ways around teaching and disciplining children without being physically, psychologically, or verbally abusive—even to children who have behavior issues. 

You and Michael had been stressing to yourselves subconsciously the need to be nothing but good, loving parents teaching your future children manners and discipline early on without fear of repercussions or pain, but simply just to learn and understand.

~

Just a week ago you walked down the aisle and faced your lover—for the last time only as a lover before becoming Michael’s wife, wedded as Mrs. Corleone.

Now as you gazed at yourself in the mirror, the role of Michael Corleone’s wife had already truly embedded in you; seeing your husband clasping a new diamond necklace around your neck gently.

You blushed as you caught Michael’s eye in the mirror, placing a hand over your necklace carefully.

Michael admired the glistening diamonds over your neck; his eyes adoring the very shape of your collarbones before he leaned toward your shoulder and planted a soft kiss over it.

With a bit of arousal having flared up in you, you shivered from Michael’s warm touch as he let his hands linger around the back of your neck before he placed them on your hips.

“Mm,” your eyes fluttered shut as you took in the brief moment, feeling Michael’s breath over the side of your neck.

Michael’s hands slowly made their way over to your stomach where he rubbed tenderly, watching as your body language submitted to how good he was already making you feel.

“Are you late?” Michael murmured over your shoulder.

Butterflies churned in your stomach and blush stung your cheeks at the very question. “I think it’s still too soon to tell, baby.”

“Mm,” Michael nodded and began to massage your sides.

“Why do you ask?” You slowly opened your eyes and spoke to him in a soft, ushered tone. “Do you suspect I am?”

“Perhaps,” Michael answered, “I want to be the first to know.”

You cracked a shy smile, “and you will be without a doubt.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Michael took your hands in his, turning you around to face him directly before he pulled you into his embrace. “Although you never did tell me how many you wanted.”

“I can tell you now,” you rested your head over Michael’s chest and nodded. “Four little ones… That would be something.”

“Mhmm,” Michael kissed the top of your head. “A topic better suited for the future after we have our first.”

“Boy or girl?” You grinned and looked up at your husband.

“Doesn’t matter,” Michael told you. “But ultimately a son somewhere down the line to succeed our family.”

‘Of course.’ You knew it must have been the same with Michael’s father as it was with yours; one son at the very least to carry the family’s legacy under his name. ‘Understandable.’

“If you’re not…” Michael’s hands touched your hips again; his eyes beckoning to you. “Then we can try again.”

“And again?” You teased back, giggling. “Tonight.”

“Tonight,” Michael murmured and pulled your hips into his.

“As many times as we need to, hmm?” Your breath hitched as you bit down on your lip.

“As many times as you want to,” Michael corrected before he sealed a kiss over your lips.

~

The intimacy and love continuing to blossom between you and Michael unfolded in feverish desire and yearning. Like the beginning of an eternal and dangerous addiction, neither of you could get enough of the other.

Michael knew your love language was physical affection and words of affirmation just as you knew he was spending quality time with you and touching. 

Michael couldn’t care less for material gifts and preferred experiences above all, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t care, enjoy, or appreciate either.

“Ah…” A breathy moan escaped your lips as your hand clutched over Michael’s back; feeling his firm, flexing muscle as Michael remained leaning down and hovering over your naked body.

Between the sounds of Michael’s lips leaving a trail of hot kisses over your neck, you heard his breathing hitching as his throbbing erection pressed against your stomach.

Barely a week into your marriage and filled to the brim with insatiable love and desire, Michael was unable to get enough of his new bride and her beauty.

“Ohhh…”

Inhaling deeply, Michael took in your scent as he nuzzled your neck; now glowing pink with the love marks he left behind as you had let your free hand roam through Michael’s tousled hair.

“Look at me,” Michael whispered against your lips as he grazed his thumb over your mouth, parting your bottom lip. “Look at me when I make love to you.”

‘Oh God, yes…’

The first three months of marriage may as well have been a fever dream for both of you. 

Of course, none would be surprised at the sudden stamina the new bride and groom have for one another although some teasing and a dirty joke here and there would be in order, but if it wasn’t a night out or quality time spent with the family, Michael and you were doing nothing else but getting lost in one another again and again.

You’d lay in bed naked with the blankets barely covering yourself as you’d watch Michael strip down right in front of you before approaching you on the bed, and Michael enjoyed every second of undressing you himself with his own hands; the way the curves of your hips and fullness of your thighs felt against his hand as your skin was hot to the touch, brimming with passion and your body begging for pleasure was nothing short of ecstasy to Michael.

With your bodies intertwined with one another, you could practically feel Michael’s heart racing against yours; nothing but toe-curling, eye-rolling, intense orgasms, and memorizing every part of each other’s bodies filled your evenings for days to come.

You woke an urge tailored to your pleasure inside of Michael he could not ignore. Even after a night of ecstasy, if you approached him half-naked in the living room and begged Michael to fuck you again, he wouldn’t say no. 

You straddled Michael’s lap and let your lace panties slip off your ankles as you felt the smooth, Italian silk fabric of Michael’s suit brush against your bare skin.

On his lap, you let out a whimpering moan as you pressed your hips against his and ran your hands up Michael’s half-unbuttoned dress shirt; his chest hair brushing past your fingers as you clutched onto his shoulders.

Michael leaned his back against his seat comfortably; his hands ran from your calves to your upper thighs before he cupped your ass and gave it a greedy squeeze.

Michael’s eyes expectantly looked at you. “You play the innocent, sweet role well…” 

“Mm—” You whimpered as you pressed your lips against Michael’s neck from him giving your ass another harsh squeeze.

“But I see right through it,” Michael whispered to you—his tone low and husky. 

“I…” You breathed shakily against Michael’s skin before planting a deep kiss over it; your free hand roamed through his black, silky hair.

You heard a barely audible, soft moan escape Michael’s lips which only intensified the feverish arousal coursing through your veins as you continued to hungrily kiss up and around Michael’s neck.

Michael wrapped one arm around your waist and kept his hand over your ass; his eyes half remained half-opened as he let you get lost within him, taking and getting everything you want.

Your kisses grew wet, hot, and sloppy around Michael’s jawline as you moaned through them yourself; severely aroused to the point where you thought your wetness pooling over the fabric of your panties was soaking through Michael’s trousers.

“Mine…” You cupped Michael’s cheek and turned his face to look him in the eye directly. “All mine…”

“Yours,” Michael said back before his lips sealed over yours in a crushing, needy kiss.

Your pussy throbbed from arousal over Michael’s knee; it practically had a heartbeat of its own from how horny you were feeling towards your husband—so much so that it was almost criminal.

“Look at you,” As Michael pulled away from the kiss, he gripped your throat with his free hand and let his thumb trace the outline of your bottom lip. “Can’t get your hands off of me.”

“You’re mine,” you panted back and took Michael by pleasant surprise as you licked his thumb. “

“That’s right, baby,” Michael murmured before pulling you back to him by your throat to give you another wet, rough kiss over the mouth. 

As you fully straddled Michael’s lap and began to slowly grind your hips, gyrating them against Michael’s pulsating erection, Michael let his hands slip up through your skirt and play with the band of your panties.

Lost in insistent, passionate kisses, Michael pulled at your panties only to let it snap back against your skin as you were distracted between his lips.

Michael let his fingers go further, parting your dewy pussy lips to spread your wetness with one hand while squeezing your breast and massaging your nipple with his fingers on the other.

Aside from such fiery, mutual infatuation and lust, there was more; there was and always will be more. 

The love between you and Michael blossomed so naturally that it could never feel forced like it was some sort of obligation that had to be fulfilled.

In public, despite the two of you being not so fond of blatant displays of affection, held hands or had Michael wrap an arm over your waist in casual but adoring affection you craved and yearned for always.

Just one touch from Michael—let alone his presence—was more than enough for you. It did nothing but thrill you all the more knowing this man is yours and you’re his; you’ll have all of Michael whenever you want and however you want. 

Distance makes your heart grow fonder when Michael’s away on his business trips or doesn’t come home for a night. You’ve never felt insecurity, unsafe, or any sort of lingering sadness about Michael’s consistent absences to begin with.

Even at the end of a long night with little time to yourselves to follow another eventful one, you’d have just the same satisfaction in Michael’s embrace without the sexual intimacy. 

Some of your most loving, romantic nights with Michael were the two of you skin-to-skin on the rooftop, naked and exchanging soft kisses as Michael smoked a cigarette.

Saying, “Yes, I do” and signing your marriage papers, your legal name became Victoria Ferrari Corleone; a unique love and lover to Michael in the sense that Michael could never treat you the way he treated Apollonia or Kay, but exponentially more protective, loving, and open to you in all aspects.

Your compatibility with Michael only resulted in him being all the more open with you; not feeling obligated to because you’ll get upset or ask, but because Michael wishes to—because he wants to. 

There’s simply no entitlement; only love and caring. You could not describe your marriage to Michael Corleone in any other way.

[punkshort]

Chapter warnings: language, violence, angst

A/N: this chapter might be a little slower than the rest, but I felt like it was important to establish how they are surviving. I tried to keep it spicy and interesting but please stay with me, I believe I have some great stuff coming up :)

Chapter Ten

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, pre-outbreak and post outbreak

AU (the only thing I kept was the outbreak, Joel, and Tommy's characters. Joel's backstory is different, and the way he finds Jackson is different. I may include Ellie one day, I just haven't planned that far)

Fic Summary: You worked for Joel and Tommy a few months before the outbreak. The outbreak happens, and you and Joel get stuck traveling the country and keeping each other safe. Neither of you spoke about the feelings you had for one another pre-outbreak, and in a post-apocalyptic world, it seems like survival should be your only focus. But feelings can't be ignored forever.

Fic tags: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Smut, Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use, Age Difference (Reader is 10 years younger than Joel), slow burn, mutual pining, angst, trauma, SA referencing later but I will put a big warning on those chapters

October 2003

Pittsburgh, PA

It had taken you nearly a full month to make it 400 miles, having to stop frequently and rest for a couple days here and there, but you were halfway to Chicago. Your bodies were not used to the constant exercise, and it required you to rest more than you expected. Joel suspected you were both deficient in some capacity since all you had eaten was canned and processed food for a month and exerting much more energy than normal. You were holed up in a small cabin outside of Pittsburgh, about 10 miles away from reaching the city. Joel had broken into the cabin late last night, and the two of you collapsed into bed once he confirmed the place was empty. He had planned to stay here for a couple days, wanting to make sure you were both as well rested as possible.

The next morning, Joel was looking around the small basement of the cabin, his flashlight bouncing off the dirty concrete walls while you went through the clothes left in the dressers upstairs, determining which ones were suitable to swap out. With winter fast approaching, you both needed to find clothes with longer sleeves and extra layers.

His flashlight scanned over a rusted metal shelving unit in the far corner. He walked over to inspect the items, finding mostly cleaning products, insect repellant, paint, and other chemicals. At the very bottom he found a hunting trap which he picked up to examine, pleasantly surprised to find it was still functional. He took it upstairs and placed it on the small kitchen table, then went to find you in the bedroom, where he heard you opening and shutting the dresser drawers.

The queen bed was covered in clothes, women's clothes on the right and men's on the left. On the floor you had tossed three well-worn hunting jackets, and on the other side of the room was a pile of discarded clothes that looked like they were meant for warmer months.

"Makin’ some progress up here?” he asked, bending down to take a closer look at the jackets and opening the pockets to see what was left behind. He triumphantly pulled out a few batteries and a lighter, shoving them in his jeans pocket. He picked the jacket up and shook the dust off before trying it on.

"Yeah, we got some good options. I think the guy's clothes will fit you, her clothes will be a little baggy on me but that's fine, I can do layers," you said over your shoulder as you scooped up loose socks from the top drawer and tossed them on the bed, getting to work matching and rolling them up. "Did you find anything useful?"

Joel put the jacket back on the floor and picked up a second one, trying that one on before settling on the third, which was a little big on him, but the thick leather kept him well insulated. "Yeah, actually, I found a hunting trap. I'm gonna go out a little ways and see if we can catch somethin', I think we need more protein, we've been needin' to take too many breaks lately."

"You want me to come with you?" you stood up after matching up the last pair of socks.

"Nah, I won't be long, you keep workin' on this stuff here." Joel grabbed his rifle and the trap, closing the front door behind him and setting out into the woods.

The cabin was surrounded by a thick forest but there were a few trails that must have been forged by deer given how tall the grass and narrow the paths were. Joel walked carefully into the trees, staying alert for any threats. Out this far into the wilderness, infected weren't the problem. The pair of you hadn't come across any more people since that night in his apartment a month ago but he made sure you stayed off the roads as much as possible. You weren't as quiet or withdrawn anymore, but he noticed you were becoming hardened by the world you were forced to live in. He had seen the slow progression as you both learned how to take down infected as efficiently as possible. He remembered when you first had to do it: you were so scared he could see the switchblade shaking in your hand as you snuck up behind a dormant runner. As the weeks went on and you practiced more, you became more comfortable taking them down, but he also saw the hardness growing in your eyes. He knew it was just a product of your environment and it was essential in order to survive, but some nights when he was unable to sleep, he laid awake and imagined a world where he could be a shield for you, taking all damage, and you could be your warm and sweet self again, safe under his protection.

Being out in the wild without the comfort of an apartment helped quell his feelings for you a little. He was less distracted when he had to always be on high alert, forcing his thoughts off you and onto survival. But whenever you stayed in a safe spot for a few days, like this cabin, he eventually found his thoughts wandering back to how soft your lips were against his that night, the curve of your hips in your dress, or the way you moaned into his mouth. The forced proximity and the illusion of safety usually meant his body ended up finding yours in the middle of the night and pulled you close to him. You never mentioned it, and neither did he, but he knew it was a byproduct of trying to stamp out his feelings for you. It was almost like his mind was saying one thing, but his body was refusing to obey. So, whenever he woke and found himself tangled in you once again, he didn’t allow himself to savor the moment and quickly removed himself from you before his heart swelled and he would be lost in you all over again.

It was about a ten minute walk from the cabin before Joel found a good spot to place the trap. It was near a big bush that looked to be home to some kind of animal based on the prints in the dirt. He took a pink scarf out of his pocket and ripped a piece off, tying it to the tree branch above the trap. As he followed his footsteps back, every minute or so he tore another piece off and tied it to a branch until he reached the cabin. He pushed the door open and set the rifle down by the door. He heard you singing softly to yourself in the bedroom, completely unaware he had entered the cabin. The first instinct he had was to chastise you for not being more aware of your surroundings, but the part of him that was desperate to protect you ultimately won, and instead he stood in the kitchen to listen.

You left the bedroom with an armful of rags you had made from the summer clothes in the corner, lyrics softly leaving your lips when you saw Joel standing there and yelped out of fright.

“Jesus, Joel, you scared the shit out of me!” you exclaimed before taking your pile of rags to the couch and setting them down. “How long were you standing there?”

“Just walked in a minute ago,” he replied, giving you a small smirk. “Found a good spot for the trap, I’ll check it before sundown. Maybe we’ll get lucky.” He shrugged the hunting jacket off and draped it over a chair.

You nodded and headed over to the cupboard to see what the previous residents left behind.

“Are you hungry? We have some soup here, and some canned stew. What do you want?” You turned to face him with your hand on your hip, but his gaze seemed unfocused and his thoughts far away at your question. Moments like this felt so domestic and it made him ache. What did he want? He wanted everything you had to offer. He wanted to turn back time and take back what he said to you, before he ruined everything. He wanted domestic bliss where you made him dinner and he had you for dessert. He didn’t want to be fighting for your lives while you ate expired Dinty Moore.

His gaze refocused on you and replied, “I’ll take the soup.” He reached into his jeans pocket and found the lighter from earlier and got to work setting up a small fire outside while you rummaged around for pots to heat up the canned delicacies that awaited you.

Joel had just left to check the trap before it got too dark, and you were left scrubbing the pots in the sink until your fingers felt raw. You dreaded any time he left. You hated being away from him, and not because you were scared, it was something more. You figured it out when one morning about a week ago you woke up wrapped in his arms again, for maybe the third time, but that morning was when you realized you only truly slept well when he sought you out in the middle of the night to pull you close and breathe you in. You were always disappointed when he woke up and pulled away from you so fast, leaving you feeling ashamed for being the only one who wanted it to continue. You had to constantly remind yourself it meant nothing, that Joel only had wanted one thing from you by replaying how mad he got for not sleeping with him that night. He never apologized for it, and you know you shouldn’t care anymore, but sometimes when you let your thoughts wander, it bothered you.

You put the pots back in the cupboard and raked your fingers through your hair aggressively, looking out the window to see if you could spot him. You hadn’t had any moments between you like that day in the subway when you saw the heat behind his gaze as you ran your hand up his arm. You convinced yourself afterwards that you had misread the situation, that the look in his eyes was not one of passion, but one of disapproval, and the embarrassment for the way you behaved sat with you for the next week. Eventually, the embarrassment faded when your focus was redirected to surviving in the wild and learning how to take down infected. You were both becoming pretty good at it, so long as you had the upper hand and noticed them first. Only twice did Joel have to use a gun to take one down, so your ammo reserve was still well stocked. But there was something feral that triggered inside you when you watched him kill: the little curl his upper lip made when he made contact, the fire in his eyes when the adrenaline kicked in, the way the muscles in his arms moved from the force of piercing a knife through their skulls. There had to be something wrong with you, nobody should find something like that attractive.

You heard his boots walking up the small porch, but you put your hand on your gun, just in case you were wrong. He opened the door, smiling proudly and holding up a dead rabbit to show you, and set the rifle back down in the corner by the door.

“I’ll go skin it, get it prepped for later. We can finally have a real meal for dinner.” Joel said, still holding the rabbit in his hand. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his smile faltering a bit when he noticed your expression seemed a little distant. You shook your head and smiled.

“Nothing, I’m fine, just distracted today,” you assured him, then turned around to find a small bag of rice you had seen next to the soup earlier. “I’ll make this to eat with dinner.” You plopped it down on the counter and went back to the bedroom to review the clothes you had set aside. Joel’s eyes followed you until you disappeared around the corner. He could tell something was wrong, but he knew better than to push it.

Joel was right about needing more protein and rest. You both felt recharged after just two nights but allowed yourselves the luxury of one more night indoors before heading off towards Pittsburgh. The morning you planned to leave was when Joel had let his guard down and you awoke entwined with him again. It was early, the sun hadn’t even risen yet. You knew the longer you let him do this, the more hurt you would ultimately inflict upon yourself, but as hard as you tried you just could not bring yourself to be the one to end the embrace. So, you squeezed your eyes shut and willed yourself back to sleep.

Joel stirred when the sun shone into his eyes through the thin curtains, squinting and yawning. As usual, he detached himself from you quickly, frustrated with his subconscious once again. After using the bathroom, he went outside to start a fire. The air was crisp and there was a sharp autumn wind that took his breath away. He huddled in his new jacket and shifted from foot to foot as he waited for the fire to flare up. He looked up into the sky, trying to detect if any rain would be heading your way, but the forest blocked most of his view. He heard the cabin door swing shut and twisted around to watch you walk down the steps wrapped in one of the other hunting jackets and carrying a kettle in one hand and the jar of instant coffee in another. He reached out to take the items from you so you could go back inside and grab two mugs and a spoon. He sat down on one of the thick logs used for stools that were surrounding the firepit and waited for the water to boil. You came back out with the mugs but also had a couple bowls and packets of instant oatmeal.

“’Morning,” you greeted groggily, setting the items down on one of the empty logs and choosing a spot next to him. You yawned, looking around the forest and buried your face in your coat when the wind picked up.

“Sleep ok?” Joel asked you, knowing full well he was setting you up to ask about the way he woke up clutching you, but much to his relief, it seemed as though that topic was never brought up.

You nodded, saying, “Yeah, better than usual.” And left it at that.

Neither of you were morning people and generally didn’t speak much until coffee hit your system. You had been lucky so far and found reserves of it at most of the places you stopped, but you had to dip into the stash from your apartment when you made camp in the forest. You sipped your coffee and ate your oatmeal in silence.

“Next time we find a sporting goods store, we oughta look for a bow and arrow, somethin’ silent,” Joel mused as he scraped his bowl. “We should learn to hunt out here. With winter comin’, it would be a good skill to have.”

You agreed, grabbing both bowls and the kettle while he picked up the mugs and snuffed out the fire. It was probably pointless, but you cleaned your dishes and put them back. It was unlikely the owners of this cabin would find it again, but it just felt wrong to leave things messy. This cabin provided for you both when you needed it and keeping it clean and in its original condition felt like the best way to thank it.

After breakfast, you packed up all your new clothes and replenished any food and rags you could fit in your packs and headed back out on the trail towards Pittsburgh. The forest was thick and lush, and offered a lot of cover, so you were able to make decent time getting to the city, arriving in the early afternoon. You approached a cliffside, stopping there to eat lunch and rest for the first time since you left the cabin. Joel didn’t want to start a fire and attract attention, so you ate some granola bars, peanuts and shared a can of peaches while you surveyed the city in the distance.

“So, what’s the plan?” you asked him, taking a sip from your canteen.

“Well,” he began, shoving the wrappers from the granola bars into his backpack, “I figure we should steer clear of the city proper best we can, especially the QZ. They won’t ask questions; they’ll just shoot on sight if they see anyone.”

You looked up at the sun in the sky, trying to determine the time. “We will have to find somewhere in the city that’s quiet, we won’t make it through before sundown.” You told him, looking back from the sky to meet his gaze. He nodded, impressed.

“Yep, you’re exactly right. Good girl.” he said, the compliment making you flush. “If we stick to the outskirts, maybe we can find a small shop or somethin’. But we’re gonna have to take turns takin’ watch, I don’t trust bein’ this close to soldiers.” he warned you, and you nodded in understanding. After you had spent a few minutes resting, Joel stood up, checking his revolver and tucking it back into his pants and zipping his backpack closed. You followed suit, shoving a rag back into your pack that you used to wipe some sweat off your forehead, and you both soldiered on towards the city.

It was approaching dusk as you and Joel finished clearing out a gas station in a quiet part of the city. There were only three runners inside, and you made quick work of taking them down silently. You helped Joel drag the last body into the men's bathroom, closing the door behind you. Joel wasn't thrilled with the building: it was filled with huge broken windows and left you too exposed for his liking, but the sun was waning, and your choices were limited. There was a small office tucked in the corner that you had emptied of the rolling desk chair and a few boxes of receipts so you could spread out your sleeping bag on the floor. Joel insisted on taking first watch, and you propped the door to the office open with one of the boxes so you could hear if there was any trouble before tucking yourself in.

Joel sat on the rolling chair by the front door, hiding in the darkness behind an aisle, every so often standing in a crouch to glance out the large windows for any movement. He was getting tired, but he still had a couple more hours left on his watch before he woke you. In an effort to keep him awake, he wandered over to the small electronics section behind the cash register, perusing the items on the shelves. His gaze settled on a Timex analog watch. He pried open the package and attached it to his wrist, adjusting the time to match the clock on the wall, assuming it was correct before sitting back down in the chair.

You had about 20 minutes left before he planned to wake you up. Joel was just finishing some beef jerky when he saw flashlights bouncing off a building about a block away. He straightened up in his chair, tossing the bag of jerky to the side, and hoisted the rifle onto his shoulder so he could see through his scope. He watched behind the aisle as a group of four men walked down the street in the direction of the gas station. He could see they were armed, noting knives in their boots, pistols holstered at their hips and two of them held military grade assault rifles. As they came into view, Joel scanned their clothes for any type of military insignia but found none. How did they get those assault rifles?

They were getting closer, but Joel still couldn’t tell if they were planning on entering the gas station or if they were just passing through. His hands began to sweat as he gripped his rifle tighter, his body tense and ready to strike. They were about 50 yards away when one of the men laughed at something one of the others said. The rest immediately shushed him, but it was too late. They froze as an unfamiliar noise echoed through the air from a dumpster they had passed half a block ago. Joel frowned, unable to identify the noise, but based on the reactions of the men, they knew. They whipped around, their backs now to the gas station, all four aiming their guns in the direction of the noise. It sounded like a high-pitched screech mixed with a gasp, then a distinct click, click, click. He heard one of the men swear under his breath, his voice sounding shaky as he shifted his weight back and forth nervously. The one next to him tried to get him to be quiet, but his nerves got the best of him, and a shot rang out, making Joel jump in surprise. In his peripheral, he saw you fly out of your sleeping bag, scrambling for your gun. He crouched as low as he could without sacrificing speed, and made his way over to the office, wrapping his hand over your mouth as you twisted around about to shout out to him. He put a finger against his lips, and only when you hastily nodded did he slowly remove his hand, turning back around to hide behind the front counter with you peeking over his shoulder, watching the scene unfold.

Two infected came ambling towards the group. At first, they stumbled and were slow, but when one of them shifted his weight and slid on some loose asphalt, they both let out a horrific scream unlike anything you had heard before and charged towards the group. Neither of you could understand the creatures you were seeing: they had a fungus growing all over their bodies but primarily on their heads, a mouth was the only facial feature you recognized since the fungus had completely grown over the rest of their faces. Blood had stained their throats and chests, their clothes were ripped and barely hung on, and underneath their skin looked wrinkly, but upon closer inspection, it appeared to be more layers of fungus.

The assault rifles were spitting bullets and bouncing off the clickers, as if the fungus acted like some type of armor. One of the clickers jumped on the man who had slipped, viciously ripping into his throat while its fingers dug animalistically into his chest and blood pooled in the street below him. Another man saw his opportunity and pressed his pistol to the back of the clicker’s head, firing and watching its body drop to the pavement. Then without hesitation, he aimed his gun at his friend’s head and fired, his body jerked once and stilled. In the meantime, the second clicker had made short work of the other two men, one already ripped apart on the ground while it continued its assault on the other. The man did the same thing: walked up and shot the clicker in the back of the head, and for good measure shot the other two men on the ground. He was now the last man standing, panting for breath as he bent over to rest his hands on his knees. That was when he noticed the blood seeping through his jeans and trickling down to his sneakers.

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself, sitting down in the road to lift the pant leg. Joel could see the telltale imprint of teeth and blood when the man aimed his flashlight at his leg. He dropped the pant leg back down and hung his head between his knees. Joel tightened his grip on his rifle, expecting the man to come to the gas station in need of first aid, but before he could blink, the man lifted his pistol up to the side of his head and fired, dropping lifelessly to the side and joining the pile of dead bodies in the road.

Joel twisted around to try to shield your eyes, but it was too late. You let out a shaky breath, one tear sliding down your cheek as you looked up at him, his face full of concern. His eyes traveled down and reached his hand out to cup your face, his thumb gently wiping the tear away. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you had to resist the urge to lean into his touch.

"You alright?" he whispered to you in the dark. You nodded, breaking the contact and standing up.

The whole attack took less than five minutes. Joel approached the broken window and leaned out, listening intently to see if the noise had attracted any more infected or people. You waited as Joel went to each window multiple times to confirm nothing else was around. Satisfied, he turned back to you, your eyes wide and still gripping your gun at your side.

"I don't think anyone else is around," he said, placing the rifle next to the office chair. You nodded, tucking your gun in the back of your jeans.

"What the fuck was that?" you asked, staring at the bodies. "So these things are evolving now?"

"Seems that way," Joel answered, leaning tiredly up against the wall. He fought to keep his eyes open, but you could see he was exhausted.

"Go get some rest, I got this," you told him, "I'll wake you if I hear or see anything at all, I promise."

Joel wanted to resist and tell you he wasn't tired, but a yawn pushed through and gave him away. "You sure?"

"Yeah, go ahead. You need your rest, and we have to get out of this city tomorrow." You waved him off towards the office and went to sit in the chair after you grabbed his rifle, using the scope to get a better look at your surroundings.

Joel didn't bother rolling out his own sleeping bag, he just tucked himself into the one you were using, your scent enveloping him as he drifted off.

The sun rose about an hour ago. You waited as long as you could before deciding to wake Joel. He seemed so tired last night, you wanted him to get as much time as he could, but you knew you needed to leave. Once you got back into the forest, you could rest again. You went to the back office, carrying a to-go container of dry cereal in one hand, and found him snoring on his side with his back to the door. You popped a few pieces of Cinnamon Toast Crunch in your mouth and leaned down to gently shake his shoulder.

Joel whipped around at your touch and grabbed your wrist firmly, his eyes wild. You dropped your cereal in surprise.

"Joel! It's me," you yanked your arm, but he still held your wrist in his grasp and it was starting to hurt. "Joel!" you said again as loud as you dared. He finally realized and let you go, stumbling back a bit as you rubbed your wrist.

"Shit, sorry, must have been havin' a bad dream, you alright?" he asked worriedly, opening the sleeping bag and reaching forward to examine your wrist. He brushed his thumb tenderly over the red mark he left, the gesture making you melt and leaving you with a pang in your stomach.

"I'm fine, it's ok," you said, taking your wrist back and turning away from him, trying to create some space. "We should get going, eat something quick and I'll refill our packs with any supplies I can find."

"You sure you're ok?" he eyed you carefully. He hated how you shied away from his touch. You nodded, opening up another cereal from the shelf and continued to eat while you inventoried the food in your packs.

You shouldered your backpacks and guns after you ate, getting ready to head out. After stepping out onto the road, Joel frisked the dead bodies and picked up some more ammo for your handgun, along with two extra flashlights. He checked the assault rifles, too low on ammo for him to consider taking one, but he did remove two of the knives and sheathes strapped around their ankles, handing a set to you. The roads seemed quiet, so you took advantage and got a move on, silently threading your way through the city.

November 2003

Cleveland, OH

The weather was turning cold and rainy, even a couple nights leaving a dusting of snow that melted early the next morning. You trudged along behind Joel in the pouring rain, trying to stay hidden and dry by walking underneath a raised highway. It was risky, being close to the roads, but Joel didn't see much choice. The weather hasn't been cooperating for a couple days now, and your journey had significantly slowed down. He glanced at his watch, seeing it was around 4pm. It was getting darker earlier now, and the storm clouds just made it worse. He sighed, shaking the water droplets from his curls, and looked around. You were near an exit ramp. He saw it led to a suburban area maybe two miles away, clusters of smaller one story homes that the builders made as close as possible to one another in order to sell more houses.

"C'mon, this way," he said over his shoulder, bringing you out of your reverie. You looked in the direction he was leading you and quietly celebrated to yourself. You were tired and soaked, you didn't want to set up camp outside again and the possibility of sleeping on a mattress gave you a second wind.

The two of you hid in some thick decorative bushes looking down a road called York St. All the houses looked very similar and close together, the biggest differences being the color the owners had chosen for the siding. Joel had kept watch for about an hour in this position, waiting until it got dark so he could see if any of the houses had flashlights or lanterns inside. You were squatting next to him, trying to control your shivering but the rain was pouring down hard, and your clothes were dripping wet, even under your jacket. Your teeth chattered as you inadvertently leaned against him for some warmth. Focused intensely on the homes in front of him, Joel's body tensed at the unexpected contact. He glanced down at you and saw your soaking wet hair and your lips a darker shade than normal.

“Alright, let’s see if we can get into this one right over here, follow me.” he said, helping you stand into a crouch as you jogged over to the yellow house on the corner. Joel peered inside the windows for a minute while you stood watch with your arms crossed, keeping an eye out for any light or movement on the street or houses. You heard a snap behind you, and you turned to see Joel had used his large hunting knife to break the doorknob. You sighed with relief as you followed him inside, shutting the door behind you.

You swung your flashlights around the room, Joel rushing to the windows and closing all the curtains as you inspected the house. It was small: a living room, kitchen, one bathroom and two bedrooms. Joel went down into the basement to make sure it was clear while you emptied essentials from your pack in one of the bedrooms. You pulled out a somewhat dry set of clothes and tucked them under your arm, heading towards the bathroom. You took your jacket off to hang up on the shower rod to airdry and got to work peeling the soaking wet clothes from your body. You figured you could just toss the shirts you were wearing and pick up new ones here, but you really liked the jeans you had so you did your best to lay them out to dry in the tub.

After you put some dry clothes on, you started to feel a little better, but you still couldn’t shake the shiver in your bones. Joel mirrored your actions after he came up from the basement, changing into fresh clothes and hanging up the wet ones to dry, making sure to take the keychain out of his pants pocket and transferred it to his new ones, and then met you in the kitchen where you were rifling through the cupboards to see if there was anything worth eating. You pulled out a bag of trail mix, some canned tuna, and a few cans of mixed fruit, setting them on the small table while Joel rooted around for some forks.

You were hungrier than you realized and ate quickly, all the miles you walked today catching up with you.  Joel finally broke the silence after he finished a can of fruit.

“Which room did you want to sleep in?” he asked. This was the first time you stayed indoors where there were two sizeable beds. He wanted to give you the option, give you your space. You kept your gaze trained down at the bag of trail mix in front of you, considering his words. You knew he was giving you a choice, and it was completely up to you now on what the sleeping arrangements would be.

“I liked the room I put our backpacks in, why don’t we stay in that one.” you replied, still not looking up. We. Joel’s pulse sped up and he tried to hide his grin. You made the choice to stay the night with him, you wanted to be with him. It was probably just a habit for you, or maybe you were afraid to be on your own, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to be apart from you, either, regardless if his reason differed from yours. 

That night, he heard you softly snoring, laying on your side with your back to him like usual. This time he deliberately turned over and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to him. He breathed in your scent and nestled his face at the back of your neck as you let out a contented sigh, and small smile played across his lips as he closed his eyes.

Chapter Eleven

Taglist: @chiogarza.

[yutahoes]

Caramel

(Part Eleven)

characters: stripper! Yuta x female! wealthy! Y/N genre: chaptered, smut, angst, fluff word count: 3.1k words summary: Y/N has everything in her bitter life, not until she meets a sweet-looking stripper. warnings: matured theme, stripper au!, third person POV, flashback, accidental murder(?) (please see past chapters), mentions of death and killing, running away taglist: @cherrymotodude @tenjyucat @justsomekpopstuff @ilhoonseyeballs @whyme11 @a-bts-world @amazinggraxia a/n: I'm sorry if this took some time to post and it felt nothing. Classes already started and the last two weeks had been so busy. I plan to make this end in just fifteen chapters but I haven't come up with the ending just yet. Thank you for being patient and for waiting for this next chapter.

Part Ten

President Y/N Y/L/N. 

It was a designation she had always wanted all the time. A position she had yearned for. Now that it’s in her reach, why isn’t she ecstatic about it? 

This is everything she had wanted all along. Is it possible that she wanted something else now? Can her dreams change in an instant? 

It was planned all along, Y/N discovered. When Jaehyun agreed to this engagement, in the first place, he suggested that Y/N would take over her father’s position in the company. He reasoned out that she deserved it. She had been working hard for the company so she should take the position. However, although she had the highest position in the company, she will still be working under Jaehyun’s management. 

She thought nothing would benefit their company with this merging but the stakeholders all agreed that this would strengthen both companies. The Jungs with their local standing and the Kims with their global reach. 

A powerful female in a male-dominated environment isn’t a good look to a well-established company. She had done a lot of things for the company, and even Jaehyun - the future chairman- thought that she deserved this. So why can’t the board of directors accept the decision? What more should she do for them to warm up to her? And it stressed the hell out of Y/N. 

Junyoung was wide-eyed seeing his sister outside his school. Immediately, he ran to her as if they hadn’t seen each other that morning. “Why are you here?” he asked. “You’re not that busy in the office?” 

The girl only giggled, taking his backpack and then opening the backseat door for him. “I want to have ice cream with you.” The younger boy grinned widely. 

Y/N was just staring at her brother, smearing his face with the banana split he ordered just for himself. A smile escaped her lips because of his childishness. Junyoung is so innocent, it is endearing. A contrast to her wicked world. 

She’s relieved Junyoung came into her life. 

The best ploy her mom had ever done. 

She can’t wait to see Junyoung grow up and be an amazing man. Will she still be a part of him at that time? “Junyoung,” she called quietly. “What do you want to be when you grow up?” There was a phase in his life when he wanted to be a model like Jungwoo and then a musical actor like Doyoung. He even wanted to be a fireman and a doctor. But what exactly does her brother want to be in life? Is it too early to ask that question? 

The younger smeared ice cream on his face which made her chuckle, reaching some tissues to wipe the chocolate off his lips. “My dream is to be like you.” She stopped what she was doing. Junyoung grinned, his chubby cheeks evident. “I’ll take over the company so you can rest and travel abroad like Jungwoo and Doyoung hyung.” 

What? 

Her younger brother pushed the bowl of ice cream in front of her, “You should eat some ice cream.” He even handed her his spoon. “Coffee is bad for you, especially those dark ones you always drink.” Y/N had to stare at her coffee cup, dark coffee with a hint of caramel. Just how she liked it. “Ice cream would make you feel good.” 

“I feel good,” she chimed in but Junyoung shook his head. “Why? Do I look bad?” 

Once again Junyoung shook his head. “You’re still the prettiest.” She giggled. “But you look better when you still weren't Jaehyun’s wife.” She badly wanted to correct him. She isn’t Jung Jaehyun’s wife just yet. They’re just engaged to be married. 

But those words startled her. First, why isn’t Junyoung calling Jaehyun hyung? Second, what does he mean by that? 

“You look happier with Yuta hyung.” He claimed while munching a spoonful of ice cream. 

She stared at him blankly then at the warm coffee cup in her hands. She had underestimated Junyoung’s innocence. How did he know these things? Caramel. Making her lighter. A boost of serotonin.

She misses him. 

Maybe Junyoung’s words stuck in her mind that she doesn’t feel ecstatic even if the party was about her and Jaehyun. How could both their mothers organize this kind of party? Although there are familiar faces, she can’t seem to find the courage to greet them. “Are you alright?” Jungwoo asked, handing her a glass of champagne. 

Even a small sip of champagne doesn’t sit well with her. “I’m fine, I’m just tired.” She leaned on her brother’s shoulder, feeling her knees weak. “I want to leave already.” 

“This is your party.” The girl rolled her eyes in annoyance, making Jungwoo chuckle. He drank the contents of the champagne glass she was holding earlier. “I invited the guys from the club. Did you know that it was shut down?” 

Y/N stood up to look at her brother in surprise. She didn’t know that. The club had shut down? Why? And they’re here? Her eyes started wandering around and as if her eyes cleared up saw Johnny’s tall frame. “Ten explained that a rich woman bought the club,” The way Jungwoo said those words confused Y/N. She quickly spotted Ten and then Taeyong. “And ever since that, they had never seen Yuta.”  Her eyes turned to Jungwoo in surprise. What?

She felt chills all over her body and she visibly shivered. Goosebumps appeared on her skin as her eyes focused on one person, a woman in a purple dress smirking her way. Nothing bad happened to Yuta, right? She didn’t do anything to him, right? Y/N’s feet were dragging her to where she was, loud clanging of glass and small yelps could be heard as she kept on bumping to some of the guests. “Y/N,” someone called holding her arm. She wanted to call his name. Then maybe, just maybe, he could appear before her. “What’s wrong?” He’ll assure her that he’s fine. That she didn’t harm him. 

That she isn’t the reason why something bad happened to him. 

"Y/N," the voice called once again. In her teary vision, she could see Doyoung looking at her in concern. "Let's get you out of here."

-------

The room was dark and freezing. The sound of pouring rain and the thunderstorm rang in Y/N’s ears. Loud voices can be heard echoing from outside the house but it was muffled by her hand on both her ears. Tears sprang from her eyes as her lips pleaded for everything to stop. She could see her teardrops on the floor in the faint shade of red—her older brother’s blood. 

“This is an accident!” a male booming voice can be heard. “We cannot put our own daughter in jail. She’s still young.” 

“Then we should just get rid of her.” 

“Are you even hearing yourself? We still have a child left. This is a tragedy but shouldn’t we just focus now on taking care of Y/N?” 

“How would I take care of a monster? A murderer?” 

“If you don’t want to take care of her, I’ll take her away from here.” A small light can be seen as the door opens, “I wouldn’t let you hurt my daughter. I’ll take her away from you.” 

The small glimpse of light was immediately changed to red and blue blinking lights, an ear-piercing siren sound blaring in the rainy night. 

Even at a young age, Y/N knew she could not escape her. That running away meant hurting the people she loved. 

If she wanted to know if Yuta was safe, she needed to obey her. If she becomes the official president of the company, she’ll have all the resources to look for him. Then maybe, just maybe, she could run away from all of this. 

An idea that sounds so incredulous now that she’s wearing her bridal dress. 

This should be a joyous event but she felt as if all the weight of the world was on her shoulders. A gentle knock on the door can be heard and she breathed heavily before telling the person to come in. Her stepdad was wearing a crisp tuxedo, looking really dashing, with a wide grin on his face. “You’re very lovely.” Y/N returned the same smile, thanking him for the compliment, as he gestured if he could sit beside her. “If your dad was here, he’d probably cry seeing his little girl wearing a wedding gown.” The thought only added weight to her shoulders. She was the reason why he was brought to jail. She was the cause of his death. “I knew I would,” He then sniffled a little. “I think I will.” 

Y/N gave him a soft smile, taking some tissues to hand it to the older who had tears in his eyes. “Dad, thank you for taking care of me and mom.” He shook his head, “Thank you for accepting me as your daughter and letting me experience how to have a dad.” The tears flowed non-stop which made her giggle, “In my next life, I hope you’re my real dad.”

“Your dad will hate me but I’m glad you became my daughter in a short time.” He laughed lightly, wiping the tears from his eyes. “I hope you’ll find happiness with Jaehyun.” And she wished the same. 

Once she goes out of that door and into the event hall, she’ll be a Jung. Not a Y/L/N, not a Kim. She’ll be a daughter-in-law of a wealthy family. Not a Kim stepdaughter and especially not her mother’s daughter. This is her only chance to run away and live a new life. She cannot just run away right now. “Dad,” she called, “Can you walk me down the aisle?” 

It was a sure way for her to reach the end of the wedding aisle. Even if her mother was staring evilly at her for her impulsive decision, she held onto her stepfather’s arm tight. She cannot let go right now. 

She will obey her for the last time. And her life will be better.

Jaehyun looks really handsome in his tailor-made suit. The initial impression of him looking like a prince didn’t leave Y/N even if they grew up together. She used to think that the girl he loved would be the luckiest in the world. And she still thinks that will be the case. Except the idea of taking away that experience by marrying him feels like a heavy burden to her. Jaehyun should be waiting on the altar for the girl he loves. He should be getting married to the love of his life. Not to her.  

And she wished this could be like the movies where a young man would come in to stop the wedding. A young man with a bright smile and sweet scent. But even if the person in charge of the wedding paused to give time for anyone to stop the wedding, silence deafened the crowd. Y/N had lost her hope to see Yuta again. 

“Y/N Y/L/N, do you take Jung Jaehyun to be your lawfully wedded husband…?” The other words became too blurry. She can’t. She shouldn’t. But she must. “I do.” 

“Do you, Jung Jaehyun, take…?” All the chances are now gone. 

She heard the gasps of the crowd before Jaehyun’s words registered in her ears. “I’m sorry, Y/N.” Her eyes went to Jaehyun then to the other older person in front of them who asked the younger what he meant. The man in front of her held her hand, “I hate to do this when you’re this pretty, Y/N.” She was confused. Do what? “But we can’t get married.” What? She was more confused. What? Why? 

From her peripheral vision, she saw how Jaehyun’s parents stood up at what the younger man claimed. Her mom even called his name, “Mom, Dad, could you please ask everyone to leave?” There was confusion in everyone’s face. Is this really happening?

Y/N’s head was pounding at what was happening. Are they getting married or not? Why did Jaehyun stop the wedding? She needed to calm her mind. She wanted to sit down. 

But someone had other things in mind. 

Y/N felt a hard slap on her cheek and was about to tumble to the ground if not for someone holding her shoulder. “What the hell did you do?” Her mom shouted loud enough for her voice to echo in the halls of the event place. 

“Auntie, this is my decision. Y/N had nothing…” She heard the man holding her say. 

“This is about that guy, isn’t it?” The older asked making Y/N look at her. Although she doesn’t say anything, she knows what she means. “I should have gotten rid of him.” She hissed under her breath that startled Y/N.

Her mind was clouded and her knees felt weak but Y/N lunged forward to at least look taller than her mom. “What did you do to Yuta?” The older woman smirked. She was confused, tired, and just utterly confused. If this continues, she knows she’ll do something drastic. “Why, Mom?” She cried, tears streaming down her face. “Why do you hate me so much?” 

A loud cackle can be heard, maniacally chilling that Junyoung even held onto his eldest brother’s hand in fright. “I always wished that it was you who died that night.” The older woman’s name was called by the loud stern voice of Y/N’s stepdad. “You have always caused me pain, Y/N.” 

Her knees weakened at those words. She had always known that. Always felt that hatred. But hearing it now, coming from her own mother’s mouth made it more painful. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, not knowing what to say. She just wanted this pain to go away. She doesn’t want to cry anymore. Not in front of her stepbrothers, not in front of her real brother who looks up at her. She just wanted everything to stop. “What should I do for you to forgive me?” 

“Leave. Kill yourself,” There was a gasp then a tight hold on Y/N’s forearm, “You’re not even a daughter to me.” 

Y/N could do that. If that was what makes her happy. 

That is her job as her daughter, isn’t it? 

She felt her hand being held before being dragged out of the hall. The tears from her eyes aren’t giving her a clear image of the person and she wanted to trick herself into believing that this is Yuta. When the door of a black car was opened, she felt her hand shaking. “Get in, Y/N. I’m going to take you away from here.” 

“I could just die.” 

Jaehyun’s hold on her was so tight that it started to sting. “That’s not what you want, Y/N. Do not listen to your mom or anyone else.” He shouted. In the years that she had known Jaehyun, this was the first time that she saw anger in his eyes. He had always been so calm and serious but not angry at all. Not to her, at least. “What do you want to do, Y/N?” 

Her voice hitched in her throat. It was a question that she had never asked herself. A question she doesn’t know how to answer. “Yuta,” she whispered. “I want to see Yuta.” 

The dimple on Jaehyun’s cheek can be seen as he smiled warmly at her, asking her to get inside the car. “We’ll go to his place then look for him there. I’ll ask help from an investigator I know so we could locate him, if ever.” He explained while driving the car away from the place. “I’ll make sure you can have a fresh start with him. Away from your mom and all of this.” Y/N was just staring at him. How did Jaehyun think about those things? Did he plan these beforehand? “About the company, I’ll make sure that the stocks would remain in your name even if you decide to leave.” 

“Why?” 

“Because you deserve this, Y/N.” 

The girl shook her head. “I mean, why are you doing this Jaehyun? We can get married and…” 

“But that is not what you want.” He claimed without looking at her. “I’m not the person you love, Y/N. I knew that the first time I saw you looking at Yuta. Why would I make you suffer? I don’t want you to be unhappy because of me.”    

Jaehyun had grown up so much. That was the thought running through Y/N’s mind as she watched him driving to get her away from the place bringing her pain. He used to be so quiet, so meek. He would always hide behind her whenever he’s asking something from his father. Now, he stood up for her. Not just in front of his parents, but in front of hers. 

She could run away. That is the only option she has right now. Run away with Yuta. 

But what if he wasn’t there? What if something bad happened to him? At least she had an ounce of hope that he wasn’t dead based on what her mom claimed. But will she ever get to see him again? 

She probably should just run away alone. That would lessen her pain and expectations. 

Maybe that would stop her from causing harm to another person involved with her. 

“Jaehyun, can you lend me some money?” The guy nodded although confused. “I’ll go abroad.” The guy had to stop the car to look at her, the first time he did during the whole car ride. “You could go back and tell them I ran away with Yuta.”   

“Where would you go?” 

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “But I know I can’t take you with me. I don’t want you to be in trouble, Jae.” 

Jaehyun just stared. Confusion was written on his face before breathing a heavy sigh. He returned to driving, “Just remember that if you ever feel hopeless or if you need anything, please run to me Y/N.” 

She smiled at her childhood friend. He really did grew up well. The person marrying him would be the luckiest in the world and she’s just glad that she didn’t take away that chance for anyone. “I will, Jae. Thank you.” 

But Y/N knew that would hardly happen. This is all on her now. She cannot just run to Jaehyun and bother his life.

Her hand grazed her stomach, the material of her wedding dress soft against her skin.   

At least for them, she knew she could not. 

Part Twelve

[magic-is-something-we-create]

Writeblr Re(rere)intro that's a year late!

Hi! I'm Pax, and I write Big Books that keep getting darker and darker in subject matter 🎉🎉

Basics about me:

he/him or they/them, Mid 20s

Favorite genres: Fantasy, SciFi, Horror, Mystery

Favorite authors: N. K. Jemisin, Tamsyn Muir, Brandon Sanderson, Pierce Brown, Samantha Shannon

Other things I do: Digital art (including commissions!), Twitch streams (usually art or writing sprints, occasionally video games), digital art assets and fonts (PWYW on Ko-Fi!)

Basics about my WIPs:

THE MILLENNIUM SAGA

High fantasy/Steampunk epic, 8 books planned. Book one: Firebreathers (160k words; ~700 pages) Book two: Echoseers (148k words; ~600 pages) Book three: Goddess-Touched (15k as of posting; 3rd attempt at drafting) First person, Multi POV What starts as a simple rebellion against their local Citylord becomes a flight - and fight - for their lives, as Ember Timber, their family, and their newfound friends are forced to flee overseas from the vengeful general who will stop at nothing to earn her Eternal King's favor, and will in fact relish hunting her own son and grandchildren for sport. But along the way, the crew learns that the Eternal King's immortality was not granted in return for his success as the Chosen One long ago, as they have always been told - and the sacrifice for such a thing is not only paid dearly in blood, but on its way to being repeated.

WHISPERS

Dark fantasy Noir. Currently with beta readers. 172k words; ~750 pages. First person, Dual POV. Set in the same world as Millennium Saga, ~5 years after the series concludes. Marika Swiftfoot owes her life to the Shadow of Fowden, the sorceress leader of a terroristic crime syndicate based in the north pole. When the man she once loved finally comes to collect on that life debt ten years later, she plans to kill him the moment it's safe. Too soon, after all, and everyone else she's ever loved will join him beyond the Veil. But hate isn't the only feeling that lingers between them, and when they're offered another way out of their debts, the lives of a few innocents looks like a bargain compared to the life of cruelty ahead of them. Lorelei has been hunting the Shadow for twenty years, and looking for the sister who disappeared for thirty. And here, names are legacies: she wants to earn Hopebringer before her legs give out for good, to erase the stain her father's name has left with Vowbreaker. And for that, she sees one way forward: she must never break her vows, no matter how small. The Shadow must die, and the Whispers with her. Her sister must be found, even if all that's left to find is a story. She must find answers for every case she takes on, even if she doesn't know so much as the name of the man who's gone missing.

THE LOST

Space opera webcomic. First scene fully illustrated; will release once the first chapter is complete, a week after Patrons receive the final scene. In the far reaches of space, the term "Media Empire" is quite literal; the Watchers have extended their influence throughout their galaxy filament with the help of their beloved Coliseum, and the Champion therein. After all, having a shapeshifter capable of replicating anything leads to some gruesome, spectacular fights, made all the more heartrending when they are the last of their kind, trapped in the ship molded from their kin's corpse. But while the Watchers have total control over what happens in the pit, they cannot predict the audience. And they certainly cannot predict the malfunctioning psychic implant of an assassin in the front row, and the loss of both opponents and a long-time prisoner of war to the escape.

I also post art of all of these semi-regularly, including in-progress stuff, as well as excerpts and rambling braindumps!! I'm also a huge worldbuilding nerd, so if you ever want to learn more about the worlds I'm writing, don't be afraid to ask!! I love talking about them :D

Boosts are appreciated <3 tell me about your own WIPs in the tags/replies/wherever!! I love learning about what people are working on!

[pandorapanther]

Lucky Stars- A Moon focused fic

I started making this with intention of it being a oneshot but I got really in a groove and it kept growing and grew beyond OG plans. I wanna finish it before posting it to AO3 but I reallllyyyy wanna share it and hear peoples thoughts too! So enjoy chapter 1 while I keep working at it. I really wanna make and finish a fic for once. Since I keep trying then losing the plots I originally had. I have a goal and I'm desperate to reach it. Content warnings: (im not good at these so tell me if i miss one) Trauma talk, mention of missing kids, a bit angsty ------------------------------------------------------------------------

The generators are broken….again.

The Daycare lights are out as well. Whoever thought it was a good idea to tie the main light functionality of the Daycare to the generators needed to be fired. Ever since that night when a little boy broke into the Pizzaplex they never worked right. Nothing did. Fazbear essentially put a bandaid over a gaping wound and told us business as usual. The Pizzaplex got cleaned up and they put new cases on the Glamrocks giving them just enough repairs to be functional. It's not enough though. Every machine here particularly the Glamrocks are constantly throwing errors, refusing to work, breaking down physically and mentally. That kid somehow gave them all robotic ptsd. No worker is equipped to be a therapist. On top of that all the maintenance workers are massively overworked just barely keeping things going and Fazbear refuses to hire more. This place will never be fully fixed at this rate.

That's where you come in. You hate coming to the Daycare, everyone does, but you are the only available worker. The attendant duo is a two-in-one menace. It's always either Moon constantly pulling pranks, breaking stuff, and making your job harder in general or Sun anxiously fretting over safety in the most helicoptery possible way. Either way it makes every job ten times harder to do. Armed with a flashlight, your choice of caffeine life, and your trusty toolkit you enter the darkness of the Daycare knowing the menace called Moon is out. Taking cautious steps forwards you listen carefully, scanning the room with your trusty light. It's unusually quiet. Normally you would at least hear Moon's giggles in the dark but today,you hear nothing. Even the daycare's bright cheery tune that normally plays has been silenced. Moon always seems to know when someone's here. You are sure he knows you're here too. A pit settles in your stomach as you move deeper into the daycare making your way to the first generator. 

First generator was repaired, then the second, then the third. As you make your way to the fourth, that pit in your stomach only grows bigger and deeper. What is Moon planning? You stop your movement and scan the area in search of the gremlin. You can’t stand this anxiety anymore, you need to find him. Finally, you see a faint red light in the play structure's upper half. Got you. You crawl into the play structure making your way to him. As you crawl close you notice him faced away from you intently focused on something in his hands. The usually alert nap time attendant doesn't seem to notice your presence. 

It's an oddity and yet, also an opportunity. Revenge becomes the only thing on your mind. All those scares and pranks can finally be returned in this one rare opportunity. You smirk as you slowly sneak closer, being wary of how you move so as to not to lose your chance. You freeze as Moon reaches a hand out scooping up what looks like a small strip of paper bringing it to his lap as he continues his fidgeting. Briefly you are curious about what he could be doing but, the curiosity isn't stronger than the need for revenge. Suddenly you lunge, giving off a war cry as you wrap your arms around him. 

Several things happen in the next few moments. He jolts with the war cry clearly startled by your sudden presence. As you wrap your arms around him he flails throwing bits of paper everywhere. In his flailing a jar rolls free from his lap rolling towards the open gap in the structure. Why they don't put those plastic windows there you'll never know. But, that isn't important at that moment as you both lunge for it in an attempt to catch the glass. You only succeed in knocking it further towards the opening as you get in each other's way. You both keep trying to grab for it yet failing, pushing into each other as it slowly tips out the opening and goes tumbling towards the floor landing with a crash.

 You both freeze arms outstretched staring at the opening. After a long moment in the deafening silence you make the first move. Sitting up you begin your apology and descent out of the structure. Your initial movement snaps Moon from his freeze and he snatches you by your jacket freezing you once more. Your mouth lays agape unable to even finish the first word of your apology as he swings you to face him, eyes burning red and brighter than ever with his anger. His red glare burns your eyes and you try to look anywhere but them. You notice his claws dug into the structure ripping through the floor he’s on. You swallow hard. Surely he won’t kill you, he's scary but, he’s just a gremliny prankster, nothing more…right? He brings his face closer to yours, his claws prying free from the floor and grabbing your chin forcing you to face him. His raspy voice comes out in a dangerous tone.

“Why?” 

He only says a single word but the dangerous anger is still felt. You squirm in your grip, stuttering over your words trying to find your voice again. This only seems to frustrate him further as he throws you down against the wall of the structure and pulls himself past you. You stay frozen against the wall processing what happened as he makes his way out of the structure and begins picking up the glass. After what feels like an eternity of your heart racing you come to your senses and begin crawling out. Cautiously walking over to the mess you kneel down beginning to pick up the glass. You can hear Moon muttering his ‘clean up’ chant under his breath as he picks up the pieces. His back is turned to you yet it’s obvious this time he’s aware of your presence. A deep sigh escapes your throat. What was meant to be a playful revenge turned into an embarrassing mess. In your mind the whole event ended with Moon learning his lesson about his scares. Reality is way different though and instead you learned not to try and get revenge on the gremlin. 

As you clean lost in thought something colorful catches your eyes. You notice several specks of color among the mess. Reaching for one you pick it up and bring it closer to your eyes squinting in the darkness. A small blue paper star lays in your hand. This must be what he was working on. You wonder why he was making them as you get up walking to where you left your bag of tools. Reaching in you grab the container that houses all the small things you might need and unceremoniously dump it into the bag. You’ll figure that mess out later. You grab a trash bag for the glass as well before walking back to the mess. Kneeling down again you begin placing the stars safely into the container, throwing away as much glass as you can safely pick up. 

As you continue to clean you notice more and more details about the stars. You squint closer, noticing black markings on them. Pulling out your phone you turn on its flashlight and look at the stars in your hand. Each one has a name. The names all repeat multiple times the more stars you look at. You wonder why these names and why do they repeat? You keep staring at them and eventually you notice the folds of one is a weird speck of a mark. You glance at Moon fully confirming he is still ignoring you before you even daring to undo the first fold of the star. Careful not to do any damage you slowly unravel the strip of paper and see it. ‘James - favorite game was hide and seek’. You take another James star and unravel it. ‘dislikes cheese’. You unravel another. ‘got his head stuck in the playhouse window once’. You keep going slowly figuring it out, each star holding a fact about a child of the daycare. But, surely there's more kids in the daycare than this. Why only this handful of names? 

You don't get to dwell as Moon suddenly snatches your wrist pulling the papers from your hand. He looks from them to you, releasing a low growl. You shrink back and squirm, unable to free your arm from his grip. In one smooth motion he stands pulling you to your feet and dragging you along. He pulls you to the fourth broken generator, dropping you beside it. 

“Do your job then get. out.”

He growls out before turning away walking back to finish cleaning the mess. You release a sigh of relief getting to work. You were sure he was gonna use his claws against you. You can't help but feel guilty though. Despite all the issues he's caused for you, your one revenge scare seemed to do a lot more damage. Through the rage Moon seemed almost hurt when he saw the unraveled stars. Not much can be done now though. He for sure won’t let you anywhere near him. As you fix the fourth and move to the last generator you can’t help but sneak a look at him. He’s sitting on the floor, legs crossed his focus once again on the strips of paper piled up beside him. He seems to feel your gaze as he turns to face you giving a low daring growl under his breath, pulling the bits of paper closer to himself. You pick up the pace as you hurry to the final generator sitting and getting to work. 

You don’t get much done as your mind keeps wandering to the names on the stars making you unable to focus on your task. Pulling out your phone you begin to research. You login to the Fazbear database beginning to look up guest profiles. Finally, you find the files of the names on the stars. Each child of the daycare and each one having a final entry where they checked in but never checked out along with a security alert symbol. You recognize that symbol from one of the training modules; it marks a file where the guest had a serious issue recorded by security. You click one of the symbols, the note simply saying ‘missing child’. You go back to the files and click another of the symbols. Same two worded note. You click another and another. All the children of Moon’s stars have the same security alert. Every one missing.

You open a search browser inputting the children’s names alongside the word ‘Fazbear’ in the search bar. To your horror several news articles appear talking about missing children. Sitting down you begin to read through the articles, Several children went missing in the Pizzaplex in various areas. No sign of them was ever found. The names of the Daycare children all listed in the articles along with pictures for anyone who may recognize them. You felt utterly awful. A twisted guilty feeling filled your stomach as you realize the gravity of what you have done. You opened up and went through Moon’s method of grieving. Something he clearly wanted private and out of workers' eyes. You forced yourself into a private moment in the worst possible way. You will never be able to take what you did back.

Your views of the attendant shifted heavily at that moment. You only ever saw him as a prankster and a gremlin. Playing mean jokes and running away in a flurry of jingling bells and creepy giggles is all you’ve ever really seen. But, now that you’ve seen this you realize there’s more to him. Something beyond robotic code. He’s keeping memories of those he cared about that are gone. That deep secretive emotion can’t be copied in code; it can only be felt and lived organically. All your interactions with the animatronics and you never seen beyond their programming until now. Must be the robotic version of a customer service face. Your guilt only grows as you lean against the structure looking out at the lunar animatronic. The stars are mostly repaired tucked safely in their new container. You give a soft sigh moving to finally repair the last generator silently debating how to make it up to the attendant. Not much you can do to make up for this kind of betrayal but there has to be something at least.

Crawling out of the structure you pick up your toolbox and head towards the exit. Looking back at Moon you stumble over a clumsy apology before hurrying out. Closing time is approaching and you need to be out before the shutters close. The generators are fixed but you left them off. The lights will return once the power cycles at midnight. For now Moon needs this time to himself to fix the damage you’ve done. As you clock out at one of the Helpy stations you give the daycares entrance a brief glance. You’ll find a way to apologize, you will make up for what you did and your previous dismissal of seeing them as nothing more than artificial. You make this promise to yourself as you exit the doors, the shutters sliding closed behind you. You mumble a quiet “good night moon” to yourself with a chuckle as you head to your car and make the drive home. 

[lucky-clover-gazette]

kings rising highlights & annotations

chapter 14

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

Because he couldn't put Jokaste in a sack and carry her bodily across the border into Kastor’s territory, the journey presented certain logistical challenges.

In order to justify two wagons and an entourage, they would be pretending to be cloth merchants. This disguise was not going to stand up to any serious scrutiny.

well, actually...

Laurent wandered in and outlined a plan so outrageous that Damen had said yes with the feeling that his mind was splitting apart.

i’ve said the thing about laurent and tabletop rpgs before but UGH. he’d be living his best life

Jord who had won short sword, Lydos of the trident, Aktis the spear thrower, the young, triple-crowned Pallas, Lazar, who had whistled at him,

i like how everyone has qualifications except for lazar, whose identifying quality is that he is gay

Laurent’s addition to the expedition was Paschal, and Damen tried not to think too deeply about the reasons why Laurent thought it necessary to bring a physician.

LMAOOOOO

And if the worst happened, Guion’s testimony had the potential to bring down the Regency. Laurent had said all of this succinctly, and told Guion, in a pleasant voice, ‘Your wife can chaperone Jokaste on the journey.’

wait does damen not even know what the testimony is? iirc guion told it to laurent off the page, after the chair scene. is it the thing about the regent killing the former king, or was that paschal’s piece of the trial? do both of them say it? whatever, the trial stuff is fun but i’m not that determined to work it all out ahead of time. it was a lot more rewarding to that with laurent’s perspective, especially earlier on, but ehhhh here i’m going to take it easy

Guion had understood more quickly than Damen.

shocking (sorry damen)

‘I see. My wife is the leverage for my good behaviour?’ ‘That’s right,’ said Laurent.

when does loyse talk to laurent? does she ever, or does she just speak at the trial uncalled for? guess we’ll see and i’ll trace back what i think probably led to it

Damen watched from a second-storey window as they gathered in the courtyard: two wagons, two noblewomen, and twelve soldiers of whom ten were soldiers and two were Guion and Paschal in metal hats.

He was waiting for Laurent to arrive in order to discuss the finer points of his ridiculous plan.

Laurent was standing in the doorway wearing a chiton of unadorned white cotton. Damen dropped the pitcher. It shattered, shards flying outward as it slipped from his fingers and hit the stone floor. Laurent’s arms were bare. His throat was bare. His collarbone was bare, and most of his thighs, his long legs, and all of his left shoulder. Damen stared at him. ‘You’re wearing Akielon clothing,’ said Damen. ‘Everyone’s wearing Akielon clothing,’ said Laurent. Damen thought that the pitcher had shattered and he could not now take a deep draught of the wine. Laurent came forward, navigating the broken ceramic in his short cotton and sandalled feet, until he reached the seat beside Damen, where the map was laid out on the wooden table. ‘Once we know the rotation of the patrols, we’ll know when to approach,’ said Laurent. Laurent sat down. ‘We need to approach at the beginning of their rotation in order to give us the most time before they report back to the fort.’ It was even shorter sitting down. ‘Damen.’ ‘Yes. Sorry,’ said Damen. And then: ‘What were you saying?’ ‘The patrols,’ said Laurent.

damen can you PLEASE focus.

(this is part of why the baby thing doesn’t work for me. if this is a lighter comedy interlude, why is the baby meant to be understood as a dire, war-altering problem? and if it is a serious dire situation, why are we getting this moment straight out of a fanfic? i know damen is horny despite the horrors and it’s a treat for the reader, but i guess i’m just built different because this moment really does not do anything for me. although to be fair i think that’s partially just because i’m apparently sensitive to instances of laurent being reduced to his body and sexuality, or at least in a way that he is not aware of—see my chapter 12 analysis for the most blatant example. reminds me of the time last week that my mom said on the phone “you only want people to like you on your own terms,” which is a very accurate and damning statement tbh)

They had only twelve soldiers. Twelve-ish, amended Damen, thinking of Paschal and Guion.

AGAIN?? brutal. also i like the “ish,” it’s a little anachronistic and very charming

Vannes could handle Makedon, Laurent said.

i want more laurent and vannes interaction…

The soldiers only needed to know their own roles in the enterprise, and Damen’s briefing to them was short. But Nikandros was his friend, and he deserved to know how they would get across the border. So he told him Laurent’s plan.

honestly damen i think it would be a mercy not to tell him

‘It’s dishonourable,’ said Nikandros.

nikandros private twitter complaint #13. also akielions don't know what "honor" means

‘I wish to restate my strong objection,’ said Nikandros. ‘It’s noted,’ said Damen.

and there's #14

the awkward mien of his own soldiers, who had had to be schooled multiple times not to call him ‘Exalted’

clearly they did not attend the lamen school of committing to the bit

‘Your reports are wrong. The Lady Jokaste is in that wagon.’ There was a pause. ‘In that wagon.’ ‘That’s right.’ Another pause. Damen, who was telling the truth, looked back at the Captain with the steady gaze he had learned from Laurent. It didn’t work. ‘I’m sure the Lady Jokaste won’t mind answering a few questions.’

he rolled like a 9 for persuasion

He was red-faced and sweating slightly. ‘At the Lady’s request, I will ride with you personally through the last of the checkpoints, to ensure that you are not stopped again.’ ‘Thank you, Captain,’ said Damen, with great dignity.

i love that pacat didn’t tell us what the plan was, so we could worry for a second that they'd already failed. and then, this

‘The stories of Lady Jokaste’s beauty are not exaggerated,’ said the Captain, man-to-man, as they wound their way across the countryside. ‘I expect you to speak of the Lady Jokaste with the greatest respect, Captain,’ said Damen. ‘Yes, of course, my apologies,’ said the Captain.

“that’s my fucking DIVORCE HUSBAND”

He said, ‘How did you convince Jokaste to play along with the guards?’ ‘I didn’t,’ said Laurent. He tossed the wad of blue silk in his hands to one of the soldiers to dispose of, then shrugged into his jacket in a rather mannish gesture. Nikandros was staring at him. ‘Don’t think about it too much,’ said Damen.

i love the way ��mannish gesture” is specified. like he can do both. good for him.

(this is sooooo botw/totk link. anyway)

Laurent held out his hand to escort her back from the supply wagon into the main wagon, a bored Veretian gesture. Her eyes had the same bored look as she took his hand. ‘You’re lucky we’re alike,’ she said, stepping down. They looked at one another like two reptiles.

they should be best friends

‘Keep the wagons on course,’ Damen said to Nikandros. ‘I’ll be swift, and I’ll take our best rider with me.’ ‘That’s me,’ said Laurent, wheeling his horse.

“and our horses are canonically in love. just in case you’ve forgotten”

Sweeping a branch out of his face, Damen said, ‘I thought when I was King I wouldn’t be doing this kind of thing again.’ ‘You underestimated the demands of Akielon kingship,’ said Laurent.

i love prince's gambit

‘The undergrowth was thinner when I was a boy.’ ‘Or you were.’

did laurent just call him thicc

‘Stop,’ said Laurent. Damen stopped. Following Laurent’s gaze, he saw a dog lounging on its chain near a small penned field full of horses on the west side of the estate.

me when i want to pet a dog

‘I’ll take care of the sentries,’ said Laurent. ‘You left the dress in the wagon,’ said Damen. ‘Thank you, I do have other ways of getting past a sentry.’

The light through the trees dappled Laurent’s hair, which was longer now than it had been in the palace, and showing signs of minor disarray. It had a twig in it.

how dare that twig mess with laurent’s gorgeous hair!!!

There was no sign of a blond head, but somehow the dog got loose and went streaking through the yard to where the unfamiliar horses were penned.

dog = pet

The spasming excitement of the dog egged them on. As did the sylph-like actions of a ghost, untying ropes, slipping open rails.

laurent is an animal whisperer. that’s a personal headcanon of mine

They probably felt they had the most to lose, but in fact everyone would lose the same thing: their lives. Everyone but Jokaste. She only said, mildly, ‘Trouble at Heston’s?’

i love jokaste. spinoff please

And then he saw the pale head, and the paler white shirt, a lithe figure palming his way from tree trunk to tree trunk. ‘You’re late,’ said Damen. ‘I brought you a souvenir.’ Laurent tossed Damen an apricot. Damen could feel the quiet exultation of Laurent’s men, while the Akielons looked a little dazed. Nikandros passed Laurent his reins. ‘Is this how you do things in Vere?’ ‘You mean effectively?’ said Laurent. And swung up onto his horse.

i’m sad that this series is best known for being horny because i am infinitely more interested in laurent being a snarky action hero than i am in him having sex. and i think lots of other people would be too

Risk of laming was high

i read that as “lamen-ing” at first

Earlier, Laurent had tossed Damen his bedroll and said, ‘Unpack this,’ and Pallas had almost challenged him to a duel for the insult.

Sitting down and eating cheese casually with their King was not something that they knew how to do.

i cannot believe people in the fandom would apparently rather live in akielos than in vere. in akielos, you’re not allowed to acknowledge the humanity of people beneath your class, which as far as i can tell is determined by birth. in vere, people like jord and laurent are homies who mutually respect each other, and you can social climb your way to the high court by giving good head

Laurent strolled up to the impasse, threw himself down on the log next to Damen, and in an expressionless voice launched into the story of the brothel adventure that had earned him the blue dress, which was so unabashedly filthy it made Lazar blush, and so funny it had Pallas wiping his eyes.

i love laurent of vere

‘You smell of horse,’ said Damen. ‘It’s how I got past the dog.’ He felt a throb of happiness, and said nothing, just lay on his back and looked up at the stars. ‘It’s like old times,’ said Damen, though the truth was, he had never really had times like this.

damen are you forgetting prince’s gambit again

‘My first trip to Akielos,’ said Laurent. ‘Do you like it?’ ‘It’s like Vere, with fewer places to have a bath,’ said Laurent.

yeah i’m sure that’s not the sum of his thoughts, but he’s trying to take it easy

‘You want me wandering around the Akielon countryside naked at night?’ And then, ‘You smell just as much of horse as I do.’ ‘More,’ said Damen. He was smiling.

laurent: if you want me to get naked you’re going to have to do it too damen: bet

‘They’re Artesian. Aren’t they? From the old empire, Artes. They say it used to span both our countries.’ ‘Like the ruins at Acquitart,’ said Laurent. He didn’t say, And at Marlas. ‘My brother and I used to play there as boys. Kill all the Akielons and restore the old empire.’ ‘My father had the same idea.’ And look what happened to him. Laurent didn’t say that either.

you just know child laurent used history books and his imagination to construct a sophisticated and complex narrative for him and auguste to play-act

His pulse beat with uncharacteristic nerves, so that he felt almost shy. ‘When all this is over . . . we could take horses and stay a week in the palace.’ Since their night together in Karthas, he hadn’t dared to speak about the future. He felt Laurent holding himself carefully, and there was a strange pause. After a moment, Laurent said, softly, ‘I’d like that.’ Damen rolled onto his back again, and felt the words like happiness as he let himself look up again at the wide sweep of stars.

i think it’s sweet how nervous and awkward they are about admitting the desire to do something this simple, when they’ve had the most complicated and intensely intimate relationship i’ve ever read in fiction

[trekscribbles]

The Bushwhack Job: Chapter Twelve

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven

(Disclaimer: This is a relatively rough draft and subject to change when I post to AO3. I'm just overly excited and want to share what I have.)

The server room was in the basement, and Spencer followed his own advice to take the stairs. He took a few moments to clear the floor he was on first, making sure there wouldn’t be any guards to tail Nate and Sophie, and then jogged down the steps to the basement with an excuse ready on his lips. He’d keep it simple and direct, clean and quick—as long as the hacker didn’t blow the story by reacting to his presence the way Sophie had.

Hardison. The name didn’t elicit any kind of emotional reaction, but then, neither had any of the others. It had taken seeing Nate’s face and hearing Sophie’s voice to bring back the vague memories of their presence in his life—feelings, mostly, and the desperate need to get them out of the building. Spencer would have to lure the guards away before Hardison saw him if he wanted to avoid a fight, and if he only had twenty minutes—fifteen, now—that would be the quickest way to do things.

The security guards had reported up to Lancaster the moment Hardison reached the basement. Per Spencer’s directions, they’d stayed out of sight until Hardison was inside the server room, and then they’d simply closed the doors behind the hacker and left him trapped in the glass-walled room. He’d be safe there—Spencer’s orders were not to engage Ford’s team beyond capturing them—but his anxiety rose with every step he descended. It was almost over. Once he got Hardison and Parker free of the building, they could regroup, figure out a new plan, and then... And then what? Would he go back with them, or to Sunny?

Could he go back with them? Would they want him? Nate and Sophie had seemed glad to see him, but that was only because they didn’t know what he’d done. What would Parker think when she found out he’d left the LanCast building while believing she was inside? The fact that she wasn’t was irrelevant; if it was his job to protect them, he’d failed.

What good was he to them if he couldn’t do his job?

The door to the basement loomed at the bottom of the stairs, and he shoved down his misgivings and focused on the task at hand. He hadn’t been in the basement himself, but he’d studied it on the security tapes; the layout was mostly open, giving anyone in the server room a visual of the hallway leading to the stairwell. If he wanted to avoid Hardison’s attention, he’d have to call the guards toward him and hope they didn’t think it was suspicious.

And if they did, he’d handle it. Either way, he was getting Hardison out of that basement.

Spencer blew out a breath at the bottom of the stairs and pulled open the door, standing out of sight of the server room. “Hey,” he called, drawing the attention of all three guards stationed in the hall. “Why aren’t you answering your radios?”

One of the men moved toward him. “What do you mean? We haven’t heard anything.”

Spencer opened his mouth to answer, but movement over the guard’s shoulder caught his attention. Two more men were crouched by the support beam outside the server room, their backs to the stairs.

Unease clawed at Spencer’s gut. “Who are they?”

“Contractors,” answered the first guard. “Something about checking the foundation. What about the radios?”

Spencer spoke without taking his eyes off the men. “Come here. Let me check your frequency.”

The nearest guard came over, but the others stayed where they were. Spencer reached out a hand to take the man’s walkie-talkie and switched the frequency. “Ground level,” he said. “This is basement level. Radio check, over.”

“Basement level, this is ground level,” came the reply. “Roger that. Over.”

“Standby,” Spencer said.

“Roger.”

Spencer lowered the walkie-talkie.“You were on the wrong channel,” he snapped. “You two, get over here so I can fix it before Lancaster comes down here himself.”

He backed up, inviting the first man to follow him through the door and letting it close behind him. He didn’t have the time to choke him out, so he resorted to a quick, sharp blow to the side of his head, catching him when he crumpled and easing him to the floor beside the stairs.

The other two were at the door before he could do much more than straighten up. One shouted before Spencer’s elbow silenced him; the other reached for his walkie-talkie, which only gave Spencer an easier opening.

He took their radios and clipped them to his own belt, then stepped through the door and made his way across the hall toward the men. There was a strangled sound from inside the server room, but Spencer kept his gaze on the threat.

And they were a threat. He could feel it in his gut, and he wasn’t about to second-guess that now. Not if they were doing what he thought they were doing.

One of them lifted his head, setting his hand on the other’s shoulder. “Problem?” he asked.

Spencer nodded at the support beam. “What are you doing?”

“Routine maintenance,” the man said.

“With C4?” Spencer asked.

The man stood, cracking his knuckles while the other rushed to finish attaching the explosives to the beam. Spencer came closer, close enough to draw a punch—and the man obliged, swinging wildly—Spencer caught his fist and countered with his own, and the man dropped. The other shot to his feet, but Spencer danced back a step, his hands raised.

“Who sent you here?”

The man threw a punch, but Spencer dodged and stepped around him. “Was it Lancaster?”

“Shut up,” the man growled. He swung again, missed again, and stumbled when Spencer drew back.

“How many of these did you plant?” Spencer asked. The man tried to hit him again, and Spencer pushed him away. “Come on, man, think about it—when I knock you out like I did your friend, you’ll be inside when the building blows.” He waited a moment, giving his words a chance to sink in, and pressed, “Are there any other charges?”

“You won’t find ‘em,” grunted the man, leaping forward with a sloppy jab.

Spencer hit him in the jaw, letting him land at his feet and jumping over him to crouch beside the beam. An empty duffel bag confirmed Spencer’s fears—there would be more explosives in the building, probably set at different levels to make sure the whole thing came down. It was the LanCast site all over again, only this time, Lancaster would make sure all of them were inside. Then he’d pin the attack on Ford, collect the insurance money, and move on to his next high rise.

The C4 on the beam was set with a cellphone detonator. He disconnected it and stuffed the charges back into the bag, but that only solved one problem. He didn’t know where the other charges were, and he didn’t know when they were supposed to go off. Searching the entire building would take too long—he had to find Parker and get her out, get everyone out, before Lancaster could give the order to bring the building down.

First things first.

He turned to face the server room.

The man inside was tall, and though his face seemed faintly familiar, Spencer was disappointed not to feel an instant rush of recognition. Hardison was watching him, one hand raised to cover his mouth, and when Spencer tossed the hair out of his face, he let out a deafening whoop and slammed his hand against the glass.

“I knew it!” he yelled, punctuating his words with another slap. “I knew it! I knew you weren’t dead—no weak ass explosion gonna take you down—I told them! Whoo! Man, you had me worried, you had me—nah, man, I ain’t gon’ cry again. Open the door, man. C’mon, open it up.”

He’d repeated himself another dozen times before Spencer got to the door to punch in the code, and he practically fell through it when it opened. This time, at least, Spencer expected the hug—everything in Hardison’s stance warned that it was coming—but he wasn’t ready for the intensity of it. Deceptively strong arms wrapped around his shoulders, crushing their chests together as Hardison launched himself through the doorway.

“Where the hell were you, man?” he said, his voice breaking. “Why didn’t you call?”

Eliot locked his arms over Hardison’s back, holding him so tight that he couldn’t take a full breath and feeling like there was still too much space between them—and Hardison was shaking, clutching at his shoulders like he was afraid to let go—and Eliot didn’t want to let go, not until he could make him understand how much he’d missed him. God, he’d missed him—all of them.

He wasn’t himself without them.

“What happened?” Hardison asked, without letting go, without even loosening his grip. His fingers dug into the scrapes and cuts on Eliot’s back, but he didn’t care—he pressed his forehead against Hardison’s shoulder and shook it, fighting for control over himself.

“I forgot you,” he managed, his voice muffled. “All of—all of you, I forgot you, and—”

Hardison pulled back, and Spencer turned his face, pretending to look at the stairwell, checking for more guards—and Hardison shifted to put himself in his line of sight. “You hurt?”

Spencer looked the other way. “I went into the LanCast building, but when it blew, I was thrown clear. Mostly. I hit my head.”

Hardison ducked his head, forcing Spencer’s eyes back to his. “What, you—you lost your memory?”

Spencer nodded.

“And you found us anyway?”

He nodded again.

“Dammit, Eliot,” Hardison said. He pulled Eliot into another hug, this one even fiercer than the last, and burst into tears.

They stood like that for a long minute—Hardison crying and Eliot trying not to—before a crackle from one of the walkie-talkies made Eliot pull away. “Basement level, this is ground level,” said the voice on the radio. “Come in, basement level.”

Hardison let go, and Eliot tried not to miss the contact. He pulled the walkie-talkie from his belt and cleared his throat. “Go ahead, J.B. Did you find them?”

“I got ‘em right here,” J.B. answered. “They came out the side door like you said. Did you find the hacker?”

“He’s here,” Eliot said.

“And the thief?”

Eliot looked at Hardison, who shook his head. “We split up when we got inside. I haven’t seen her.”

“Not yet,” Eliot said into the walkie-talkie. “But we’ve got a bigger problem. I just stopped a pair of Lancaster’s guys from planting C4 in the basement. Looks like they may have put some on the other levels, too.”

J.B. swore, and Hardison held out a hand for the walkie-talkie. “Hey man—uh, Hardison here, or whatever—can you put Nate on? Over?”

There was a pause, and then Nate’s voice came over the radio. “Go ahead, Hardison.”

“I found some stuff on the server,” Hardison said, his eyes finding Eliot’s. “Lancaster definitely means to blow this place up, along with a bunch of his other properties. I found some more threatening letters drafted up in his files, and guess who they’re from.”

“Okay, so he wants us to take the fall,” Nate said. “We’d already figured that much out.”

Hardison nodded. “Right, but what we didn’t know is that he’s also been talking to some pretty hinky people. And he’s given them a new target.”

“June?” Nate guessed.

“He must’ve accelerated his timetable,” Hardison said. “He’s done waiting for her to sell.”

Eliot took the walkie-talkie. “J.B., get back to Sunny’s. Tell her to find some place to lay low until we can get this taken care of.”

“She won’t do it,” J.B. answered. “But I’ll call to give Miguel a head’s up.”

Eliot nodded. “All right, fine. Then we just need to make sure we get everyone out of the building. Hardison, pull the fire alarm when you go out, and let the firefighters know there are guys down here and in the office on the fourth floor. J.B., I’m sending Hardison out to you now.”

“Roger that.”

Eliot pressed the walkie-talkie into Hardison’s hand and pulled another from his belt, switching the frequency before handing it over as well. “Take these—give one to Nate. I’ll get Parker.”

“Hang on—” Hardison grabbed his arm, holding him still when he tried to move toward the door. “She could be anywhere. We have no idea—”

“She’s going after Lancaster,” Eliot said.

Hardison frowned. “How do you know?”

“Because that’s what I did.”

“Eliot, wait.” Hardison kept his hold, his eyes still red and wide with worry. “You’re—you’re hurt, right? And if you don’t remember… It’s too dangerous. Let me go after Parker.”

“No.” Eliot’s voice was low, distracted as he tallied up the time he’d already lost. “Lancaster’s guards will find him any minute now. You have to be outside when that happens.”

“I can help, man, I can—”

“You have to be outside,” Eliot repeated desperately. “I have to know you’re outside. Please.”

Hardison hesitated, setting his jaw as he searched Eliot’s eyes, as the time ticked away.

“I won’t lose her again,” Eliot whispered.

Hardison swallowed. “All right,” he said, gripping Eliot’s hand and then releasing it. “I’ll head outside. You go find Parker.”

Eliot went.

[ahgasegotarmy116]

Still With You | A Jeon Jungkook Series | Chapter 5

Summary: Jungkook comes to pick you up for your "date". Pairing : Luna (reader) x Jungkook and Jimin, f2l love triangle Word Count: 5.7k~ Warning: Explicit Language, a panic attack and mentions of death by car accident (nothing graphic) a/n: I already had this written so I thought I would post the next part to kind of fill up the gap before the next update for Just Take It Start from the beginning

After coming back to the store from my meet up with Jimin I can't help but space out while, waiting for time to pass by. Jungkook's coming to pick me up for our "date" as he likes to call it soon and I get a bit nervous thinking about how things are gonna go. I hope he likes what I have planned but knowing him, he would probably enjoy doing anything as long as we're together. 

That's why our friendship work so well. We can literally be laying down on the floor and staring at the ceiling and still have so much fun just talking about anything and everything. Then once we run out of things to say we never feel pressured to keep the conversation going. We just sit in comfortable silence. 

I do admit that half the time when that happens I end up falling asleep, but Jungkook doesn't seem to mind. He'll just sit there or lay there next to me and play with my hair which only helps me fall into an even deeper sleep. My favorite place in the whole world is when I'm with him. I just feel so safe that it doesn't even matter where we are. 

I can't help but smile thinking of all the times we've spent together and how much he's helped me since the beginning. He was there for me when I got my first period and even though he didn't know what was going on, he still stayed with me and helped take care of me. We were in middle school but he still showed that sense of maturity in him that I always admired. Although I wish some of it would've rubbed off on me. 

I feel like I've still got a lot to learn and I'm still so naïve when it comes to a lot of things. Jungkook is there for me when times get tough that I'm not sure if I could've gotten though half of the things I've gone through if it wasn't for him.

The time that Jungkook and I met wasn't the happiest time in my life and but somehow he showed up and helped me through it. We met on the day of my parent's funeral. 

I was only six and I was in the car with them but I was the only one who survived. Everyone came back to my old house after the funeral service was done and I just couldn't handle being there without my parents by my side anymore so I ran to the park and hid on my own behind a tree and cried my eyes out. 

I hadn't cried since the accident happened and I knew that if I broke down in front of everyone or went to my room I would just get scolded. They would probably say I was being selfish and some of them resent me because my parents didn't survive, especially my grandmother. 

She used to be kind and loving but once my parents died she blamed me for taking her son away from her. She even told me that she would trade me for him if she could when it hit the ten year anniversary of their death. 

The time she said that was the last time I ever saw her. I was seventeen and done with being reprimanded for the fact that I survived. They act like I was the one who caused the crash or that I could've somehow prevented it. 

While I was crying at the park after the funeral a little boy came up to me because he had heard me crying. 

Some kids might tease you for crying or try to figure out why you're upset, but not him. He simply sat next to me and stayed with me until I calmed down. He asked me what my name was and I told him and he offered up his name right after "My name is Jungoogie but my real name is Jungkook. But you can call me whatever you want" he said simply with a smile. 

He reached out his hand to help me up off the ground and asked me if I wanted to play with him. I was hesitant at first but said okay and we played for hours before he had to go. "I'm sorry Luna but I have to go now, my mom says dinner is ready. Do you wanna play again sometime?" he said with a cute bunny smile. I noded my head in turn, happy to have made a new friend.

He waved goodbye and ran off towards his mom "Meet me back here tomorrow and we can play tag!" he yells turning to me and waving once more before running down the street back to his house. After that day we played together everyday after school until it was time to go home. 

I moved to a different part of the city when we got a bit older but Jungkook begged his mom to send him to the same school as me and so we could stay together. We were in the same class, we joined all the same clubs, we even had the same backpack. We were inseparable. 

Grey came along later and with how antisocial and lonely she seemed most days in class I couldn't help but adopt her into our friend group. She had come in at the middle of the year school year in 6th grade and I just wanted her to have at least one friend. 

I know I hated being left out when I was younger so I just kept bugging her everyday until she finally accepted the fact that I wasn't gonna leave her alone. From then on the three of us have been the best of friends. Although most days Grey still acts like she can't stand us I know that she loves us in her own way.

Once I start to come out of the fog that is my daydream I realize that it's almost time for him to come get me. 

"I so excited for tonight!" I gush to Grey. "Did I ask?" she responds checking out her cuticles sounding uninterested. "Oh come on I know you're just jealous" I say nudging her shoulder teasingly. "Jealous? Of you and Jungkook? I'm just happy you two are gonna leave me alone for the rest of the night. Just make sure to finish up your share of the work before you leave" she says reminding me that I am in fact still on the clock. 

"Shit, yeah about that" I start off tentatively. "No Luna you've been slacking off all night, you cannot leave me to do all of your work for you" she says ready to cut me off before I can even ask. "Oh come on, I promise I'll make it up to you I swear! Plus you came in late today so I could've had this all done if I wasn't left alone for so long" I say guilt tripping her. She rolls her eyes and I can see her defense slowly crumbling. 

"Lunch for a week" she huffs out. "Thank you thank you thank you! You're an absolute gem!" I say giving her a quick squeeze. "Yeah whatever, can you at least straighten up the snacks over there until he comes to pick you up?" she says waving her hand over towards the shelves in question while scrolling through her phone clearly becoming more and more uninterested in my existence. "Yup you got it!" I say while heading over to take care of it.

I end up humming some random song while rearranging all of the various misplaced items. I wonder if I should buy some to go along with the other food I brought. I ponder this while putting the finishing touches on the section. "Guess who" I hear someone say behind me while covering my eyes. 

"Kook! Happy Friendiversary!" I say while turning around to give him a huge hug. "Happy Friendiversary Luna but haven't I told you to stop day dreaming while at work. Someone could really end up sneaking up on you or wor-". I hold my hand up to stop his lecture before it goes any further. 

"No more nagging tonight, it's a special occasion right? Let's just relax and have a good time alright?" I say bringing my hand down and grab his in turn. "Wow Noona when did you suddenly become a rapper?" he says with a cheeky smile. I lift my arm up to hit him but he dodges before I can make contact. 

"Alright alright no more nagging" he says, finally giving in. I thought for sure that he would try to protest a bit further but luckily he decides against it. "Are you ready to go?" he asks starting to perk up again. "Yep last thing is for us to pick out some snacks and drinks before we leave and then we'll be good to go. Do you have anything in mind?" I say already knowing his answer but I can't help but want to see the joy on his face as he picks out his favorite snacks. 

"Yes, and I'm paying!" he says, rushing around the store. "But wait I was the one who mentioned it!" I say in protest. "Yeah but you brought the rest of the food right?" he says. "Touché" I respond, shaking my head.

Once we're done I grab the picnic basket, my bag and some blankets from the back and we say goodbye to Grey as he leads me over to where his brother's truck is parked. "Wow is it just me or does this look a lot nicer?" Jungkook chuckles at me in response. "No it's not just you. He got a newer version of the same model" he informs me. 

"Oh okay that makes sense! Looks like it's a bit smaller though" I say concerned about the space. "Yeah it looks smaller but I promise once you get inside it's actually quite spacious. Why are you worried about that though? You've been very secretive about this whole thing so I'm starting to get anxious" he teases. 

"Hey have I ever let you down?" I say walking around to the passenger side and getting in. "Yes, multiple times" he responds with a straight face, answering the question very seriously in a way to tease me further while he goes and gets in on the driver's side. Leaving me scoffing in response while getting in the car. 

"Hey I'm just being honest here" he says with a mischievous grin on his face. "Do you really want me to list them off because it might take a while. Okay well there was this one ti-" "Okay okay I get it you can stop now" I say placing my hand over his mouth. I expect him to lick my hand in response like he always does but this time he decides to kiss it instead. I widen my eyes not sure how I should respond and I can feel my cheeks start to warm up. I yank my hand back after he decides to deliver a few more kisses clearly satisfied with my reaction.

"Why are you being so weird today?" I ask, laughing it off. "I don't know what you're talking about" he says ,sitting back to put his seatbelt on. I mirror his actions and try to shake off the butterflies that had suddenly crept up on me. He backs out of the parking lot and flawlessly with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the back of my headrest taking quick glances to the back when necessary. I can smell his sent from here and I can't help but feel myself getting intoxicated by it. 

"You okay?" he asks, looking over at me now having turned his body a bit more to gain a wider view out the back window to make backing up a bit easier which ends up making our proximity closer than what I had anticipated. I mentally curse myself for glancing down at his lips which he clearly saw me do since he currently has his full attention on me. 

"I- um- yeah I'm fine" I say getting a bit flustered yet again. "You sure?" he questions further with a slight chuckle. "Mhm" I respond, afraid I'll say something stupid. 

"Okay so..." he starts, "So?" I question by echoing him, feeling a bit perplexed. "Are you gonna tell me where we're going or am I gonna have to read your mind?" he teases again this time accompanied with a half smile that makes my heart flutter. "Oh yeah my bad, just go here" I say putting the address into the navigation system. He glances over at me and shakes his head while making the first turn out of the parking lot.

"Okay spill there's clearly something going on with you" he says not giving up on me. "I'm just nervous about tonight. I'm afraid you might not like it or think it's weird" I say giving an excuse that isn't totally truthful but it'll work for now. 

"Luna you know that as long as we're together I couldn't care less what we do. Now just take a deep breath and pull up your playlist, you're the DJ this time" he says while handing me the aux cord. I glance over at him with childlike joy as I quickly plug my phone in and start playing some of our favorite songs. 

The atmosphere starts to get a bit more comfortable after I start to loosen up with the music and I eventually forget why I got so nervous in the first place.

"You know I really missed you" he says all of a sudden glancing over at me. "What makes you say that?" I say chuckling a bit at the random sentiment. "Can't a guy just miss his best friend? I feel like it's been ages since I last saw you" he says with a slight pout. "Kook you just saw me a couple days" I say laughing again. 

"So? I like spending time with you" he say defiantly. "Well unfortunately that's what happens when you grow up. We're not kids anymore Kook" I say starting to feel a bit sad at the fact. "Hey no sad talk! We're supposed to be having fun right?" he says pushing away those negative feelings. 

"Yeah, you're right" I say admitting fault. "Why don't you tell me about your day" he says showing interest but still keeping his eyes on the road which gives me a chance to admire his side profile. I can't help but notice the scar on his face even in this dim lighting and I still remember how he got it. Time really does fly.

"Y/n" he says calling me back to reality. "Huh what?" I say embarrassed that I got caught staring at him. "How was your day?" he repeats chucking at my awkward demeanor. "Oh um, it was okay, not very eventful. Although I did see a man outside chasing a pigeon for a couple of hours" I say laughing at the memory. 

"What? Why?" he says with amusement and disbelief laced in his tone. "All I know is he never did catch that bird" I end shaking my head. "Sounds like the bird put up a good fight" he says, shaking his head in unison. "Any grown man that's crazy enough to chase a bird around is definitely someone I would not want to be around" he finishes. 

"What about that one time the bird in our 6th grade class escaped?" I say teasing. "I thought we agreed to never speak of that day" he says suddenly getting serious. "Oh come on, it was hilarious the way he-" "Nope shut up" he says cutting me off. "Ya! How dare you tell your Noona to shut up!" I say faking offense. "But I'll let it slide this time since it's our anniversary" I finish with a cheeky smile. He rolls his eyes as we continue our journey to our destination.

As as we come upon the small mountain range the navigation system soon signals that we've arrived. "Um what are we supposed to do here?" he says a bit confused. "Shhh don't worry about it. Just go up here and turn right when you reach the dirt road and follow it all the way up okay?" I instruct. "Alright, you're the boss" he says laughing it off and following my instructions. 

Once we get to the end of the dirt road we reach a gate with a 'Private Property' sign hanging on it. "Hey I thought you said we weren't gonna do anything illegal!" he yells after me. "It's not illegal! Just, you know, private" I say brushing it off. "Uh huh" he says not convinced. I wave him forward after having opened the gate. 

"Have you been here before?" he asks once he turns the engine off and starts to get out. "Once, with Grey. Her family actually owns this property so you don't have to worry about us being here. Okay?" I say going up to him and placing my hand on his arm. "Okay" he says smiling down at me. I fell myself falling into his star filled gaze which eventually reminds me of why we're here.

"Oh! Right I forgot to tell you what we're doing here" shaking myself out of the slight trance I had fallen into. He shakes his head at me and waits for me to continue. "Stargazing" I say with childlike joy. "I know we had always talked about doing it some day but there are just too many lights in Seoul that it makes it difficult to see them so once I came here I just knew I had to bring you!" I finish off looking out at all the stars. 

I welcome the comforting embrace I feel wrapping around me from behind. "You're the best" he says resting his head on top of mine. "I know" I say in amusement. "No for real this is amazing" he says encouraging me to look up at him. "I'm glad you like it" I say smiling up at him. I feel those butterflies from earlier start to flutter again and I have to drag my gaze back up towards the sky. 

"Should we start getting the stuff out of the car?" I suggest. "Yeah, in a minute" he says tightening his embrace around me. This moment feels way more intimate than I had planned for but I can't help but enjoy the feeling. After another minute or two I nudge his side in an effort to get him to release me, "Come on let's set everything up". "Okay okay" he says, letting go but not before placing a soft kiss on top of my head.

Soon after we've finished putting the final touches on everything I step back and admire our hard work. We've laid down some blankets and pillows in the truck bed and we have a picnic basket full of all the food I had prepared, paired with the snacks Jungkook bought and my laptop fully charged with Netflix pulled up. Jungkook gets into the back and makes himself comfortable. 

"So are you just gonna stand there all night or what?" he says teasing me for not getting in fast enough. I throw my head back in playful irritation, letting out a sigh and coming back up to give him a slight smile. "Then come here" he says with his arm held out to help me up. Once I'm up and go to sit down he holds onto my hips and guides me down to sit right next to him. If I was any closer to him I would be on his lap. 

I look up at him after settling in his embrace. "What?" he questions with a sheepish smile on his face. "Nothing I say turning my attention towards my laptop. "So what are we watching?" I question. "I don't have anything in mind" he says looking up at the stars. "Well are you hungry?" I question laughing at his indifference. 

"Can you just put some music on? I wanna stargaze for a bit" he says, keeping his eyes on the sky. "Sure" I reply, smiling at his concentration. I put a low-fi playlist on low and lean back into his embrace. We stay there and look up at the stars in silence for a while, enjoying the peace and tranquility of the moment.

"Hey" I say in a hushed tone looking up at him. "Hmm" he hums, bringing his gaze back down to me. "Penny for your thoughts?" I ask, feeling slightly breathless at the proximity. He decides go back to looking up at the stars before he starts to answer. 

"Just thinking" he says mindlessly. "About?" I question. "Stuff" he says. "What kinda stuff?" I say playing into his game. "All kinds of stuff" he says and I can't help but get tired of the guessing game. I playfully hit his chest in response, "Ouch!" he groans looking down at me while clutching his chest. 

"I thought we told each other everything" I say pulling away and facing him with my arms crossed over my chest. "You'll know soon enough" he says poking me in my side making me flinch. "Yah! I told you to stop doing that" I say hitting his chest again. "I'm sorry your reaction is just too adorable I can't help it" he says laughing at my irritation. "Whatever" I say exasperated 

"So are you hungry now because I haven't eaten since lunch" I say hoping he's ready to start eating as well. "Nah maybe later" he says sitting back and dragging me along with him knowing that I won't eat without him. "Hey come on I'm hungry" I say, dragging my words out. "Alright fine let's eat" he concedes, sitting back up and letting me go but not before giving me another jab in my side.

Once we finish eating and pull up a movie to watch I can feel him getting a bit restless. 

"What's wrong?" I ask, pulling away from his embrace, concerned with his demeanor all through out the night. "What makes you think somethings wrong?" he answers my question with a question. "You've been acting really weird, like I don't know, different. You're starting to make me nervous" I admit. 

"Nervous how?" he say sitting up and reaching out for my hand. "I don't know I can't really describe it" I say jumping a bit at the contact. "Try" he urges while starting to play with my fingers. "I feel like every time you touch me my skin starts to heat up. When you look at me I can't help but want to either look the other way or get lost in your eyes. When you get too close I start to feel butterflies in my stomach. I'm confused" I say looking away, embarrassed to admit it and contradicting my previous claim. 

"Are you sure I'm the one that's acting different?" he asks, trying to catch my gaze. "Why are you making me feel like this?" I ask, hoping he has the answers like he always does. "Do you wanna know what I was thinking about earlier?" he asks, coming closer and bringing his hand up towards my face to cup my cheek. "Yes" I say getting breathless again. "This" he says leaning in and bringing his face closer to mine.

"I-" I choke out looking down at his lips and back into his eyes once I realize he stopped right before making contact. "I'm not gonna do anything you don't want me to" he says while letting his breath fan my face. "It's your choice" he says glancing down at my lips. I wait a second hesitating before I take a quick breath and close my eyes before leaning forward just enough to make contact. 

It's a soft chased kiss, he tastes so sweet and I can't help but want more. It's over just as quickly as it had started and he pulls away slightly making eye contact and once he sees that I wanted it just as much as he did he leans in again, deepening the kiss and placing his hand on my waist in an effort to pull me closer. 

I oblige and make moves to do just that and he accelerates the process by dragging me over making me straddle his lap. "Hasty are we?" I tease. "Shut up" he says quickly going back in to continue kissing me like I might disappear if he stops. 

It all starts to get more intense once he starts to add tongue, leaving me pulling away for a second, resting my forehead against his in an effort to catch my breath. "You okay? Is this okay?" he asks sounding just as breathless as me. "Yeah just- just give me a second" I say trying to clear the fog that's clouding my judgement at the moment.

"Kook" I say in an effort to get his attention which is ultimately unnecessary since he hasn't been able to take his eyes off me since we started kissing. "Hmm?" he hums waiting for me to continue. "I don't think we should be doing this" I say worried about what his reaction might be. "Why?" he asks, searching my face for answers since I'm not getting them out fast enough. 

"I don't know it's just- well you're my best friend" I start off. "And you're mine" he says reciprocating my statement. "We've been friends since we were kids and I really don't want to mess that up. I care about you too much to do that and I don't want to lose you" I say looking down at my lap suddenly getting shy. 

"Hey" he says placing his finger under my chin to angle my face up regaining eye contact. "You're never gonna lose me" he says with a slight smile. "Well what if we do this and it ends badly? What if one of us gets hurt and we can't go back to how we used to be? What if-" I ramble off but am soon cut off by Jungkook's lips on mine. 

"You worry too much. Y/n it's just me and I'll love you no matter what. You know that right?" I turn away and look off to the side, shy under his piercing gaze. "Kook I-" I start. "Do you love me?" he says cutting me off again. "Of course I love you" I say looking back up at him. "No but do you love me? Like do you think you might be in love with me?" he clarifies vulnerability written all over his face. "Do you think you could fall in love with me?" he says above a whisper, looking back down at my lips waiting for my response.

"I don't know" I say getting off his lap. "Don't know what? You don't think you could fall in love with me?" he asks, pleading for an answer. "I'm confused okay. I don't know how I feel about everything. It's all gotten so complicated, I just- I don't know okay" I throw my head into my hands and feel myself tear up, overwhelmed with all these old and new feelings resurfacing all at once. 

"Luna" he says placing his hand on my thigh when he starts to see the onset signs of a panic attack. "Y/n come here" he says, pulling me closer, shielding me for the cold that had suddenly become more apparent. 

He's been there for me through almost all of my panic attacks and knows exactly how to get me to ride out the wave and gradually calm me down. He knows that I feel safe with him and so he makes sure to use that when I need it most. Pulling a blanket over the two of us he holds me in a gentle embrace and places soft kisses on my temple. 

"It's okay you don't have to say anything, let's just focus on getting through this. It's just me, I'm sorry if I scared you. I'm so sorry" he apologizes, rubbing my back and bringing me back down, hoping to soothe all of the muscles in my body that started to tense up and bring my breathing back to normal. I grab onto his shirt and tug on it in an effort to ground myself, still shaking I start crying into his chest which only worsens the tight feeling I have coiled up in my chest.

My panic attacks aren't usually this bad but for some reason it just started to wash over me. I haven't had a lot of time to process much of anything these days and even when I do I fill up that time with distractions in an effort to drown out all of the thought running through my head that make me dizzy. 

I started to have them around the time my parents passed away and after I met Jungkook. Looking back on it he didn't really do much of anything, he just sat there and waited patiently for me to stop crying, just like he did when we first met. But once we got closer it evolved to him holding onto me to help calm me down and talking me through it a bit. 

Ever since the beginning he wanted to make sure I never felt the need to hide and cry alone like that ever again. He wanted to give me more reasons to smile and laugh than cry. Or at least that's what he's told me. He starts to make an effort to make his breaths more audible trying to get me to follow along with him and I so the best that I can. 

Once I do I pull away and keep my eyes turned down, trying to hide my embarrassment. You think by now I wouldn't be embarrassed by it anymore but I can't help it. Once I stop sniffling and he hears my breathing get back to normal he grabs my face and wipes off my tear streaked cheeks with so much love and care. I didn't realize until now that he really has been in love with me for a very long time, I was just too naïve to notice. 

"You okay baby?" he asks with the term of endearment he knows brings me so much comfort. I don't let anyone but him call me that, it just feels so right hearing it coming from his lips, especially when he knows that I need him. I nod my head finally feeling a bit more grounded.

"Can I have some water?" I ask quietly. "Of course" he says and reaches around me to grab one of the bottles he had bought. "Thank you" I say after he hands it to me. He starts rubbing my back again while I gulp it down, suddenly feeling incredibly parched. 

"How long has it been since you had one that bad?" he asks cautiously hoping it won't cause me to start spiraling again. "A while" I say looking down, knowing it's a lie, and he sees right through it. 

"Baby please I wanna be there for you when things like this happen. You've gotta be honest with me or I won't know how to help you" I nod in acknowledgment. I can feel him reluctantly start to drop the subject but I know he doesn't want me to shut him out. 

"I-it was last month" I say, clearing my throat to help me get it out. "Last month? Why didn't you tell me?" he asks gently. "You were hanging out with your college friends and I knew you were looking forward to it so I didn't want to bother you" I admit. "Luna if you really need me, especially for something like this you can always call me. You are my number one priority, you come first" he says holding onto my hand.

I look up making eye contact, knowing he truly means what he says. "Okay" is all I can say in response, giving him a sad smile. 

"We should probably head out, it's getting pretty cold" he says, bringing his arms back in, rubbing his hands together in an effort to get warmer. "Do you think we could stay out here a bit longer? The stars look so beautiful right now" I ask, looking up at the sky feeling a bit better. He sees the change in my mood and realizes that I need this. "Let me get another blanket" he says showing his agreement. I nod my head and continue looking up, not sparing him a glance this time. 

He comes back around after having rummaged through the car in search of some hand warmers as well. "You're so smart" I say catching the hand warmer and opening package shaking them to activate it. "I know" he replies, copying my cheekiness from earlier. I roll my eyes and toss one to him. 

"Luna" he calls after me. "Huh?" I say looking back at him and I can't help but notice that he's wearing the kind of expression you would see someone make towards someone they truly love. "Come here" he says repeating his sentiment from not too long ago. I rush over to him, this time getting as close to him as I can after feeling a sudden breeze blowing past us.

"Jungkook" I say, "Yes baby?" he replies, looking down at me. "Thank you" I say, giving him a slight smile. "You're welcome" he says, mirroring my smile knowing that no more words need to be said. I feel myself starting to get lost in his eyes once again realizing that the most beautiful stars were in his eyes all along.

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Rulers of Ruin

Chapter 3

Alright so I’ve been toying with this mafia!au fic idea for a long while and I guess it’s time to give it a whirl. I already have about ten chapters written out (I’m expecting it to be at least 20 chapters), but I want to test out the waters first. I’ll start posting more if some of you are interested in knowing what the hell is going on.

Genre: Mafia!au , Slowburn, Angst, Hurt, eventual smut, TW (it is a mafia!AU, after all)

Pairing: Mafia!Jungkook x reader

Synopsis: um, tf is going on??? Stay tuned for more chapters to come.

Disclaimer: English isn’t my native language. Also, don’t come for me over the theme, people. It’s an Alternate Universe, which means the bangtan boys are essentially what I like to call meat puppets to serve the storyline. This is obviously not a projection of their actual real-life personas.

Wordcount: 2.6k

Chapter 2

Masterlist

YN lay sprawled across the plush bed, her gaze fixed on the ceiling as she counted the tiles for the umpteenth time. For the past few hours, boredom had been her constant companion, proving far more excruciating than distress.

A soft ding interrupted her silent count—the distant sound of the elevator door sliding open. Her ears perked up, straining against the quiet that followed. The scrape of porcelain against silver floated through the air, and her heart quickened.

Someone was coming.

YN rolled off the bed, her movements swift and silent. She was on guard; every new sound or presence was a potential threat—or opportunity. Peeking through the slight gap in her bedroom door, her eyes narrowed on a figure maneuvering a trolley into the living area.

The visitor was a woman, short and stout, moving with an efficiency that belied her old age. She was quiet, her feet barely making a sound on the lush carpet as she pushed the laden trolley towards the table. The woman seemed unarmed and alone, an ID badge swinging gently at the side of her uniform.

There was something almost laughable about the situation. An old lady, really? YN thought wryly. You’d think Namjoon would at least have the decency to throw an actual challenge her way.

Still, here was an opportunity. The woman looked harmless, her back turned, fumbling slightly with something on the trolley. YN felt a pang of something akin to guilt—she didn’t particularly enjoy the thoughts crossing her mind, but survival in this world rarely came with the luxury of choice.

Meh, YN reasoned, she must’ve had a long-enough life, anyway.

Shaking off the hesitation with a cold snap of resolve, she slipped back towards her bed and grabbed a pillowcase. Simple, effective. It would have to do. Clutching it tightly, she stepped out of the bedroom, her presence as discreet as a shadow trailing across the moonlit floor, her movements honed by years of training to leave no trace.

The old woman’s back was still turned, her attention focused on arranging the items on her trolley with meticulous care.

Creeping closer, YN's hands tightened around the fabric, her every sense heightened. The soft rustling of the woman's uniform was like thunder in YN's hyperaware ears. Just a few more steps and she could reach out, seize control of the situation, and who knows, perhaps even secure her escape.

Just as she was about to make her move, a steady voice broke through the silence.

"Young lady,” the old woman spoke without turning around, “I would advise against whatever it is you’re planning on doing with that thing."

Stunned, YN halted in her tracks, her grip on the pillowcase loosening. "How d—"

“I’ve been weaving through the shadows of this house since before you drew your first breath, my dear,” the woman said, finally turning to face YN. Her eyes, a sharp contrast to her gentle demeanor, bore into YN’s. "And I have seen more than my share of young folks convinced they could outmaneuver their fate."

Once thing was clear: this was no ordinary maid.

“But you’re smarter than that, I’m sure.” The woman's eyes flickered to something behind YN. Following her line of sight, YN glanced at the security cameras mounted on the walls.

“You must be Mrs. Shin,” YN remarked with a resigned sigh.

“And you,” she replied, lifting the silver cloche to reveal a steaming plate of food, “must be famished”. YN's stomach betrayed her with a timely growl. She couldn't quite remember the last time she had eaten. Still, she remained rooted in place while the older woman arranged the tray meticulously on the table.

“It’s not poisoned,” Mrs. shin commented, catching YN’s hesitant glance, «if that’s what you’re wondering.”

YN maintained her silence, her eyes lingering on the food.

“In any case,” Mrs. Shin added, a twinkle of humor in her eyes, "I can assure you, wasting away from hunger is a far duller end. Still, the choice is yours."

Their eyes locked, a silent battle of wills. Finally, YN's resolve softened, her survival instincts kicking in. She seated herself slowly, her movements measured.

“Wise decision,” Mrs. Shin noted with a nod, her lips curling into a faint smile.

YN's eyes scrutinized the tray, noting the absence of any cutlery except for a single spoon. It seemed impractical, almost mocking in its simplicity. She met Mrs. Shin's gaze, an unspoken question hanging between them.

“Well, you couldn’t expect a knife and fork,” the woman said, her tone light but her eyes sharp. “And while we do usually allow chopsticks, Namjoon insisted on something less- pointy for now.”

“Usually?” YN echoed, her tone sharpening with curiosity, as she started digging into the food. “How often do the Kims bring outsiders into the family estate?”

Mrs. Shin looked back at her, amusement painting her features. "Who said anything about a family estate?" She sat down across from YN.

“It’s kind of obvious, isn’t it?” YN remarked, her mind flicking back to the meticulous arrangement of personal artifacts she had glimpsed in her brief walk through the house—distinctive heirlooms and portraits that seemed too imbued with sentimental value for a mere operational base.

“Still observant as ever, I see,” Mrs. Shin commented.

YN’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Still?” she asked.

“Ah,” Mrs. Shin paused, a knowing smile creeping across her face. "The eye of the raven with the memory of the goldfish—quite the combo you’ve been given."

YN’s response was an irritated scoff. She wasn’t accustomed to being on the less informed end of conversations, and Mrs. Shin’s insinuation chafed at her pride.

"I don’t blame you, really" Mrs. Shin continued gently, a thoughtful pause punctuating her words. "You must’ve been… 9 or 10, that day, always hiding behind your older brother," she added, her tone softening. A flicker of irritation crossed her features as she recalled, "That rascal," she muttered under her breath, "kept scraping his teeth on the silverware like a wild thing."

As YN processed her words, she absently glanced at the silver spoon in her hand, its tiger motif strikingly familiar. Mrs. Shin watched with a knowing expression as YN carefully traced the spoon's design with her thumb.

"I believe it was black sesame pudding," The old woman said nonchalantly.

Her words seemed to trigger a cascade of half-buried memories, recognition slowly dawning on YN’s features.

She finally spoke. "It was here," her voice barely more than a whisper. "wasn’t it?" she paused, looking up to meet the old woman’s gaze, “The Summit.”

Mrs. Shin didn't reply directly, but her lips curled into a slight smile as she rose from her seat and walked to the tea set. Her wrinkled hands gently lifted the delicate porcelain teapot, steam swirling up as she poured the fragrant brew into two matching cups.

Yes.

The Summit.

Once every decade since the Mutual Prosperity Charter had been signed, the five original clans—each a pillar of clandestine influence—would congregate to reaffirm their tenuous truce with an event known as the Unity Summit.

 It was nothing short of a grand ballet of diplomacy, a way to remind everyone of the precarious balance of power that held their world together. And, while the gatherings were designed to celebrate peace, they were also used as an opportunity for each clan to showcase its strength and splendor.

YN had been to just one such event in her youth, hosted by the Tigers—the Kim clan. Only now did she realize these were the same walls that had encircled it. She was astonished she hadn't realized sooner. Her recollections of that day were still crystal clear.

After all, it was the first and only time she’d met Namjoon before.

***

The grand hall itself was a testament to the event's significance, draped in rich banners and ancestral crests. Conversations dwindled into silence as YN, squeezed between the towering figures of her brother and father had walked in, their footsteps echoing through the vast space.

The crowd of dignitaries and delegates parted to make way, acknowledging the family's authority with nods and murmurs. Eyes filled with respect and a hint of fear turned in their direction as they strode towards their host.

Once they reached Kim Eungsoo and his wife, YN felt her father's grip tighten on her shoulder—a silent command for unwavering propriety. She straightened her back, drew in a breath, and lowered herself into a deep bow before the imposing figure of the Kim patriarch. Her eyes briefly met his, lingering on the nasty scar that ran across his stern face. A chill brushed her spine, and she quickly shifted her gaze down in respect.

Drawing herself up, YN’s eyes shifted to the boy who stood confidently besides the leader.

Only 12 at the time, Namjoon already carried the air of someone burdened with expectations, a seriousness far beyond his years coloring his features. Awkwardly caught between boyhood and the precipice of command, he was unusually tall for his age. His face was conspicuously smooth, freshly shaved, though there was no stubble to speak of, and his suit a miniature mirror of his father's. He was quiet. Focused. YN remembered seeing his eyes darting towards his father throughout the day, his young mind already threading through the maze of clan politics, yearning for a seat among the decision-makers.

YN had been similarly ensnared in the silent dance of expectations. Her hair was woven into a braid so tight it seemed designed to squeeze any hint of rebellion from her skull. The stern eyes of her governess loomed at the periphery of her vision, a silent sentinel ensuring her posture remained as straight as her lineage.

They both spent that banquet afternoon ensconced in the polite but distant company of the other clan leaders' children.

The Kang quadruplet daughters, with their sharp whispers and mean-spirited giggles, huddled together like a litter of scheming mice.

The Choi brothers were in their own world, it seemed, their boisterous energy manifesting in endless arm-wrestling matches, while their infant sister slumbered undisturbed, a serene island in a sea of chaos.

The Lee siblings stood apart, a trio of statuesque figures, their expressions unreadable and their poise as perfect as porcelain figures on a mantelpiece. They carried themselves with the regal aloofness of royalty mingling with commoners, watching the festivities with an air of superiority and detached amusement.

Amidst it all, the Park heir, YN's older brother, moved with newfound importance. At only 17 years of age, he had freshly been inducted into their clan's inner circles, earning him a coveted spot at the adults' table alongside the eldest Lee son. He wore his responsibility like a mantle, his young features set in determined imitation of their father’s grave expressions.

YN, from her distant vantage point, watched them with a detached curiosity, wondering about the weight of the conversations that included him and excluded her.

Overall, that day had been an absolute bore.

The one highlight of the day came when dessert was finally served, gleaming invitingly in delicate bowls accompanied by shiny silver spoons.

 Black sesame pudding.

She indulged with the enthusiasm only a child could muster, her lips and tongue turning a dark grey color. Her governess, less amused, delivered a swift reprimand—a slap that stung far more than the fleeting embarrassment of being scolded. Tears welled up, not enough to draw attention, but sufficient to send her seeking solitude.

Hidden away in a secluded corner, nursing her bruised pride more than her reddened cheek, YN was startled by a presence next to her. A lady had knelt beside her, eyes soft with concern. “Everything alright, little bird?”

***

YN glanced up at Mrs. Shin, who returned to the table, setting the teacups down with practiced ease.

“You gave me a sweet that day,” YN recalled, her tone casual yet pointed, as if to underscore the precision of her memory, “the chewy, ginger kind.”

“Never seen a teary eye that couldn’t be fixed by Jocheong taffy,” she replied warmly, pushing a cup gently towards YN. "Go on, now, drink up."

YN obeyed, the warm liquid sliding down her throat soothingly. She set the cup down with a deliberate clink, “So,” she broke the silence, her eyes hardening, “this is all Namjoon could muster?” she asked, her voice dripping with skepticism. “Send the meek, old lady to tame me?”

“I may be old,” Mrs. Shin retorted, her voice steady and her back straight, “but I am certainly not meek.” Her eyes flickered briefly to the faded clan tattoo peeking out from under her uniform—a relic from a past that whispered of untold stories and battles fought. Clearly, the old woman had earned her stripes one way or another.

“And Namjoon didn’t send me,” Mrs. Shin continued, her tone turning wry. “I changed that boy’s diapers. He knows better than to give me orders.”

“So, you volunteered?” YN’s eyebrows rose slightly, intrigued. “How sweet.”

“I must have a soft spot for outcasts," Mrs. Shin admitted, her gaze softening just a touch as she considered YN, seeing perhaps a reflection of someone else. “But truth is I’ve simply always taken care of the attic,” she added.

« Not exactly much to take care of, up there," YN sent her a confused look, “It’s an unoccupied suite.”

"Appearances can be deceiving," Mrs. Shin replied, her eyes twinkling, “you ought to remember that.”

"Oooooh,” YN mocked, a light laugh escaping her despite the slight heaviness beginning to cloud her mind. “Are there ghosts roaming around I should look out for?"

“I guess you could say that," Mrs. Shin said with a cryptic smile. “Of course, ghosts aren’t the only lost souls lingering up there.”

YN took another sip from her cup and tried to focus on Mrs. Shin’s face. The edges of her vision blurred slightly, and she felt a growing fog settling in her mind. "So… what-» Her words felt thick, her tongue growing sluggish.

YN's head began to feel heavy, her thoughts muddled as if fog was rolling through her mind.

Mrs. Shin tilted her head ever so slightly. "You’re looking a little pale, dear," Mrs. Shin remarked in a gentle tone that carried a steely undertone.

YN tried to focus, but the woman’s face seemed to blur and swim out of focus. She felt a strange heat rising through her chest and head and opened her mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come out right. Her hands felt strangely detached from her body, her fingers tingling as she gripped the edge of the table. "W-what the fu-"

"I said we wouldn’t poison you," Mrs. Shin interrupted calmly, her words echoing through YN’s brain like a distant lullaby. "Not that we wouldn't- temper your spirit."

YN glanced down to the bottom of her teacup, her hand trembling. It was then she noticed a faint residue, something she hadn't seen when she first started sipping.

"Son of a bitch," YN muttered, her voice fading as darkness crept in at the edges of her vision.

Mrs. Shin’s tender voice echoed through her mind just as everything went black.

"Sleep tight, little dove."

--

Hope you liked it. If some of you are intrigued or interested in finding out more, don't hesitate to interact and I'll start posting some more chapters!

Chapter 4

Masterlist

Taglist

@princess-sunshyn

[veronicaphoenix]

Chapter tags & trigger warnings: blind best friends, angst, alcohol intake, Japanese folklore. | Word count: 3.3k | Cross posted on AO3. | Series masterpost. ✧.*

General trigger warnings: This work addresses and depicts issues related to addiction and violence, contains explicit sexual content, and explores themes of childhood trauma. Reader discretion is advised. +18

I had been sick for the past three days, with fevers coming and going and coughing up flowers that had me not just confused, but considering the idea that I was definitely going mad. I had only told someone about it, and that was obviously Lia. However, I hadn’t been able to let her know until she stopped by for longer than thirty minutes.

She had officialy started dating Mitch and I was barely able to see her.

When she sat down on the kitchen isle and started researching my symptoms on her phone, she didn’t find anything that wasn’t just speculation. She suggested on calling my doctor or taking me to the hospital, but I dismissed the options, asserting that I was starting to feel a bit better.

And it was true. The time she spent with me that day made my health improve. She’d busied herself preparing me herbal teas and soothing down my fever with whatever we had in the house.

Aside from her care, things were different. She was in a relationship now, and for some reason, I felt there was a bridge growing between us. She avoided getting as close to me as she did before, and the way we used to hold each other’s gazes became null, for she would drop her eyes every time I caught her staring at me.

We had said that whatever we did, whatever relationship we got into, it wouldn’t affect our friendship, but there we were, drifting apart even while her hand was on my forehead, checking my temperature.

The day after her last visit, I felt pissed.

I went to the studio we had rented downtown to continue working on the new record. Lia wouldn’t be there that day. She was busy in a meeting a few hours from Los Angeles. Lia and I had had dinner and she had left right after, but that morning, I checked my phone expecting a message from her, letting me know that she was on her way to the meeting or that she had reached. There was nothing. Her absence and the fact that Mitch probably knew more about her whereabouts than I did put me on a foul mood.

I slumped in a chair, and my fingers immediately started tapping on the armrest as I listened to Matt talk. After ten minutes, I was sure the guys could feel the tension I have brought with me permeating the air in the studio. When Matt said something that I didn’t agree with, I replied to him in a tone that was not typical of me. Jolly and Folio exchanged uneasy glances, but I ignored them by moving to the next room.

Nicholas was the one to follow. When I crossed looks with him, there was concern etched across his face. I couldn’t avoid the inevitable question just the same I couldn’t avoid feeling like this.

“Noah, you okay?” He inquired, placing his coffee on the desk.

“Yeah,” I lied.

“Is this about the coughing? Has it wors—?”

“No, nothing to do with that,” I replied, pulling my phone from my pocket, checking once again for a message from Lia. Nothing. I returned the phone to my pocket. Nicholas still studied me intently. “I mean, I’m okay. If my voice doesn’t work, then fuck it. We’ll wait another week.”

“That’s not very typical of you,” he murmured, eyeing me suspiciously. No, it wasn’t. Breaking the planned schedule wasn’t my style, but I was also not known for being someone impatient. “But yeah, if you’re not feeling well, you should rest and let your voice get back to normal. We’re in no rush.”

“I am,” I responded, determined and frustrated. I was in a rush.  

“You know things won’t work out if you force them to happen.”

I needed to distract myself, to escape my thoughts. It was the reason I’d dragged myself out of bed and driven to the studio that day instead of calling Matt to say I was sick.  

“Oh, yeah, thanks for the great advice, man.”

I couldn’t handle it. I was irritable.

“What’s wrong with you, Noah?” Nicholas asked, irritation creeping up to him and into his voice, too. “Why are you so pissed?”

“Well, I think I have an idea why that is.” Jolly retorted, entering the room. He had overheard everything. Not that I’d done any effort to keep my voice down. He adjusted his guitar, ignoring the volatile energy around me.

I scowled; my jaw clenched as I glared at him.

Matt attempted to lighten the mood, sending only a sideways look my way as he joined us. “Come on. We’re all feeling the pressure here. Why don’t we just channel that into the music, yeah?”

I sighed, running a hand through my disheveled hair. I wasn’t sure I could give my best, given that I had spent the last two days coughing, but I was there for a reason, and I planned on making the most of it. “Fine,” I mumbled. I set my phone facing down next to Nicholas’ coffee. “Let’s get to it.”

Mitch was the first guy that Lia ever called “her boyfriend”, and the name nagged at me. Every other guy that had come across her way had been a flirt, a one-night stand, or a two-week fling. She never really felt anything too special for them, and she had always prioritized me before them.

With Mitch, it was different.

It had been two months. She was overly ecstatic. The first few weeks I had a feeling that Lia might enlighten Mitch with all the things that had happened in her life, maybe including the fact that I had been her first kiss. What little I knew about Mitch was that he could be very persuasive when it came to getting what he wanted, and I had never seen anyone so fixated on Lia as he was. Lia wasn’t one to open that easily, but it was the first time she was like this, so entranced with a guy, and I had my doubts at how much she would retain. She was always very careful about what information she would give away. Sharing with people facts about her childhood and her mother was something that she didn’t find comfort in, and every time someone asked how the two of us met, it was a common understanding that we would give a simple answer and diverge the topic. I didn’t know now if Mitch had any idea about her past, about where she came from and the things that her mother did —or didn’t do— to her.  

Maybe I was being too overprotective. Lia had already told me a few times that I was, but so was she, always disliking the girls I went out with and playing pranks to get them to leave the house the next morning in a rush, as if they had learnt something scary about me, whatever it was. Lia was getting really good at making shit up. We had actually had an argument a month before she met Mitch because she introduced herself as my fucking wife to the girl I had just slept with, mentioning the tattoo of her name I had in my neck. Lia pretended to be super angry at finding another woman in my bed. The poor girl thought I had cheated on Lia and left with her heels on her hands, screaming.

When Saturday came, I was expecting Nicholas to come over after lunch so that we could spend the evening playing videogames, but I received an unexpected visit in the middle of the afternoon which caused me a mix of happiness and unease.  

Lia threw her arms around my neck, exclaiming a very elated “hi” in my ear. It felt nice to have her in my arms again, but my tight grip loosened as soon as I spotted Mitch coming from behind. His car was parked in the driveway, next to mine. I could tell he was not very pleased with Lia’s affection toward me. I understood his perspective, though. His girlfriend had a best friend, another male, and she had a history with him, a life, if you’d call it. We had grown together, lived together, and slept together in the same bed countless of times. I wasn’t sure how much Mitch knew about our friendship, but it was enough to send him over the edge sometimes. He had already made a couple of comments about people mistaking her for my girlfriend instead of his, and he’d made it clear that he didn’t like it.

All I could think of was fuck you, dude. 

In a matter of thirty minutes, the house was full of people.

Jolly had a delivery coming up, new furniture for his room, and he had called some guy from IKEA to set it up because for the love of God he was awful at it and didn’t want us to help. Last time we set up his bed, he found two screws on the floor after a month and he was so scared that the bed would crumble at some point during the night that he unmounted everything and had a specialist come in. We thought we could entertain ourselves with videogames while the job was getting done on the other room, but with Lia and Mitch in the house, and Mike who came later with his girlfriend, the evening turned into an unexpected small event.

Beers were served, food was taken out. Before we realized it, we found ourselves sharing drinks with the folks from IKEA. Despite not lingering for long, they managed to enjoy a free beer and indulge in a plethora of snacks, enough to satiate their hunger well into the next day.

Jolly was just farewelling them from the door when my gaze diverted to the sofa, where Nicholas was playing videogames, and I spotted Lia in the corner, in the furthest area of the sofa, sat on Mitch’s lap, her mouth on his, his hand on her ass.

“Noah.”

“What?”

I turned around. I was standing by the kitchen isle, my hands gripping the edge of the counter. My knuckles had gone white. Mike’s girlfriend was looking at me with a friendly smile.

“I said ‘do you want another beer?’” She offered nicely.  

“Yes, sure,” I gave her a smile and accepted the beer she handed me.

Taking the first sip, I casually turned away from the group of guys gathered in the kitchen. Just as Mike, his girlfriend, and Jolly delved into what appeared to be an intriguing conversation, I made my escape.

Securing myself in the studio, I powered up the monitor, launching X and reviewing the latest piece I had been working on. Less than ten minutes later, a knock echoed on the door, and I knew it was Lia, evident from the gentle taps and the intervals between each.

She peeked through the door and smiled widely when she saw me.

“Hey, I noticed you slipping away from there,” she said.

She did? She had looked pretty busy to me.

She made her way in, leaving the door slightly ajar. The studio bathed in a soft, comforting light. Despite the noise coming from the living room, this was my sanctuary. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m not really in the mood for a party,” I admitted. “But I’m glad you came by,” I reassured her after I saw her features fall. Turning the chair, I faced her until I had her at arm’s reach. “How was the trip?”

She had been gone all weekend. Mitch had surprised her with some getaway weekend in Las Vegas, and I didn’t hear from her since the day before she left.

“Good. A bit rushed, though,” she replied, her attention shifting to a new book I had bought recently and that sitting atop a pile of other that I had pending to read. It felt to me that she wasn’t much eager to talk about the trip. “We did some sightseeing and I managed to drag Mitch out of the casinos and go visit the Neon Museum, it was super interesting. You would have loved it.”

Her smile could’ve lighted up the whole room if it wasn’t for the tinge of melancholy I saw in her eyes.

“I’ll make sure to check it out next time we’re in Las Vegas for a show,” I promised. “Did you do get time to go see the Antelope Canyon?”

“I wish! But Mitch isn’t much into walking.”

Too bad. Lia loved hiking. Two years ago, we had gone trekking to Yellowstone and had spent the night in the campsite, playing guitar and singing songs under the moonlight. I couldn’t imagine what fun she had found in Las Vegas if most of their time had been spent in the casinos.

“What does he like, anyway?” The question slipped out involuntarily from my lips.  

Lia narrowed her eyes and pointed a finger at me.

“I’m serious,” I quickly interjected, refusing to let guilt take over me. “I know he’s cool and he’s into music and all that, but what did you see in him?”

“Noah, let’s not go there again,” she said, weariness evident in her tone. She allowed herself to sink into she sofa, her eyes pleading and a faint smile on her lips. “I don't know what you have suddenly got against him. I’m happy, isn’t that enough?”

I sighed.

“Yeah, it is.”

I guess, I thought.

“But if it makes you feel any better,” she continued, straightening herself, “he takes good care of me, he makes me laugh and he makes me feel important.”

“He better do that, otherwise I will kick his ass.”

“I do not want to see that happening,” she affirmed.

A laugh escaped me, releasing some of the tension. After a moment of quiet, another question slipped from my lips.

“Does he know about your relationship with your mother?”

Lia’s demeanor shifted, a familiar guardedness that used to settle in whenever her mother was mentioned.

“He knows she didn’t care much about me. I didn’t go into detail because I don’t find it necessary.” She stood up. Her expression changed and I knew she was about to shift the topic. She approached me and grabbed a strand of my hair. “Your hair has grown so much. It’s longer than mine now.”

Good way to steer the conversation, Lia. 

“I’m thinking of cutting it.”

“Why?”

“I’m just tired of it. It gets so inconvenient sometimes.”

“I can braid it, if you want,” she offered, tilting her head a bit.

“No, thanks,” I replied, my words accompanied by a dismissive pff sound and a displeased look.

“Okay, Mr. Grumpy,” she teased, letting go of my hair. “How’s the coughing?”

“Coming and going,” I replied, not giving it too much importance. I was sick of it, of not understanding it. I had called grandma a few weeks ago and she told me something related to fairytales and love stories. I didn’t need any of it. I needed a cure before it got worse. “I was pretty fucked up a couple of days ago. But today, alas, I woke up just fine.”

“I’m tired of telling you to go see a doctor,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“This has nothing to do with doctors, Lia. If I tell them what’s happening, they’ll either lock me up in the psych ward or treat me like a test specimen.”

“I know, but there must be a solution. What if it gets worse?”

I shrugged.

“Grandma said the solution is that you stay by my side, and everything will be fine.”

“Oh, how convenient for you.”

Despite what she thought, I wasn’t joking. I said that casually, but I was still grappling with whatever grandma had meant when she involved Lia in this strange sickness.

“Not interested in playing nurse for a while?”

“I had my fill of looking after you, Jolly, and Jesse when all three of you caught the flu three Christmases ago.”

That had been a crazy Christmas. All three of us laying in bed and Lia going from one room to another checking our temperature and making sure we were eating properly, and in the meantime, she’d kept on working, designing stuff for the merch drop we had planned for the beginning of the new year while trying not to get sick all at the same time.  She was unbelievable.

“Oh, by the way. I wrote something while I was away,” she suddenly remembered. She took out a sheet of notebook from the back pocket of her jeans and handed it to me. “Will you check it out and let me know what you think?”

It was a song. She had written a song while out on a road trip with her boyfriend.

“Of course.”

“Not now, though. Maybe when there’s less chaos in the house.”

I nodded, a little smile playing at my lips, eager for everyone to leave and night to come so that I could lock retreat to my room, MacBook at myside, and Lia’s handwritten lyrics in my hands.

I saved the paper in the pocket of my sweatpants.

 When my phone buzzed, I glanced at it briefly before deciding to ignore it.

“Are you not gonna reply?” She asked, curiosity evident in her tone.  

“Nope.”

“What if it’s someone important?” She inquired, moving some hair away from her face.

There was a hint of something in her voice, as if she wanted me to answer that there wasn’t anybody.

I made a clicking sound with my tongue, swaying in the chair.  

“It’s not.”

“Come on,” she oddly insisted. “Are you not gonna tell me? Are you seeing someone?”

“Lia, last time I brought a girl home, she ran away before I could get her naked because someone told her I had herpes while I was in Jolly’s room looking for condoms, and because of you I was left with a boner that I had to tend by myself.”

She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle her giggles.

The sound didn’t last long, though. The door opened promptly, and Mitch appeared from the well-lit hallway, his smile growing wider as he caught sight of Lia.  

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you for twenty minutes.”

The house is not that fucking big, I thought.

“Hey,” Lia greeted him, reaching out to touch his arm affectionately.

“What’s so funny?” He queried.

“Nothing,” Lia replied, shaking her head and trying to compose herself.

“Well,” Mitch draped an arm around her, “I think we should go. It’s getting late, and I have to be up early tomorrow.”

“Sure,” she agreed, her words being swallowed by Mitch, who leaned in until his mouth met hers.

My eyes lingered on the scene for a moment before I looked away, but not soon enough to miss Lia’s hand pressing against his chest and her nervous, uncomfortable laughter.

“Let’s get out of here,” she mumbled. “Can you grab my jacket and bag from the entry? I’ll meet you there in a minute?” She playfully slapped his ass, urging him out.

I pretended to be busy again with the computer during their interaction, but the truth was that I couldn’t focus my eyes on anything on the screen.

“In a minute,” he repeated, his voice demanding and stern. It was a good thing I didn’t see how he looked at Lia and how he pointed a finger at her; otherwise, I’d have told him to shove his demands up his ass.

With him gone, Lia turned to me, her hand briefly resting on my hair as she bid me farewell. She leaned in to peck my cheek and requested to text her whenever I finished checking her song.

“And don’t work too hard!” She shouted from the hallway, her voice fading away.

“Yes, ma’am!” I called back.

[millersdjarin]

I Only See Daylight

Chapter Ten

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: E

Chapter warnings/tags: past emotional & physical abuse, past arranged/forced marriage, panic attacks, trauma, cults, PTSD, hurt/comfort, angst, negative self-image & body image

Chapter length: 5.2k

Previous Chapter | Series Masterlist & Info | Full Masterlist

notes: helloooo ❤️ i've had a horrible week. i'm posting this early to make me feel better. so...surprise monday chapter! :) please heed the warnings for this one, as there are discussions of past emotional & physical abuse <3 nothing graphic, but it's there. always feel free to DM me if you want more details before reading! ❤️ but otherwise, enjoy, and thank you for being here as always!

threw out our cloaks and our daggers because it's morning now; it's brighter now

Just when you thought you’d finished panicking. 

Just when you’d resigned yourself to your fate.

You’re standing in the refresher door, staring at Mando as he stares right back, the threatening note held in his gloved hand. The writing on it is dark and messy, strikes fear in you just looking at it.

You still haven’t answered Mando’s question. He’s just staring at you. Waiting. Expecting some kind of explanation. 

Kriff. A million thoughts rush through your mind at once, rendering you unable to form words, your mouth opening and closing as you try your hardest to say something, anything. 

He only knows a little about your past. He doesn’t know the whole story. Not only is it now very clear that you lied to him when you said you wanted to visit Correlia merely for the fun, and that you were planning on leaving without telling him, but it’s also clear that someone was going to use Mando and his child to get to you. 

How is he ever going to forgive you for that? 

“Answer me,” Mando demands. “What is this?” 

Your vision is going blurry. Your head is spinning. You look at the paper, back to Mando, to the kid who’s standing at his feet. Back to the paper. 

You were going to leave, and he knows it.

They’re being used as a weapon against you, and he knows it.

“I’m sorry,” is all that slips past your lips, just barely a breath, barely loud enough for even yourself to hear. 

He steps closer.

You step backwards on instinct, heart rate rising fast. You almost stumble on the sink behind you. 

He stops, keeping his distance. For a tiny moment his free hand twitches towards you, like maybe he wants to reach out, close the distance between you in at least some way, but he hesitates. “Cyar’ika,” he says, and you immediately shake your head at the name, not wanting him to ever call you something soft again because you don’t deserve it—“I’m not mad at you,” he assures, soft all of a sudden. “Just breathe. I’m not angry with you, I promise.” 

Unblinking, you stare at the black of his visor. He says he’s not mad, but you bet the expression on his face says otherwise. 

You’d be mad. If he lied to you like that. 

You are mad, at yourself. Furious. That you ever thought coming with him was a good idea for any of you. 

His foot moves forward to take a step. You move even further back, pushing yourself into the corner of the fresher, your hands splaying on the wall on either side of you. 

“Hey,” Mando says, so gentle, “hey, look at me. It’s just me.” 

You’re panting for air. Your head spins, vision sliding side to side. Finally you blink, and a tear falls; it’s the breaking of the dam. 

Water pours from your eyes and down your cheeks, and your legs start to shake, the pain in your shoulder like fire with how hard you’re bracing yourself against the wall. You stare at Mando, into his visor, knowing him, trusting him. 

I trust him. 

It’s Mando.

He’s not going to hurt me, even if he is angry. 

“I—” you stammer through the strain in your throat. 

“You don’t have to be scared,” his voice sounds broken. You’ve never heard it quite like this. It cracks, tense like there are tears in his throat. Your suspicions are almost confirmed when you hear him sniff. “Please, Cyar’ika,” he holds out his free hand. Then, realising you’re still staring at the piece of paper in his other, he drops it. Like it doesn’t matter. Like it’s insignificant. Then, pleading, “Talk to me.” 

A sob forces its way out of you. 

You squeeze your eyes shut for a minute, trying harder than you’ve ever had to to bring yourself back to reality. To ground yourself in where you are, remind yourself that you’re safe, that you know Mando, and he knows you. 

“I’m sorry,” you say again. Because apparently it’s your favourite thing to say. 

“It’s alright,” he assures you in an instant. “You know it’s alright. You can stay in there as long as you want, but you don’t look very comfortable, so I can give you space, if that’s what you need,” he starts to step back, but somehow, from some instinct that even the panic attack can’t seem to squash, you reach out for him before he can move away. 

“No,” you beg him. “Please. Stay. Don’t—don’t go.” You’re leaving soon. You have to make the most of every minute with him. 

He nods. His hand is still outstretched to you, patient. 

You stare at it. 

“Talk to me,” he urges again, not even close to a demand. 

A few jittery breaths stab through your mouth and into your lungs. Something in him seems to weaken for a second, his body tilting closer to you, his shoulders tensing. You wonder if he wishes he could look right into your eyes. If he feels guilty that he can’t. 

He shouldn’t. You’ll take whatever he can give you. 

Which is why you reach out, your hand shaking so hard it seems more like muscle spasms, and place your palm against his. 

“I’ve got you,” he tells you, not moving to come closer, just giving you your space.

“C—Can we—” a few more shuddering breaths, “Can we sit down?” 

He nods. Gently, he pulls on your hand, and helps you step over the lip of the fresher doorway. As he walks with you over to a crate, he fishes Grogu’s silver ball out of one of his many hidden pockets, and leans down to hand it to him. “Hey, kid, you mind giving us a minute? Go play, we won’t be long, I promise.” 

The kid accepts the ball happily, and waddles over to the bed chamber, getting himself settled on Mando’s bed. The door closes behind him. 

You sit on the crate, and Mando sits beside you. You can’t even look at him. Your eyes stare straight ahead at the piece of paper sitting on the floor. The piece of paper that has ruined everything. 

Mando’s gloved hand reaches out, takes a gentle hold of one of yours, pulls it into his lap. “What happened?” He asks, smoothing his thumb over yours. 

You sniff. The tears have slowed, but now you just feel drained, every single ounce of strength you had left just gone. The strength you were going to have to use to leave. 

“I found it in my pocket when we got back,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. You can feel his gaze on you. 

“Do you know who wrote it?” 

“No idea. A ‘family friend’ could be any number of people.”

“Your family hurt you,” he says, something he already knows. “Is this the first time you’ve heard from them?” 

“Since I escaped, yes. I…knew there was a risk that someone out there could recognise me,” Gods, there’s that guilt in your stomach again, twisting worse than the knife wound in your shoulder. You look over at the door that the kid is behind. Because of you, he’s in danger. “I’m so sorry, Mando. I should never have left that planet. I put you in danger by coming with you; someone obviously knows who you are, knows that you’re valuable, that he’s valuable…they must have seen that I care about you, that they could use you—” you can’t. You actually can’t.

Mando can. “I don’t blame you for this,” he says. “Hey, I need you to hear me when I say that. Do you hear me? This is not your fault.” 

“But it is,” you whisper, and finally find the strength to look up at him, peering through his visor with tear-blurred eyes. “It is. I put you at risk.” 

He shakes his head. “I promised you my protection. I should’ve been more careful.” 

“It’s not like I made it easy. You didn’t even know who you were protecting me from.” 

For a second, he hesitates. “Who am I protecting you from?” 

Your eyes fall closed. You move your head away, hang it low towards your lap. “I told you my family hurt me,” you say. Where he’s pressed up next to you and holding your hand, you feel him nod. You can’t not tell him the truth now. He deserves to know. It’s not just your life that’s in danger anymore. “They have a…religion, of sorts. It’s a cult, really, a high-control group that makes them a lot of money, and therefore a lot of friends in bad places. Bounty hunters, for one. But not Guild members, just rogues. Crime syndicates, corrupt politicians…my family funds them, so that they gain power, influence, new members.” 

He’s quiet, listening intently. (He always listens.) 

“Escaping them would’ve been hard enough if I’d just been a regular follower. But because I was their daughter…their only daughter…” 

His hand in yours squeezes, and you feel him tense up, the muscles in his arms flexing beside you.

The next part feels like the hardest thing to confess. It was one of the worst things they did, but only one of. 

And, logically, you know it wasn’t your fault. You know that what they did to you was wrong, no questions, no ifs, no buts. But yet it fills you with such shame that it makes you want to hide from everyone forever. “I was betrothed to a man since the day I turned eighteen. He…was not a good man, and I didn’t love him. I fought against it for so long. And my family, they…” your voice chokes you, tears suddenly springing hot and painful in your throat. Your scars twinge on your skin. 

You can’t say it.

All you can say is, “They did everything they could to make sure no one else would ever want me.” 

You hear Mando’s breathing hitch. 

You can’t even look at him. 

“What did they do?” He asks, tentative, like he isn’t sure he wants to know. (You don’t blame him; he’s right, he doesn’t want to. No one would want to.)

Unable to stretch your dwindling strength far enough to be able to say it, you shake your head. “Sorry,” you whisper. “I can’t…”

“It’s alright,” he squeezes your hand. “I know this is hard.” Then, he lifts your joined hands, and presses them to the place his lips are beneath the helmet. You can almost feel his kiss, a ghost on your skin. “I’m sorry, Cyar’ika.” 

“No, I’m sorry…” 

“For what?” 

“For bringing my shit into your life. You didn’t—you didn’t know what you were taking on. The daughter of cult leaders who would do anything to get her back.” 

“Do they want you back so that you can marry that man?” 

“Sort of. That’s part of it. I was supposed to be their biggest success; the perfect example of the cult’s values and lifestyle. But when I escaped, I was seen as their biggest failure. They lost credibility. People started doubting it; if their daughter, of all people, will fight against all hell to escape, why would others want to join?” 

He nods. “Makes sense. Sounds like you did more than just yourself a favour by leaving. You saved other people from it, too.” 

You laugh mirthlessly. “Yeah, except now they’ve found me again, and I have to go back.” 

He pulls your hand away from his helmet, puts it back in his lap so he can turn to look right at you. “What?” 

You stare at him, wide-eyed. “I…yeah, I…well, I have to go, don’t I? You read the note. I was going to leave, I thought…I thought you figured…” 

“I did,” he says, somehow with a look more intense than ever, like the helmet isn’t even there, “but now that I know, now that you don’t have to hide it, you’re not going.” 

“Mando…I have to.” 

“No, you don’t.” 

“If I don’t, they’ll never stop following me. You know how much attention you draw when you go literally anywhere; as soon as the bastard who wrote that note tells my family who I’m with, there will be nowhere we can go without being recognised. They’ll put out bounties for all three of us.” 

He shrugs one shoulder, like it’s no big deal. “It’s nothing I’ve not had before,” he says. 

Incredulous, you scoff. “Mando! Did you not hear what you said to me this morning? You’ve only just started this new life for the kid. Free of running, of danger, of the Empire. You can’t go back to that; you can’t let him go through all of that again just for me!”

“Just for you?” He repeats, and you can hear the frown in his voice, “There is no just you. You’re not just anything.” 

Words that were ready to come out suddenly halt, stopping before they reach your tongue, crawling away back down into your lungs. 

He stares at you. “I won’t just let you go,” he says. Your heart lurches painfully, mixing with the warmth that he brings to your chest, creating a strange mix of peace and terror that you’re not sure what do do with. “I won’t.” 

“Mando…I can’t drag you back into a life of running. I can’t.”

“I promised you my protection. You told me there were people after you; I knew the risks.” 

“You didn’t know them like you do now,” you point out. Your heart is racing. You want so badly to let him do this for you, to give in, to hold him and ask him to never let you go, to never let them take you. But it’s not that simple. “These people will not stop. They only didn’t come for me before before because I picked a planet in the middle of nowhere, and I stayed there. I didn’t move. But now I’ve come out into the light, and I’m with the most distinctive man and child in the Galaxy.” 

“I’m sorry…” 

“Gods, no, don’t apologise,” you almost laugh again, out of sheer disbelief that he is the one saying sorry, “I put you in danger. I brought people who will chase you. You fought so hard to find freedom, Mando.” 

“So did you,” he counters. “I won’t let you give up your freedom for us. It would break the kid’s heart, Cyar’ika. It would…it would break my heart,” he confesses, quietly, the sincerity in his voice so heavy that for a second it almost sounds like there’s no modulator between you. “If you left.”

Tears well on the edges of your eyes, sting in your nose. “Mando…” 

He surprises you, then, by leaning in and pressing his forehead to yours. You wonder if his eyes are closed or open, drinking in your closeness or looking right at you. “Cyar’ika,” he says, whispers. Then, bringing up his spare hand, he places it so gently on your chin, and confusion breaks its way through the chaos when he says, “Din Djarin.” 

“I—what?” 

“My name,” he says, stroking his thumb over your cheekbone. “My name is Din Djarin.”

Oh. 

Oh. 

“Your—your name,” you stammer, pulling back just a little to look into his visor. Something sparks in your heart. You can’t name it. It’s even bigger, even brighter than the warmth you’ve grown so used to. “Din?” 

He softens. Melts. Leans in, gently placing his palm against your cheek, your forehead brushing against the beskar of his. “Say it again,” he requests quietly. 

“Din,” you say, because you’d do anything he asks, you always would have— “Din.” 

A huff of laughter comes through his helmet. It sounds disbelieving, joyful even in the midst of the heartache. 

“Why did you tell me that?” 

“Because I need you to know,” he says, “that you are a part of my life now. A part of ours, me and the kid. And we are not just going to let you go because some shabuir threatened us.” 

Your breath catches in your throat, hitching up into a little sob that you try to resist. Reaching up your hand, you place it on the sharp line of the helmet’s cheek, smoothing your thumb over the tail of the visor’s shape. “I can’t let them hurt you, or chase you,” you say. 

He shakes his head. “And I can’t let them take you. You really think I’d let you go back to a life like that?” 

You tilt your head, kiss the palm of his glove. “I mean…I was kind of going to leave without you knowing…” 

“You really thought I wouldn’t notice? That I wouldn’t come after you?” 

Heavily, you swallow. Gaze so deeply into his visor that you hope he can see inside your soul. You’d let him. You want him to. Right now, despite everything, you want him to. “Din…” you say. 

He sighs softly, like the sound of his name in your voice is music to his ears. “I’ve got you,” he says. “You don’t have to do things alone anymore.” 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you…” 

“I’m not mad at you,” he assures you softly, “I’m just asking you to talk to me. If something like this ever happens again, Cyar’ika, please come to me. You know I’ll keep you safe—both of you. Whatever it takes.” 

You can’t quite get over the fact that he’s willing to sacrifice everything he’s fought so hard for for you. You’re just a passenger, a hitchhiker. Up until now, a tiny part of you had still thought that he was only taking you travelling because he felt he owed you after you helped him. 

“I can’t ask that of you,” you whisper, still feeling the need to protest. 

“You’re not asking,” he says. “But I’m asking something of you right now.” 

“Anything.” 

“Close your eyes,” he requests, gently bringing up both of his hands, laying his thumbs so softly on your eyelids. Your stomach leaps with anticipation when you do as he asks, closing your eyes and hearing the gentle hiss of his helmet releasing from his head. You expect him to tilt it up again, to guide your head down to the strange angle he’d managed to find for you to kiss him before. 

But then, you hear the soft thud of the helmet on the hull floor.

His hands are back on your face in a second, though they don’t move you to that angle, they just hold you, his fingertips gently tracing down the curve of your jaw. 

You gasp, hold your hands up in the space between you. “Can I?” 

“Please.” 

Carefully, you find his face, placing your palms on each cheek. And, shit. Fuck.

His face is right there in front of you. His whole face. 

You can feel the entirety of his facial hair, the moustache above his lip, the thicker bits over the sides of his jaw. Knowing he’s looking at you is excruciating and the hottest thing you’ve ever known. You have to strain to keep your eyes closed, force yourself not to open them, knowing that he’s just right there and all it would take to see his face is to open them once, to slip up just once—

But you don’t. You won’t. 

Instead, you let your hands do the seeing for you. 

They find his hairline. It goes over his forehead, a full head of hair beyond it, short and wavy. Wavy. Probably curly, if he grew it out. A gasp escapes your lips as you gently slide your fingertips over his head and through his locks, all the way down to the back of his neck.

He sighs. You feel it against your lips, warm and sweet. “Cyar’ika…” 

“Kiss me,” you request, using your hands now on his jaw to bring his face right up to yours, so close that his nose presses against the side of yours—“please.”

He does. 

And it’s not like the first time. 

He’s not hesitant, not testing the waters. 

He dives in. Breathing in a heavy breath as his lips crash against yours, he holds your jaw on either side, tilting your chin right up into him, your lips slotting together all hot and wet and beautiful. He’s still got his gloves on, but his skin is so hot that you can feel it, even though he’s moving his hands all over your cheeks, through your hair, over your neck. 

You do the same to him. Feeling him, your mind coming up with a blurry mental image of his face, mapping his features out like a picture book. Your thumb runs over the hair on his chin, nails digging in a little. When he moans softly against you, you can’t help the moan that escapes your own throat, and you run your nails over his scalp from front to back. 

One of his hands moves away from your face, and disappointment is about to hit you before you realise he’s moving it to hold you, pressing it against the spot between your shoulder blades, his fingers splayed wide over your jacket. His cowl bunches nicely into your fist and you use it to pull him closer even though the laws of physics don’t allow.

His lips are so hot, slick as they move against your own, catching your lip between both of his over and over again. It’s not as messy as you’d expected, to kiss him so fast, so urgently. He sucks at your mouth, pushing and pulling, going with your movements but also taking you along with his. 

Your hand remains on his cowl, comfortable with how it holds him there, and the other makes a fist in his hair, pulling lightly because you don’t know when you’ll get to do this again; when he’s going to take his helmet off for you like this. If. 

So you kiss him like it’s the last time. Because of that, the unknown of when it will happen next; and because you thought you’d never get to do this again.

He hums into your mouth, a pleasured, “Mm…” and it sends a shock of heat between your thighs. 

He’s holding you with both hands now, one still on the top of your back, the other sliding around your waist. He grabs your jacket in his fist. You hear the squeak of leather against leather. 

It seems too soon when he breaks away for air. He holds you close, pushing his nose into your cheek, panting against your mouth. You don’t pull back, because if you do, your eyes might open on instinct. 

Slow, he moves from your waist to your cheek, then ghosts his gloved finger over your lips. “Fuck,” he says, and there’s that heat again. Right between your legs. 

“Din,” you whisper, because now that you know his name, you don’t think you can ever stop saying it. “That was…fuck.” 

“Mm,” he nods. “Yeah. I—Mesh’la…” 

You lift your hand from his cowl, instead stroking at the side of his face. 

“It didn’t work,” he says. 

Um. “What?” Worry strikes your stomach. Did he not like that? Did you do something wrong? Have you touched his face too much—

“Whatever they did to you, to make it so that no one would want you,” he explains further, his voice low and husky right against your mouth, “it didn’t work.” 

The worry is replaced with something else. Not a sharp stab of fear, but something worse, something simmering in the depths of your belly. “Din…you don’t know what they…” 

He shakes his head. His hand is decisive on the back of your neck, anchoring you to him. “It didn’t work,” he declares. “I want you. You have no idea how badly I want you.”

You don’t have it in you to argue. You can’t. Not after that kiss. Not after everything. 

Instead, your mind goes to other problems currently at hand, the more pressing ones. Din is still pressed against you, holding you like you’re something precious, like he never wants to let you go. The feeling is so very mutual. 

His thumb taps at the corner of your eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says, then, “can you keep them closed while I…?”

“Don’t be sorry,” you tell him, nuzzling your nose against his. You feel his moustache brushing against your lips. You’d let him kiss you until it marked you for hours afterwards. Until the hairs hurt your skin. “What you’ve given me is more than enough.” 

He kisses you again. Just once. “You, too,” he whispers. Then pulls away, and you wait until you hear the hiss of his helmet before you open your eyes. Despite not being able to see his face, the sight of him warms you from the inside out.

You smile, reaching out to put your hand on the beskar over his cheek. Then, your eyes slide over to the piece of paper that’s still sitting there on the floor. “What do we do?” You ask, hopelessness creeping back into your stomach. 

“We have twenty four hours until that hut’uun tells your family,” he says. “We come up with a plan.”

“Hoo-toon?” You repeat the Mando’a word with a curious frown. 

“It’s the worst possible insult to a Mandalorian. A coward.” 

A smile twitches at your lips. You run your hand down his shoulder, reaching for his hand. “What’s the best possible compliment?” 

“Why do you ask?”

“It’s what I should call you.” 

He sits up a little straighter, his hand squeezing yours. “Cyar’ika…” 

“I mean it,” you insist. 

“I know you do.” 

For some reason, that hits. “Good,” you whisper, then lean up to press a long kiss to his forehead. Then, “Let’s plan.” 

-

Your suggestion to use you as bait to lure the ‘hut’uun’ out of hiding is immediately shut down by Mando.

And, honestly, yeah. It does seem like asking for trouble.

“So we use all of us as bait,” you suggest instead. 

“How?” Mando is sitting in the pilot’s chair, facing you where you sit in the co pilot’s, with Grogu in your lap. 

“We run. Or, pretend to run. Let them follow.” 

“You said it’ll be your family who follow,” he points out. “Not just the guy who’s blackmailing you.” 

You chew your lip. “Yeah. They’re no army, but they have every way of getting an army to chase us.” 

“It’s nothing new…” 

“We can’t, Mando.” It’s still taking some getting used to, knowing his name. In fact, you haven’t really had time to process the fact that he told you his name. That’s such a huge part of him, something he keeps so secret, so close to his chest. You’re so honoured by it that you don’t have the emotional space to deal with it right now. The weight of it. The crushing need to tell him Thank you for the rest of your life.

“I’ve outrun armies before. Maybe we go lay low somewhere before the day’s up. Find a way to clear our trail before they even start to follow us.”

“Won’t people recognise you wherever you go?” 

“Not if we go somewhere in the Outer Rim.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “Isn’t that exactly the kind of place that will recognise you? It’s full of the kinds of people who my family will hire.” 

“People might know me there,” he says, “but that’s the point. They know who I am, and what I do. They know I’m dangerous.” 

“They know that if they fuck around, they’ll find out?” You suggest, smirking. 

He chuckles. He’s sitting in that way again, with his legs spread, his hands on his thighs. You’re staring to wonder if he does it on purpose. Just to get to you. “Exactly. I can think of some places we can lay low. Places that don’t ask questions. I can call on some contacts.”

“What kind of contacts?” 

“I’ve got all sorts of them,” he tilts his helmet a bit, like he’s smirking, showing off. 

“Oh, you do, huh?” You raise a teasing eyebrow. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, his voice dipping lower. 

You frown. “Like what?” 

“Not in front of the kid,” he says. 

You genuinely don’t know how you’re looking at him. Well, actually, you can guess. When he sits like that, and puts that challenge in his tone, that quirk of his helmet… “Din,” you say, feigning confidence, “don’t be gross. Not in front of the kid.” You tease him.

He hitches up one of his legs just a little. “He knows what you’re saying, you know.” 

“With my eyes?” 

“Your words.” 

You look down at the kid, who’s thoroughly disinterested in what you’re saying, too busy playing with his beloved ball. “I’m sure he does. He’s clever.” 

“Too clever,” Din grumbles. 

“So, are we doing this?” You ask, propping up your foot on the edge of Din’s seat, gently pushing one of his legs out the way. 

He puts his gloved hand on the top of your boot. “Yes. If you’re on board.” 

“I am. I trust you, whatever you think is best. Outer Rim, then?” 

“Yes. But it’s going to take three day rotations to get where we’re going.” 

“At light speed?” 

“It’s the only way we can avoid being tracked. The hut’uun knows my ship; it’s one of a kind. Once the twenty-four hours are up, if he’s telling the truth, he’ll tell your family, and we’ll be hunted. Our best bet is to lay low for a while, figure out a long-term plan.” 

You let out a long, slightly shaky breath. You look away from him, feeling familiar guilt twisting at you. 

“Don’t do that,” he says, soft.

“You’re bossy today,” you grumble, not looking at him. “And don’t do what? I’m just sitting here.”

“No,” he says, sitting forward, leaning in closer to you. “You’re feeling guilty. I know that look.” 

“It’s me they’re after,” you say quietly, absently looking at the kid, but not really looking at him. Your mind is elsewhere. “Are you sure you don’t just want to use me as bait, and take the guy out?” 

He pulls on your foot, suddenly, jerking it further onto the chair so that you look up at him on instinct. “No,” he says, final. “Absolutely not. I’d rather run for the rest of my life.” 

You swallow, heavy, staring at him with wide eyes. Then, in a whisper, “Okay.”

“Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

“Good,” he lets go of your foot, but gently pushes it from his seat before he turns back around to the control panel, looking out at the vast space in front and around you. “We’ve got enough on board to get us through a few days. But when we get where we’re going, we’ll need to get supplies.” 

“Where are we going?” 

He flicks a few switches, punches in coordinates. Before you know it, the stars are turning to blurs in the inky blackness, then zooming into one big, blue, flashing kaleidoscope. Hyperspace. Mando sits back in his chair, then looks at the kid. “Tatooine,” he answers.

Oh, great. 

requests are open ❤️

notes: *joel miller voice* yeah, it was cool. everyone loved tatooine. i hopeeee this made up for the cliffhanger last week! and i'm also very excited for the next chapter so yayyy :)

as always, thank you for reading, and if you can leave your thoughts, please do! ❤️

love you xo

Mando'a translation:

Shabuir - much hated person or thing.

taglist (info):

@toobsessedsstuff @granillx @keepingitlokiii @shoe1412 @kiruoris @quentinor @yourunstablegf @moonknight-s-cumdump @senassn @samanthacookieone @local-fanfic-addict @your-slutty-gf @brilliantopposite187 @whenpugzfly @elsasshole @moony-toasts @julesjewelss36 @jbcalway @mxlsmith @indec1sive @lordhavemurthy @booktvmoviefangirl @brokenghostgirl1 @competitivedust @lostinsideourminds @laramcflyy @gloryekaterina @ellesvoid @uncle-eggy @astronymity @leithatnight

[emma-m-black]

Soul Mate Magic - Chapter Twelve

Rupert Giles x OC (FanFiction) - MATURE 18+

A new magical transfer comes to Sunnydale High, and ends up discovering a magical connection with our favorite Watcher.

OC is 19+ (Not a Minor), Age Gap, Slow Burn-ish (with a little preview thrown in there during the Bandy Candy Episode).

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Okay so I just finished writing Chapter 20!! I'm so glad that some people seem to be enjoying this story and reading it haha 🩷 I cannot wait to get these all uploaded, and it is taking all my willpower to not just post everything right now, but I'm gonna try and do a few days in between each post.

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Author Master List

Read: Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten, Chapter Eleven,

Chapter Twelve:

Since Christmas Eve, Rose had barely a moment to herself, suffocated by the constant presence of her new-found friends. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate their concern, but their pitiful glances and whispered conversations behind her back gnawed at her nerves. She needed time—time to breathe, time to think. She craved silence from their endless protection. When classes finally resumed, it was her first chance to at least be alone in the crowd, despite Buffy and Giles’s lingering disapproval.

The ride to Sunnydale High in Oz’s van was a brief escape, but not nearly enough. By the time Rose sat down for English, the weight of everything pressed on her once again. She let her mind wander, her pen idly scratching across the notebook page when she felt it—a flicker of magic, like the brush of cold air against her skin. Her notebook lifted ever so slightly off the desk.

Her heart pounded as she found a folded scrap of paper underneath. The ink had bled through hints of jagged letters on the other side. Rose glanced at Willow beside her, but her friend was engrossed in her own work. Slowly, with careful fingers, she unfolded the note beneath her book.

If you want answers, you need to get away from your annoyingly attached friends. Use the cafeteria exit. Your equally annoying family isn’t watching it. - Ethan

Her breath caught in her throat. Ethan. A trick, maybe, but what would her family gain from pretending to be him? And why now? Despite the warning bells ringing in her head, it was tempting. Ethan was part of Giles’s magical past—a piece of the puzzle Rose had been desperately trying to solve.

It’s worth the risk.

There was no slipping away unnoticed if Willow caught wind of her plan. Rose steadied her breath, whispering a word beneath it, “Subsisto.“ The world around her froze mid-motion: the teacher, the ticking clock, the tapping of pencils. Time held still as she darted from her seat, her bag and books clutched to her chest.

Once in the hall, the spell’s effect ebbed. She could already feel it faltering. Heart hammering in her chest, she rushed toward the cafeteria exit, knowing Willow would soon be on her trail. Sunlight blinded her as she burst through the doors, but she barely had time to register Ethan’s dark, triumphant smile before everything went black.

When Rose awoke, cold tile pressed against her cheek, the metallic stench of mildew filling her lungs. Disoriented, she blinked through the haze clouding her mind. Where am I? A dingy bathroom spun into focus, and her stomach twisted as fear anchored in her gut.

“What—?” Her voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Ethan’s face came into view, a smirk plastered across his face as he crouched in front of her. “Why, hello love.”

Her first instinct was to lunge at him, but a sharp jolt of pain held her back. She looked down—her wrists were bound in thick iron cuffs, etched with runes that pulsed faintly. Chains rattled as she struggled, securing her to a rusted pipe behind her. Panic surged through her as she reached for her magic, only to find emptiness. The familiar spark was gone.

“They negate your magic.” Ethan’s voice dripped with amusement as Rose continued her futile attempts to summon her power. “Did you really think I’d meet you without a way to nullify your power? Plus, this keeps you hidden from both your lover and your family.”

Rose gritted her teeth. “So, this was all just a trap.”

“Yes and no,” Ethan replied, standing up and dusting off his hands. “I needed to separate you from your babysitters. As much as I enjoy chaos, I have information you want and I don’t need the band of misfits trying to kill me.”

Her mind raced, but it kept circling back to Giles—how furious he would be, how reckless she’d been. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

Ethan’s smile widened, a glint of malevolence in his eyes. “Because it will kill Ripper to know the truth, and nothing gives me more pleasure than watching him self-destruct. So don’t worry, today is not the day you die, Rose.”

His words struck like a knife, slicing through her resolve. The air around her felt heavier, suffocating. “Why do you hate him so much?” Rose spat, though her voice wavered.

“Hate? Oh, darling, I don’t hate him. I pity him.” Ethan crossed his arms, his tone thick with sarcasm. “Your white knight, hiding behind his books, preaching about morality when he’s done worse than most of the monsters he fights.”

Rose’s heart pounded in her chest. “If I’m here to just listen to you slander him, you’re wasting your breath. Rupert is a good man.”

“Is he now?” Ethan’s gaze bore into her. “Tell me, those feelings you have for him—do they feel real? Or are they just a spell, carefully crafted to bind you to him?”

Her blood ran cold. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s a spell, love.” His voice was low, almost gentle, as though he enjoyed watching her break. “Years ago, Ripper and I performed a little ritual. A spell to draw out the one person whose magic would perfectly complement our own. Someone who would satisfy every need, every desire. We were lonely men dear, you have to understand. However, it is my luck that your pesky family curse has made everything so much more fun. “

Rose’s breath hitched, the world around her narrowing into a suffocating tunnel. “A spell?“

Her heart splintered under the weight of his words. Everything she had felt—her attraction to Giles, her growing connection—was it all fabricated and by Giles himself? Tears stung the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away, refusing to give Ethan the satisfaction of seeing her crumble.

“We thought we did it wrong, that it didn’t work. Then, to my surprise, about five years ago, I found him. Hugh was my everything; we complimented each other perfectly... until the Watchers killed him for using dark magic.” Ethan’s voice was quieter now, but the bitterness behind his words cut deep. Then he left the room, his retreat leaving a hollow silence.

Rose’s pulse quickened, her heart pounding against her chest. It wasn’t just the realization that Ethan had lost someone—someone who completed him, just like she thought Giles did for her—but the creeping fear that slithered into her mind. Was her bond with Giles just an illusion? Just another manipulation?

“So this is all revenge on Rupert because the Council killed the man you bewitched into loving you?” she asked, her voice strained as she pulled at the cuffs, trying to loosen her wrist even a fraction.

Ethan reappeared, a twisted smile tugging at his lips. “No, I’ve wanted revenge on Ripper for much longer than that. Hugh... he gave me a purpose, a new life. But now that he’s gone, what else is there?” He stepped forward, the glint of something cold in his hand catching Rose’s attention.

Her heart dropped as she saw the blade—a ceremonial dagger, its hilt adorned with the same runes that marked her family’s coven. Recognition hit her like a punch to the gut. “How did you get that?” Her voice trembled with fear she could no longer suppress.

“You’re not the only one with friends, love.” Ethan’s smirk deepened as he leaned casually against the doorframe. He twirled the dagger, the metal catching the dim light, making her stomach churn. “Now, here’s where you find yourself, Rose. I want access to your coven’s magic. In exchange, I’ll give you the spell to sever the magical aspect of your romantic connection with Ripper. He’ll still be your guardian in this little curse of yours, but you’ll be free from the... nasty effect your death will have on him.”

Rose felt the walls closing in, her breaths growing shallow as panic settled in her chest. “Why would I even bother? I’m going to die anyway. What difference does it make?” The words came out sharper than she intended, though beneath them was a thread of desperation she couldn’t mask.

“The spell, love.” Ethan’s eyes gleamed with a cruel satisfaction. “Judging by how close you two were when I first met you, I’d wager you’ve already consummated your bond—emotionally and physically. That’s how the spell fully connects, you see. It ties you to each other in ways you can’t escape. If you die...” He let the words hang in the air, his grin widening. “Rupert dies too.”

Rose’s heart stopped, her blood running cold. “What?” Her voice barely escaped her lips. A strangled whisper as the weight of his words settled on her like a shroud. “But...”

Ethan’s smile widened. “But I’m alive, aren’t I? See, I severed the connection between myself and Hugh long before his death. I’m not one for being tied down and when I realized the love, I felt was a result of the spell, I found a way to break it.” He paused, watching her intently, savoring her unraveling. “Unfortunately, we really did love each other, so it still felt like my heart was being ripped out when his was pierced with a dagger. So, here’s your dilemma, love. If you die, are you going to take Ripper with you?”

“No...” Rose’s throat tightened, her vision blurring as tears welled in her eyes. The book Anya had shown her—the passage about the bond—it had been true. All of it, just not in the context they thought. “No,” she whispered again, as if saying it enough times would make it false, but deep down, she knew. She had known for a while that what she felt was deep down was only magic.

“You really are unlucky, aren’t you?” Ethan cooed, circling her like a predator, savoring its prey. “Cursed by your ancestors and bewitched by a warlock... It’s almost poetic.”

The first tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it, but once it started, more followed. She couldn’t hold back the flood of emotions crashing into her all at once. The love she thought was hers—real and pure—was a fabrication, an enchantment woven into the very fabric of her being.

“So... it’s all a lie?” Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper. The room felt impossibly small, the walls pressing in as her heart broke into pieces.

“No, not entirely. The love I felt for Hugh was still there after I broke the spell, even when I didn’t want to feel it.” Ethan crouched down in front of her, brushing a tear from her cheek with a mockingly gentle touch. “The connection would have been there, but without the spell and given your age differences, you’d have dismissed it as a fleeting crush. And Rupert, well, he would’ve remained the saintly, rule-abiding Watcher, keeping his distance, never acting on his feelings.”

A sob caught in her throat as another tear slipped free. Ethan’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he watched her crumble. “But I could have never expected what I would find here in Sunnydale, here you are... bound to him in ways you can’t control. Tell me, Rose, do you really want to take him with you to the grave?”

Rose closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the cold wall, feeling utterly defeated. Her mind raced, spinning through the impossible choices laid before her. She couldn’t bear the thought of Giles—Rupert—dying because of her. But to sever the bond meant surrendering to Ethan, allowing him into her coven’s magic. Was there any way out? Any path that wouldn’t end in ruin?

“I can’t do the ritual like this.” Her voice was hoarse, broken as she lifted her shackled wrists slightly in a half-hearted gesture.

“I’m well aware,” Ethan responded smoothly.

“Well?” Rose whispered, her voice trembling as she glanced down at the enchanted cuffs biting into her wrists.

“I’m not stupid, love,” Ethan replied smoothly, his tone condescending as he eyed her restraints. “I’m not releasing you until we’re ready for the ritual. Besides, I’d like Ripper to stew in his own guilt a little longer before we meet up again. Once the time comes, we’ll gather with your do-gooder friends, and once you’ve brought me into the coven, I’ll give you the spell to sever your connection with your beloved Watcher.”

He straightened himself, his gaze cold and calculating as it bore down on her. “But I think I’d like to see you a bit weaker before that. Can’t have you overpowering me, now can we? You see, with those cuffs binding you, the longer you and Ripper are apart, the weaker you’ll both become.” His smile was a cruel, deliberate thing, full of satisfaction. “Gotta even the playing field somehow, because I want to enjoy watching Rupert lose yet another woman he cares for.”

Rose’s heart pounded painfully in her chest as Ethan turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him. The moment she was alone, the silence of the musty bathroom swallowed her whole. It was as if every fear and doubt she’d been holding back came crashing down in an unrelenting wave. Her breath hitched, and before she could stop it, the sobs ripped from her throat, raw and helpless.

Her body shook as she cried, the weight of Ethan’s words crashing over her. Every tear that fell was a reminder of how trapped she was—physically, emotionally, magically. The truth carved itself deeper into her heart with every ragged breath. Her love for Giles twisted into a cruel, unnatural connection. It wasn’t real, none of it was real.

And yet, the pain that tore through her wasn’t a lie. The fear of what was happening to them—of what could happen to Giles—was all too real. Ethan’s game, his twisted manipulation, had reduced her to this—bound, broken, and desperate, with no clear way out.

Each sob that wracked her body felt like a betrayal of her own strength, but she couldn’t stop.

Chapter Thirteen