#reposting this because posting last night did nothing and I actually like this one a lot

[friendzoned61]

You know what I want to do when we get up there? I just want to dance.

You’re so bad at dancing, you hate dancing.

[wish-i-were-heather]

A FOOL FOR YOU PT 2 ⤵ GRAYSON HAWTHORNE X READER

ABOUT: 1778 words, no use of y/n (part 1, part 3, part 4, part 5)

STORY: you try to get hungover grayson to talk about the events of last night

WARNINGS: none!!

A/N: THIS IS A REPOST OF MY OWN FIC!!! I'm posting it again because my account got deleted, but I still want to keep all my fics on my blog. Thanks to everyone for helping me get this all back.

Nine in the morning is a reasonable wake up time to most people. Especially on a weekend when you want to rest. In fact, depending on who you asked, nine was still pretty early to be awake on a Saturday. 

But for Grayson Hawthorne, nine in the morning was ridiculous. The man always woke up around five- you had no idea what he could be doing at such an ungodly hour. But the fact that you hadn’t seen him yet would’ve been concerning, but you knew what was keeping him upstairs.

Since he wasn’t a big drinker, you really had no idea how much he’d had to drink for him to get like that. But it wasn’t a reach to assume he had a low alcohol tolerance. And for someone like him, you could also assume the hangover would be hell.

You didn’t mind waiting, either. It gave you time to think.

The whole night before, you’d barely been able to sleep. Your mind kept returning to the image of drunk Grayson with his arms wrapped around you, pinning you to the wall, cupping your face and whispering that he’d never hurt you, never. 

But had he really meant them? As much as you wanted to believe he did, there were also some… less poetic things. Like when he asked for your face. Not exactly something you could just give him. 

Grayson Hawthorne wasn’t one to talk like that, so part of you just wanted to dismiss it. He was drunk and stupid and saying things he didn’t mean. It was nothing more than that. He would wake up and be back to normal and it would be like none of that ever happened. He probably wouldn’t remember it either. But what if he did? That was for him to be embarrassed about, not you.

~~

After you finished breakfast, you stayed seated at the kitchen island. The only other place you really wanted to go was Grayson’s room, but you knew that was a bad idea. 

Your phone vibrated and you picked it up to see a message from Xander. But before you could check what it was, a pair of footsteps made their way towards where you were sitting.

Grayson.

He was back to himself. Clad in his usual suit, his hair done nicely, Grayson Hawthorne looked normal. Not like the man who’d hugged your neck and called you cozy just the night before, not hungover, but like himself. It was actually somewhat impressive. He was adjusting the cuff of his sleeve as he entered the kitchen. 

“Oh!” you began, hoping he felt as well as he looked. “Good morning, Grayson.”

You were met with a stiff “morning,” in response, and he just went to the fridge.

He didn’t even spare you a glance.

Only a little confused, you tried to continue the conversation. “What are you doing?”

“Getting breakfast.”

Grayson opened the refrigerator and stared blankly at the inside for a few moments until he finally reached in and pulled out… cherries?

“That’s not breakfast.”

He didn’t give you a response as he closed the fridge and carried the box on the opposite counter. Then his response was quick and sharp. “Can a man not enjoy fruit in the morning?”

You were about to give a snarky response but decided against it; he was hungover, be patient with him. You watched as he picked up one of the cherries- rainier cherries, you realized, so he’d have to eat around the seed. He took a bite out of it like an apple.

“Why are you eating it like-”

“I would like to think,” Grayson snapped, raising his voice and turning to you. “That I am impressively put together for someone with a stabbing headache and a miserable hangover. So forgive me if I’m not perfect.”

Drunk Grayson was an idiot, and hungover Grayson was irritable.

Good to know. 

You stared at him, surprised. Grayson was far from the most laid back of his brothers, but he was also not one to yell or get angry. At least over something so simple like this. Sure, your comments may have been a little nagging and annoying, but it was just for fun. He could take a joke. Usually.

You decided to change the subject. “Have you taken anything for the hangover?”

Grayson exhaled, calming down and turning back to the fruit, or his breakfast, apparently. “No, not yet. I’ve been busy.”

“Busy?” You raised an eyebrow. “Doing what, sleeping?”

He looked at you again and motioned vaguely to himself. “Showering, getting dressed, looking presentable.”

“Why? You didn’t seem to care last night.”

That was apparently not the best thing for you to say. Grayson took in a sharp breath and finished eating the cherry. He didn’t respond as he moved to dispose of the seed and stem.

You watched him move silently. His movements were fluid and sure again; he wouldn’t be knocking over any vases this time, which was a relief. 

Suddenly, someone came from behind and took the seat next to you. You turned and realized it was Xander, who received a nasty look from his brother. “C’mon, Gray, that was uncalled for. I haven’t even said anything yet!”

“I don’t remember much from last night,” Grayson said, picking up another cherry. “But I do remember you humiliating me. I really hope you did not get that on camera.”

Xander grinned. “Humiliating you? Nah, I only got a video of you singing twinkle twinkle little star. And sent it to the group chat.”

“I don’t remember receiving this video.” “Yeah,” he explained. “Because I sent it to the one we have without you.” 

Ignoring the pointed look from Grayson, Xander reached for his phone and began to pull up the video. “You should’ve gotten the video, I think,” he told you. 

“Show her the video and you’re dead,” Grayson tried. 

“Eh, I’ll still be your favorite brother.”

“I don’t have a fav-”

“Everyone shut up.” The new voice joining the conversion turned all your heads around. It was Jameson.

He, like Grayson, was also in a suit. But, unlike Grayson, it was a complete disheveled mess. The tie was halfway undone and his shirt was untucked. His hair was all over the place and he was barefoot. But he had no shame walking into the room, grabbing his head and telling you to stop talking.

You watched as he made his way over to Grayson with only a little stumbling, then snatching the cherry from his brother’s hand and popping it into his mouth. “Avery told me to come downstairs and get water,” he said with the fruit in his mouth. “I didn’t know you guys were having a party without me.”

Grayson just stared at him as Jameson grabbed a cup from a cabinet and began to fill it with tap water. 

“So you’re drunk too?” Xander asked. Jameson shook his head. He finished eating the cherry, spit the seed at Grayson, and took a sip of his water. “No, I’m just as hungover as Gray. He’s just better at hiding it.”

With a look of disgust, Grayson removed the cherry seed from his shirt and flicked it into the sink.

You and Xander exchanged amused glances and Jameson stumbled his way to Grayson again, apparently not done annoying his brother. Grayson raised an eyebrow at him. “Are your clothes still wet?”

“I didn’t change out of them,” he explained lazily. “Just slept in them after we-” Grayson placed his hand over Jameson’s mouth. “Don’t mention that.”

He then retracted his hand after a few seconds. “Don’t lick my hand either.”

Jameson shrugged and left, leaving Grayson to wash his hands.

~~~

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he insisted. 

You weren’t deterred. “Grayson please. I won’t watch the damn video Xander sent. I just want to know why you were drinking. It’s not like you.”

Xander had left a few minutes ago and left you and Grayson alone. Grayson was now done eating his supposed breakfast, and you’d forced him to take some medicine to make him feel at least a little better. 

“What is there to talk about, hm?” He asked. “I was stressed and decided to give in when Jameson offered to go out. But after making a fool of myself, I’ve now been reminded why I don’t drink.”

The silence that followed was palpable.

That only raised more questions for you. That wasn’t the first time he mentioned embarrassing himself; did he remember the overexaggerated displays of affection he’d given you last night? The things he did, the words he said? Whether he meant it or not, it’d happened.

You decided to stick with an easier question.

“What did you guys do to get Jameson’s suit wet?”

Grayson visibly eased when you asked. You both knew you could’ve asked something much more awkward. “I can't remember completely, but I’m pretty sure we went swimming in our regular clothes. Not swimsuits. That’s why I was…”

Oh.

You could see the realization in his eyes. Did he remember how you found him, shirtless and half naked in sweatpants? Did he now remember everything? “Shit.”

Despite his surprise, you couldn’t help but chuckle. “What?”

“Did I really-” “Make a fool of yourself? Yeah, you did,” you grinned. “You said it yourself, you’re a fool for me.”

Grayson looked absolutely mortified. 

You shook your head. “Don’t worry, don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. You were drunk, it didn’t mean anything. I didn’t get any pictures or videos. Your image is upheld, Grayson Hawthorne.” 

Now that he remembered, you now felt a lot more awkward about the whole situation. Not wanting to deal with that, you got up and began to leave. 

“Wait.”

That surprised you.

“I don’t know exactly what I said or what I did last night,” Grayson began. “But I have somewhat of an idea. I was an idiot. So… thank you for helping me.”

Grayson Hawthorne thanking you? For helping him? That was certainly something new. You could tell he’d forced it out of himself; he didn’t like to ask for help, let alone acknowledge that he needed it. 

“You’re welcome,” you said, pleasantly surprised. “One thing though.” “Yes?” “You told me I had a nice face. Did you-”

“I don’t dislike your face, that wasn’t a lie.” He grinned. He actually grinned. “It’s unfortunate though. Maybe one day you’ll find a way to give it to me. In the most respectful way possible, I’d quite like it to be mine.”

Before you could manage a response, he walked away.

Just walked away.

Who knew a man like him could be so forward?

the writing above belongs to me. please do not copy, modify, repost on other sites or claim as your own. © 2024 wish-i-were-heather

[magicalbuttertarts]

Part 1 ♥︎ Part 2 ♥︎ Part 3

Damian Priest x f/Reader (AU)

WWE Masterlist

Just like all my other stories, this has not been proofread, but please enjoy.

Warnings: no sex for now. Mentions a bit of smutty stuff, but nothing crazy. Eventually smut. A bit of swearing.

WC: 957

©️magicalbuttertarts 2024: do not repost or translate my work. This is the only place I post my work.

AN: I started back at work this week, after being off for 2 weeks. I hope to update more, but I can really only write on the weekends.

After that night, I kept going back to her place.

Just standing off in the distance, but making sure she was safe.

I found out a lot about her this way, even though she did seem to enjoy talking to me.

I found she likes to go out with friends almost every other night. Even just for dinner or drinks.

Each Friday, they pick a club to go too, or if someone they knew was having a party they would go to that.

I had to control my anger when I saw her dancing with some random guy at a club.

But when he was indicating that she should go with him, she shook her no.

No matter how much the guy persisted, he went home without her.

I would stay further back as the group would walk home on a nice night.

"You should have gone home with him." One of her friends would say to her.

"Wasn't my type." She said, as she shrugged her shoulders.

"Yeah, her type is the owner of that club." A rather, giggly friend said.

"Shut it." Came her reply, but made my ears perk up.

"He was rather handsome, and did you see how tall he was?"

"Did you see his tattoos?"

"Did you see his smile?"

My ego got a bit bigger as I heard them talk about me, but I only focused on what she said.

"He saved my life the last time we were there."

The gasps that came from her group of friends and them demanding for her tell them what happened.

She did, but leaving out how I am a vampire.

"He walked you home, and you didn't invite him inside, to say thank you?"

"He told me he had to get back to the club, and I was tired," She was cut off by a friend.

"You wish you invited him in, huh?"

I waited to hear what she had to say.

"I do. I really do. Fuck, why didn't I invite him in?"

Maybe because I am always vampire my dear, and you don't and still don't know my intentions with you.

I left the small group, satisfied that they would be getting home safe.

As I was back towards the club, I just knew deep down inside that she would be back to my club, and soon.

I kept my distance the moment I realized how creepy I was being.

I am following her around in my spare time, just to make sure she is okay, and I wasn't the only one who noticed.

"You know you have found your mate right?" Rhea told me as she was scrolling through her phone, the two of us sitting in my office going over what still needs to be done for the night.

"Rhea, I don't believe in that true love, soul mate bs, and you know it."

"Yes, but doesn't mean it isn't true. Let's go over the checklist of soul mates for us vampires."

"I don't have time for this." I tried to say, but Rhea being Rhea, she ignored me.

"Number one, you smelled her unique scent."

"We have strong, enhanced smell." I pointed out.

"Number two, hearing her say your name for the first time, made you actually feel alive. Number three, you are willing to murder anyone for her, which you have mind you."

"He was scum." I informed her.

"Number four, she is all you can think about. You had someone personally hand delivere an invite to your club."

"Lastly, number five, you will not be able to sleep with anyone else, as you will only want her, your mate."

"Oh please, I do not see how that isn't possible."

Rhea stood up as I said that.

"Just find one to sleep with, and you will see I am right Damian."

As she left my office, it dawned on me that I haven't slept with anyone since I saw her for the first time.

I have to rectify that.

Ariana was screaming her head off as I pounded into her from behind. Not wanting to see her face as my mind filled with only her face.

I pulled completely out of the woman I hired, and collapsed on my bed, frustrated that Rhea was right.

She tried to snuggled into my side but I told her to go.

"But, you always want to cuddle." Ariana told me.

"Leave. Now." I snapped.

I didn't bother to watch her get dressed, but she did rush to get away from my presence.

Probably concerned about becoming my next meal.

I got dressed after a quick shower, and walked down to the club, already a massive lineup outside the door.

The music was pounding in my ears as I walked into the club, people moving out of the way, but then I smelled her unique scent, lavender and peppermint.

She is here.

It didn't take long for me to see her dancing with some friends, guys once more trying to dance with her.

She must have felt me staring at her, because she looked up and stared into my eyes, and I couldn't help but walk towards her, pushing past people just to get to her.

She turned around as I got to her, I placed my hands on her hips, as they were moving back and forth. I pulled her flushed against my body, her ass moving against my hardening cock.

I heard her heartbeat pick up as we danced in the middle of the dance floor. Her blood pumping in her veins, making me lean down and moan into her year.

The poor, fucking losers looked on, wondering how I get to dance with her.

She is fucking mine.

Damian Priest Taglist: @madhatterbri @terrortwinunicorn @jstarr86

Tag list: @lghockey @nicoleveno14 @legit9thlunaticwarrior @hooks-martin @madhatterbri @wwenhlimagines @melissahausen @tahiri-veyla

[meraki-yao]

TN Candies Part 5

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3/Part 4

And as promised, I’m back with more candies! And a quick preface, at the request of OP, I’ve removed all mentions and links to OP’s account, but please bear in mind that this is a translation/summary

Usual Disclaimers:

This post contains content regarding real-person shipping. If you’re uncomfortable with the subject, again, please don’t read under the post

This is a translation and summary of a post on Weibo, not my original findings or thoughts. I am just the translator and messenger

Please remember that the people who do this do it in good nature.They don’t mean any harm, and they don’t cause any harm because China is physically and digitally too far away for them to actually fuck shit up, and they understand the lines of parasocial relationships: those who met with Taylor during his China trip in December know to, and didn’t bring up this in front of him. They know where to draw the line, and whoever doesn’t and starts becoming a problem gets kicked out of the community. This is meant for fun.

Per OP's request, please DO NOT repost my translations to Twitter.

Today’s post is about the overlaps in Taylor and Nick’s social circles

Taylor’s Family and Friends:

As mentioned in part 1, after the Academy Museum Gala, Taylor’s sister Ash (who has a public Instagram account) reposted three photos from Taylor’s post of the night to her Instagram stories: Two of Taylor’s portraits, and the photo of Taylor and Nick. Interestingly, she posted the photo with both boys twice.

A close friend of Taylor’s started following Nick on social media on 5th December last year, and liked a couple of his posts. He was the one who revealed that Taylor was attending several different parties on Oscars night (Governor Ball and Vanity Fair). Interestingly, he never revealed Taylor’s schedule/plans before, but did so the one time Taylor was heading to an event that Nick was already attending.

Taylor’s uncle follows @/nicktaylor, the Taylor and Nick updates fan account on Instagram

Taylor’s nephew only liked two of Taylor’s posts on Instagram, which happened to be the ones that Nick liked

Taylor’s cousin and another sister follow Nick on Instagram and liked a couple of his posts.

Taylor’s good friends with the producer of TIOY, Gabrielle Union, they were at the Burberry show together. Funnily enough Gabrielle first posted the new of TIOY trailer breaking record on her story, then it was followed by a photo of her and Taylor at the Oscar After party

@/thisjenna was both Taylor’ stylist for the SAG Awards and Nick’s stylist from SXSW

Nick’s Family and Friends:

As mentioned in part 2, Nick’s sister and only sibling, Lexi started following Taylor on Instagram starting from last December during the Christmas holidays and liked a couple of Taylor’s photoshoot posts that has nothing to do with Nick.

Camila Cabello, Nick’s close friend and co-star from Cinderella 2021 likes to tease Nick (as close friends would): After the GQ MOTY event where both Nick and Taylor were in attendance, Nick said “My Taylor” instead of “My Taylor impression”, wore the Cartier watch mentioned in part 1 and 4 for the first time in public, and left early, Camila commented “somebody is Gua Sha’ing” Gua Sha 刮痧 is a Traditional Chinese healing method that uses a smooth stone to stroke and press on the patient’s skin, which leaves the skin red (Meraki: my mom did it for me yesterday and God it hurt like a bitch) so TL DR she’s teasing him about his blushing, and he replied “you’re out of control” And under Taylor’s post from the Oscar After Party with the photo of the three of them, she straight up commented “Throuple alert”

One of the actresses from Cinderella who’s close with Nick, whose Instagram account is followed by both Nick and Lexi liked a RWRB post from Prime’s main Instagram account

Tony Curran, King James from M&G, as mentioned in part 3 liked a bunch of RWRB/Firstprince and Taylor posts on Twitter (Meraki: which, what the fuck Sir) as well as liking posts from Twitter account that have Taylor as their profile pic

The official Instagram account for August Moon, the boyband in TIOY reposts a story from a Taylor Nick fan account

Members of Nick’s PR team liked both RWRB post from prime/official rwrb account and a few posts of Taylor that’s just him and has nothing to do with Nick

An actress from TIOY (who wears a blue dress in the trailer) and Jaiden Anthony, another member of August Moon (character name Adrian, but also guys please don’t go bother him over this), M&G’s costume designer, Purple Heart’s songwriter, a TIOY crew member, even Anne Hatheway’s stylist  liked RWRB posts from either the official rwrb account or prime’s main account

That’s it for part 5 and today’s update! See you in the next one on Sunday :D

Tagging a couple of folks (Lemme know if you wanna be tagged for the next one!):

@lfg1986-2 @tal-vez-o-quizas @na-18dia @mylucayathoughts @androgynoustriumphclown @hopefulblizzardsublime @whattfisausername @leimons @ghostwithatophat @badhimboi88 @pippin-katz

[storiesaplenty]

Bridgerton: Christmas 2024

This has not been proofread. Please enjoy though.

Warnings: none. Just fluff

WC: 904

©️ storiesaplenty 2024: do not repost or translate my work. This is the only place I post my work.

"You are the most annoying man I have ever met Benedict Bridgerton." I said to him as I walked past him after I slammed the door closed behind me.

"That isn't very lady like, now is?" He leaned against the wall, smirking as he watched me take off my winter jacket.

"Because of you, we missed the final carriage to church, and now there is too much snow for us to walk in."

"Are you seriously that upset about us missing church? They do the same play every year." Benedict said, as he sat down in my favourite chair.

"Yes, because Penelope's son was playing the baby Jesus, and I told her I would be there. But because you insisted we talk just as we were to leave, the last carriage went off without us."

"How was I supposed to know that they wouldn't wait?" He asked me as I sat down across from him.

"What did you need anyways?" I asked him.

Benedict and I have never gotten along. Even as children, when I first met him after my cousins moved in across him and his family.

For some reason, he has always got on my nerves.

"And us being alone together, with no chaperone is going to deter any potential suitors." I didn't see the way how his jaw ticked at that.

"I won't tell anyone that we were left alone together. I will leave once I tell you why I came."

I looked outside as I heard the wind pick up and saw that there was even more snow.

"Even though you live across the way, I can not allow you to leave. It is much to dangerous. The snow was almost up to my waist. You can wait it out."

"Thank you. To answer your first question, I came here to put aside our differences for the holiday season."

"Did your mother put you up to this?" I knew how Violet was.

"That is besides the point. We are both adults, it is time we start acting like it." Benedict said, his voice sounding tense.

"Fine, I will agree to this truce. Maybe this will give me a chance to find myself a husband."

I grabbed a shawl and put it around my shoulders, as I am feeling a bit cold.

The wind was blowing furiously outside, and the fire was warm, but the cold seemed to be getting in.

"I have never stopped you from finding a husband." Benedict said, looking away.

"Really? I saw you at the Berring Ball. Any eligible man who signed my dance card, somehow ended up not being available. I was humiliated." I refused to cry in front of him as I stood up and walked to the window.

The room was silent as I watched the snow come down.

I could barely make out thr Bridgerton home across the way.

Maybe I should ask him to leave. See if he actually makes it home or hear about if he froze to death or not.

I heard his footsteps until he was beside me. Benedict was facing me as I continued to stare outside.

"You are right."

"Did the Benedict Bridgerton actually admit I was right?" My snapped at him as he huffed and cleared his throat.

"Before we kill one another, I must confess that I have always liked you."

"You must be joking?" I asked him as I turned to face him, and at that moment I realized how close he was standing to me.

"Why would I joke about this?" He seemed hurt, which tugged at my heart.

"From the day I met you, you have been nothing but rude to me. All I did was visit my cousins, and Penelope was so excited to introduce me to Eloise, but then you tripped me."

"That was by accident. " He defended.

"You could of helped me up, but you just stared at me."

"I didn't help you because I was enthralled by your beauty. That night, I drew you."

"Some way of showing you liked me Benedict. You picked on me each and every time I came here."

"I didn't know how to show you my feelings. I still don't, so I tell those men that you have been spoken for, because to me, you are."

"While you trope all over the ton, women and men falling over themselves. I am left alone, getting older each season until I will be considered no longer eligible." I am now poking his chest with my finger. The pokes getting harder and harder each time.

"Then marry me!" He exclaimed.

"Pardon me?" I looked him up and down.

"Marry me. I truly came over here, wanting to properly ask you to court."

"But Benedict, all we do is fight."

"We fight because we hide our true feelings for one another."

"I would like for us to properly court. No need for another fast wedding between our two families." I said.

"I agree. Now, may I please kiss you?"

I could only nod before he cupped my face and gently kissed my lips.

My first kiss with the man who has driven me insane since we were children.

The same man who I knew I loved, but always pushed my feelings aside, not wanting to be hurt by him.

As he and I kissed, the snow storm started to let up, only soft, fluffy snowflakes falling.

Lord Alfred Debling

[animalsalvationassociation]

this is for kwazii how did you handle lied your entire life going to you blamed yourself believing in believing or do you blame the people who let you know believe that you struggle with questioning reality are you getting help do you go to therapy? ( The creator of Au answer however you want I just really think be interesting to ask him about it)

[ DO NOT REPOST, ALL ART & CONCEPTS WERE MADE BY ME ]

“ Late Nights ”

Not my best work but honestly I’m just trying to distract myself from tomorrow. #retailworker + #blackfriday (if you know, you know)

I’m sorry Anon, & idk maybe it’s just me, but I had a really hard time reading this. I really only understood the first and last bits but everything else was kind of hard for me.

(If you’d like you’re welcome to send me another anon-ask explaining this one. And I’d be happy for the clarification to just be between the pair of us, I don’t have to post it if you don’t want me to.)

In response to the actual question . . .

I couldn’t really find an answer for you. I’ve always had the opinion that Kwazii wasn’t ever lied to, he just didn’t have all the puzzle pieces. Even with CJ I could never think up (canonically or non) any lies Kwazii was ever told. I do see CJ keeping certain information from him (on purpose or not) because he didn’t have time or it was a sore subject for him so Kwaz never pressed. But maybe I’m just reading their interactions wrong *shrug*.

Therapy? Definitely but I may touch on that in a later post.

However, by asking these questions I had a feeling we were in need of some sad vibes, so I hope you enjoy. It’s not much but it’s the best I could do at the moment. If you can’t tell, the picture is of Kwaz and Em cuddling while he’s having an episode, and I feel like it’s really matching my energy tonight.

~

And to all of my other followers I do apologize to you as well. I haven’t been able to do anything creative this week. I’ve been working nonstop picking up shifts for my sick/recovering coworkers and basically working the floor by myself during one of the busiest weeks of the year. I’m extremely spent/stressed and I still have two more shifts to work before Sunday.

So with all that said, since I’ll be very busy working Black Friday, unfortunately I won’t be able to get to those remaining Octonauts headcanons I promised. Which feels super crappy but right now there’s nothing I can do.

I hope you’ll forgive me, and maybe I can win your favor next week with some Emma/Cap Barnacle content. But for now I hope your day goes well, have a Happy Thanksgiving / National Native American Heritage Day and please . . . take care of yourselves. 💙🍪

[ This is a Octonauts AU, in no way is this canon to the OG storyline. ]

[catras-breakup-song]

Fair warning that witch-apologist has put together a stalker doc of people she thinks might be behind her October callout (which was ironically for anon harassment of other catradora fans) and she put you on the list.

Her friends are making a lot of noise about “running people off the site” but in practice I got like two weak little kys anons. But if you’re seeing anything like that that’s where it came from

nice blatant lying, anon. i was talking to @witch-apologist in DMs last month supportively when those "callouts" were going on, and i should probably mention that i was the first to reach out unprompted as well, because i could tell from reading them that they had no basis. they couldn't tell her what her offenses actually were, nor did they have any proof they were willing to show. they demanded an apology for supporting TERF ideology but didn't actually care enough to see how obviously against it that blog is. WA and i have had nothing but positive interactions and repost from each other. they even confirmed last night that there is no motivation to hold a grudge against me, which i have full foundation to believe.

clearly they're not the one inciting a harassment campaign here (i haven't even gotten any of the bullying you mentioned, which i'm not sure exists and really happened at this point) when there's apparently a closed/private anti-SPOP discord server involved, and those types of servers (not SPOP specifically, but hiveminds built to target people they dislike) tend to be known for collectively hounding on someone outside of it.

hell, it seems like, from what i gathered, it's specifically a brand of antis who wrongfully consider catradora to be sisters that are attacking this person based on a fanfic posted to ao3 (1 primary source)... and if you've been on my blog, like, at all, then going through my "#discourse" tag will show many semi-lengthy posts where i argue against that, which means WA & i agree about this topic and therefore they have no sensible reason to "put me on the list."

i think the biggest giveaway is that if you really wanted to warn me with good intentions, you'd either send me a DM or ask off anon and tell me to only post privately. as of now, it seems like you're aligned with that clique of critics and are now actively spreading an agenda to others who had previously not been involved whatsoever. it's especially ironic that you're talking to me about her friends wanting to "run people off the site", yet here you are projecting because you're trying to do the same thing.

also... *gestures* this whole message

if you're looking for an ally to your cause in me, then sorry but you made a grave mistake.

[raptorladylover6969]

Again back to my last EOA post, and a comment I saw on a repost of it, I am 1000000% on board with the idea of the whole plot of Elena of Avalor, and some of the things in it, being a whole metaphor for Elena trying to keep herself from being driven to insanity aka becoming an evil dictator. Based on the personal research I’ve done, and connecting the dots to Elena’s character, I’ve noticed some key things in the show that sort of represent many “symptoms” of what a “clinically insane” person goes through.

Elena witnessed her own parents death right in front of her eyes. This alone should be traumatizing enough, but not even like 5 minutes later, Shuriki blasts her, but the amulet pulled her inside of it to save her. (Or at least, I like to think she did die, but her soul was sucked into the amulet, thus her possessing it, Five Nights At Freddy’s style). Elena is now sitting in the amulet, in what I think was a sort of state like Locked In Syndrome? Because when she did get out the amulet in Secret Of Avalor, she looked like she was sleeping, AND she forgot how to walk, hell even move around. So I think since she was in there for so long, she started “fusing” with the amulet, thus falling into a sort of coma, but still highly aware of whats going on around her + outside the amulet, but thats besides my point. She spends 40+ years, isolated from the world, with no one to talk to, no source of brain stimulation, no form of movement, just NOTHING. Shes trapped in a void. (*Void by Melanie Martinez starts playing*). Now looking at irl facts, there is no absolute way Elena didnt go insane in the amulet.

Looking at neuroscience, and the world of EOA, we can see the way Elena interacts with the world, and apply those statistics to Elena herself. In an article from The Royal Society Publishing, The Article titled “Perceived Social Isolation, Evolutionary Fitness and Health Outcomes: a LifeSpan Approach.” Written by Louise C. Hawkley, and John P. Capitanio states: “A sampling of recent studies shows that socially isolated housing of various social animal species at various stages of life and for various durations results in altered behaviour (e.g. anxious, depression-like, aggressive, passive, cognition/memory), physiology (e.g. changes in basal or stress–reactive corticosterone, blood pressure, inflammation, immune responses, hippocampal function) and mortality (e.g. post-stroke outcomes)” In the show, we can see Elena suffer through majority of these affects. Especially when it comes to her cognitive ability and critical thinking skills. We see her struggle hard in the show to solve problems, regarding the kingdom, and when communicating with other people.

I will also talk about the fact Elena can see ghosts, and Spirit Guides. I know, she has this power because “The amulet gave it to her.” But think of it this way: The amulet; her trauma, and Elena had to face “the trauma” for a LOOOOONG period of time. Another key factor when it comes to isolation, hallucinations. An Israeli adventurer/author Yossi Ghinsberg spent 3 weeks stranded in the Amazon rainforest (they actually made a movie about him‼️) Ghinsberg stated, due to him being isolated from society without any social contact/interaction, he experienced hallucinations. So what if metaphorically, Elena seeing the Spirit Guides, and ghosts, are her having hallucinations from spending 41 years away from society?

Elena’s dress. That goddamn dress. Its mentioned earlier that isolation can affect the brain’s cognitive abilities, and emotional health. So you basically would have trouble regulating your emotions, and your emotions would be all over the place. RING ANY BELLSSSSS⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️ Her magic dress is a metaphor for her decline in her cognitive skills.

I now conclude my essay on how crazy I am about this damn kids show. I love Elena sm shes such a complicated character and I LOVE ITTTTTTTTT

[kazumiwrites-fanfiction]

Never Leave Me...

SUMMARY: Katsuki had a nightmare involving your death. How will you get him to cheer back up? WORD COUNT: 600+

WARNINGS: Nightmares, Katsuki getting scared, mentions of you dying (in a dream), Katsuki being clingy, Katsuki being somewhat suggestive at the end (but uh nothing happens, I swear-), you comforting Kacchan.

A/N: This is mostly because I had a nightmare that my (online) crushes died- and also stuff happened to them that may trigger some people- but like- two people died and that made me really sad (and I was crying when I woke up too) so uh- yeah- fun- (I blame watching JoJo last night-) A/N PART 2: Originally posted here.

© kazumiwrites - All rights reserved; please do not steal, edit, copy, repost (etc) my work without my express permission.

Katsuki froze slightly, eyes wide, disbelieving. What... He listened to the news, trembling slightly. A villain took revenge on you...? Why... This couldn't be happening. You couldn't be dead, right...? A small noise escaped him as he collapsed on the floor of his and your shared apartment. No... He shook his head slightly, even as a muffled whimper escaped him, whole body shaking now.

He hated this. He hated feeling so weak. Why did you have to die...? He bit his lip lightly, shaking. He felt gentle hands on his shoulder, shaking him, but he ignored it; Soon, his eyes fluttered open to meet your gentle ones.

You were... Anxious, to say the least. Why was Katsuki acting like this, so... Scared, almost? Did he have a bad dream?

You let out a soft gasp as his arms quickly wrapped around you, being pulled in to his chest. You relented, knowing that you weren't strong enough to pull yourself away unless he let you. "Katsuki... What's wrong?" You asked softly, moving to play with a bit of his hair to try to calm him down.

He instantly relaxed at your touch, a small murmur of contentment escaping him. At your words, however, he froze. "...It's nothing..." He mumbled softly, nuzzling in to you a bit.

"It's clearly not nothing. Katsuki, tell me what's wrong." You sighed a little, gently kissing his lips.

He let out a soft grumble as he leaned in to your kiss. "...Fine." He never could stop you from getting what you wanted. "You were the only one who could do this to him, really. "I... Had a bad dream. Nightmare, really."

"Well I can tell that." You let out a gentle laugh. "What happened in your nightmare?"

At your words, he slowly started trembling. "Well... Uh, you got k-killed by some stupid villain who wanted revenge... And, I- I just don't know what I'll do if something like that actually happens to you..." His voice cracked, nuzzling in to your shoulder as he started crying softly.

Your eyes softened ever so slightly as you watched him, gently rubbing his back. "Shh... It's okay, Katsu, I promise. You won't lose me. Remember, you made me take all those self-defense/fighting lessons. I'll be fine." You were touched to see how much he cared about you, and how he was literally crying at the thought of losing you. You had never seen this side of him... You'd seen him when he was being possessive, playful, loving, but never like this, almost broken inside with the pain.

The ash-blonde male looked at you with a shaky sigh. "I- I know that, but still..." He mumbled softly, moving to place a chaste kiss on your lips. "I just don't ever want to lose you. I love you..."

You blinked, surprise clear in your eyes. Yeah, you had always told him that you loved him, but this was the first time that he had actually said it. "I love you too." You smiled a little more, kissing him again as your hands ran through his hair. "Don't worry, Katsuki. I promise you don't have to worry about me dying. And anyways, you're such a good hero... I know you'll be able to save me, whatever happens."

Katsuki smiled a little. "Trying to make my ego higher?" He teased, nudging you gently.

"Mm, maybe... But, it's true, right?" You laughed a little, glad that he was over his bad mood.

He nodded a little with a soft hum, gently pushing you on to the bed and nuzzling in to your shoulder. "If you want, I can show you how much I love you..."

"Katsuki."

"Kidding, kidding."

[agirlwithbigdreamsforher]

CHAPTER 14

THE NANNY: CHAPTER 14

Pairing: Andy Barber x Annie Johnson (OFC)

Summary: Working and single parenting is not easy. Andy needs to find a nanny for his son Jacob. Annie, an education degree student at Lasell University, comes to their lives just in time for the big changes in Andy’s life.

Warnings: None.

A/N: None.

Disclaimer: I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied, used, translated nor reposted anywhere else but here on this blog. Do not steal what you didn’t work for. Minors and ageless blank blogs don’t interact with me or my works. Reblogs and likes are always welcome. Thank you for reading this work of fiction.

Word count: 2596

GIF not mine, if its yours, please let me know to give you credit :)  

                                   ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

“Hey guys!” Annie said when she saw her friends in the screen of her laptop. “How is Mexico Mark?”

“Amazing! It would be better if you were here.”

“You’re such a liar!” Sharon said “You don’t miss us, I’m sure Steve is keeping busy,” She wiggled her eyebrows

“Oh, he is! Trust me! Keeping me full all night.”

“Alright, I love you, but I really don’t wanna know about your sex life.” Annie said and everyone laughed.

“Talking about sex life, how are things with Andy?” Mark asked.

“There is nothing going on with him.”

“Liar! Tell us everything.” Sharon said.

“There is nothing to tell you guys. I mean, yes we live together, but you know nothing has ever happened. We have seen each other in our underwear and…”

“Wow! What??? When did that happened and why didn’t we know about it?!” Sharon commented.

“The day after I moved, he forgot I was here and he showed up in the kitchen only in his boxers.”

“Please tell me he looks as yummy as I think he does without clothes on.” Mark said.

“He does” Annie giggled “and, he has tattoos on his chest.” There was a pause “Oh! And he saw one of my thongs!”

“Alright!” Sharon said, “Next time you should inform us of all of that, is not very friend of you to hide those things!”

“Ok, ok. There have been a couple of times that I’ve thought he would kissed me, but then he doesn’t, or when we watch TV he takes my hand, I’ve noticed he looks at me and then he looks away, nothing too serious.”

“Oh darling, it is serious. Maybe he is just shy.” Sharon said.

“Shy? Come on! Is very obvious he likes it rough in the bedroom!” Mark interfered “Perhaps he doesn’t know what to do, maybe he wants to give you some space due to what happen to you. Give him a push, if you really think he wants to kiss you then kiss him! You have nothing to lose.”

“Ammm yeah! If something goes wrong I can lose my job.”

“But if everything goes right, you’ll gain a hot successful daddy.” Sharon said.

“Why is everyone so interested in my love life? No one is asking Sharon if she is dating someone!”

“Ok, first of all, cuz we actually think Andy likes you and you deserve to be happy after what happened with Daniel and second, if you must know, I met someone on Tinder…”

“You should be careful with that.” Annie said.

“Yes, mom.” Sharon answered sarcastically. “As I was saying, he seems nice, we haven’t go out yet, but we plan to do it.”

“I agree with Annie, you should be careful. I have to go now. Keep me posted on what happens with you two. Love you.” Mark disconnected from the call.

“He seems happy.”

“Yeah, I’m glad he is happy.”

“So how is Andy?”

“Are we going on with that?”

“No, no. I ask because of the case he is working on, I saw him on TV.”

It was a Thursday and it’s been three weeks now since Annie moved in with the Barbers. Andy was loaded with work, a murder case under his wing. The media was covering the whole thing, everyone in Massachusetts knew who Andy Barber was now, the promising young ADA who was trying to put “The death angel”, as the media named him, behind bars.

“He is tired. He doesn’t say it but I notice, he hasn’t eat or sleep well in days. His birthday was last week and we couldn’t even celebrate it, we bought him a cake and sang happy birthday to him, but that was pretty much it, it was very sad to be honest.”

“Poor Andy, and how is Jake?”

“He is good, he is now next door playing with the neighbor. Andy hides what he is working on at the moment, which is good. Neither Jake nor I are allowed to go into his office, and trust me right at this moment I really don’t want to see what he has there.”

“I believe you. In another topic, I was thinking maybe we should go out tomorrow night, girl’s night, nothing too crazy, how about dinner?”

“Sure! I’ll see you at 6 at your place.”

“Perfect! See you tomorrow.”

Annie closed her laptop and went to the living room, turned the TV on and sat down. The news were on, showing the affected families with Andy behind them. Everyone were fighting over to have an interview with him, he had won the case. A life sentence for the man who murder those 5 poor young girls. Annie kept looking at him answering every question asked by the reporters, he looked exhausted, the bags under his eyes, his hallow cheeks, he was in a poorly state. She turned the TV off and went to the kitchen to start making lunch.

It probably had passed half an hour, Annie was making a turkey sandwich for lunch, when her phone went off, an unknown number in the screen, but she picked up anyways.

“Hello?”

“Hello gorgeous, how are you?” A man with, what she assumed, was his sexy voice answered on the other side.

“I’m good, who is this?”

“Oh! You don’t remember me! That’s bad cuz I certainly remember you.”

“Look if you have nothing better to do, bother somebody else with this type of calls ok?” Annie heard how the man struggle with someone else on the other side of the phone.

“That’s mine! Gimme my phone back!” the man yelled.

“Hey! Is this Annie?” another manly voice sounded.

“Yes, and you are?”

“Forgive my partner, he actually thinks is funny and sexy, I’m Anthony, Andy’s friend.”

“Oh! His poker friends! You’re detective Mackie right?”

“Yes, ma’am, look we were wondering if you are busy, we need you to come and pick Andy to the courthouse.”

“Why? What happened?”

“Ammm well, he is kind of catatonic, he is just in his office staring at a blank point in the wall and he is not talking.”

“I’m on my way.”

Annie grabbed her wallet and the car keys, she went to the neighbor’s house to tell Mrs. López she will be out for a while. She drove all the way to the courthouse, the police at the entrance asked her why she was there, made her go through a metal detector, gave her a pass and let her through and told her which way to go to find Andy’s office. She walked all the way there, until she saw the familiar face of a woman.

“Hi! I know you, I’m…”

“Andy’s “wife”. Stacy answered dryly, and the air quotes made Annie lift her eyebrow “What you want?”

“I’m here to pick him up.”

“Weird, he never said you were coming, and as far as I know he said he didn’t want to be disturbed.”

“Listen,” Annie said with no patience, “I am his wife, and I have every right to be here and go to his office!”

“No, you’re not.” Stacy answered back.

“Hey! You made it.” Anthony and Seb approach to Annie. “Come with us”.

“You can’t go in there!” Anthony, Seb and Annie ignored her “I don’t care if she is his wife or not, you can’t do that.”

Anthony and Seb looked at each other, and turned to Annie.

“What is she talking about?” Seb asked.

“Ammm long story short, one day that girl was flirting with Andy and he told her I was his wife to get her off his back.”

“Can’t blame him, she is quite noisy and annoying.”

Andy’s office was closed, the drapes were closed as well. They knock and receive no answer. Annie opened the door slowly, Andy was sitting on his chair, head down, and tie loose around his neck, his jacket hanging on the back of the chair. Neither of them dare to move, and then Seb pushed Annie inside.

“Hey!”

“Go on, we have tried everything.” Anthony said.

“Well, not everything. You didn’t want to use my plan of throwing water at him.” Seb interfered.

Annie kept looking at them, she could tell that Seb was the child of the pair. Annie turned and walked towards Andy who was still in the same spot. She kneeled next to his chair, her hand went to touch his cheek to make him look at her.

“Andy?” no answer “Baby…” Andy groaned when he listened the loving word. “Hey! Look at me.” Andy lifted his gaze to meet her eyes. His eyes were red and glossy, Annie had never seen him like this.

“I won.” Andy’s voice was barely a whisper.

“I know, I saw. I’m so proud of you!”

“Everyone is saying that.”

“But I mean it” She giggled “Come on, let’s get you home, so you can rest.”

“I’m exhausted.”

“I know, that’s why I’m here. Can you stand?” Andy nodded and did as he was told, Annie hold him by the waist as Andy put her arm around her shoulders. Anthony and Seb walked in to take Andy’s things and followed them out of the office to Annie’s car.

“Thank you for coming.” Anthony said while helping Andy to get in the car.

“Thank you for calling. He needs to sleep, he worked so hard on this.”

They said good bye and Annie drove back home. They walked to the door, Annie helped him with his stuff, and opened the door for him.

“Come on, big guy. You need a shower, food and rest.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“We’ll start with the shower then. Let’s go.”

Once in the room, Annie turned the shower on, the steam of the hot water filling the bathroom. She then came back to help Andy with his clothes until he was only in his boxers.

“Can you go from here?” Andy nodded at her question “Good, be right back. I’m making you a sandwich.”

Andy walked into the bathroom, took off his underwear and stepped in the shower. The hot water relaxing his muscles, the pressure he had been feeling for the past weeks was vanishing right at this moment. He took a deep breath, and started to wash his hair and body. After 15 minutes he came out, the bed looked incredible comfortable, or so he thought. He put a white shirt and some sweats, dried his hair as much as he could and went under the covers. His eyes felt heavy, the mattress felt like a marshmallow and his duvet was soft like a cloud. Annie walked in carrying a tray with two plates and two glasses with orange juice, Andy was dozing off with his back against the head board.

“Andy?” He opened his eyes, a sleepy smile on his lips “I brought you something to eat.”

“’M tired” He yawned “Later.”

“Ok” she smiled and put the tray on the vanity “Lay down. Jake is with the neighbors, he won’t wake you up.” she gave him a small kiss on his forehead. “I see you when you wake up.”

“Lay down with me, please.” At this point Andy was half asleep. Annie nodded, took off her shoes, and laid under the cover next to him. Her hand caressed his face and that’s all it took for Andy to fall in a deep sleep. No longer after Annie fell asleep too.

When Andy opened his yes, he was on his back, looking at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure how long he slept, but he felt better than before, rested at least. A warm feeling on his chest made him looked down, Annie’s hand was resting there, her hair all over the pillow; he took her hand and turned to see her. She looked so at peace, her eyelids were moving.

“What are you dreaming of?” Andy whispered and Annie mumbled in her sleep which cause Andy to giggle, making Annie to wake up. Her eyes fluttered open to find Andy staring at her.

“You talk in your sleep.” Andy said “it’s cute.” Annie groaned and covered her face “Is true, it is cute.”

“Did you rest?” Annie said moving her hands out of her face.

“Yes, thank you for picking me up. I just couldn’t drive.”

“Care to tell me what was going on in that head of yours?” Andy sighed.

“I think it was everything. The case, the evidence, the families, they counted on me, and for a moment while I was speaking to the jury I thought I’d lost. And all I could think of was what was I going to say to the parents of those girls.”

“But you did everything you could, and you succeeded! I saw how much time and effort you put into this, the sleepless nights…”

“You notice I wasn’t sleeping?”

“Your footsteps are heavy when you are tired, so you made noise walking down the stairs every night. I sneaked behind you a few times” She confessed “I saw you looking at the pictures you had in your office. Were they bad?”

“They were pictures of the murder scenes. So yes, they were bad. Every time I went to bed I kept seen those poor innocent girls, one of them looked so much like you. And just the thought of anyone hurting you, I just can’t…” his voice broke and his eyes filled with tears.

“Shhhh, I’m right here. Not going anywhere. Not any time soon at least.” Her hand went to the nape of his head caressing him gently.

“Did you mean what you said in my office? Are you proud of me?”

Annie smiled and gave him a peck on the lips; Andy was shook until a wide smile was on his face.

“Of course is true! I like you Andy. And I’m not saying it because you’re my boss. Actually I shouldn’t be saying it because of the same reason, but I do. I don’t know if you like me back, Jake says you do, god I’m trusting in what a 3 year old says and…”

Andy crashed his lips against her to shush her down, they smiled to each other and then kissed again, this time slower. Their lips touched each other, gently first, taking the time to explore every part of their lips and their mouths. Their tongues massaging one another and then they stopped. Andy took a deep breath.

“So you like me, like me?” Annie said all fluster after the kiss they shared.

“Yes!” Andy Laughed “I like you, like you.”

“Good, cuz I like you.”

“You already said that, but is good to know is true.”

“So,” Annie said touching his nose with hers “What now?”

“Wanna go out on a date with me?” Annie nodded eagerly at the question, and Andy kissed her back.

“Are you gonna be kissing me from now on?”

“Every fucking time I have the chance.” Annie Laughed “So, how about tomorrow?”

“Shit! I can’t, I promise Sharon we will have a girls’ night. But I’m free on Saturday, I just have to let my boss know I’m gonna be out for the night.”

“I’m sure he’ll say there won’t be a problem.”

Andy leaned in to kiss her again and then his stomach growled, making Annie laughed. She stood up and brought the tray to bed.

“I was planning to have lunch with you earlier. I can chance the juice for a beer.”

“This is fine.” Andy took his sandwich “Thank you, honey.” He kissed her cheek and bit his sandwich.

[butchkaramazov]

A Shade Darker Than Red: Chapter 8

this is a repost because tumblr, being a jerk as always, decided to delete the former post. if you like this one, you could maybe check out the entire series using the masterlist i'll post in a few minutes.

A week passed by. Paro was eerily quiet when she was with me, and I thought of what I had said that day. Had I really, truly ruined all my chances of saving even our friendship?

A million thoughts rushed through my head as I turned restlessly in bed, staring at the ceiling.

The ceiling of our bedroom was painted with blue fluorescent stickers shaped like stars. Papa had done that. I had asked Maa to take them off if they bothered her, but we never did.

Beside me, Maa tossed in her sleep. They say if you think of someone, they can’t fall asleep. Could she hear my thoughts?

I had nothing to distract myself with. No phone, no book—nothing. Just me, my thoughts and the stars on the ceiling.

A sudden, vivid memory flashed in my mind. We were six. A year had passed since my meeting with Paro. We were running around like hooligans in the park while our mothers talked about work, pados-wali aunties and whatnot. I still remember what Paro was wearing: a frilly, white frock with Minnie Mouse sewn onto its sleeves. The sky was red and so was our laughter, until Paro bent down and ripped a flower right off its stem. “For you,” she had said, clumsily tucking the flower behind my ear. When she touched my earlobe, the flower was white. When she let go, it was red.

Another memory. We were nine. She sat with me on the bed while I rambled on about my latest hyperfixation: dragons. She listened to every single detail I had mentioned and, by the end of the afternoon, showed me a drawing of a wyvern.

Twelve. I was reading The Priory of the Orange Tree, sitting on the windowsill. I took a sip from my milk tea, letting out a contented hum. I wasn’t on the windowsill anymore. I was Ead, pressing a kiss to Sabran’s brow. Sabran was someone who looked uncannily similar to Paro.

An annoying ding! from my phone forced me back to reality. I heard Maa’s grunts and snores: the coast was clear. 

I climbed off the bed, taking care not to put extra weight anywhere that would make the mattress creak. I walked towards the desk and picked up the phone.

WhatsApp: You have 3 messages.

It was Paro. I checked the time: 3:49 a.m. Paro was a morning person, what was she doing staying up all night?

Paro<3:

hi renu are you awake?

—00:27

do you wanna hang out on the roof like we used to? 

—02:01

its ok if you dont wanna. go back to sleep you have a big day tmrw. actually, if ur awake rn i’ll kill you

—03:48

Oh, Paro.

I glanced at Maa, slowly increasing the fan’s regulator. Please don’t wake up soon.

I walked out of the room and closed the door. Thank goodness I’d oiled its hinges last week. 

The main door was locked—opening it meant creating a ruckus. “Shit,” I muttered under my breath. No wait, actually not shit. This meant I’d have to take the old way around. 

Jeez, fourteen-year-old me was fun.

I opened the door to the balcony and hoisted myself up on its railing. It was an easy jump. I tumbled onto the grass, praying that a grasshopper wouldn’t find its new home in my ear. The grass was wet and the air smelled of petrichor. 

I stood up, smoothening my pyjamas. Staying out late at night was a risky thing, especially in our neighbourhood. Plenty of TicTac-shaped pills here and there, and men on the prowl. I didn’t give a damn. I was eighteen and probably feeling some feelings I wasn’t supposed to be feeling. (That’s a lot of ‘feeling’s, I know.) What could possibly hurt me?

A lot of things, I realised, as I walked up to Paro’s house. Like that mad dog Rathode had warned me about. The creepy guy who keeps children in his basement (just a speculation, but when Madhu speculated about something, it was most probably right). An overspeeding motorcycle that could crash into me any minute. My own mother, with her pots and pans, once she realised I was gone.

Oh well, the damage was done. I found myself opening the gate on instinct, as if I knew Paro’s house better than I did my own.

I stepped into their garden, careful not to trample on any beetles—and made my way to the window of the woman who lived below Paro’s flat. Madame Fosco, I called her, in everything but her looks.

The tin shade Madame Fosco had installed last year was probably on its deathbed by now. Rust had made its edges creaky, but Fosco was deaf, anyway. I grabbed onto it and hoisted myself up, finding myself staring right at Paro’s face, our faces a millimetre away from each other’s. She screamed.

I screamed.

My foot slipped and I fell off the tin shade, tumbling onto the grass once again. At this point, I would be surprised if a grasshopper hadn’t found its home in my ear.

“For Whitman’s sake, hush,” I whisper-shouted, if that’s a thing. If it wasn’t, it probably is by now.

Paro peered out of the window, her mouth forming a perfect ‘o’. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed. 

I shook my head (in case a grasshopper had organised a nice family dinner in my hair) and climbed onto the tin shaft once again, pulling myself onto Paro’s windowsill.

“Come in,” she whispered, switching the lights on. 

I felt comfortable squatting on her windowsill like a failed Spiderman and grumbled as I walked into her bedroom.

Paro switched her phone’s torchlight off. “I’m gonna kill you.”

“What?” I stared at her retreating figure. “What did I do?”

“Why are you still awake?” she snapped. I followed her to the door.

“Why are you still awake and staring out of your window like Oscar fucking Wilde?” I snapped back.

Paro flipped me off while trying her hardest to pull the gates across the door. Sweat shone on her forehead, her eyes illuminated in the moonlight.

“Hold on, let me help,” I offered, gently grabbing her wrist. Paro grumbled, stepping aside.

I pushed the gate back and pulled it in again, keeping the screw in with my thumb. It glided into the opening on the other side, miraculously not making a single noise.

I turned towards Paro. She was staring at my arms.

“What?” I asked her, incredulously. One moment she said she wanted to kill me, and the next she looked at me like I was something she couldn’t quite wrap her head around.

“N-Nothing,” she gasped. My heart fluttered. Dammit, these butterflies in my stomach had turned into fucking bats at this point.

Paro walked up the stairs while I followed her footsteps in the dark. “Just like the old times, huh?” I heard her say.

I grinned. “Just like the old times.”

Paro opened the door to the roof, the tensed line in her jaw glinting in a sliver of moonlight. God, she was as beautiful as ever.

“Come in,” she said, her words echoing in the marble walls.

I followed her to the railings, leaning against the cool surface. A light breeze rippled through, making her hair fly for a brief second. Dear God, she was poetry herself.

“Where are Auntie and Uncle?” I asked, trying to break the silence.

A light breeze caressed my cheeks. “They won’t be back before tomorrow. Business trip,” Paro explained, edging closer to me.

“Oh.” I was suddenly aware of the pen still tucked behind my ear.

Silence.

“So we’re—we’re all alone, then?” I asked her, hoping she wouldn’t hear the slight quaver in my voice.

Paro nodded. “We are.”

Silence, again.

She leaned against the railing. “You’re going away in three weeks.”

I nodded, not quite knowing what to say.

“I asked you a question.” Her voice was cold and harsh, harsher than I deserved. 

“That was a statement,” I snapped. “And don’t use your fucking CEO voice with me.”

Paro frowned. “I’m not.”

“You are.” I glared at her. “And you know it.”

She stared at me, scrutinising my every feature. “I’m sorry,” she finally said, letting out a sigh. “I’m sorry. It’s just been—you’ll be gone—and—”

“I know, it’s okay,” I heard myself murmur, edging closer towards her.

“I—I’ve got that Poe book with me,” she said. “Do you want it now or at the graduation party?”

“Now,” I said, without thinking. “The party will be too loud. And too crowded,” I added as an afterthought.

Paro bit her lip so hard I was scared it would bleed. “Alright,” she nodded. “I’ll get it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

I watched her retreat into the shadows, taking the white along with her. The night was a pool of blood, again.

I hummed. Did she know about the history of ‘OK’? Probably not. I’d tell her. Not knowing things I wouldn’t be able to tell her before we drifted apart wasn’t a good idea. At least she’d be able to tell her children that their Renu Auntie had told her about the history of ‘OK’. Maybe she’d sigh and think of me, again. Words were a certain but clumsy way into a person’s mind. 

Papa had told me that. Maybe that’s why I can’t stop thinking of him.

Did Paro know about Jinnah? That Netaji might’ve actually been alive? Did she know that birds came from lizard-hipped dinosaurs? There was so much I had to tell her before I vanished from her mind.

It was pathetic. Scrambling onto every crumb of unrelated information I could find, just to hang onto her thoughts, stay on in her mind for a little while longer.

“I’m back,” Paro said, stepping into the moonlight.

She looked like Aphrodite, the goddess of love born from love itself, in all her glory—clutching a book of Edgar Allan Poe, the letters of which shone in the lamplight or moonlight, that I do not know.

“For you,” she said, handing me the book.

“It’s beautiful,” I gasped as I ran my fingers along the edge of its spine. It was a leatherbound book, The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe written in shiny gold lettering. I opened the first page.

To Renu, it said. Keep me in your mind, always. From, Paro.

I chuckled, flipping through the pages. “Of course I’ll keep you in my mind, Paro,” I laughed. “What a silly thought!”

Paro looked at me, hope faintly glimmering in her eyes. “You will?” Her voice had softened down to a murmur.

I looked at her incredulously. “Well, duh, Paro, I can’t just forget my best friend of thirteen years now, can I?”

Paro’s lower lip trembled. “You promise?”

I smiled. “Always.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

A comfortable silence followed and as we looked at the stars, I knew we were both smiling.

[worldwidedino]

Ok like I said in my posts last night, I've hunted down two of my Owlboy fics that I realized I've linked to my ao3, but never actually posted here themselves.

Again, this isn't new. It's just a repost of an ao3 fic I've already published.

Project Maelstorm

Dirk looked at the blueprints and sighed; ‘MAELSTORM’ they were titled and showed a man with quite a muscular build.

 Of course, he’s designed to be shirtless, Dirk thought to himself, Of course, they’re making him show off his sexy body. Why wouldn’t they? Why would the owls just stop at making him powerful and give him a body to match? Looking closer he found specs he had no clue what they could have meant. 

ULTIMATE WAR MACHINE model 

These were prototype blueprints, whoever this ‘Maelstrom’ would be, this most likely wouldn’t be his final design. Thank the maker, Dirk thought. He wouldn't have to live with the dread of someone who looks like that walking around.  

Before he knew it he let out a stuttered sigh and his hand was dangerously high on his leg for being in public. He quickly moved his hand back to the blueprints to look at them again. Dirk looked at this new automaton’s build and looked at himself. He looked so much more fragile compared to Maelstorm, a frail little twig to his strong and sturdy trunk. He pulled his legs up to his chest and curled up in the seat. And with his luck, an owl approached him.

“How did you get a hold of these?” they asked forcefully, motioning to the blueprints.

Dirk wanted to answer, he truly did, but he couldn’t. There was programming in him that prohibited him from speaking with owls. He breathed like he was going to and his abdomen squeezed like he was going to force something out of his vocal cords, but nothing came out.

“Well?” he asked more forcefully, “Answer me. How did you get your hands on these blueprints?”

Again Dirk wanted to answer but his programming stopped him from speaking with the owl.

The owl huffed and whispered to himself, “Stupid machine, of course, Aegolius let this one free.”

Dirk heard what he had to say and curled a little deeper into the ball he was in.

“Why won’t you respond to me? Aegolius said you automatons were supposed to be obedient.” The owl said angrily as he grabbed Dirk’s top.

Little of Dirk’s knowledge, Aegolius walked up behind the seat to his rescue.

“Alba, what is the meaning of all this ruckus?” Aegolius asked, making Dirk jump a little.

“Well, Aegolius,” Alba started, “this automaton somehow managed to get its grubby hands on some of your blueprints and it didn’t answer me when I asked it how it got them. Your. Machine. Is. Faulty.”

“Well, let me take a look at him. I do remember programming some of them to be... selectively mute if you will, because repeated testing on personality simulations showed a certain attitude towards figures of authority,” Aegolius said as he circled to meet with Alba.

Aegolius did some careful examination of Dirk. He pushed the back of his mask up like how someone would delicately lift their partner’s chin before they lean for a kiss to get a better look at its detailing, lifting Dirk’s hair to see his model number molded on the back of his head, and rolling up his sleeve to read his serial number on his inner arm.

Aegolius repeated the model and serial numbers quietly as he nodded to himself and told Alba, “I do believe Dirk here is one of the selectivity mute automatons, Alba.”

That response got an eye roll and a sigh out of the other owl as he put a hand on his hip to say ‘whatever you say’.

“Dirk, the blueprints, please,” Aegolius told the automaton.

Dirk quickly nodded, uncurled himself, and gave Aegolius the blueprints. He was shaking afterward, he didn’t let Aegolius and Alba see it, however. Those two scared the living daylights out of him. Aegolius was the creator of every automaton, and on his word, could as easily take one out of commission as he put them in.

Alba was imposing. While not having the same authority and engineering knowledge as Aegolius, he was highly critical of him, everything he did, and everything he stood for. Questioning the automatons, the discovery of the Loop, the temple guardians. If Aegolius was on one side of an argument, it was certain that Alba was on the other side of it, nitpicking every little inconsistency and fallacy in Aegolius’ argument.

Still, on edge, Dirk heard footsteps coming towards him. And out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure bowing.

“Lord Aegolius, Master Alba, I heard some commotion. What seems to be the problem?” A voice asks.

“Oh, Alphonse!” Aegolius said, “There was a problem with some blueprints. I know how much you’d want to help, but it has been taken care of.”

Dirk turned to look at Alphonse. They weren’t the same model, but Dirk couldn’t figure out what Alphonse was built for. He wasn’t built for war like Maelstrom was going to be, nor was he built for espionage and assassination like he was.  Alphonse had a packet of papers in his hand with the front page labeled “Tristan and Yseult”. And he smelled really good, almost like vanilla.

“Well, we should get going… Alba” Aegolius said walking away, “Don’t get into trouble, you two.”

Dirk nodded and Alphonse bowed again. When Alba and Aegolius were far enough away Dirk turned back to Alphonse, still trying to figure out his function.

Alphonse flipped through the packet, mumbling to himself. Dirk cocked his head without noticing as he continued to try and figure Alphonse out.

“You seem confused, friend,” Alphonse noticed.

Dirk was caught off guard and jumped. He nodded in agreement with Alphonse's statement.

“Well, I’m Alphonse, as you’ve heard,” Alphonse introduced, “I’m an actor and I cook sometimes if needed. Or anything else I chose to do, really. Who might you be?”

Dirk stood wide-eyed at Alphonse. He was with one of the fabled ‘true cognizance’ machines he’s heard so much about.

“Is…Is something wrong?” Alphonse asked nervously.

Dirk shook his head. He got closer to Alphonse. The vanilla smell was stronger when he got closer to him.

“You’re not mute, are you?” Alphonse asked concerned.

This got another head shake from Dirk. He was nervous as hell. He hated talking to people. His heart was pounding in his chest and his mind was racing thinking of every way the conversation could go wrong.

“You're fine. Master Alba is hard on all of us. Now I don’t believe I ever got your name.” Alphonse reassured.

Alphonse put his hand on Dirk’s shoulder. Fucking shit, Dirk thought, he’s touching me. And he smells so fucking good.

“I-I-I’m c-c-c-called Dirk,” Dirk managed to stutter.

“You don't like talking much, Dirk?” Alphonse asked.

Dirk nodded. He hated the past however long since he managed to sneak the blueprints for Maelstrom. First, they’re making someone sexy as hell, then he got berated by Alba, and now he’s being forced to interact with people.

“Well, maybe I’ll see you later, Dirk, I have to be somewhere,” Alphonse said as he walked away.

Finally, Dirk was alone again and everything was right in his mind.

[theharrowing]

Revisit Thoughts:

omg, i posted this revisit last night but somehow the chapter's read more was missing??? and i ended up just raw dogging 16.4k words on main without a cut, so i am reposting this morning SORRYYY hehehe.

i am not even joking, Haegeum came out on April 20, completely changing the trajectory of this story and solidifying once and for all that i would definitely have a sequel, and even causing me to write a good chunk of the first chapter of the sequel before i wrote this chapter and published it 4 days later.

and although the Taehyung POV comes before this one and includes details that were affected by this chapter, i actually posted it about a month later and snuck it in there. (i also wrote the Hoseok POV after this chapter and snuck it in way up above chapter 14, which is why there are conversations taking place that i did not even have set in stone until this moment in Collateral time.) i worried it would be confusing for readers, but they didn't seem to mind. 😅😅😅

adding in this chapter extended the story from 20 to 21 total chapters planned, and caused me to completely change large details in the outline. of course, i cannot tell you what those details are because they are huge spoilers. if i ever do a Reconciliation revisit in 1.5 business years, perhaps i will divulge everything then!

HEHEHEHE i found an errorrrr. when Namjoon's phone rings, it says you recognize the ringtone from when Yoongi called Namjoon while the two of you were at his house, but the phone only vibrated in that scene. whoopsie daisy hehe. (edited.)

man i really opened this chapter with a potential bombshell and then dove headfirst into a long ass smut scene. of all the things i remember from this chapter, this scene was not one of them lmao.

you know i couldn't resist an "I feel like Tony Montana." especially with him dressed that way.

🧼📦 ugh researching private jets for this fic (and for Dollhouse) made me wanna barf. i do not respect jets or yachts. they are such a waste of resources, including money!!! (i also do not respect any of the brands that i name drop tho, let's be honest. nor am i impressed when idols wear this shit. even if i praise how good someone looks in a certain brand shoot, it is likely they also look good in rags, so like...the brand really means nothing in the long run.) it is so wild to look up all this bullshit and pretend that it is exciting when i would rather watch it all burn so we could distribute that wealth and take care of our poor. "sleek marvels of modern design" 🤮🤮🤮 ANYWAYYYYY that's my soapbox moment lmao back to the fic. 🧼📦

oh man, spoiler alert for the end of Scarface haha sorry, friends!!! (it's a 40 year old movie hahaha.)

bringing Balming Tiger into the fold was fun, and i actually learned some of their names while writing this chapter despite being a fan of theirs (i had just seen them live about a month before writing this chapter!) it is not Seungmin from Stray Kids, but the member who goes by Mudd the Student.

i was wondering (after reading Jungkook's POV) if we would see the zippo lighter again hehehe.

take a shot whenever i use the word "harrowing" in a fic lmaoooo.

Taehyung casually calling Namjoon & Yoongi "the doom boys" (Sexy Nukim reference) is especially cute because i like to imagine that that's what the terror twins call them behind their backs in the same way that the doom boys call them the terror twins behind their backs.

Taehyung cutting himself during the knife game was inspired by my partner cutting me while trying to jokingly play the knife game (laying his flayed hand over mine and poking the knife between our fingers together) and look i know how that sounds okay, but i promise you, i am safe and loved in this relationship and the cut on the side of my thumb was not very deep (tbh he barely knicked me but the knife was stupid sharp.) this is the same person who suplexes me on every hotel bed we have ever slept on and i love him very much. 😅😂😂

i love that despite how chaotic these situations with all of them seem, they still find time to communicate boundaries. idk if i could write it differently, tbh. especially given both mc's and Jungkook's backgrounds, it feels best for the two of them to treat one another with a lot of care. of courses, that won't stop Jungkook from being a complete and utter menace, don't worry.

added Kamehameha by Balming Tiger to this chapter!!! i am off to sleep now, good night!!!😴💤💜

Collateral 🗡️ 15: The end of an era

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

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

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

🗡️ Yoongi x Female Reader x Namjoon, Jungkook x Female Reader 🗡️ word count: 16.4k 🗡️ mafia au, strangers to lovers, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+  🗡️ chapter warnings: mention of heroin, complicated feelings, smut (oral and vaginal sex, mmf threesome), trauma response, Yoongi wearing a Haegeum outfit, cocaine use, description of the knife game, an unexpected soft moment and kiss (!!!) 🗡️ note: mc visits Hong Kong. just as i said in the master list post about Korea, all scenery is completely made up. i don't know anything about Hong Kong and i do not wish to describe any neighborhood of Hong Kong in a negative light, so if anything sounds familiar, it is a coincidence. we also meet some of the members of Balming Tiger! and i realize that the mood board is not totally symmetrical but it was important for me to put Haegeum Yoongi in the center.

🗡️ speaking of Haegeum: thank you to everyone reaching out to scream with me about Haegeum!!! it has been a very exciting time to be a crime boss Yoongi author, and sharing the excitement with all of you has been a fucking blast!!! 😍💜 i love my readers very much! thank you all for being here!!! 🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin! 🗡️ posted on april 2023 | read on ao3

As you step out of your shower, the first thing you notice is the sound of voices coming from outside your bedroom door, shouting. One of them is deep enough to be Namjoon, and the other is hard to make out. Could there be something Namjoon is upset about? 

This morning, when you woke up to just Namjoon in the bed beside you, he mentioned that he and Yoongi had a surprise for you, and that you would find out in the evening. There was a tone to Namjoon's voice that you have been trying not to overthink, especially after he asked you for some privacy in the master suite, and you left him to himself with a kiss to his cheek, padding off to your cold, desolate room.

He just seemed…off. Contemplative, maybe. Something seemed to be bothering him, and now that it sounds like he is out in the mezzanine shouting at someone, you begin to feel worried. 

You dry off and take your time rubbing lotion over your legs and arms, curious for more sounds without trying too hard to overhear. Once you are finished and leaving the bathroom, making your way into your closet, his voice is much clearer through your bedroom door—it is definitely him. 

Somewhat thoughtlessly, you begin to push back hangers of clothing, listening intently while looking for something cozy to wear, not wanting to return to the master suite for some of Yoongi's sweatpants, when you hear Namjoon shout, "Jeon Jeongguk, don't you fucking play stupid with me!"

Your hand hovers over the row of dresses dangling from hangers, and you absent-mindedly begin to dance your fingertips over white cotton, curious for Jeongguk's response, but his voice is too soft to make out. Surprising, considering you would imagine Jeongguk to be with one with an explosive temper.

With a sigh, you decide you should get dressed and investigate. Perhaps your presence will help to calm Namjoon. And anyway, you have not seen Yoongi all day, and you feel eager to go ask after him. Last night, after he got word that his informant was dead, it took some coaxing from Namjoon to get him to come to bed, and he gave Yoongi something—a pill, you think—to help him sleep. You were surprised to hear Yoongi snoring; whatever Namjoon gave him really knocked him out. 

You step further into the closet and find a simple black sweater to put on, then rummage through your drawers for some underwear and black leggings. Once satisfied with how cozy you feel, you slide your feet into some plush dark grey slippers and make your way to the doorway.

"But this is much more serious, Jeongguk!" Namjoon shouts. "Everything we have worked for can fall apart if he starts using again!"

"I haven't been dealing fucking heroin," you hear Jeongguk respond, and that halts you in your tracks.

Could someone be using heroin? You think back to your days in the trafficking circle and how some of those men would get so fucked up on the junk, speaking nonsense and tripping over themselves. It was not rare to find a businessman slumped over dead in a dark corner or an alleyway; that drug will ruin someone's life. But none of the family men seem like the type, as far as you can tell. Could it be someone in their outer circle?

"Then where did it come from?" Namjoon asks.

You hate to eavesdrop, and you force yourself to keep pressing forward, toward the door. Regardless, this conversation seems pretty serious, and not something that should be had casually, on the mezzanine, where anyone in the house could hear, making you feel obligated to, at the very least, suggest the men take it somewhere else.

"We don't even know if that's what it is," you hear Jeongguk respond as you reach for the doorknob. "And anyway, I find it pretty fucking weird that you are going through his packages all of a sudden. Did he ask you to do that?"

When you open the door, both men jump. Namjoon looks like he has seen a ghost, face turning pale and widening with worry, and Jeongguk is no better.

"Fellas," you say, surprised when Namjoon only greets you with a limp lift of his hand.

"H-hey," Jeongguk responds. "How much did you hear?"

Dumbfounded, you open your mouth, and then immediately close it, shaking your head. Something tells you that you should not have heard any of that conversation, and you attempt to play coy.

"I only heard the sounds of shouting," you respond, holding believable enough eye contact and doing your best not to look scared. "I was in the shower. Just got out."

Jeongguk looks at your hair, and you hope he notices that it does, in fact, look freshly tended to. His posture is tense—hands shoved into the front pockets of black denim pants. It takes you off guard to see him in a simple black tee and jeans. After his brief inspection, Jeongguk lets out a deep exhale. 

"I need to go meet Taehyung," he says, turning his gaze to Namjoon and raising his eyebrows as he adds, "this conversation is not over. We'll see you guys later."

As Jeongguk begins to walk down the stairs, Namjoon's posture relaxes. His shoulders fall, and you can see him regain his composure. This exchange with Jeongguk really seems to have ruffled his feathers. 

"You alright, Joonbug?" you ask sweetly as you walk over and place your palms on his chest. Namjoon wears a black tee and black joggers, and as his musk hits your senses, you give him a soft smile and stand tall to press a kiss against his jaw.

"Yeah," he responds, offering an expression that is not a smile, but a failed attempt at raising the corners of his lips, making you scoff.

"Why am I not at all convinced?" you tease, kissing down his neck while your palms rub over his pecs. "You seem tense."

"I am," Namjoon mutters as he grips onto your hips with both hands, giving you a gentle squeeze and kicking up butterflies in your tummy. 

If there is one thing you seem to be learning from living under Yoongi's roof, it is the art of distracting someone using sex, and Namjoon seems to be eager for distraction. You begin to walk backward, toward your open bedroom door, gripping lightly to his shirt and giving him a tug. He barely shows any resistance, and this time, his smile is real. 

"Why don't you let me relieve some of that tension?"

"Yeah?" Namjoon asks, smile growing before he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and gives it a little nibble, making you wish that lip was between your teeth, instead.

"Hubby coming home soon?" you ask as you step through the threshold of your bedroom. "Should we wait?"

"Nah, he likely won't be back for a while," Namjoon grumbles, eyes losing their brightness at the mention of Yoongi.

You wonder if, perhaps, Yoongi is still taking the loss of Hyunjin pretty hard. Watching a loved one grieve is never easy, and if Namjoon was also close with the guy, his emotions must be rather turbulent right now.

Rather than let you pull him all the way to the bed, Namjoon bends and lifts you from behind the knees, wrapping you around his hips as he turns and sits down on your bed. You drape your arms over his shoulders and straddle his lap, then lean in to suck and nibble on his lip—plush and perfect. 

"This how you want me?" you ask as you lick over his mouth and fix him with a dark, eager stare. 

"Yeah," Namjoon responds, rubbing his hands up your thighs and grabbing your ass firmly in both hands. "This is perfect." 

You lift your hips and grind them down onto Namjoon's lap, watching as his pretty mouth sighs open, and he removes his hands from you to sit back anchored on his palms, giving you more range to tease him. And tease him, you do.

With every roll of your hips, you feel Namjoon's bulge harden. Each of his gasps and groans is louder and breathier than the last, and you revel in how quickly he becomes lost in pleasure—a complete change in demeanor from how he gets when he is in control. 

A particularly loud moan bursts through Namjoon's mouth, and you glance over your shoulder, remembering the door was never shut. When you turn back to Namjoon, he raises an eyebrow and groans, "Forgot to close that."

You hum and say, "We did."

"I don't think I heard Gguk leave," Namjoon says, punctuated with a gasp as you grind yourself on his semi-hard cock. "Should we leave it open for him? Put on a show?"

You playfully smack Namjoon on the back of the head, but continue your movements, feeling the urge to check over your shoulder despite being certain there is nobody out there. 

"Why are you like this?" you complain, but Namjoon just grins and lays flat on the bed. 

Suddenly, you want to get up and close the door. You are not sure whether you would mind having Jeongguk as an audience, but you wonder if any of the other family men could come and go at some point, or if there are staff members walking through the mansion. What if you become so lost in pleasure that you do not hear them down there?

Your hips slow, then still, and you slide from Namjoon's lap, narrowly missing his hands, which make grabbing motions for you as you get onto your feet and tiptoe to the door to close it. Of course, there is no Jeongguk within eyeshot. And what is this feeling in your gut? Disappointment?

When you turn back to the bed, Namjoon is on his feet, pulling the black tee over his head and tossing it to the floor. You do the same, lifting your black sweater off and dropping it where his shirt landed, just to the left of where you stand. You both hook your thumbs into the waistbands of your pants and underwear and bend at the hips in tandem, letting the fabric drop. 

Then you stand tall and step away from the garments, raking your eyes from Namjoon's face, to his tattooed chest, down to his heavy cock and back up before placing both palms on his pecs and shoving him hard enough to send him crashing back onto the bed. Namjoon gasps and chuckles, scrambling to sit up on his elbows while you drop to your knees and spread his thighs with both hands, wasting no time to grip onto his hard, leaking length and give it a tug. 

"Fuck," Namjoon whispers, letting his head loll back. 

"I've barely touched you," you tease, rolling the dribbled precum into your palm and stroking over the head, back and forth with a tight grip. 

"Yeah, but—" Namjoon gasps, hips bucking, "—you never touch me, so everything feels amazing."

"And whose fault is that?" you ask as you sit high on your knees and lean forward to slowly huff out a warm breath over him. Namjoon lifts his head and watches you with wide eager eyes as you jut out your lip, pouting as you say, "You never let me."

Not without permission, anyway, are the words you keep to yourself. Whatever it is that bothers Yoongi and keeps him away from the mansion, you do not want to interrupt, nor consider the ramifications of. You and Namjoon can just share this moment together. 

There is something in Namjoon's gaze that you cannot decipher. It does not seem sad or angry, but it does seem a bit…lost? Distant? You are unsure. And you do not wish to find out. 

Without another word, you angle Namjoon's cock toward your face, delicately holding it by the tip, and you lick from base to crown nice and slow, eyes focused on Namjoon, whose expression melts as a whimper passes through his lips. As you take his tip gently into your mouth, just between your lips, Namjoon's hips tremble. 

There is absolutely no way you will be able to fit his entire cock in your mouth, but you suck as far as you can, bringing him close to your throat and swallowing around him while you slowly stroke the rest of his length with each motion. Namjoon is a mess of whimpers and gasps, resting back, anchored on his elbows while he fights between watching you and letting his head roll from side to side. 

How interesting, you think, that Namjoon so easily relinquishes control without so much as attempting to be in charge, even for a moment. You half expected him to be more like Yoongi is with you, touching and guiding, maybe even telling you what to do—how he likes it. But he simply lays back and takes it, and the noises he makes are unabashed and incredible. 

Perhaps, if it were later in the day, with the master of the home around, you would take your time and really pull orgasm after orgasm from Namjoon, making him cum in your throat before climbing on top to slowly fuck him until you get yourself off once or twice. But today, you want to get this show on the road. You have tentative plans later—some surprise, apparently—and you are not eager for Yoongi to walk in on the two of you like this, should his mood happen to be volatile. 

Once Namjoon's moans become a long, drawn-out chorus of sounds and his thighs begin to quake rather roughly below you, you slowly pull him from your mouth, letting all the pooled saliva drool down from your tongue to his tip before gathering it beneath your palm and slathering it along his length.

"Is it okay that I fuck you already?" you ask.

Namjoon chuckles, says, "Of course it's okay," and begins to sit all the way up.

"I want to ride you," you tell him, watching his pretty, flushed face become all the more excited. "Sit back against the headboard."

With a weak, dazed nod, Namjoon slides back and brings his legs to the mattress, then crawls, moves the pillows out of the way, and settles against the light brown wooden headboard, atop your yellow comforter. You stand and get up onto your hands and knees and crawl to Namjoon, taking in his spread, thick thighs, soft but muscular tummy, unfurling dragon tattoo, and breathtaking face. You cage his hips in with your hands and continue to crawl until your legs straddle him, forcing him to tilt his head back to look up at you. 

"You are perfect," he mutters as his hands lift to settle on your hips, and he stares at you with such reverence, it makes you feel shy. 

"Shut up," is all you can think to say in the moment, not eager to unpack the way his expression makes your heart gallop behind your ribs. 

"I mean it," Namjoon continues, voice becoming softer. "I'm falling for you, baby. You know that, right?"

Disinterested in confessions of love, of all fucking things, you reach between your legs, take hold of Namjoon’s cock and rub the head against your heat, squeezing your eyes closed and sighing through your words as you groan, “I said shut up.”

“Wait,” Namjoon breathes, brows knit when you open your eyes and gaze down at him. “Let me lick your pussy first.”

“It’s fine,” you insist, eager to be full and to get this over with before Yoongi returns. Suddenly, the thought of his presence has you feeling anxious, like perhaps you should not be doing this right now. 

Namjoon's head falls back against the headboard with a thunk as he mutters, "You sure?"

You nod and line him up with your hole, saying, "Yeah, I'm sure," as you sink down.

The stretch makes you suck in air and immediately huff it out, and you loll your head back as your eyes squeeze closed, rocking your hips up and then down ever so slightly. Namjoon's fingertips grip tightly to your hips, and his sweet little sounds get louder and more desperate as you slowly work his length deeper. 

"So tight," he groans, and you nod your head, still facing the ceiling. "Squeezing the fucking life out of me, baby."

Namjoon is far too thick for a quick fuck. As you lift your hips, a violent tremble of pleasure rocks through you, causing you to lean with your hands against his chest to steady yourself before you think better of leaning all your weight onto him and reaching one hand after the other to grip onto the top edge of the headboard. 

"God, look at you," Namjoon groans as his hands cup both your breasts, sucking and licking at one nipple after the other, hungrily switching sides as he gently squeezes and massages the soft flesh with his palms and thumbs. 

The pleasure is overwhelming as you sink back down, stretching and filling yourself while Namjoon licks, sucks, and gently nips. You take a second to let out a huff of air that blends into a moan, then lift and drop your hips, trembling through each movement as you slowly adjust to the pleasure-pain and pick up a steady pace. 

"Fuck, you're too big," you gasp, biting down on your lip as Namjoon moans and sucks harder in response. 

Riding Namjoon is dizzying—makes you absolutely lose your mind—and you lift your hips only to slam them down with force, feeling pleasure spark and burst throughout with each rough movement. Namjoon moans and gasps against your skin, covering you in a hot flush of goosebumps and sweat. 

"Touch me, Joonie," you whine, arching your back and neck with your fluttering gaze facing the ceiling. "Make me cum."

One of Namjoon's hands falls away, and he removes his mouth from your breast long enough to wet his fingers before latching back on. The pads of his spit-slick fingertips find your clit quickly and rub in tandem with the rise and fall of your hips, causing a wave of pleasure to shoot through you and make you tremble. 

"F-fuck," you whine, and Namjoon moans a deep, playful sound of encouragement.

Too easy, Yoongi's voice mocks inside your head as your arousal builds and builds. You lift and slam your ass, holding onto the headboard like a lifeline as Namjoon's fingers and mouth pull the pleasure from you steadily. At this pace, it will take you no time at all to come undone completely. 

"You feel like heaven around me, baby," Namjoon mutters against your skin, lips dragging hot and wet, sending a shiver through you.

All you can do in response is let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a hum, unable to form words as Namjoon's fingertips on your clit bring you closer and closer to the edge. With a quake of pleasure throwing your rhythm off, you grind your hips forward and backward, hitting a spot that shoots a surprising wave of ecstasy through you, making your head fall forward.

That is going to make you cum, and you redirect your movements and begin to grind yourself down on him, using his cock to get yourself off as your hips move front and back in quick, desperate ellipses. 

"Oh, fuck," Namjoon groans, slamming his head back against the headboard as one hand grips your ribs while he continues to circle his fingers over your clit. "That's it, baby; make yourself cum."

You whimper and moan, letting syllables fall loosely in failed attempts to praise and beg, so close to the edge that you cannot form a coherent thought, much less sentence. Namjoon must understand you, though, and he swirls his hips just enough to make every one of your movements feel more intense, causing your orgasm to hit hard and fast, throwing you completely from your axis. 

You continue to grind, rushed and frantic as you chase your high, moving until it becomes too intense and you can go no longer, falling forward with your chest against Namjoon's face and your forehead resting against the headboard. 

Namjoon wraps both arms around your hips and lifts, shifting beneath you without pulling out to lay you down on your back. You gasp and attempt to grip onto the yellow comforter for purchase, but Namjoon gets onto his knees and begins to fuck you through what is left of your orgasm so hard and fast that your back arcs, frozen in pleasure, with your hands open wide, unable to grasp onto anything, forcing the last ounce of your sanity to slip between your fingers. 

"This what you need, baby?" Namjoon groans as sweat drips from his forehead, landing on your neck. "Cum on this cock. Show me how much you like it."

All you can do is allow your orgasm to quake through you as Namjoon fucks you into your mattress, and you are grateful for the sturdy bed frame making minimal noise. With your mouth agape, you moan and sob, and finally, when your high begins to hinge on overstimulation, you grasp onto the blanket, clutching it tight. 

"Fuck," you gasp, squeezing your eyes closed. "Too much. 'S too much."

"Call your safeword if you need it," Namjoon commands as his hips continue to slam against your spread thighs. 

You do not want to call your safeword. Truth be told, you hardly want him to slow down, already feeling another high wash over you, covering your skin with tingling warmth. When you open your eyes, Namjoon is frowning down at you, brows knit with concentration as he pounds his thick cock into you with no remorse, and you stretch your arms over your head and tilt your head back, basking in the feeling. 

Sweat drips from Namjoon's forehead and neck, hitting your skin in cool drops, tickling as they trickle down to the comforter below. With your orgasm dissipating, you begin to worry that perhaps you should hurry up and finish before Yoongi returns. But Namjoon feels good—unrelentingly good. You do not want him to stop. 

The loud, shrill sound of Namjoon's phone ringing pulls you from your thoughts, but Namjoon does not slow down, slamming you into the mattress even harder, as if desperate to get off. But then, as if coming to his senses, Namjoon slows his pace, rolling his hips while his moans fade to pants, and he acknowledges the sound. 

With a sigh, Namjoon brings his hips to a stop, all the while his phone continues to ring, and you cannot help but worry that it is Yoongi on the other end. Namjoon pulls out, leaving you feeling cold and empty, and flops onto his side, hanging off the edge of the bed to search for the ringing device before pulling it to his ear and answering it.

"Hey, handsome," Namjoon says as he remains hanging from your bed, panting between words. "Yeah, we were just, uhh…keeping each other distracted until you returned."

Interesting choice of words, and although you admit that you were attempting to distract him earlier, you wonder what he thinks he is distracting you from.

"In her room," Namjoon responds after a pause, and you watch as his smile softens while he stares off to the side. He says, "We'll look forward to it...love you too," with his smile growing, then ends the call, tosses the phone back onto the pile, and sits up with a slight groan.

"I'm sure you could guess who that was," Namjoon says, getting back onto his knees and spreading your legs around his hips. His cock seems to have softened some, and he fists it slowly in one hand.

"Taehyung?" you respond teasingly, watching as Namjoon's eyebrows raise in amusement, then he leans with one hand anchored by your side, towering over you.

"Would you like that?" He asks, voice dark and deep. "Would you like for the doctor to join us?"

With a chuckle, you consider your words, raising your eyebrows much in the same way he had. You are not sure Taehyung's so-called fascination with human bodies—as Felix so colorfully put it—would translate to joining you in bed.

"I think I'm good," you finally say, failing to think of something quippy in response, making Namjoon's cheeks crease with dimples as he chuckles to himself. 

"Do you have the energy to keep going?" Namjoon asks, leaning closer and caging your head in with both hands. His breath is warm against your face, and you do your best to lift your head and strain for a kiss until he gets the hint and lowers even more.

With a low groan, you suck his lip into your mouth, then release it and say, "You didn't cum yet."

Namjoon shrugs, but you can tell by the curl of his lips that he is pleased with your consideration. 

"I don't mind," he responds, and you shake your head. 

"I want you to."

All Namjoon has to do is roll his hips forward and his cock slides into your wet heat, making you gasp and lift your own hips upward, searching for more. He goes slow, pushing forward until his pelvis is pressed into you then dragging himself out, making your eyes roll back as you feel every inch of him along your walls. 

"So big," you mutter almost mindlessly as he thrusts slowly forward, making you dizzy. 

"You take me so well," Namjoon groans against your lips, and you drop your mouth open to whimper through his languid movements, pleased when he dances his tongue over yours and fills your mouth with his own sweet sounds. 

From outside the door, you hear a raspy, "Knock, knock," accompanied by actual knocking, and you smile, feeling warmth bloom in your chest knowing that Yoongi has arrived. You assume that he was pleased with what you and Namjoon were up to based on Namjoon's expression while they were speaking on the phone, and you no longer feel trepidation about him finding you. In fact, with the door to your bedroom slowly opening, you become excited knowing that Yoongi is walking in on the sight of you and Namjoon together. 

Namjoon's mouth is still connected to yours, and his hips do not hesitate as Yoongi enters the room. A low, raspy groan of approval fills the space, and you sink further into bliss, feeling warmth cover you from the knowledge of being watched. And although you cannot see him, you can hear Yoongi getting undressed as fabric hits the floor, followed by the jangling of a belt buckle.

"Is it my birthday?" Yoongi asks, voice closer than you expect, causing goosebumps to bloom over your skin.

Namjoon breaks the kiss, and you whine indignantly, opening your eyes to find him sitting up to connect his lips with Yoongi's waiting mouth. Yoongi stands shirtless, bent over the edge of the bed, anchored on one palm, and his chest is already flushed a pretty, rosy shade, with a red welt the size of a bullet smack dab in the center, surrounded by streaks of healed scars. His slacks hang open, and he fists himself over his black briefs, getting himself hard as Namjoon continues to slowly fuck you. 

"Tell us what we can do for you," Namjoon mutters, rolling his hips at an angle that makes you shudder and whine, feeling a new burst of arousal alongside the familiar. 

"Just want to watch you two," Yoongi groans, hand tightening over his bulge. 

Namjoon kisses down Yoongi's jaw and neck, then backs away and sits up tall between your spread legs, all the while Yoongi turns to look at you, gaze soft and kind as he smiles and bites his bottom lip. You reach out for Yoongi, also eager for a kiss, but Namjoon pulls his hips back and slams them forward, causing your body to seize with pleasure before your arms and head fall back against the mattress.

"Fuck!" you cry, as Namjoon pulls back and ruts forward once more, hard and fast enough to make your head spin. 

"Just look at you," Yoongi groans, and you open your eyes to find his gaze has darkened. "So perfect."

Namjoon grips onto the backs of your thighs firmly with both hands, bowing his back as he fucks you hard and fast, and you clench the comforter as bliss crashes rapidly through you. Sweat beads and drips down Namjoon's torso, and you follow the movement as one particular droplet rolls to his tummy, disappearing against his skin. His abdomen tenses and relaxes as he ruts into you, and you attempt to watch the mesmerizing undulation, but you feel another high rapidly begin to build, and you squeeze your eyes tight momentarily as you reach one hand between your legs to play lazily with your clit. 

At the first touch of your fingertips, you tense up from the burst of arousal, and Namjoon moans while gazing down at you, eyes fixed and hungry. You can tell from the lift of his brow that he wants you to squeeze him again, and you do so, rhythmically tightening your muscles around him until his mouth falls open and he breathes out a deep moan. 

"Not gonna last if you keep doing that, baby."

With a pleased hum, you respond, "Good. Want you to cum," giving Namjoon a mock-innocent smile and flutter of your lashes when he glares at you frustratedly.

Namjoon picks up his pace, making it impossible for you to tease him further—if your walls do tighten around him, it is involuntary, caused by the accelerated pace at which you climb closer to orgasm.

"Fuck, Namjoon! S-so good!" you sob, circling your fingers over yourself faster. Desperate to cum again, you begin to beg, chanting, "Please, please, please," as your eyes roll back and your body arches.

Orgasm quakes and erupts through you, and you lay frozen in pleasure as only rasps and breathy whimpers leave your lips. Namjoon's hips begin to stutter, and he pulls out, taking you by surprise as his cock is replaced by his fingers. He roughly presses them up into your sweet spot, making another orgasm build and explode so fast, you scream, feeling the overwhelming gush of pleasure overtake you.

Your release sprays against your thighs, and Namjoon replaces his fingers with his cock, fucking you at a punishing pace for an intense but short-lived burst before his hips still, and he cums inside you. You babble somewhat incoherently, sobbing as Namjoon's hips tremble, and he sits back, pulling out.

Sweat covers you, turning your red-hot skin cold. Before you have a chance to catch your breath or get your bearings, two large hands grab you by the hips and tug at you, turning you forcefully until your feet fall off the side of the bed, and you find Yoongi yanking your hips to the edge while he sinks onto his knees and buries his face between your legs.

Your cunt is sensitive, and as Yoongi laps his tongue over you, from your hole to your clit and back down, you tremble and sob, overstimulated but already enraptured by the sensation. Yoongi's tongue enters you, and he slurps and hums, eyes closed as he devours you. 

"Holy shit," you whimper as your head falls back, and you lay pliant for Yoongi to taste as he pleases. The thought of him eating Namjoon's cum out of you sends a fluttering of arousal to your core, and you sink further into bliss, only coming back to earth after Yoongi manages to quickly pull a small, steady orgasm from you. 

By the time you open your eyes and meet his glistening smile, you feel as though your soul is barely tethered to your body, attempting to float up into the heavens. 

"No more," you whine, feeling spent beyond belief. "I can't take it. Sakura."

Yoongi's hands slowly rub up and down your thighs, and he chuckles, voice soft and light as air. He raises a brow and asks, "Namjoon fucked you that good, hmm?"

Warmth rises to your cheeks, and you nibble on your bottom lip as you nod, then tip your head to the side to find a sweaty, beautiful Namjoon sitting against your headboard, grinning. 

"I still have enough energy to take care of you," Namjoon offers, eyes drifting to Yoongi. 

You turn and watch Yoongi shake his head and say, "That won't be necessary," cheeks turning a faint, pretty red. 

"Nonsense," Namjoon responds, making his way to Yoongi, crawling on his hands and knees. "It's been too long since you've coated my tongue in your cum, baby. Be good for me and fuck my throat? Pretty please?"

Yoongi sits back on his heels and chuckles, softly shaking his head before glancing up at Namjoon with a fire in his gaze. 

"Well, since you asked so nicely," he drawls as he stands and rubs his palm over his bulge. "Who am I to say no to you, daddy?"

You are certain you are never going to get used to hearing Yoongi calling Namjoon daddy. And when Yoongi drops his slacks and briefs to the floor, taking Namjoon's face in his hands, sliding his cock back into his throat, and holding it until Namjoon turns bright red and gags, you are certain you will never get used to sights like this, either.

The instruction was to wear something comfortable for a long trip, so you opt for the black leggings you had on earlier and a simple burgundy knit sweater. There is a knock at your door, and you look up from the small black suitcase sprawled open on your bed, into which you have been placing loungewear and boxes of your favorite jewelry. 

Earlier, Yoongi insisted he would join you to select gowns and jackets for you to wear once he got dressed, so you have been killing time while waiting. As much as you wanted to join him and Namjoon for a shower, your hair was barely dry from the first one, so you opted to just get dressed and wait for them. You will likely want to shower at the end of this so-called long trip, anyway, so doing so again feels like an irresponsible use of water.  

After another knock, you say, "Come in, Namjoon," knowing it is certainly not Yoongi; he always just walks right in. 

Namjoon's deep chuckle gives him away, and he pushes the door open and steps inside, making you gasp. The sight of him standing in a simple white cotton short sleeve tucked into black slacks should not have the effect it does, but you still watch in awe as every curve of muscle is perfectly accentuated by his clothing. He has a jacket slung over one arm that matches the slacks, and you imagine that once he puts it on, he will look quite dapper.

"I feel underdressed," you complain, glancing down at your pedestrian cozy clothing. 

Namjoon shakes his head. 

"We need to make a pitstop and meet with someone before we head to our destination, and it will be for the best that you are underdressed and unrecognizable."

Although Namjoon delivers this news calmly, there is something about it that makes you uncomfortable. Where will the three of you be headed, and why should you be unrecognizable? Is it mafia related? The thought of being caught in another gunfight kicks bile up into your throat, and you attempt to swallow down the feeling and shake it off.

Namjoon must notice your shift in mood. He quickly rounds the bed and approaches, placing his hands on your upper arms and gently holding you while bending to look into your eyes. 

"Hey, sweetheart, where we're going is safe, okay? Don't worry."

"Safe," you respond, nodding your head slowly. Somehow, you struggle to believe it.

"Yoongi just has to meet with some old friends in Hong Kong. Nobody there should know who we are aside from his friends, and I only meant that you should be unrecognizable in some slim, off-chance that anyone does recognize him."

Namjoon's words are not fully making sense. It is clear that he wants to comfort you, but he also seems to be talking in circles, leading you to think that even he is unsure of what the truth fully is. If someone recognizes him, and you are seen with him, then you will also become a target. The two of you have been seen in public, with a very publicized engagement; surely his enemies must know what you look like now, too…right?

You decide to stop overthinking it until Yoongi joins you; it would be better to ask him about it. Despite how poor of a read Yoongi had on the last situation in which you were told things would be fine, this seems more like something he has planned rather than a surprise visit from unwanted guests, so you hope, at the very least, that he knows what he is doing. 

You nod once more, attempting to take in Namjoon's words, and he wraps you in a hug, pressing your face into his chest. His scent engulfs you, handsome musk dancing prettily with floral notes, and you sink further into him, allowing it to calm you as you take deep, heavy breaths. With another knock, Yoongi enters the room, and you let Namjoon break from the hug and pull away before you turn to Yoongi and, once again, suck air deep into your lungs.

Yoongi stands in a short sleeve button-up shirt with a white and red pattern that resembles palm fronds, which is left open and untucked. A white tank top is tucked into loose-fitting dark denim jeans with holes in the knees, accessorized with a black belt, and his hair is wet and hangs in waves, perfectly framing his face, driving you absolutely wild. He looks like a crime boss from an old 80s film, and it should not be so attractive, but it is.

With a deep, playful chuckle, Namjoon approaches Yoongi, who rounds your bed, and you follow, shoving Namjoon gently out of the way to approach and run your hands over Yoongi's chest, filled with the sudden urge to feel him. Yoongi seems pleased with the attention, quirking an eyebrow at Namjoon as if to tease him while wrapping his arms around your waist. Up close, there are little white stars on his shirt, in between the leaf patterns on top of a black background, and you dance your fingertips over them, surprised to see him wearing such a design. 

"Where did you find a shirt like this?" you tease, and Yoongi directs his quirked eyebrow to you as he chuckles.

"This shirt is Gucci, darling."

As if having a brand name attached to the garment makes it any less absurd. Still, the part of you that appreciates fashion feels a bit excited by the news. 

"We're going to Hong Kong, hyung, not Miami," Namjoon chides, coming into view on your left and stealing Yoongi's smile for himself. "You look like Tony Montana."

"Well, I feel like Tony Montana," Yoongi responds with a playful snarl. "So, I suppose it's appropriate, is it not?"

"Speaking of," you say, hesitant to ruin the mood, but already feeling your anxiety begin to rise. "What are we doing in Hong Kong?"

Yoongi turns his attention back to you and rubs a hand soothingly up and down your back. You wonder if he can tell that you are stressed or if the urge to comfort you is becoming innate. 

"I have to meet with some old friends," Yoongi unhelpfully supplies. 

As you watch him gaze at you, eyes slowly traveling over your features, you can tell that there is more he wants to say, and you wait patiently for him to gather his thoughts. His hand continues its gentle path, easing you into whatever he is planning to say next while his other hand raises to gently take you by the chin.

"There are some aspects of my operations that I would like to…offload, let's say…onto someone else."

After another pause, you pull your lips into a straight line and nod. 

"Well, that could not have been any more vague if you tried," you tease, though your voice is flat and gives no hint of playfulness; none of your anxiety is quelled. 

"Once the deal is finalized, I will answer any and all of your questions," Yoongi adds as he gently tugs you close for a soft kiss, and you crack a smile against his lips. 

Whatever it is, it must be a big deal for Yoongi to want to wait to discuss, and you suppose that it is better this way, in the long run. Although you would like to be in on his plans, as well, you realize that you may not quite be there, yet. Perhaps it is time to finally have a conversation about the state of your relationship. 

"So, Hong Kong, and then what?" you ask.

Yoongi's eyes brighten, and his lips pull into a wide, gummy smile, setting your heart a little more at ease. 

"It's a surprise, darling," Yoongi responds, standing taller and placing a kiss against your temple. "Let's pick out some clothing for the trip."

With a nod, you smile and allow Yoongi to pull you into your closet, straight back to the formal and semi-formal dresses, while Namjoon begins to rummage around, choosing jewelry and shoes. Wherever you are going, it must be expensive, and you cannot wait.

Although you are not surprised to discover that Yoongi owns a private jet, you are still in awe as you enter the airplane cabin and look around. You have been in a couple commercial planes before, but none of them are sleek marvels of modern design, with black leather, gold, and mahogany interiors—following the theme of everything else Yoongi owns.

There are large, comfortable chairs—two rows of four with an aisle between pairs—and a couch against one side of the aisle facing a flat screen television on the other. Through an entrance past the seats, toward the back of the plane, there even appears to be a bed.

You take a step into the space, unsure what to do with yourself, and Yoongi places a hand on the small of your back and guides you forward enough to let Namjoon into the cabin. Staff members have taken your luggage, so you are empty-handed, and your arms hang down at your sides as you fidget along the edges of your long sleeves with your fingertips. 

"The first flight is about four hours," Yoongi informs as you make your way toward the couch. "Would you like to sit and watch through the window, watch a movie, lay down…"

As he trails off, you look around and decide that it would be nice to distract yourself during the first flight, so you mutter, "Watch a movie," while taking a seat on the couch and scooting into one corner, leaving room for the others to join you. 

"Do you have Scarface?" Namjoon asks with a shit-eating grin.

Yoongi gives you an incredulous smile before sitting beside you and slinging his arm over your shoulder as he grumbles, "I have every movie you could possibly want, Joonie. Put on fucking Scarface if it makes you happy."

"Doesn't he die at the end?" you ask with a frown.

"He does," Yoongi responds, pulling you close. "Are you hoping for something with a happier ending?"

Although you are merely discussing a movie, you find yourself picturing Yoongi as the ill-fated Tony Montana, feeling a swell of negative emotion as you attempt to keep your voice from trembling while muttering, "A h-happy ending once in a while would be nice."

Because sure, Yoongi may feel like the world is his while dressed like a Hollywood mob boss, and it is fun for Namjoon to tease him. But you know how those movies go. None of them end on a happy note, and in many of them, the boss is murdered, or they become so hardened by the lifestyle that they wind up dead inside. And the idea of either of those realities befalling Yoongi at such a young age makes you feel awful.

"We can watch one of my comfort films if you'd like," Namjoon offers, taking his place beside Yoongi and leaning over his lap to look at you with a soft smile. 

You return Namjoon's smile and nod, eager to find out what a man like him watches for comfort. You wonder if it is some silly action flick where a himbo with a heart of gold wins over the girl in the end, surprised when he grabs the remote, turns on the television, and searches for Howl's Moving Castle. 

"Don't you want to be in the middle?" Yoongi asks.

Without waiting for a response, Yoongi begins to stand, and Namjoon scoots over, giving you all the room you need to slide beside Namjoon and settle into his side as Yoongi sits and lifts your legs to rest over his thighs. You barely make it through the opening scene as sleep takes you, blinking heavily as Howl whisks Sophie off her feet to walk above the rooftops before you fall fast asleep.

As soon as you arrive to Hong Kong, you exit the plane and head straight to an older model red car that is long and boxy, leaving behind your luggage with the promise to return soon. Two men sit in the driver and passenger seats of the vehicle, and you and Yoongi clamber into the backseat on the passenger side, while Namjoon rounds the hood and gets in on the other side. The back seat is roomy, but you still feel trapped between broad shoulders as you fasten your seatbelt and settle back against the tan leather.

A man with a green buzzcut sits in the driver's seat, and beside him is a man with short, dark hair. Both men have cigarettes hanging from their lips, and the passenger rotates his torso to look back and give a lazy smile while the driver glances into the mirror and grins. There seems to be a tension in the air that melts the moment Yoongi gets settled.

"Min fucking Yoongi," the driver shouts, rotating to look back and glance at you and Namjoon, "Kim mother fucking Namjoon. What have you boys gotten into? And where are you taking this pretty thing?"

"Uiseok, Wonjin," Yoongi responds excitedly, leaning forward and jostling you into Namjoon as he reaches over your lap to low-five and fist-bump the two men. "Good to see you guys. Thanks for having us."

From your left, Namjoon wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you gently into his side, and Yoongi introduces you, making your cheeks warm as you lift a hand to greet the two of them. And then you are off, driving through neon-lit streets in the middle of the night. Some dreamy track plays on the radio, and both Uiseok and Wonjin bop their heads to the beat, muttering along. 

You glance through the windows, alternating between staring out the front and bending to look through the left, past Namjoon, and through the right, past Yoongi. The streets are bustling with a calm chaos of food stands and pedestrians while cars zip by and bicycles weave through the traffic, causing your heart to flutter excitedly. And then the scenery shifts and the excitement fades as you enter an area with far less traffic, swerving through housing projects with tall, dense apartment buildings.

When the car finally pulls up to a curb, you are surprised to find yourselves outside a diner on what looks like a deserted street. Yoongi gets out first, holding his hand out to you, so you unbuckle your seatbelt, feeling a surge of trepidation as the other three men stay in the car. You slide out and get onto your feet, then notice a woman inside the diner who stands from a booth directly on the other side of the tall glass window from where the two of you are, making her way to the nearby door to come outside.

"Darling, this is Sohee," Yoongi says as he gestures to the woman. She wears a dark mauve shirt untucked over brown pants and has long, somewhat wavy dark brown hair with soft, almost innocent features that curl bright and pretty when she smiles. "The boys and I are going to head to that building there—" Yoongi nods to a corner over your shoulder, to the left, and you turn to see what looks like a brick apartment building on the corner, "—to discuss a deal. We will meet you back here when we are done. Shouldn't take long."

Although you are not sure you feel too great about being dumped off with a stranger, you have no desire to argue. You have seen enough excitement lately, so if waiting at a diner in the middle of the night with this new woman is what Yoongi wants you to do, then you are content in doing so.

"Right this way," Sohee sing-songs in a voice that is surprisingly soft, taking your hand and tugging you toward the entrance to the diner. 

You glance back and catch a fond smile pulling at Yoongi's lips before he gets back into the car, which drives across the street and rounds the corner. And although you know it is irrational to feel nervous about being left behind as you watch the white and red car disappear, you can't help it.

"Hungry?" Sohee asks, pouting as you take your seat across from her. The booths are hard off-yellow lacquered wood with a white rectangular table in the center, lining the window and teal tile walls, and the space is more dimly lit than you would expect from a restaurant. The white penny tile floor is chipped in places, revealing concrete, and you do not see a single menu anywhere.

You have no idea if you are hungry, but you glance around the space, noting that you are the only two people here and that nobody appears to be out in the streets. Even from where you assume a kitchen may be, past a steel door behind Sohee, you hear nothing. It feels eerie and ominous, weighing over you heavily.

"Not really," you respond sheepishly, pulling your shoulders high around your ears.

"Nervous?"

You nod and glance around once more before making eye contact. Sohee smiles, and it is sweet enough to make you want to relax, but there is something playful in her eyes, making you think that she is in on a joke that you do not fully understand.

"They won't be long," she assures you, sitting back against the booth and crossing her arms over her chest.

You hum and nod, then stare out the window at the empty street. There is no use watching for the men to return; they could take anywhere from five minutes to an hour—god forbid longer. But it is hard not to be distracted by the empty corner around which they disappeared. At least all the men seem to be on friendly terms, assuaging your fear, if only a little. 

"How'd you get roped up with these guys?" Sohee asks, and you turn back to her, mouth agape. 

It occurs to you that you have never told the story before. Can you tell the story? Does this group know exactly what Yoongi does? They have to…right?

"I, uh…" you trail off, blinking heavily, unsure what to say. And then the absurdity of the situation hits you, and you start to laugh. It starts small—a chuckle working its way through your throat. But then you find yourself full-on laughing—closing your eyes and shaking your head as you sink back further into the booth as you attempt to catch your breath. 

Sohee lifts her brows, eager to hear what you have to say, and you swallow a lump and chuckle again, shaking your head some more. You suppose you could try to explain it without being explicit with the details.

"We met through a, uh…a mutual…" you trail off thinking about your ex-boyfriend, the spineless schmuck who sold you out for drug money. Good riddance, honestly. "A-and I just started going around him and the guys more, and…"

You can tell by the small, knowing smile that Sohee does not believe your story. Or, rather, that she knows it is bullshit, and that you are purposefully holding back all the actual details. She is polite enough not to say anything, at least. You laugh to yourself once more, giving up on continuing what you were saying.

It feels…odd…to be sitting in a public place with a stranger, having a plain, normal, everyday conversation. You had not realized how rare moments like these have been until it sinks in and settles over you like a blanket that is cool to the touch, not yet having had a chance to absorb your body heat. 

When your eyes move to the street once more, you see two people coming around the corner who are unfamiliar, but who are clearly walking in your direction and appear to be dressed the same way Sohee is, looking at you through the tall window. Fear spikes through you, setting every nerve on edge, and you tense up and turn to Sohee, feeling yourself tremble as you ask with wide eyes and shaking lips, "D-do you know th-those two?"

Sohee turns to glance over her shoulder and nods her chin at the men, winning her a nod in return. Then you see Namjoon, Yoongi, and the two men whose names you have already forgotten walk around the corner, making you relax. Yoongi has a smirk that you can identify even from this distance.

And then, to your surprise, Taehyung rounds the corner, walking with a long black trench coat over a three-piece suit and tie with the lapels of the jacket pulled up over his neck, followed by Jeongguk, who is dressed head to toe in black leather and denim. What on earth are they doing here?

All eight of them approach the restaurant, and one of the people who you had not met, a shorter person with shoulder-length dark, wavy hair and bangs hanging into their eyes, pops their head into the diner and smiles as they say, "Shall we go celebrate?"

When you look between them and Sohee, wondering what the person means by go celebrate, she laughs while gesturing around with her arm out. 

"There is no food or drink to be had here. This place is a front."

"Oh," you respond, feeling silly because of course it is a front; there is nothing on the windows or door to indicate that this place serves food at all. 

Everyone enters the diner and files through the tall steel door behind Sohee, and you stand to make your way to the group in time for the terror twins to enter the building. Yoongi and Namjoon give you a smile before following the others, and Jeongguk falls into step behind you as Taehyung drapes his arm over your shoulder in a surprising show of friendliness, leading the two of you into a kitchen.

On the far wall there is a stove, several metal countertops, and a tall steel fridge. Dishes are stacked on shelves, and there is a small pantry shelf with boxes that you imagine are either empty or full of expired food products, such as oils, sugars, and so on. 

The man with the green buzzcut walks to a tall, steel walk-in cooler door, pulls out a set of keys, and unlocks it. Then he pulls it open and enters through a curtain of thick vinyl strips, and everyone follows one after the other. You imagine that the giant cooler you are entering is not in operation, but you hug your arms around yourself a little tighter, grateful for the warmth of Taehyung at your side.  

"How was the flight here?" Taehyung asks, voice deep and soft, giving you a chill as he reaches out and parts the vinyl for you to walk through.

The room you enter looks like a walk-in cooler, for all intents and purposes, with metal racks along the left and right walls. But the cooling mechanism is shut off, leaving the dark room stiflingly humid, and straight ahead, there is a doorway, through which the group has already begun to walk. 

"It was good," you respond, "Yoongi's plane is nice."

Taehyung hums and gives you a squeeze before letting his arm fall from your shoulder, hand running down your back before his touch disappears entirely. "You should fly in mine sometime," he says before falling back a step and letting you continue through a much smaller doorway ahead. 

The narrow door leads into a short, narrow hallway, which opens into a large room that looks like something out of a movie. The carpeting is maroon and gold, much like what you might see in the hallway of a five-star hotel, and all the furnishings are red leather, dark wood, and gold. A garish crystal chandelier hangs over the room, and four large red couches surround a massive glass table in the center of the space. 

Gold and jade green sconces dot the walls, along with an eclectic array of paintings and tapestries hanging here and there, and spread throughout the space is a collection of furniture pieces, vases, statues, and other tchotchkes from various cultures, some seeming Korean and others less recognizable. You get the sense that this group of people is rather chaotic, and the fact that they seem to mesh well together while staying in a place with this level of organized anarchy just makes sense. 

Everyone kicks out of their shoes and boots and makes their way to the sofas while the two men you met earlier walk over to what looks like a bar on the far left wall. You take your place on the furthest couch from the door, with Yoongi and Namjoon to your left, and Jeongguk and Taehyung to your right. Sohee and the two you have not met sit on the couch to the left, and the two men you met earlier return, hugging bottles of champagne in each arm and carrying stacks of highball glasses. 

"I forgot the guys' names," you mutter, leaning toward Yoongi, who wraps an arm around your lower back and rubs his palm soothingly up your side. 

"Uiseok and Wonjin," Yoongi responds softly, nodding to the men who approach, jogging your memory. 

Uiseok is slim and muscular, with pretty, sleepy features, smiling lazily through squinted eyes, appearing to be a bit stoned, and Wonjin has soft but defined features, with full lips that hang in a bit of a frown, and expressive eyes that also appear bloodshot and squinted. Both men wear the same dark mauve shirt and brown pants as the others, giving you a bit of a cult vibe, and you make a mental note to ask Yoongi about it later.

Yoongi lifts his hand and points his palm toward the two on the left who you had not yet been introduced to as he says, "And this is Chanhee and Seungmin."

You follow the movement of Yoongi's hand as he points out the other two, who sit on either side of Sohee, and they wave as you tell them your name. The one with long hair hanging over their eyes is Seungmin, and Chanhee has his hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, wearing wire-framed glasses over slightly elongated features. They both have light-colored button-ups tucked into dark slacks. 

As Uiseok and Wonjin pop open bottles of champagne, Yoongi leans forward to take glasses from the stacks, and sets them out around the table, in front of everyone. All but Jeongguk scoot forward in preparation for a toast, and you glance over your shoulder, checking to see whether he is paying attention. 

Jeongguk's expression is flat and his eyes are a bit glazed over as he stares ahead for several seconds before noticing you and meeting your gaze. He knits his brow and tilts his head slightly, and you interpret it as him asking what you want, so you lean back and shove your elbow into his leather-clad side until he grumbles softly and pushes you away. 

"What?" he mutters, and you lean back more to quietly ask, "What's the matter?"

With a shrug, Jeongguk mumbles, "Nothing," but his expression says otherwise, and you study him a few more seconds until he nods his chin to the glasses of champagne being poured. You concede to allowing Jeongguk to wallow in whatever is on his mind for now, resolved to press him for information in private later. 

"To the end of an era," Uiseok announces, taking you by surprise, and you turn to Yoongi, half expecting him to be displeased by what Uiseok says, but there is a wide smile on his face, pink gums on display as he reaches for a glass and holds it up. 

"Welcome to the family," Yoongi announces as he stands and holds his highball of champagne to the center, over the table. 

Everyone but Jeongguk follows suit immediately, and you reach for a glass and stand, holding it out while Yoongi leans back and instructs Jeongguk to get onto his feet and join the rest of you. Jeongguk clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth, then lets out a sigh as he grabs the last glass, standing in such a rush that he bumps into you. 

"S-sorry," he grumbles as a hand brushes over your lower back and then disappears, leaving a chill in its wake. 

"It's fine," you respond, turning your head toward Jeongguk but keeping your eyes forward. Clearly, something is bothering him, and you are becoming increasingly eager to know what it is.

"We are very happy to join the team, and honored that you trust us with the operations," Wonjin adds. "We believe that we will make the Korean empire even stronger, and look forward to seeing more of you guys."

You mutter cheers along with the others, tap your glass against as many as you can realistically reach, and then you drink back the tangy-sweet liquid, letting the bubbles settle on your tongue. Everyone erupts into excited chatter, save for Jeongguk, who sits back down on the couch with a huff. You sit beside him, not really feeling social and already disinterested in the boom of conversation. Despite Yoongi welcoming them to the family, you still feel very kept in the dark about everything that is happening, and listening in on overlapping voices is only making you feel tired. 

Jeongguk pulls a metal vial from the inner breast pocket of his jacket and hands it to you, so you wedge your glass between your knees and unscrew the top, then sniff back two small piles of cocaine, one into each nostril. When you hand it back to Jeongguk, his gaze is on you, soft and contemplative. You cock your head and ask, "What?" but he just shakes his head, sits forward, and reaches a thumb to gently brush just below your nose before taking his drugs back and inhaling two small piles of his own. 

Feeling self-conscious about Jeongguk's gesture, you lift a hand to rub under your nose while your eyes drift down to your lap, catching a small chuckle that Jeongguk lets out, pulling your attention back to him. He gently shakes his head, then leans forward and mutters, "I wanna get out of here."

You also want to get out of here, and you nod your head, then glance around, unsure where you might go. Luckily, Jeongguk stands and asks, "Is there somewhere I can go to get some fresh air?" leading Uiseok to point to a door at the far end of the room. 

Jeongguk leads the way, making a pitstop to grab his boots, and you stand and tilt into Yoongi saying, "I'm going to join him, okay?"

"Of course," Yoongi responds with a smile, then he leans toward the table, picks up a half-empty bottle of champagne, and hands it to you. "Take this."

Yoongi's hair is still wavy, just like it was when it was wet, but with a little more volume now that it has dried. You want to run your fingers through it and give it a little tug but resist the urge and instead take the champagne, swerving back for your shoes and following Jeongguk through a red doorway and out into another narrow hallway. This one is at least carpeted and leads to other rooms, and on the far end, there is a metal door that goes out to a street-level brick balcony. 

The street is quiet when you and Jeongguk step out, and you glance around, taking in tall brick buildings that seem to be more or less abandoned. It certainly is the perfect spot for whatever this group of people does to operate while hiding in plain sight, you suppose. 

"Brought you this," you say, handing Jeongguk the champagne. He appears to have left his glass inside and drinks straight from the bottle before handing it back to you. 

You happened to bring your drink with you, so you chug back the rest of your glass and set it into a potted waist-height tree, nestling it into the dirt for safekeeping before taking a swig from the bottle and turning to Jeongguk. He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and uses his lips to yank one out, then fishes out a zippo lighter from the same pocket and flicks it to life. Jeongguk frowns slightly as he lights the cigarette, taking a deep breath and holding it in as his head tilts back and his eyes close. 

"Do you want to talk about whatever is bothering you?" you ask softly, testing the waters. 

Jeongguk lets out a huff of smoke and shrugs, keeping his gaze fixed on the street rather than looking at you. 

"Not really."

"Alright," you concede, not feeling particularly eager to push him. "Well, do you want to talk about anything? Or do you like to just sit and wallow in silence?"

This makes Jeongguk scoff, and he finally turns his gaze to you, reaching for the champagne, which you hand over after a little resistance. 

"And what would we talk about?" he asks with a sharp smirk.

You had not considered it before making the recommendation, and truth be told, you have no idea what the two of you would talk about. Does Jeongguk watch movies or listen to music? Does he have hobbies outside of his role within the family? What does he do in his spare time?

"Uh…" you try to think of something small to ease into getting to know one another and ask, "I don't know. Wh-what did you guys do on the flight here?"

Without breaking eye contact, Jeongguk says, "I snorted cocaine off Taehyung's dick and then he held me against the wall and fucked me."

Feeling somewhat stunned, you blink a few times and mutter, "Wh-what happens if the plane hits turbulence?" 

Jeongguk cracks a smile and takes a step closer, somewhat crowding your space and making your heart pound heavily. 

"While I'm snorting coke off his dick or while he's fucking me against the wall?"

"Ah-either way? I suppose?"

With a slight cock of his head, he says, "I guess in either instance, we end up making a mess."

"A mess?" you ask somewhat mindlessly, feeling your thought processes slow to a halt the closer Jeongguk gets. 

With an affirmative hum, Jeongguk advances, looming close while taking a drag from his cigarette and letting the smoke exit from the side of his mouth, as if being careful not to blow it in your face. His proximity makes your palms prickle, and you grip onto the champagne bottle, hugging it to your chest despite how dry your mouth is. A sweet, lightly floral scent blends with the smoke, feeling almost enticing in the way it surrounds you. 

"You're not shying away from me," he teases, and you glance back to find yourself cornered by a potted plant and brick on all sides. 

So you ask, "Where would I go?" in as much of a playful tone as you can muster, swallowing a lump when Jeongguk just shrugs and continues to advance, forcing you to take two steps backward until your heels hit the wall. Although your heart pounds, the high from the cocaine also calms you enough that you lean into the cold brick and attempt not to crumble under Jeongguk's intense, undivided attention.

Jeongguk is dreadfully pretty with his wavy dark hair growing past his ears. You wonder if he can pull it back into a ponytail, and what that must look like. There is a tiny mole under his bottom lip and a faint scar on his cheek, and you wonder if anyone presses soft kisses to those spots. You wonder if he would let you press a soft kiss to those spots.

And then, in a moment of clarity, you realize what is happening, and you lift a hand, place it on Jeongguk's chest, against the black tee he wears beneath the thick leather jacket, and you give him a firm shove, causing him to back up a couple steps. Jeongguk chuckles as he stumbles, and he reaches up to hold your hand in place on his chest, taking you by surprise as the warmth of his hand engulfs yours. 

You turn your head to the side so you can lift the bottle and take a long drink, then you hand it off to Jeongguk, who watches you with the same soft expression he had when you were sitting inside with everyone else. 

"What?" you challenge as he takes the champagne and has a drink, sloshing the diminishing liquid contents loudly inside. "Why do you look at me like that? What is on your mind? Is something on my face?"

Jeongguk laughs and squeezes your hand, then he drops his hand to his side and shakes his head. You take back the bottle but watch him for his response before having another drink. 

"You just seem much more relaxed," he finally says. "You don't look like a scared little dear anymore."

With a deep sigh, you drop your hand from Jeongguk's chest and lift one foot to anchor it against the brick wall. 

"What's with all of you and comparing me to animals? Deer, wolf, lamb, dove…"

"You're right," Jeongguk responds with a mischievous smile. "Buttercup suits you more."

"Oh, fuck off," you grumble, lifting your hand to shove at Jeongguk again. 

This time, he stumbles backward, clutching his chest while laughing, and you laugh along, tipping the bottle back to get the last of the champagne. Liquid nearly dribbles past your lips as you realize you underestimated how much was inside, and you pull the bottle away with barely any left, which Jeongguk swipes from you and finishes. Sheepishly, you wipe at the sides of your mouth using the back of your hand. 

Jeongguk flicks the rest of his barely smoked cigarette into the street and then looks out into the dark city with a hint of a frown. You follow his line of sight and stand in silence, letting the cool but humid night air settle to your bones. 

The street is scarce of life, with only overgrown plants taking over the sides of buildings, but nothing intentional or tended to with care. Whenever a small gust of wind picks up, you hear the sound of a metal sign creak and slam against a post, but otherwise, the only noise is the call of crickets. The night feels calm, and, to your surprise, being somewhere unfamiliar does not spark fear in your chest. Perhaps it is due, in part, to Jeongguk's company making you feel safe.

You are unsure how long you stand and stare out into the somewhat dilapidated urban sprawl of forgotten brick, concrete, and metal, but when Jeongguk speaks up, it takes you a bit by surprise. 

"Are you happy living in the mansion?" he asks, and you turn to stare at the side of his face for a moment, equal parts stunned and endeared by his consideration. 

You must take too long to respond, and he turns to you, fixing you with a curious gaze and making you feel put on the spot. 

"Yeah, I guess so," you mutter, feeling the urge to fidget with the ends of your shirt sleeves. "I'm getting used to it."

"That's good," Jeongguk responds as his gaze falls, and he peers out into the street again. "I guess."

Perhaps you should speak more positively about life at the mansion. You are getting used to it and becoming much closer to Yoongi and Namjoon. Despite the somewhat harrowing events that recently took place, you have not had the desire to run for the hills. You have considered it, but you have no idea where you would go; it seems your life belongs to the mansion, now. 

But the presence of another pulls you from your thoughts, and you turn to find Taehyung peeking his head through the doorway, glancing between you and Jeongguk. His eyes are bloodshot, and his lips are pulled into a pretty, droopy smile. 

"Am I interrupting something?" he mumbles, and you shake your head while Jeongguk rolls his eyes, saying, "You wish, hyung," in a deep teasing tone that suddenly makes you feel like a third wheel. 

"We're gonna head out soon," Taehyung says, standing straight and resting his head against the door frame. "How do you feel about getting a suite and leaving in the morning?"

With a shrug, Jeongguk says, "Whatever you want," and although his expression does not give him away, his voice does—sweet and caring, willing to accommodate. 

"You and the doom boys are welcome to join us," Taehyung says as he turns his attention to you, waggling his eyebrows.

It is your turn to roll your eyes, and you almost question the silly nickname that you assume is meant for Yoongi and Namjoon, but Taehyung stands up straight and turns, walking back through the hallway before you have a chance to open your mouth. Jeongguk follows behind with the spent bottle of champagne in his grasp, and you grab your empty highball glass from the tree pot and follow, closing the door behind you. 

When you return to the main room, Yoongi is laying back against the red leather couch with his face tipped to the ceiling, laughing so hard at something that his eyes are screwed shut, and he holds onto his stomach. On the table before him is a mess of empty champagne bottles, open switchblades, and a pile of cocaine.

The stench of marijuana and tobacco fills the air, and everyone seems to be in a fit of laughter, muttering about something you cannot begin to parse. Namjoon notices your return and stands, announcing that the five of you are going to head out, and begins to hug everyone goodbye as the conversations fade and stop. 

It takes Yoongi a moment to get up, and he is still doubled over when he stands, sniffling while wiping at his bloodshot eyes. When he sees you and his smile widens, you feel your heart pound rapidly in your chest. Yoongi is so beautiful, and in moments like this—when he can unabashedly be Min Yoongi, the ordinary person, and not some figurehead whose life is in danger—you think you could actually, fully, unequivocally love him.

"Ready, darling?" Yoongi asks, stumbling slightly as he approaches and wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you into a tight hug.

"Ready when you are," you respond, keeping your arms to your sides because, although you are comfortable with the family men, showing affection with the audience of the others makes you uncomfortable. Yoongi does not seem to mind, holding just a moment longer before bending to slide into his boots.

You wave and bow goodbye to your hosts as the five of you exit the main room and walk through the narrow hallway, into the cooler. Taehyung is at the lead, and he opens the tall steel cooler door, holding it for everyone to walk through, then takes the rear while Jeongguk leads the group through the kitchen, into the diner. 

"We should probably sober up for the other flight," Namjoon suggests, and Yoongi hums in response from behind you while gently placing a hand on your hip. 

"We're getting a suite," Taehyung responds as the five of you walk out onto the street. "You're welcome to crash there until you are ready to go."

Despite feeling comfortable on the balcony earlier, walking out onto the mostly empty and unfamiliar street makes you tense up, and you look around as you go across to the other side, toward the corner everyone came around earlier, checking for vehicles and for people standing in windows. There is no sign of anyone around, but discomfort quakes through you as you wonder whether you are being watched or if the fear of being watched is just psyching you out to the point of paranoia. 

The conversation between the men is all but lost on you until Yoongi gives your side a squeeze and asks, "Darling?"

"Hmm?" you respond, glancing to the side as he tugs you closer. 

"Do you feel up to going back with them for a few hours?"

At this point, you just want to get off the street, and you are not overly concerned with where you wind up. So you say, "Sure," and give Yoongi a half smile, hoping it is enough to convince him that you are open to whatever they want to do. He does seem to be more intoxicated than you, although the champagne is beginning to catch up and make you feel a bit too light and also too heavy on your feet, swaying the world around you ever so slightly. 

When you round the corner, there is a large SUV sitting next to the white and red car that Uiseok drove, and the five of you clamber in, with Yoongi and Namjoon sandwiching you in the backseat while Taehyung sits in the passenger seat, and Jeongguk takes over driving. The vehicle is just like the ones the men drive back home, and memories of the other night—collisions and gunfire—come flooding back, causing nausea to stir in your guts. 

Jeongguk takes off while Taehyung thumbs around on his phone and then begins to give directions. You wonder if the place they plan to stay at is somewhere familiar to them, or if Taehyung found something spur of the moment. It only takes about fifteen minutes for you to reach your destination, and Jeongguk gets out first while Taehyung sits back in his seat and lets out a deep sigh. 

"He's gonna make sure our room is available," he mutters, which only raises more questions than it answers. 

Several minutes pass before Taehyung's phone dings. He groans as he tips his head forward to check the notification, then nods, says, "Let's get it," and opens his door to stumble out into the street. 

You, Yoongi, and Namjoon exit, while Jeongguk returns with a hotel staff member who climbs into the front seat, presumably to drive it into a parking stall. Jeongguk removes two tall black suitcases from the trunk and places a palm on each one as he leans slightly forward and steers them through the glass front door, which slides open to the left and right as he approaches. Yoongi wraps an arm around Taehyung's upper back to guide him, and Namjoon takes your hand in his as you follow a foot or so behind. 

"Remember this moment," Namjoon mutters, leaning close to your ear, "you will never see Taehyung this drunk again."

"What happened to him?" you ask, trying to imagine how much a person could possibly drink in the timeframe you were outside. 

With a deep, amused laugh, Namjoon says, "Knife game. Wonjin bet that Taehyung couldn't stab a knife between his fingers as fast as he could. The loser had to chug a full bottle of champagne."

You struggle to imagine Taehyung being so reckless, and you regret not getting to see it for yourself, smiling at the thought of cocky Taehyung failing to poke the tip of a blade quickly between each of his spread fingers in front of everyone. 

"So he got waisted, and he cut himself?" you ask.

"Yup! He nicked the side of his thumb!" Namjoon responds cheerfully, making you laugh. 

The five of you walk through a somewhat luxurious lobby full of potted plants and decorative rugs. But all you pay attention to is your own feet and the backs of the feet in front of you as you imagine Taehyung and Wonjin playing the knife game for a captive audience. Is this what mafia men do for fun? It seems childish, but somehow, you find it a bit endearing. 

As you all get into the large elevator, Jeongguk uses a keycard to access the top floor, and although you are getting used to the influence these men have, you are still a bit surprised that the room happened to be available. Taehyung did refer to it as their room; do they own it?

The elevator opens straight into the penthouse suite, which is furnished mostly white and tan, with light wood and silver accents, lit by simple, round overhead fixtures. The room itself is not too flashy, appearing somewhat lived in with a variety of plants that seem tended to, but bare of personal belongings like books or photographs. Taehyung kicks out of his untied boots and stumbles off to the right, and Jeongguk wheels the suitcases a few feet into the suite before releasing them, kicking out of his boots, and going over to the large white couch in the middle of the space. 

An enormous glass wall overlooks the neighborhood below, and you glance out from across the room to see lights shine from the streets, some belonging to cars passing by and others a more permanent glow. Shoes and boots are left behind as Namjoon and Yoongi make their way to the open-concept kitchen, which is just to the left, and begin to rummage around, seemingly pleased to find the fridge is stocked with baijiu. Unsure what to do, you approach the couch and stand behind it, resting against the back with your arms folded over your chest. 

Although you could keep drinking, you are unsure whether it would be in poor taste to go on when both hosts seem out of it—Taehyung having gone off to who-knows-where and Jeongguk sitting on the couch with his head tilted to the ceiling and his eyes closed. You wonder if whatever was bothering him before continues to weigh on his mind. 

"Jeonggukah," Namjoon calls, earning a groan from the youngest. "Come on, sooner or later, you need to speak your mind."

"Don't want to right now," Jeongguk grumbles, sounding petulant.

"Don't be like this, Jeongguk," Yoongi teases as he brings four small baijiu bottles from the kitchen and sets them on the wooden table in front of Jeongguk. "Handing over drug operations does not mean you are getting demoted. I just need you by my side more, and I can't have you getting distracted with petty shit."

"I liked my duties," Jeongguk grumbles quietly, mostly to himself, and suddenly, it all makes sense. The responsibilities of handling the drug operations must have been passed off to Uiseok and his team, leaving Jeongguk to feel like he is being replaced.

Yoongi takes a seat to Jeongguk's right, and Namjoon sits to Yoongi's right, leaving the space to Jeongguk's left open, so you round the couch and approach slowly, first sitting on the armrest because this feels like a conversation that you are unsure you should participate in. But Yoongi reaches over Jeongguk's lap and pats the couch, grumbling for you to get comfortable, so you slide to the cushion and sit with your legs angled toward the men. 

Namjoon busies himself with opening the bottles and sliding them along the table to everyone, and you glance between him and Yoongi before asking, "I thought the goal was to sober up."

"After this drink," he responds with a grin, instantly winning you over with his dimples. 

You are in no rush, with nowhere to go until you are told it is time to leave, so you nod and smile, conceding to another drink. The champagne has made you tipsy, but you are far from drunk, despite never getting fed. 

Deciding you are tired of Jeongguk being a somber lump, you lean and nudge him with your elbow, right into the ribs, causing him to lift his arm as if to swat you away, stopping mid-air with his hand raised and giving you a mock-threatening glare. He looks so adorable you break into laughter, nudging him more and more, tauntingly.

With a wide, incredulous stare, Jeongguk mutters, "Do you want to die?" and that sets you off, making you laugh so hard you double over practically onto his lap. 

Yoongi and Namjoon join in on the laughter, clearly only serving to frustrate Jeongguk more, who firmly but playfully takes you by the biceps with both hands and shoves you away, toward the corner of the couch, muttering under his breath.

Jeongguk's smoke-filled floral scent is intoxicating, and you find yourself falling momentarily pliant with his hands on you, sinking back into the white leather. But then he releases you, and you have the sudden urge once more to push all of his buttons. 

Luckily, Yoongi distracts you by handing you a bottle of baijiu, followed by Jeongguk handing you a vial of cocaine. You take a long swig from the bottle, pleased by its tangy umami blend of citrus and floral notes, then you bend and reach forward to set it on the table and begin to unscrew the vial. 

Taking two tiny piles of white powder into your nose should not feel so good. Perhaps it is the way the lingering flavor of the baijiu fills your senses, or you have grown accustomed to the bitterness of the coke, but as soon as it hits your sinuses and begins to trickle down your throat, you feel alive, tingling with exhilaration from head to toe. 

When Jeongguk takes the vial back, his fingers engulf yours before sliding away, and you hold your breath, scared to gasp, or worse, exhale while letting out a sound. It was not long ago that Jeongguk's very presence was an annoyance, and here he is, affecting you in a way you had not expected.

Perhaps it was better when he was determined to be mean. Then again, with the way you behaved toward him in the mansion the other day, bringing up his noona kink to tease him in front of the others, can you really blame him for wanting to taunt you—if that is what he is doing.

Your heart races so hard, you bend once more, reaching for your baijiu to take a drink. Suddenly, your throat feels so dry again. Suddenly, the chill glass of the bottle feels cold against your fingertips, causing you to shiver as you settle back and take a drink. You wonder how long you are going to be at this suite and whether or not Namjoon meant it when he said you would sober up after this bottle, or if their plans are so loose that literally anything could happen.

To make matters worse, Taehyung comes into the room, still with a bit of a wobble, but much more cognizant than he had been moments before. He appears to have quickly showered, and wears only a pair of grey sweatpants, squeezing his wet hair with a white towel as he surveys the scene before him with a lazy smile.  

"Not doing anything without me, I hope?" he teases, words drawling lazily. 

"Just cocaine and baijiu," Namjoon supplies in a chipper, golden retriever fashion that makes your heart flutter. 

"I thought I heard giggling," Taehyung adds as he rounds the couch and sits on the arm to your left, effectively caging you in between himself and the others. 

Jeongguk hums and leans into you, knocking your shoulder and causing you to nearly crash into Taehyung's hip. You feel completely thrown off your axis as you wobble, wondering if the baijiu is having a profound enough effect on you to actually make you drunk or if it is caused by Jeongguk's change in demeanor.

"Buttercup was causing trouble," Jeongguk teases, making you gasp and turn to him, affronted.

"I—wh—you!" you stammer, unable to find the words to express just how much it was Jeongguk causing the trouble while you were merely a bystander—a lie, but one you are willing to defend with your honor.

"It was both of them," Yoongi says, leaning forward to make playful eye contact and effectively finding himself at the very top of your shit list. 

You fix Yoongi with your best serious gaze, muttering, "How…very…dare you," as you attempt to ignore Jeongguk's eyes burning into you the way that they do.

"The tension between them is palpable," Namjoon teases, making you gasp and flounder around syllables that never come because Yoongi adds, "You two should just kiss already," causing every hair on your body to stand up.

"Very funny," you say at the same time Jeongguk whines, "Hyungs, please," under his breath, sounding embarrassed.

With a heavy, defeated sigh, you chug back the rest of your baijiu, wiping your lips off with the back of your hand as you lean forward and place the empty down with a hollow thunk. You need to exit this suite before you wind up doing something stupid.

"Well, I finished my drink," you announce, staring at Namjoon, "so I suppose we can go, now!"

"But we still have our drinks," Yoongi pouts, holding up a bottle that is more than half full. 

Taehyung's voice is deep and far too steady for how inebriated he seems as he asks, "Why are you in such a rush, buttercup?" and you turn to find him practically draped over the arm of the couch, leaning with his elbow anchored on the backrest, propping his head up. 

The alcohol and cocaine combination makes you bold enough to face the elephant in the room, and you clear your throat before saying, "Probably because the four of you are menaces and for the sake of my sanity, I need to get the fuck out of here."

"Interesting," Yoongi drawls, and you turn to him with a pointed stare as you ask, "What?"

"Jeonggukie has the power to drive you insane," Yoongi responds without missing a beat, lips curling the way they always do when he is being particularly devious. "Why don't we explore this?"

You stare at Yoongi in a long silence, finally turning to Jeongguk only when the tension feels too thick to ignore. He gazes at you with that familiar soft expression, and you swallow a lump that has gathered in your throat.

"What are your thoughts?" you ask him before you can think better of it.

Jeongguk seems stunned by the question, staring unblinkingly for several seconds before blinking rapidly as if coming out of a trance. Then he licks his lips, and, like an idiot, you follow the movement. The way Jeongguk smiles tells you he noticed you looking, and suddenly, his sweet expression is replaced by a cocky one.

"Why?" he asks, tilting his head and making a show of looking down at your lips and back up. "You thinking about kissing me, or something?"

If he weren't such a brat, perhaps you would be willing to admit to the truth, but with this attitude, you scoff and roll your eyes, muttering, "You wish," under your breath.

"Find out," Jeongguk challenges, taking you by surprise.

You begin to ask, "What?" but he cuts you off, leaning forward until your lips are less than a foot apart. 

"Make your move, buttercup. Find out just how badly I wish you would kiss me."

When you glance over at Yoongi and Namjoon, they both have eager smiles, watching with their lips parted in concentration. Jeongguk's eyes seem to stay on you—or if they stray, it is too fast for you to notice—and you lean forward, challenging his resolve.

"Now why would I do something like that?" you ask, noticing the way Jeongguk's brow and lips quirk. The movement is slight, but you recognize it as frustration. 

Jeongguk is clearly not used to this kind of provocation, and it seems to be bothering him that you are not immediately willing to cave. This is the second time in a couple of days that you have pushed his buttons, but this time, he does not seem inclined to storm away. 

Slowly, Jeongguk lifts a hand, reaching just below your chin, but stopping before making contact. The warmth from his skin feels electric—like a charge zipping through the air and connecting the two of you. You concede just enough to lean into the touch, allowing Jeongguk's fingertips to graze your cheek, causing his pupils to dilate. 

With the warmth of Jeongguk's gentle contact, you feel emboldened, and you tilt your head to the side just enough to brush your lips over the heel of his hand, hearing as his breath catches in his throat.

"As much as I enjoy our banter, I am growing a little weary," you mutter, lips dragging over his palm before you return his hand to your cheek. "It's fine if you don't want to kiss me; I won't be offended. But if you really do want to kiss me, then just do it already."

Jeongguk's eyes widen, and you think for a split moment that he might back off and call it a night. But then he uses his fingertips against your cheek to guide you toward him, meeting in the middle until his lips are against yours and he is swallowing your gasp whole. 

It comes as no surprise that Jeongguk instantly nips and sucks at your lip, slowly but with enough force that it has you whimpering and dropping your mouth open wide. Wasting no time, Jeongguk licks into your mouth, groaning deeply and forcing a gasp from you as tangy baijiu and stinky cigarette smoke coat your tongue in an enticing tangle.

Despite how languid his movements are, there is an eagerness behind each of them, filling your mouth with his tongue until your lips are stretched wide before teasing your bottom lip with his teeth, alternating in fluid, dizzying motions. Arousal shimmers through your bloodstream like glitter, and you lift your hands to grip onto his leather jacket to hold him close, keeping your mouth open for him to use and explore, swallowing his soft groans and whines. 

Kissing Jeongguk feels cathartic somehow—as if the months of bickering and tension have been washed away, and all that is left is the two of you sitting open and raw and ready to be vulnerable with one another. Although the thought of it absolutely terrifies you, it also thrills you, and you whimper against his mouth, feeling yourself completely slip from any semblance of control you thought you might have been able to hold onto. 

Now that you have had a taste of Jeongguk, will it be enough? Or will you need to satiate a greater hunger? You are not sure that you are ready for it, just yet.

With a gasp, you break the kiss, tilting your chin downward, doing your best to steady your frantic heart. You tip your head forward just long enough to press a soft kiss against the mole beneath his lip, then lean your forehead against his. Jeongguk chases after your lips before seemingly coming to his senses and backing off, but staying close by, forehead still resting gently against yours.

Suddenly, you are exhausted. The weight of everything that has culminated to get to this point feels heavy and thick, and you find yourself succumbing quickly to its whim. 

"Sorry," you mutter, unable to fight the urge to apologize. "I feel really tired. I think we should stop."

Jeongguk nods his head, swallowing visibly, and you are unsure whether you detect disappointment, or if he is simply tired, as well. 

"We have two rooms," Taehyung offers softly, and suddenly, you remember that there are three other men who have been watching everything. 

Warmth floods your cheeks, and you release Jeongguk's jacket, dropping your hands to your lap as you nod and say, "Thanks, Tae."

Everyone seems frozen in place, waiting for someone to make the first move, so you do it, turning away from Jeongguk and scooting to the edge of the couch before standing on shaking legs and glancing around, unsure where to go. 

Yoongi gets the hint and stands, nodding toward the wall directly behind you as he says, "That way," so you nod and turn, walking several steps in that direction before rethinking your decision to just run away from the situation at hand. At the very least, you should say something. 

"Thanks for letting us stay," you begin, giving Taehyung a bow of your head and a smile before locking eyes with Jeongguk. "And thanks for…that…for finally doing that. We should talk about it later, but...it was nice."

You feel somewhat embarrassed by your inability to just say the words you want to say, but decide it is enough; you are tired. So you turn toward the bedroom and walk in that direction, not bothering to switch on any lights as sleep claws at every edge of you, dragging you down, down, down. 

In a last-ditch effort to get comfortable, and since your suitcase is still tucked away on Yoongi's plane, you get undressed in the dark room and climb into bed wearing only your underwear. The blanket is cool to the touch, and you shiver as you scoot into the center and cover yourself completely, waiting for the others to join. It does not take long, but you are already half asleep when warm arms engulf you in the form of familiar limbs on either side. You hope that tonight, you do not have any nightmares.

Someday, what I need Someday, what I dream 우리의 청춘이 진한 술 같으니 our youth is like strong liquor 달콤함이여 sweetness 오 독기여 oh, poison 붉은 피 같은 술 내려주소서 please serve me a red-blooded drink 우리의 청춘이 진한 술 같으니 our youth is like strong liquor

마셔라 쭉쭉 술이 들어가 drink it up, alcohol comes in 파워업 다 드루와 bitch don't kill my vibe power up, come on, bitch down kill my vibe

🎵 visit the playlist!

they kissssseddddd!!!! i know some of you are going to kill me for only making them kiss, but, listen: i like to build tension. and make you cry a little, too.

at the end of the last chapter, a lot of people asked after Jimin! he's off living his best life, so don't stress! he is not the kind of character to join the others in a gunfight, so having him there didn't seem right. we will see him again, soon!

shout out to Yoongi for the Haegeum video & photos! i was worried i would have to photoshop that scar onto a more recent photo in a few chapters, and he did all the work for me...😈😈😈

stream sos by balming tiger! thanks, bye!

tag list: @afangirllikeme-blog @angel-121 @artgukk @btsiguess-kpop @bts-ficreviews @che-er-ful @codeinebelle @curryshesus @dasexydevitt13 @giriiboyy @fringe-frank @illnevertrustmyselfagain @jalexad @kissme-ornot @leanimal90 @likeshatteredrainbowglass @m1sss1mp​ @mayeolorie @mgthecat @mushroom-main @mwitsmejk @openup-yourmind @pamzn @sleepilysworld @stocking221 @spookyminyunki​ @thelilbutifulthings @valhallawhispers 🗡️ comment or dm to be added!

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Collateral is copyright 2022-2023 theharrowing, all rights reserved. Don’t be a silent reader!

[darksideofclouds]

"Is it too late to say I got BPD?"

Even though I said you were not diagnosed, yeah. It was fucking late. It was fucking late for everything. If you're concerned I felt something when we had sex, let me tell you something: I was too fucking drunk to feel anything like that. What I was feeling had been there for a while longer, it didn't happen just over night, not even over that night. And that's what I confessed in that room, I remember what I told you, I remember I told you I liked you a lot but you had BPD. It's kinda blurry but it's there, and still you showed no fucking mercy for my feelings (this is not an accusation, it's more like a realization). Still I did not keep my distance. If I believed in karma, I'd call this karma.

And yeah, of fucking course I was feeling something. Because though we were different, we talked every day, we shared a lot of stuff, we bonded through trauma, we messed with the other, we joked together, and it was fucking fun, and for me it was a very warm form of a friendship. A friendship that some day could turn into something cool and sweet and amazing. And yeah, I still like to live in the future and should totally stop.

I just lied to myself and I liked it. I wanted to believe you were feeling something too, I wanted to believe you were just too awkward to admit it. But the truth is you were feeling nothing actually, it was just pure bliss. And oh my fucking god I'm so sorry for mistaking it, for waiting for something you were not going to be able to reciprocate.

But you know what? I also told you this. I told you I needed a connection with someone to have sex with them. And I thought there was a connection, but now it all makes sense. For very selfish reasons, I assumed we were talking about the same thing when we said 'a connection'. You just needed a liking, a fun thing, and I needed chemistry, some kind of tenderness into it, the ability of the other person to actually feel something deeper, some kind of caring. But of course you don't consider me your friend. You don't consider me your anything. Oh my fucking god it's like discovering the depths of the universe.

I'll admit something too. I never wanted to feel this that I'm feeling. Because a little part of me, the smartest one (I should listen to it more often), was pretty aware of the situation and it was just so complicated, so I started just pushing away, slowly, silencing your stories was the first step. Silencing your messages was next. But I was too fucking dumb for it, I couldn't just stay away, and what did I do? I started watching your stories through other media. Of fucking course I did that, I'm just that stupid and proud. I can sabotage myself that fucking much.

Why did you tell me you still wanted to eat weird stuff with me. Why did you want to bring milk and cereal to my house. Why did you use that fucking purple filter when Welcome to the black parade was on. Why did you repost that horror movie poster. Why did you accept to play board games with me. Why did you say you didn't know who to send that link to so you sent it to me. Why did you tell me all of your life stories. Why did you share that video your brother posted. Why did you still mask this thing as friendship when it was clearly not friendship. Just fucking why. I still hope that it is not just a fucking act, a fucking way of coping. I still hope that all that shit meant something to you. But of course you didn't really fucking care at all. Like, I've never felt this fucking dumb. I can't stop laughing and crying at the truth that I was the last one to discover when it. Was. In front. Of me. All. The fucking. Time. I was a part of it. I was involved. I was invested. And I didn't fucking notice.

Why did I try to read into all of that, it was nothing, of course it was nothing. Of course it meant nothing.

And it's crazy because I'm thinking "well maybe I'm kinda forcing this friend thing to happen, I should just take it slow" but the truth is that no matter how long I wait, you will never feel anything real for me. And of course it'd be even worse if I found out you forced yourself to do so at some point. I would feel like total shit.

So what is left for me to think? That you should go to therapy? Yeah I guess? However, you've loved people before. It's not like you cannot feel the feelings for other people. You just couldn't feel that for me and that's it. So you don't really need therapy for that, maybe for other stuff. I was just not the chosen one. I hope this teaches me something because the depth of this pain is too fucking much for it to be just plain pain and no lesson. I think this will teach me to just be careful, to be single and to stop being a hopeless romantic.

How am I going to process this I wonder. How am I going to live with this I wonder.

Should I block you like you said I'd eventually do? Isn't it funny? You already knew how this was going to end, and you warned me. And still I wanted to defy the inevitable. Blocking you would mean I'll just turn into another one of those girls for your stories of people who just started 'feeling too much'.

Then yeah. I think blocking you is the only option that's left for me.

Will you read this some day? I don't think so. You hate reading and this shit is too fucking long.

[heavyhitterheaux]

If

AN: hehe I like this one 😘

Synopsis: You tell Jack all the things you would do to him if you were his girl

Pairing: Jack Harlow x Singer!Reader

Please do not repost my content anywhere

It was no secret to your close friends how hard you had been crushing on Jack Harlow lately.

You were a famous singer and have been eyeing him for awhile.

An entire year to be exact.

You really got excited when you heard through mutual friends of the two of you how big of a crush he had on you as well. 

You also might have heard how he had a poster of you in his childhood bedroom that he hadn’t taken down to this very day. 

You didn't think he would be all that interested in you considering there was a little bit of an age gap.

He was 24 while you would be turning 30 later that year.

You two actually hadn’t crossed paths yet seeing as you were recording your new album, planning for your lingerie line, and now launching your make up line so essentially you didn’t have time to date anyone.

But you would make an exception.

If he was 6′3, had curly hair, and was from Louisville, Kentucky. 

It had been such a busy day for you and you were exhausted and all you wanted to do was stuff your face with chinese food as you laid in your bed. 

You were thankful that you had the next two weeks off to rest and then you would be back at it again.

It was Wednesday night when suddenly you got an alert on your instagram. 

jackharlow tagged you in a post

Well, shit.

Liked by urbanwyatt, druski2funny, theestallion, champagnepapi, and 2,358,277 others

jackharlow: do people even still do wcw anymore because this is my woman crush everyday yourinstagramname 😍😍😍

urbanwyatt: I still remember her poster being on your wall and the day you bought it

jackharlow: had to admire that beauty on a daily basis urbanwyatt

dojacat: you didn't know she's already mine?

jackharlow: nah I'm shootin my shot so don't you come in here and mess it up dojacat

yourinstagramname: jackharlow well aren't you cute? 😏

jackharlowsource: OMG SHE RESPONDED

druski2funny: I see you my boy! jackharlow

jackharlow: soooo yourinstagramname are you in L.A. right now? 👀

yourinstagramname: nope jackharlow

jackharlow: yourinstagramname how about next week? 🤔

yourinstagramname: jackharlow and if I am what did you plan on doing?

jackharlow: yourinstagramname that's for me to know and you to find out mamas 😘

yourinstagramname: hmm jackharlow I guess I'll see you in a week then 😉

jackharlowfan34: HE GOT HER! HE GOT HER!

jackharlowfan56: Jack has been crushing on her since foreverrr. they would be so cute together ❤️

yourinstagramnamefan: I'm excited to see what happens between them 😍😍

The week passed by quickly and your close friends noticed that you were a bit too excited. They were happy about it, but on guard as well. 

You hadn't dated anyone serious in about two years.

Your last relationship had did a number on you and you knew that you needed to heal from it.

The problem was that you wore your heart on your sleeve and tried to see the good in everyone and everything.

And that's where your weakness was.

People took advantage and then left you to fend for yourself like nothing happened.

You had been cheated on, lied to, someone had gotten a girl pregnant while in a relationship with you. Basically you hadn't been lucky in the love department.

And it made it harder since you were famous. You didn’t know who wanted you for you or for your money. 

You and your best friend Kayla were sitting next to each other on the flight back to L.A. in a comfortable silence on your private jet when she broke it.

"Y/N..."

"What's wrong?"

"I know you're excited about meeting him and all that but just... protect your heart this time."

"I will, but I don't even know if anything is going to come out of this."

You shrugged and you were simply being honest.

If it happened, it happened.

But if it didn't, it wouldn't be the end of the world.

It was sad that you were almost anticipating disappointment when it came to relationships.

"It's just... I worry about you. I mean in your last relationship he literally had a baby on you while bringing that bitch in your house like it was nothing."

"Don't remind me."

"I'm sorry, but you are my best friend and you've been through a lot of shit. I just want someone who is going to love you for you and not your money."

Well you couldn't argue with her on that front.

"I know and I'm thankful I have you to look out for me."

"Always mamas. Been riding with you since pre k and that won't ever change."

You and Jack had been texting back and forth throughout the week trying to get to know each other better.

You found out he was extremely funny and his favorite color was purple.

But he mentioned that anything and everything was his favorite color on you.

Jack- So I heard you like to cook

You- you will gain 100 pounds eating my food if you aren't careful 🤣

Jack- naw I'll burn it all off when it comes to the bedroom activities 😏

You- oh will you now? I've heard you go by missionary Jack

Jack- you have to wait and find out. no spoilers pretty girl.

You- well, I'd make you call out my name and ask who it belongs to. But I'm not so I can't and I won't but if I was your girl 😏

Jack- stop playin in my messages mama. got me all bricked up and shit. 🙄

You- who said I was playing Jackman?

Jack- how much longer until I see you?

You- let me get settled and I'll text you. By the way, I was serious about what I said.

Jack- which part? 🤣

You- don't play with me lol I'm not doing any of those things unless there ends up being a title.

Jack- well looks like I gotta make you my girl first then, huh?

You- and may the best man win 😏

Jack- wait what

You- see you soon 😘

Jack- naw ain't no see you soon who am I competing with!?!

You- yourself so make sure you don't fuck it up

Once the plane landed, you and Kayla were on the way to your house and would be spending the next few weeks with you. 

It was around 3 in the afternoon and you planned on taking a shower and relaxing for a little bit before you let Jack know you were ready for whatever.

Once you had gotten settled, it was around 6 and Jack had sent you a text.

Jack- Mamas....

You- Yes?

Jack- I been waiting all day to see you 😌

You- I won't make you wait any longer. I'll send you my address to come get me. 😉

Jack- wear something casual

You- let me see what I can find

You were excited and nervous at the same time and you just hoped that the way you vibe through talking on the phone was the same in person. Once you were finally ready, you went outside and got Kayla to take a few pictures for you.

Liked by jackharlow, saweetie, dojacat, champagnepapi, and 3,493,256 others.

yourinstagramname: sittin pretty 😘

jackharlow: I'm outside stink

jackharlowsource: OMG IS THIS THEIR FIRST DATE!?!

yourinstagramnamefan: we want updates every hour. EVERY.HOUR.

dojacat: jackharlow treat my girl right otherwise I'm coming for your neck

jackharlow: dojacat you mean MY girl, right?

yourinstagramname: jackharlow not your girl yet, but if you play your cards right, I just might be 😉

jackharlow: naw yourinstagramname you WILL be. claiming this shit now.

druski2funny: talk yo shit jackharlow!!

You walked outside to see Jack leaning on the side of the car waiting for you and he was all smiles.

"Hey pretty girl."

You went up to him and hugged him while taking in his scent.

Definitely LV.

"Hi."

"You ready mamas?"

"Yeah, where are we going?"

"Go kart racing. That's why I told you to dress casual." He answered as he opened the passenger side door for you.

"You not tryna see me on the track Harlow. I'm about to whoop your ass."

Jack had to have been doing some digging on you since go kart racing was one of your favorite things to do while you were off and you haven’t gotten to do it in awhile. 

"We'll see about that. Actually let's make a bet. If I win, I get a second date."

"Who's to say I want a second date?"

"Damn mamas, you really about to do me like that?"

Jack turned onto the highway as he handed you the aux.

"Let's make it through this one first."

As much as you truly wanted to be in a relationship with someone, you had to be practical so it wouldn’t come to bite you in the ass later. 

Luv is Dro immediately blasted through the speakers as you connected your phone and Jack was all smiles.

"You were listening to me, stink?"

"Of course. Been a fan for awhile and besides it's definitely one of my favorite songs."

"Well we can make that a reality."

"Stay in my good graces Harlow and we will."

"Well shit at least that let's me know I got a chance."

---

The two of you were now casually taking a stroll in the park near your house. After go kart racing, the two of you grabbed dinner but weren't quite ready for the night to end even though it was close to one in the morning.

"Aww, stink. Fix your face. You might beat me next time."

Jack was now pouting because not only did you beat him once, but multiple times around the track.

"I let you win, mamas."

"I know you don't expect me to believe that. As bad as you wanted a second date?"

"I underestimated you. I admit."

"It's okay. I'm thinking a second date might not be a bad idea."

"Wait, really?"

"Look, I like you. I really do. But, I need to take my time with this."

"I got all the time in the world for you. I'll go at your pace because I don't want to mess this up."

"I just... I've been hurt a lot and I don't think I'm ready to dive in head first. I've noticed that because I always want to see the good in people it makes me end up in situations that could have been avoided."

"I promise that won't happen if you give me the chance."

"People have promised me a lot before letting me down. So how about this, don't promise me anything, just show me."

"I'll show you that being with me is going to be the best decision you ever made."

And Jack definitely didn't disappoint. He let you take your time and go at your own pace like he said he would and you couldn't have been more thankful for that.

It had been about four months since the two of you began talking and the Billboard music awards were coming up. Award shows weren't usually your thing and you were going back and forth on your decision to go or not.

You hadn’t gone in at least three years. 

That was until Jack asked you to go with him.

"I wanna show off my girl." Is what he told you and since you weren't doing anything else that night, you agreed.

But, you weren't his girl, not yet.

You both were now in the hotel getting ready and you were mesmerized as Metta was working on Jack’s outfit.

Sittin’ over here starin in your face with lust in my eyes sure don’t give a damn and ya don’t know that I’ve been dreamin of ya in my fantasies

“Stink, take a picture it’ll last longer.” He teased while coming over to pinch your cheek.

“I just might, but before I do I have to go get ready myself.”

There had been a delay with your outfit getting to you, but at least your hair and make up was already finished and that typically took the longest. 

You added your signature hello kitty chain in order to complete the look.

When you were finished, you walked out to see Jack and just knew he was about to start drooling.

“Jack, close your mouth baby.” You said as you winked and went to look in the mirror while Metta and Urban laughed. 

“Well, how am I supposed to with you looking like that?”

“I know it’s hard, but people will think that there is something wrong with you once we hit that red carpet.”

“I’ll do my best, but no promises.”

You simply sighed.

You were excited to go with Jack however, you wanted for this night to be over with.

It’s not the fact that award shows made you uncomfortable, it just wasn’t your scene.

You were an introvert and would had rather been in your house with Jack watching them instead of being in person.

However, Jack was nominated for at least three awards and he was excited and you weren’t about to be a debbie downer and mess that up for him. 

You were nominated for at least five but couldn’t care less. 

So, you had to go and support your man who is not actually your man yet, right?

After taking about twenty pictures, everyone piled into the black escalade in the front of the hotel and the nerves were now starting to set it.

You knew that the hotel was only about ten minutes from the venue so you had ten minutes to get yourself together. 

You figured Jack could tell because you were holding onto his hand for dear life.

“Stink, you okay? I feel like you’re about to break my hand.”

You loosened your grip before mumbling a quick apology.

“I know this really isn’t your scene, Y/N, so thank you for coming and supporting me. It does mean a lot and I don’t take this lightly mamas.”

“Literally only for you Harlow, and you owe me for this.”

“I have an idea of how I can make it up to you. Definitely involves no clothes though.” He mumbled the last part so that only you could hear it and you immediately smirked before letting out a laugh.

“Hmm, who knows, tonight might be the night you get lucky.”

And it would be the night you got lucky yourself. 

A few minutes later, the car had now stopped and it was showtime.

You had calmed down for a few minutes, but now Jack could sense your nervousness.

“I got you baby. Let me go first and then I’ll help you out. Don’t let go of my hand.”

“What is this, Titanic?”

“Stink, stop playin with me. Besides we do have the same name.”

You shook your head before giving him a nod and letting him know you were ready.

The door opened and Jack got out first and you could immediately hear the screams.

He had his back turned to them within a second to look over at you and to make sure that you were okay and ready to get out and walk beside him. 

“You ready?”

You simply grabbed his hand as he helped you down and the screams got even louder.

“Jack and Y/N, over here!!”

“Give us a big smile!”

“How in the world did he get her?!”

“They look so good together!”

“We definitely do.” Jack whispered in your ear as you both posed for a series of pictures.

Afterwards, an interviewer from E! who you knew as Denise Langston motioned you both over to her.

Here goes. 

“Well, isn’t this a sight to see? Jack Harlow with Y/N Y/L/N on his arm.”

“He practically begged me to go so here I am.” You joked while poking Jack’s side.

“Baby, don’t show off now that we’re in front of company.” Jack replied while smiling down at you.

“It seems as if you two have been together forever the way you look at each other.”

“Well....” You immediately cut Jack off. 

“He actually hasn’t asked me to be his girl yet so...”

“Jack, what are you waiting for? Doja is here and you already know if she hears about this she’ll snatch Y/N up for herself!”

“Damn, Y/N, did you have to put me on blast like that? I had to take my time with her because she’s special and I don’t plan on letting her go.”

“Will you just ask her already?!” You heard Urban say from behind you and you stifled a laugh.

“Y/NY/L/N, will you do me the honor of becoming my girlfriend?”

“Hmm, let me think about it.”

“WHAT, we’re on national television and you have to think about it?!”

“Yes!”

You then reached up to kiss him and he reached down to meet you halfway.

Then you heard felt someone sneak up next to you. Doja Cat of course. 

“Y/N, if he messes up, you know where to find me.”

“Where did you even come from? And I don’t plan on it. Might have to put a ring on it soon.”

“Well, look at that! You heard it here first straight from the red carpet on the Billboard awards. We have our new it couple, Jack Harlow and Y/N Y/L/N!”

Liked by yourinstagramname, druski2funny, brysontiller, champagnepapi, dojacat, and 3,278,469 others

jackharlow: my girlfriend yourinstagramname 😍😍

urbanwyatt: I thought she was gonna say no for a second

jackharlow: urbanwyatt she had me nervous as hell 😫

dojacat: I was waiting for her to say no so I could swoop in and save the day

yourinstagramname: come on now jackharlow you knew I wasn't going to say no 🤣

druski2funny: well I'll be damned! Hey Ms. Y/N! 👋🏾

jackharlow: druski2funny back off and find your own girl

druski2funny: jackharlow I was just saying hi!

jackharlowsource: yourinstagramname giving people palpitations over here

yourinstagramname: I'm sorry, I didn't mean to lol

urbanwyatt: my boy turned so red. I just knew he was about to faint 🤣

lilnasx: we would've picked him up, not to worry 🤣

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[moonyslove78]

Okay so now that I’m fully awake and fairly rested. And my medication is not effecting my judgement. I’m gonna try to repost the review I typed up last night that I can’t find anywhere. It probably won’t be exact but I wanted to add to it anyways once I was fully aware of my words, so maybe it’s a good thing it didn’t post. 😂 anyways, here it goes!

This message is for Mr. Walker only, Johnny, if you’re listening…

I have nothing else to say to you besides fuck off and go die in a hole. And I hope it’s Peter that puts you there while saving my girl Honey from your grubby nasty hands.

I’m in enough pain though, Liz. So try to go at least slightly easy on my heart man! 😫🤣

Now then, my frustrations have been released, so onto the goodies…

First, I’m glad Honey didn’t just let him off the hook. She made him sweat it out for a bit. Though I did feel awful for him when she made mention of wanting to be back in “her home” and “her bed” as part of the bet. I know it’s part of the process but the poor guy was wearing his heart on his sleeve all evening. I just thought the timing of her request was depressing. Especially when he had just asked for her hand to hold. Cause how fucking wholesome is he in that moment? 😭

Second, the admission from Peter made my heart blossom! And just the way he brought it up to her! 😍🥰 He makes me wanna simultaneously scream, melt into a puddle of goo and lay my heart out to be stomped all over when she replies with “you’re only in love with the idea of me.” But his reply was one and a million, because he knows she loves him too. And for him to say “so which version of me are you in love with?” is showing just how much he’s opened up to her. Even though he can still be that shy timid boy when it comes to her and his love for her. 🥲

Third, the date. Although not what he had planned and she totally was giving him a hard time through some of it, this was like one of my top favorite moments with them. 😍 The amount of times my heart fluttered at his reactions to her or her to him, I was just a happy girl at the time. They both learned so many cute (to anyone else, probably useless) facts about each other in the “short” amount of time they spent at the sushi bar. It was so fucking cute.

Fourth, I was sooooooo happy when he started trying to convince her to continue to “hang out”. I was chanting under my breath “Do it! Do it! Do it!” And then when he made her so fucking happy taking her to the adult arcade… just put me in a bubble with the happy flirty Honey and Peter. 🥰 His inner confession of wanting to marry her, had me screaming and doing a happy dance (in my head of course, considering I can’t do any dancing around at the moment 😅) Like I knew boy had it bad, but this was such an admission… and I loved every single second of it. Though it was still just internally confirmed, I’m glad he at least slightly insinuated wanting her hand in marriage. Maybe she’ll see the little invitation as to how serious he actually was when he said he was in love with her. Not just Honey. But her. It was definitely a moment that will stick with me.

Fifth, I already mentioned how wholesome and fucking adorable it was that he just asked to hold her hand as the bet. And he even gave her the option to choose how long she let it happen. But what I found even more endearing, was that even after that being all he asked for, he still managed to allow her so many chances to win one over on him so that she could have what she wanted. Maybe that was just my take on it, but the way I looked at it, is he saw how important independence meant to her in the moment that she asked for it. And he was willing to, maybe sadly and solemnly, but willingness none-the-less to allow her more of the chance to do that. And he waited for her so patiently for her to shake his hand even. But when he asked her if she wanted to go home and instead they proceeded to spend more time together flirting with each other. My weary heart was happy. ❤️💕

Sixth, you have the that beautiful moment where he’s behind her at the bar being ultra protective Peter and she notices. Where he’s absolutely totally thinking about shoving his face into her neck. I just know it! I kept feeling like he was just gonna lean forward a little ways and run his nose under her ear and sniffing her scent in… ughghghghgh!! Then, one of my favorite moments, where she finally holds his hand. And where she takes him off to the side to “ground” him. 😍😍 This moment really truly shows how much he loves her, and cares for her well being and feelings. She was able to calm him down and bring him back to the present. Not to mention that little side of the mouth kiss she gave him being like his kryptonite. I was screaming, to say the least. The little reassurances she gave him that she would be back and that they could go home was so heart warming. I just hope that he knows what actually happened and he doesn’t just think she ran off. I don’t think my heart could take the pain that would bring to him. And how she couldn’t stop smiling like a school girl on the way into the bathroom, like they’re both love sick and I can already feel the pain and angst to come killing me slowly. 😩😢 My heart hurts just thinking about it. 💔

Obviously I already made my point to the Asshole so I won’t bring him up again. Because I feel like the next chapter I’m gonna have many many words for him.

Once again, @liz-allyn you’ve outdone yourself! You’ve managed to semi-cure my sweet tooth that I must try to keep at bay during my recovery. As well as have me on the edge of my seat (or at least as far on the edge as I can be without further injuring myself). I’m telling you, you’re going to simultaneously be the reason I’m living as well as my cause of death. 😂 but I love it so damn much! I can’t wait to see what happens next even though I’m scared shitless!

I just hope that you can tolerate my ramblings on! My meds weren’t fully kicked in when I started typing this but when you spend 15 years in a household where you literally do every little thing for everyone (as far as cleaning, cooking, organising, errands, working full-time, etc.) to now not even being able to do much for yourself… needless to say, I’ve been having to pause writing to give directions to everyone on what to do, when to do it, how to do it… so yeah, now my meds have kicked in and I’m on a ramble spree again.

But just know that your writing is what is keeping me semi-sane right now. No matter the theme, I just can’t get enough! You’ve been my saving grace at this time and I just wanted you to know! Thank you for doing what you do and doing it as well as you do! Tons of love!! ❤️💕

sugar and vice, pt. 14 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: Better late than never, and yet still too late.

words: 8.1 k

chapter warning: peter being an idiot, talk of murder, and s*xu*l ass^lt (tw *sa*) descriptions of hospitals, injuries, panic attacks, peter trying his best to be a perfect fluffy boyfriend

series warnings: mob-typical violence, bang bang shoot shoot, whump. hurt/comfort. s*xu*l situations. spousal ab^se. family trauma. dr^g use. coercion. manipulation. kidnapping. gore. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

This version of TASM Peter is not canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.

Don't date a mob boss.™️

18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but if you don't get the Jonas Brothers reference in this chapter, you're probably too young for this.

Back to Part 13.

Part 14

Everything was too loud. Too bright. Too much.

That’s how Peter always used to feel. Never mind the life-long possibility of neurodivergence. When he turned 17, things particularly felt like they were spiraling out of control. He had too much energy, too many inputs of information shoving its way into his brain, too many emotions. No place to put it to use.

He’d spent years honing his ability to focus. To see the bad things coming. To react before they happen. That’s how he’d been able to survive. That’s how he protected his own.

And then one day he’d gotten a cup of coffee and fucked it all up.

He couldn’t get the buzz of fluorescent lights out of his ears. He stood inside a supply room at New York-Presbyterian, trying with difficulty to listen to the voice of the woman standing next to him, and all he could hear was that goddamn buzz, like a chainsaw rattling inside of an oil barrel.

“Hey,” Felicia’s voice sharply snapped, yanking his attention towards her. “Are we boring you or somethin’?”

She, Peter, and a doctor—one of the surgeons who treated Miguel— stood together in the solitude of the small room amongst shelves of PPE, cleaning supplies, and sterilization equipment. They had sequestered themselves in the room for privacy and protection, just in case any unwanted visitors arrived and decided to finish their attack.

Arms crossed, a sharp crease between her microbladed brows, Felicia burned him with her gaze. “You mind at least taking notes for the class if you’re done napping?”

Peter glared back, unappreciative of her tone. “How did this happen?” he asked calmly, eyes shifting back to the surgeon.

“They didn’t give me those details,” she apologetically sighed. Her voice was a low, tense whisper. “But we did find a shard of plastic lodged in his collarbone. Probably disposable cutlery from the cafeteria.”

Peter sighed heavily, eyes grim. He brought his hand up to soothe a piercing ache behind his eyes.

“The damage was extensive,” she explained gravely. “He lost a lot of blood. We counted at least thirteen wounds to the chest and neck. He’s lucky to be alive.”

Peter gritted his teeth, rage bubbling beneath his skin. “Luck.” The word tasted sour as it rolled out of his mouth. He bit his tongue to keep from adding anything further. “Alright, how long until we can move him?”

“Into a private room?” 

“Into a different city,” Peter said.

The doctor blinked. Glanced back between Peter and Felicia. “Are you serious? He can’t leave—”

“Well, he can’t stay,” Peter curtly declared. “The people that wanted him dead are gonna try again the second they get wind that he survived. If they don’t know already.” He glanced warily at the door to the supply room. “And if that’s the case, then everybody in this facility is in danger.” He ground his teeth, corners of his mouth turned down. “And they’re also a threat.”

The surgeon’s eyes darted up to him anxiously, then back to Felicia. She crossed her arms, swallowing with a dry tongue. “Um, sure. I’ll see what I can do. Maybe a few hours, though.”

“One hour,” Peter firmly stated, unsubtle with his criticism. “It’s not safe here. For anyone.”

Holding her tongue, Felicia’s eyes shifted between Peter and the doctor. The air was thick enough to cut through. “Thanks, Helen,” she said pleasantly, a bright contrast from the weight of Peter’s words. “We’re gonna chat a bit then I’ll come out and find ya, ‘kay?” She turned to Peter, with steel eyes and a wide forced smile.

Observing her glare, he gently added, “Thank you, Dr. Cho.”

She nodded, without reply, and discreetly exited the room.

When they were alone, Peter curved his neck like dropping a barbell. Exhaustedly, he pulled his hands down his face. “There’s no way Danny’s people pulled somethin’ like this,” he mused. “This has Kingpin written all over it. Fuckin’ dirty cops, dirty prison guards. Is there anything left in this city that doesn’t have his putrid rot all over it?” He punctuated his frustration by gripping the edges of the steel shelving, indenting his fingers into the metal frame. 

Biting his tongue to calm himself, he paced. “Matt was right. We got another rat. Or something worse. Need to keep our eyes open ‘til we can move Miguel to a safe house.” He exhaled sharply, wrapping his arms across his chest. “We need more men. I’m gonna call in a favor from Brooklyn, see what they—”

“I think I liked you better when you were just a loser,” Felicia muttered, narrowing her eyes on him, “not an asshole.” He snapped his eyes up. “Really, though. This whole ‘fascist-dictator’ persona is throwin’ off my zen.” 

Unamused, he rolled his eyes, grit in his throat. “Say what you wanna say, Cat.”

“Oh, believe me. I will. What in the hell is wrong with you lately?”

“Whaddya want me t’do, alright?” Peter hissed quietly. “Miguel wouldn’t be here if that goddamn D.A. wouldna had a stick up his ass—”

“Wrong, Pete! Miguel wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t almost beaten Danny Rand to death.”

He shot a displeased look at her. He seethed, the memory scorching his brain. “He’ll live.”

Her face twisted with disgust. “Fucking boys!”

“He put his hands on her—!”

“What about it?” she shot back. “You think that hasn’t happened to her before? Are you really that dense?”

“Don’t tell me that,” he warned, feeling his temper rising again. “S’not right—”

“It’s not right, but it happens,” Felicia argued. “Anyone with a pair of tits can tell you they’ve met at least ten Danny Rands—and I’m no exception. But I never tried to murder one, like a goddamn stupid caveman, in a room full of witnesses! Without even checking everyone for weapons first!”

Fixing her with a sorrowful look, he exhaled slowly as he considered her point of view. They both knew she spoke from her history. Deep down, he knew she was right. 

“And for the record,” she added, more poignantly, “she had a chance to stand up for herself and you took that away. That was about you. Not her.”

He cast his eyes downward with a renewed shame. 

“Call Brooklyn,” she flippantly sneered with disdain. “Call Harlem. Call the goddamn Marines. Just make sure you call a shrink afterwards.” 

He swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the floor. 

“I don’t know what’s going on with you, Spider,” Felicia sighed. Her voice was softer, more sincere, but no less disappointed. “Whatever it is—you need to figure it out before anyone else gets hurt. Your girl included.”

Peter drifted like a ghost through the post-surgery ward. Enough of the staff had been informed by Dr. Cho to ‘pretend you can’t see him until he goes away.’ Like the Boogeyman. 

There was extra anxiety hanging over the hospital floor, apprehension increasing with Peter’s presence. No one wanted to see him, much less be questioned whether or not they did.

When he came upon Miguel’s curtained-off quarters, he tensed at the sight of a figure standing at his bedside. Stunned, his lips parted, eyes wide.

“Miles?” It was the first time he’d seen him in weeks. Not since that night where he stormed out of the penthouse after viciously accusing Peter of—

It didn’t matter. He was right.

The teen was bundled in brandless sweatshirt layers, with a thrifted L.L. Bean puffer coat that he’d owned for years. His chin lifted as he shot a cold look at the older man.

“What are you doin’ here?” Peter said as he approached, brows furrowed with concern. “Is everything okay—”

“No. It’s not okay,” he muttered. “I heard someone came after my family.” Miles nodded towards Miguel’s unconscious body, hooked up to beeping machines and a ventilator. Miles’ voice had an unsubtle edge, defensive and cagey. “What was I supposed to do?”

“You’re supposed to be home with your parents,” Peter said worriedly. He could feel Miles’ anger, but refused to mirror it. “You can’t be here, man. It’s not safe.”

“I know that,” Miles stated grimly. The boy’s dark eyes met Peter’s, and the mob leader couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He looked older, somehow, despite it only being a few weeks since he last saw him. Weariness drew hard lines on his features in a way that broke Peter’s heart. 

He cast his eyes away from Peter, returning his gaze to Miguel. “Nowhere’s safe when you’re around.”

Albany. Annapolis. Atlanta. Augusta. Austin.

“Are you going out dressed like that? You dress like a whore you’re going to get raped one day…”

Baton Rouge. Bismarck. Boise. Boston.

“I gotta say. I never figured you for a mob whore.”

Carson City. Charleston. Cheyenne. Columbia. Columbus. Concord.

“You’re just a perky pair of tits and a wet pussy for him to shove a couple of babies into…”

Denver. Des Moines. Dover.

Stupid, stupid girl.

BOOMBOOMBOOM

Startled, Honey breached the surface of the bath water with a gasp. Instinctively, she covered her nude body with her arms, wrapping them tightly around her body. 

“Please respond, or I’ll be forced to break down the door.”

The masculine voice echoed from the outside of the bathroom, behind a locked door. Honey was alone, chin deep in the suds of a freestanding soaking tub. She wouldn’t be for long, she realized, as she heard another impatient knock from one of Peter’s faceless guards. 

Likely Rollins. Or maybe Mace. Or Faceless Guard Number Five. 

Whoever it was, they were unwelcome.

“This is your final warning,” the voice repeated. She rolled her eyes. Fucking Rollins.

“Alright!” she snapped, indignation filling her voice. “I heard you!”

“Open the door!” Rollins ordered.

“No!” she hissed. “Don’t come in! I’m changing a tampon!”

A pause. Silence. 

“Mr. Parker arranged a vehicle to transport you.” Rollins was less eager to open the door, but no less irritated. “Get dressed. Car’s waiting.”

“Wait, what?” she called back, echoing off the tiles. “For what? Where am I going?”

No answer.

She was alone, left in the dark. Literally. 

She hadn’t even bothered to turn on the lights all day. Instead, she let the afternoon sun pour in through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the bathroom, naming the seagulls that flew by, imagining what it’s like to walk through walls, picturing that the glass didn’t exist, and contemplating how brief the 20-story trip down to the concrete would be.

The bath water had gone cold long ago. 

She sank beneath the surface again, weighed down by her heavy heart. 

He said ‘transport you,’ like she was a package. An empty box. 

That wasn’t far from the truth. She had felt empty since last night, when Peter told her, patronizingly, to ‘go to her room.’ It was insulting and infuriating, especially after they had just shared— 

Whatever that was.

What it was, she was humiliated by it. She didn’t know what madness came over her. But she’d never experienced—never even participated in—anything like it before. Never acted so fearlessly and intimately lewd in such an open manner. 

Not even during her marriage. 

Certain things were not permitted for her, masturbation was one of them. On the rare occasion that she was horny, there was only one place she was allowed to put that energy.

She refused to think about that further, for fear that she’d sink into the bathwater and choose not to resurface. 

Last night was different, in so many ways. There was something about the way Peter looked at her that made her feel powerful. Not merely that she was a goddess, but she was Aphrodite, Pele, Yemeya and Mother Mary combined. It made her feel alive. And when he started mirroring her motions—eyes possessed like a lovestruck zombie—it went from a dizzy, waking dream to the sexiest experience of her life. 

With that act, she opened herself up to him. And he reciprocated, with vulnerability in his eyes and devotion in his breath. It was like he worshiped her. 

Like he loved her.

It was a nice feeling. While it lasted. 

Whatever it was, it was clearly a mistake.

Now he’s transporting her somewhere. Back to the cabin? To another safe house? Is she in trouble? She never went anywhere without Peter by her side. Was he mad at her? Was he sending her away? Had he gotten what he wanted from her and decided—

“Once you’ve served your purpose, he’ll be on to the next one…”

Was he done with her, at last? Had he finally seen what he was wasting his energy on? She huffed, mouth beneath the surface. She probably wouldn’t be that lucky.

The car ride was tense. 

She was alone in the giant backseat of the SUV, surrounded by cold black leather and darkened windows. She felt like she was in a hearse. 

She could see out of the windows, but not the driver. The doors were also childlocked. She had tested them out until the disembodied voice of the driver, hidden on the other side of the partition wall, told her to stop it. 

It was a coffin. She was wearing Yves Saint Laurent to her funeral. 

Specifically, an Italian-made, viscose-and-silk minidress featuring an open scoop back, an asymmetrical hem, long sleeves and a crew neckline. It was sparkly and shimmery, but still edgy, featuring a black snakeskin-esque pattern.

The dress had been sealed in a garment bag and laid out on her bed when she emerged from the bathroom. 

It had been chosen for her. 

She wondered if the snakeskin pattern had any significance. 

The other cruel remark that Janet Van Dyne made wormed into her brain: “Step out of line, and he’ll take you out with the garbage.”

She felt sweat forming beneath her arms. A gnawing fear chewed at her that she would not only be discarded, but literally discarded. In the river. Or a landfill. Somewhere she would just disappear, easily forgotten, never to be found. It was a terrifying thought that Peter was more than capable of.

Perhaps that was a needless worry. Reason told her that Peter wouldn’t call her an Uber and send her off to be executed. 

“Because if I want something done, I do it myself.”

The vehicle slowed down, pulling off to the side of 74th Street. 

Her heart began to race. If he thought she was a snake, he’d kill her with his bare hands.

They were stopped in front of a small, unassuming store front with opaque windows. It reminded Honey of the tiny restaurant in The Godfather where Michael kills the rat who betrayed his family, along with the dirty cop that tried to murder his father. For some reason.

A modest banner hung outside the glass with the words ‘Sushi Ishikawa.’ 

A sushi bar? Were they hoping to murder her with a seafood allergy? 

The car door in front of her swung open, as Faceless Car Driver Number Eight glared down at her impatiently. 

“Get out of the car and go inside.”

Inside, the sushi bar was just as modest. It was a small, intimate place, with concrete floors and brick walls, and no more than eight seats in the whole restaurant. There was only one occupant. Peter jumped to his feet as soon as he saw her standing in the doorway.

Good god—he looked even more dashing than he did the last time she saw him. Although, by the end of that last encounter— with his hand in his boxers— she remembered him looking hotter than the Sun. 

He wore another monochromatic black outfit, this time a leather blazer, with a pinhead-pattern collared shirt, slim-fit trousers and a skinny tie. His hair was fashioned neatly, even more so than usual. The most eye-catching element of his appearance was that for the first time ever, she saw him without a beard.

The change was jarring to behold. Without facial hair he looked ten years younger. Maybe more, like he could still be in college. Clean-shaven, his appearance elevated to a whole new threat level. He looked boyish, the chiseled marble of his jawline now gloriously displayed without distraction. High cheekbones, sharp nose, pouty pink lips, caramel-colored eyes: he had the kind of beauty that a million teenage love songs were written about. 

Looking at him broke her heart. 

Astonishingly, he didn’t seem to notice that her eyes bugged out of her head, because his were doing the same. He wore a stupefied expression, as if he were gazing at a miracle. Mouth agape, he quickly glanced at her overall appearance. Not scandalously like in the past, but coyly, with a flustered face and rosy ears.

His response summed up the contents of his mind nicely. 

“Uh-uhm… hi.” 

The sentence was almost all air, similar to the contents of his skull. His voice was buried somewhere in his stomach. He punctuated the greeting with a nervous chuckle.

His amorous expression made fireworks erupt in her stomach. But as soon as her lips began to twist into a smile, her memories hammered it down. She went cold, dropping her eyes to the floor. 

Like his star had gone out, his life force faded almost instantly. 

“Miss, won’t you come in?” An unknown voice called from behind the bar. 

Peter turned towards two men wearing chef’s uniforms, a young man that looked to be in his 20s, along with his much older father. Their voices startled him, as he momentarily forgot that they’d be there. 

He had forgotten that Honey wasn’t the only person on the planet.

She stared at the sushi chefs curiously, then looked back at Peter, brows pinched together. 

“Uh, yeah,” Peter stuttered, his brain buffering. Cleared his throat. Politely, he pulled out one of the chairs at the bar, dipping his hand towards it in gentlemanly fashion. “Sorry, um, here. Please sit.”

She glared down at the empty chair, then slid her eyes over to him, suspicion etched onto her features. 

“Please.”

His earnest plea didn’t matter. It was obvious that she didn’t trust him. Why should she? They were a continent apart, with her close to the exit.

Her eyebrow raised high. “What is this?”

Peter had come to be familiar with all of her tones of voice. He recognized what her bratty voice sounded like, as well as her stubborn voice, and her grumpy voice. This wasn’t any of those. A hard edge had been carved into it. Sharpened with spite.

He gulped, shrinking at the anger buried in her tone. 

“Um…” he began timidly, “I, uh… I felt— Things, um— The last few days got blown to hell. And… I didn’t want you to-to think that I didn’t remember. Or that I didn’t want to remember, or that it wasn’t important to me, y’know. ‘Cos, it is. It really is. And this wasn’t exactly what I had planned, but I-I-I really wanted to get this right, and do something—“

“Fuck me!” she spat.

“Excuse me?” His eyes went wide.

“Is this the date, Peter?” she sneered hotly, jabbing her finger accusingly at the bar stool.

Silence. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

“Now, hold up, jus-just give me a minute—”

“Why should I? Why should I give you anything?

“Just one! Just one minute—“

“I don’t have one minute to give you, Peter, because I’d rather eat glass than eat sushi with you.” She shot a glance over to the chefs in the corner of the room. “No offense.”

“Well,” Peter sheepishly replied, bringing his shoulders up to his ears, “they don’t have glass on the menu here—”

“Fine.” She said directly to the chefs, “I’ll have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, please. With extra peanuts.”

Peter glanced back and added, “Yeah, can we hold off on that order ‘til the end? We’re probably gonna take it to go—”

“I don’t believe this,” she growled, spinning on her heel and heading for the door. “Good night. I’m leaving.”

Just as she touched the pull handle, Peter was suddenly there with his hand wrapped around the bar—having teleported again in the blink of an eye. She scoffed with frustration, but she wasn’t surprised. All he had ever done was slam doors in her face.

“I’ll take you home,” he offered, his tone placating. She glared up at him impatiently. “I’ll drive you. I promise. I just need…” he sighed, wallowing in hopelessness. “Just give me one dinner. That’s all I’m askin’. If you’re still not havin’ it, then we’ll go home—”

“Fabulous! Then I can go back to my room.”

It was a painful jab for them both. He grimaced, snapping his eyes closed, as if she’d punched him in the gut. Observing his pained expression, she felt a sliver of guilt run through her, much to her agitation. 

Eyes downcast, he whispered with a heavy sigh. “I know I don’t deserve you, alright?” He pinched his lips, the corners of his mouth turned down. She blinked rapidly. “I know, I’m a jerk, and I’m nuts, and I-I should’ve treated you better. From the start, Honey. I know that.” 

Silently fuming, she glowered up at him. By contrast, his voice was mournfully soothing, with an ache in each word. A eulogy to the perfect relationship he’d hoped for.

Bourbon eyes fixed on her, heavy with shame, he pleaded, “I know I’ve got no right to ask. I’ve got nothin’ to say that you wanna hear. I don’t deserve to even talk to you. But in case you wanted to talk… even if it’s just to tell me what a shit person I am... I-I’m here. Alright? I’m here and I’m willing to listen. Whatever you wanna say.”

She noted the way his eyes glistened as he spoke, the hope welling up behind his lids and threatening to spill away. She softened her gaze. 

He sighed, “Please, Honey. You’re so kind, and you give so much, and I’m-I’m askin’ for just one more kindness. That’s it.”

She fixed a hard gaze on him, her brows pinched together, and her mouth as straight as an arrow. 

She hated seeing him heartbroken like that. She hated that she even cared about his heart.

She turned her attention to the chefs standing behind the bar, who were trying to politely ignore the heated quarrel that their only customers were engaged in. Having been in the service industry for a while herself, she sympathized with how awkward it must seem. And she didn’t want to give them the impression that she didn’t want to eat what they had to make.

“Fine. But only because I like sushi. Then I wanna leave. Got it?”

He nodded quickly. “Got it.” 

She flicked her eyes away and stomped over to the bar, plopping down in a seat that was intentionally one chair away from the one he’d pulled out for her. He bit his tongue at the slight, and trudged over to take the seat next to hers.

She committed to dinner begrudgingly, hoping for a single California roll and to be excused. This particular restaurant was different. There was no menu. No orders to be given. 

The elder sushi chef discussed in his native language the origin of omakase sushi. His son provided an English translation—“I leave it up to you.” In other words, the chefs didn’t take orders, instead they improvised a menu of their best seasonal offerings, and presented each bespoke course with artistry and flair. 

The first course of the omakase meal began with a nearly-frozen Kumamoto oyster for each of them, garnished with minced apple. It was delectable. She felt better overall with some kind of nourishment, considering that she skipped the other meals of the day. Her mood improved in just a few bites, albeit slight.

The younger chef then explained that there would be 22 courses in total. She wanted to stab Peter in the eye with a butter knife. Or a chopstick. 

As luck would have it, this restaurant encouraged them to eat with their hands as per tradition, so neither was available.

So she chewed, mostly in silence. By the time she was savoring the ninth course, Peter turned to her with a serious expression. “So where do you stand on wasabi?”

She licked the savory taste of bluefin tuna from her fingertips. “Is it a position on which one could stand?”

Gravely, he nodded. “Yes. A serious one.”

She gave it a few seconds of thought, then shrugged. “I don’t mind a little horseradish now and again. Not too much, though.”

“No, I said ‘wasabi' not ‘horseradish,’” he clarified.

“It’s the same thing.”

“What?”

“Yep.”

“No. Bullshit.”

“No, really. You don’t know this?”

“It’s a plant, a root! I think. Pretty sure.”

“You’re pretty wrong. All the wasabi in 99% of the sushi joints over here, most of the time, is horseradish paste with green food coloring. The real stuff is rare. It’s like $300 bucks a kilo.”

“A kilo?”

“Yeah, the real plants really only grow in Japan and they take years to cultivate—and I don’t know why they sell wasabi by the kilo, like it’s cocaine or something—ooh, future opportunity in case you want to diversify your portfolio— but horseradish is from the root and wasabi is from the stalk.” She licked her lips, pleased with the ease at which she plucked the information from her ever-growing library of useless stuff.

“Well,” Peter shrugged, understandingly, “the metric system is superior—”

“Ugh, don’t get me started,” she grumbled. They shared a soft chuckle, and she ended up blinded by his grin. 

She hated the way her heart fluttered at the sound of his laugh, compounded exponentially if she knew it was in response to one of her jokes. 

Hated the color of his eyes. Like caramel and chocolate. Maple syrup and whiskey. 

Hated his stupid face and his stupid hair. 

Hated the way he made her feel.

Hated how easy it was to fall into a conversation with him. Like they were old friends from grade-school, or lifelong neighbors who grew up next door to one another. She wondered what that life would’ve been like for her: if she’d met Peter in school, before either of their lives changed so drastically.

“How do you know so many state capitals?” Peter asked in awe, in between course fifteen and sixteen. At the same time, he poured a serving of cold sake into her wine glass.

“State birds too,” she explained, with a bit of pride. “And rocks.”

“States have state rocks?”

“Yup,” she said with a nod, taking a sip. 

She had spent most of the time spilling her vast knowledge about subjects most people didn’t care about. Peter cared. He looked at her reverently like she was Moses handing down the Ten Commandments. 

“I was really nerdy about maps as a kid,” she explained, while simultaneously picking up the sake bottle and filling his glass in return. “I would look at this big roadmap book I found in the garbage one day—you know, the old school spiral notebooks that AAA used to give to old people?—and I’d pick a number, and go to that page number, and decide that’s where I was going to live one day.”

He chuckled lightly, shaking his head with wonder. “You’re not gonna believe this,” he replied, cheeks sore from smiling. “But when I was like 9, I had a puzzle that May got from a garage sale, it was like a puzzle map of the United States. And one summer, I spent almost every day assembling and disassembling it. And I’d give the states personalities and proper names. And I’d make up these storylines with them. Like little soap operas, and act them out with the pieces.”

“You what?”

“For real,” he nodded. “Not even joking.”

“You had state dolls? And you’d act out little plays with them? Little land disputes?”

Taking a sip from his glass, he shrugged, considering it. “Yeah, I guess I did.” A grin warmed his face at the memory.

She hated how that smile lit up her whole life.

She giggled with delight at the picture of a young Peter Parker playing with cardboard state cutouts instead of little army men. “Wait, who was the bad guy? There’s always gotta be a bad guy.”

“Well,” Peter sobered, jestfully, “the South always has their issues, y’know? Drama queens, all of ‘em. But the real one you gotta watch out for is Idaho.”

She chortled so loudly that it startled the chefs. 

“God, you’re beautiful.” 

It was nineteen courses in. (She hated how good the food was.)

She blinked, taken aback by the intense sincerity of the comment. He was gazing at her with the same dopey look he wore when she walked in. Like she had the Milky Way in her eyes and he was determined to catalog every star.

Glancing away, she straightened uncomfortably in her chair. “Stop.”

He protested her dismissive tone with an undefeatable smile on his lips. “What? Why? Why you gotta argue with me about that?”

“Because you’re crazy. And you need therapy. Like 20, 25 years maybe. Maybe less, with intense journaling. Medication, too.”

He snorted with a grin, “Yeah, but that’s beside the point.” His eyes were fixed on hers again, drawing her gaze in like a magnet. Fine lines crinkled the corners of his eyes in the most flattering way. “I’m serious. You’re beautiful.”

She rolled her eyes with a bitter smile. “Flattery isn’t going to make this meal last any longer than it needs to.”

His grin faded a bit as he studied her further. Brows pinched, face contorted with puzzlement. “I don’t get it,” he mused. “How could you look in the mirror every day and not see what I see?”

She flicked her gaze to him briefly. His eyes twinkled as he observed her, his heart spilling out of them and onto his sleeves. She gulped hard. Lips formed a line, a wry edge to her words. “I’m not perfect, Peter.”

“I didn’t say ‘perfect’,” he replied. “I said ‘beautiful.’ Flaws and all.”

She hated the sincerity in his voice. 

“You ever think you’re just looking at me through rose-colored glasses?”

“No, I don’t think that.”

“Well, might want to get your eyes—“

“I don’t think that,” he doubled down, “because I’m in love with you.” 

Her mind locked up, like a car crash in her brain. 

Whipped her gaze over to his, eyes as wide as saucers. Perhaps she expected to see another sardonic smirk, or the beginning of a chuckle to confirm he was aware of his hyperbole. No such artificialness could be found in his enamored stare. Instead, he admired her—even more so in her dumbfounded state—studying her features with wonder. 

“No matter how hard I tried not to, I fell in love with you anyway,” he affirmed.

They were in a vacuum. Every sound in Manhattan vanished, save for the thrashing of her heart. She glanced away, the sensation burning into a sharp ache.

“You’re in love with the idea of me,” she said with a melancholy tone. “You love Honey. Not me.”

“Is that right?” Peter replied, too quickly to be an agreement. Frustration clawed through his tone. “That’s what you think? Okay. And what about you, huh?” He pinned her with his scrutinizing stare. “Which version of me are you in love with?”

Her pulse tripped at the accusation. Honey glanced away, eyeing her glass of water anxiously. She could feel his gaze on her, waiting patiently for a reply. Her tongue was twisted up in her mouth. 

“Maybe I’m wrong,” he said, mournful. “Maybe I do need a shrink.” He was thoughtful and analytic, perhaps speaking more to himself than to her. “I gotta be doin’ somethin’ wrong here. All the people who matter the most to me are the ones who think the least of themselves.”

A shadow fell over his expression, like a solar eclipse. Immediately, she found herself missing the sunlight.

After bidding fond goodbyes and leaving a generous tip, Peter held the door open for Honey as they stepped out into the night air. She glanced around expecting to see a blacked-out SUV idling off the curb, but only saw an empty street. She crossed her arms, anticipating that Peter was up to something.

“Where’s the car?” She questioned, a brow raised.

“Oh yeah,” Peter pointed at the unoccupied curb, as if he’d forgotten something. “I sent them home. I drove here. Valeted around the corner.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Uh-huh.”

“I figured I could just drive us back myself.”

“Uh-huh.” She gave him a scrutinizing stare, unsatisfied with his answer, with just the slightest upward curve of her lip.

Placatingly, he touched his shoulders to his ears. “No-No, I know,” he nodded, agreeing with whatever it was she was saying with her eyes. “We’re gonna go home right now. Just gotta walk around the corner.”

She narrowed her gaze. He brought a hand up to the back of his neck, rubbing it idly. “Unless,” he added, with a devious look, “you want to hang out a little later?”

There it was. She pursed her lips together, pretending there wasn't a smile there. “Dinner is already over, Peter.”

“I know it is.”

“You said you’d take me home after dinner. That was the deal—”

He argued, failing at sounding casual, “And I will! I just, y’know, wondered if you, um… wanted to finish off dinner with… like, somethin’-somethin’ extra, y’know? In case, y’know we get hungry later? Like an after-dinner appetizer? Or a-a chaser? Somethin’ to aid the digestive process?”

She scoffed with a hearty laugh. “Oh? Did a new craft-antacid gastropub open somewhere?”

He beamed at her warmly, biting the soft flesh of his lip. “Even better.”

“What are you up to?”

He pocketed his hands in his jacket, gazing down at her excitedly. “It’s a surprise,” he grinned with a smile that should be criminal. “You in?”

This was stupid. She was stupid. She should not be this giddy about something so silly. But as her astonished gaze flicked between Peter Parker and Michael Jordan, ‘giddy’ was the only appropriate word.

They were standing in the back of an arcade. A 'barcade,' rather. The enormous space felt electric. Like a playground for the inner child, buzzing with the sounds of bells, buzzers, and blasters. Of laughter, and virtual engines revving, and of a high-intensity K-pop soundtrack over on the Dance, Dance Revolution platforms. 

It was a mix of classic video game cabinets, like Galaga, Pac-Man, and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, as well as carnival-style games, like Cyclone and Skee-Ball, and pinball machines for every metal band of the 80s. 

The highlight for Honey was where they were standing. She looked up in awe at a 2-player Extreme Shot basketball station, decorated with buzzing lights, an electronic scoreboard, and Looney Tunes characters. The one and only Space Jam-themed game she had ever seen.

She couldn’t tell if the bells and whistles were coming from elsewhere or the inside of her chest.

“Peter, this is…I-I—” she breathed slowly, her heart swelling. Eyes brimming with tears. “I hate this. I hate you. I hate you so much. This is the greatest moment of my adult life. I love everything about this!”

Peter nodded, amused, “That’s pretty much the reaction I was expecting.” 

With big wet eyes, she looked up at him like a child at Christmas. Pure joy. It was like looking straight into the Sun. Her joy was too bright to look at without feeling like he would melt. Inexplicably, her face prompted a giggle that broke out of his lips. An unusual sound unheard in over a decade. He glanced away, shaking his head with cheeks flushed. 

“You wanna play?” He reached into the netted bin and lifted out a basketball. “One-on-one?”

Mouth still slightly agape, she looked down at the ball, then back to him. “That depends. Are you ready to be humiliated in front of all of these people?”

He barked out a laugh. “Humiliated? Wow! We’re trash-talkin’ now? Is’at where we’re at?” A light airiness elevated them, one that shaved decades off of their lives and painful scars off their memories. “Okay, that’s how it is?”

“That’s how it is,” she affirmed, reaching for her own basketball. She kicked off her pumps next to the arcade cabinet, dropping four inches like it was a useless advantage to have. She padded over with bare feet on the cold concrete floor. 

“Oh, wow. This is—this is serious?” He palmed the basketball, spinning it in his grip. “Now I’m worried. You’re... very confident. How ‘bout we raise the stakes, then? Wanna play for somethin’?”

She paused, throwing him another suspicious look. “Where is this going? You know I’m not your Sugar Mama, right? Can’t keep funding all your little expensive shopping sprees.”

He gasped, feigning a scandalized face, “Rude. That’s… that’s rude!”

A giddy laugh burst from her lips. “Okay, then what?”

He hesitated, his confidence faltering for a moment. Biting his lip, he glanced over at her with doe eyes and pink cheeks. “Your hand.”

Her eyes widened. “My hand?” She repeated, harsh judgment in her tone. “What-What’s that supposed to mean? My hand in marriage?”

Peter gasped. His brows shot up instantly, then he pinched them together. “Ohhhh man.” He brought his fingertips up to his lips, looking down at her with pity. “I was just talking about you giving me a hand with the dishes—?”

She snickered like a child, smacking him on the shoulder playfully. “Stop—!”

“—Aww, this must be so embarrassing for you!”

“You menace!” 

They broke into a fit of laughter, eyes crinkled, bodies doubled over. The landscape around them shifted and cracked, huge chunks of ice thawing in the spring sun.

“I mean, now that you mention it...” He spoke with a more sober tone. Slyly, his eyes slid over to hers. Cavalier and cool in his demeanor, Peter shrugged, but failed to withhold his excitement. “That’s actually not such a bad idea, y’know?” 

With a wily smirk, he fixed a burning gaze on her. It was all a ruse. It would take an elaborate deception to pretend that he hadn’t been dreaming of marrying her. Perhaps even from the very first day they met and she told him to have a good day. 

Buried beneath the cocky facade, there was a sincere question that echoed from his gaze. The fearsome king of New York’s underground blushed nervously in front of her, with soft, boyish eyes that were too vulnerable and too tarnished by tragedy. And yet, there was a glimmer of hope in them. A diamond in the darkness.

She saw that look, and she felt faint because of it. Weak in the knees, stomach fluttering as if a bouquet of roses bloomed in her belly. Helplessly, she stared back at him with the same mix of fear and longing. She held her lips closed.

Spotting her hesitation, he lowered his eyes, swallowing a frown. Then, his tone brightened. “How ‘bout this,” he conceded, more casually. “If I win, you’ll let me hold your hand.”

She blinked at him in disbelief. “You wanna hold my hand?” 

Her tone sounded much more critical than she intended. The sharpness of it cut a nick into his confidence. He faltered for a moment, avoiding the instinct to flail as he sank further into the depths. 

Instead, he held his breath. Pressed his lips together and nodded with a gentle smile. “For as long as you’ll let me.”

She stared blankly, dizzy with swirling emotions. One moment she wanted to kiss him, the next she wanted to kill him in his sleep. It was astonishing how one man could invoke such opposite emotions.  But as easy as it was to fall in love with the light of his gaze, she recalled the cool chill of the dark cavern within.

Her smile faded a bit. “If I win, I get space.”

“Space?”

“To be my own person,” she declared with resolve. “In my own home. On my own. No cameras. No creepy guards lurking in the halls.” She glanced away, adding delicately. “My own bed.”

Peter raised his chin, gazing down at her with a softened look. He remembered Felicia’s words about what he had taken away from her while trying to offer her the world. 

Solemnly, he nodded. He agreed to the terms, a bittersweet half-smile on his lips. “You’re on.” 

The first game was a fluke. They made it two out of three. Then three out of five. Then four of seven. Best of nine. And by the tenth straight loss, the streak needed to come to an end at some point. 

Peter offered her a respectful handshake as consolation. Tried not to smile at the sourpuss frown. Failed to not smirk at her accusations that he cheated. Denied rigging the game somehow. Denied that he actually owned the game and the arcade, and that all of its patrons were actors. 

He tried with difficulty not to laugh as she scowled and pouted and crossed her arms, glaring up at him like an angry cat left out in the rain. He remained reserved with his hand outstretched, waiting for their contest to end amicably.

He waited for her. For years, he waited. Until she slipped her tiny hand into his, firmly returning the handshake. 

Before she could take her hand back, he tugged her close, until their mouths were inches apart. Until they breathed the same air, and were oblivious to the bar atmosphere around them. Until all she could see was him, and even that was a struggle between his heavenly eyes and his sinful mouth. A glowing ember gaze, burning with passion for one another.

“Ready to go home now?” he asked, wearing a half-smile that infuriated and enraptured her. “Or can I get you a drink?”

They spent the next hour and a half flirting like teenagers. Joking like old friends. It made her feel normal, made him seem normal. Like the insanity of their lives had never really happened. Or if it did, it was all going to be okay now. 

They blended in effortlessly with the rowdy crowd of twenty-and-thirty-something’s occupying the bar. But first—he had to get rid of that tie, she told him, untying the knot with a cheeky grin. He fought vertigo as he felt the warmth of her fingertips undoing one of his top buttons next. 

They battled against invading aliens, other Formula 1 drivers, and The Foot. Surprisingly, they made a good team. They picked out a lineup of their favorite songs on the jukebox, who knew they both were once Jonatics? 

Every new piece of information added to an intricate jigsaw puzzle, the final picture ever-changing. Until it was—and by extension, they were—unrecognizable. Indistinguishable from the sort of person they would both want to spend the rest of their lives with. 

For a few brief shining moments, they had forgotten who they were supposed to be, and what they had lost.

Not every habit vanished. Peter still crowded up against Honey’s back as she sidled belly up to the bar. No part of him touched her, but his hands locked to the counter surface on either side of her, making her feel like she was in a cage. She looked up at him to see a hardened jaw. He was distracted, glaring defensively at the walls of humans closing in on them, while simultaneously eyeing the exits.

She only then noticed how much he was struggling to remain calm in this situation. It wasn’t a cage he had built, but a shield. His agitation and intensity wasn’t about possession, but protection. Her heart ached at the sight. It warmed at the sight. It reminded her that no—they were not like everybody else. They had both suffered horrific circumstances and would always bear the scars of them.

Regardless, they had both survived.

The gentle touch of her hand covering his stirred him from his hypervigilance. He snapped back to the present, looking down at her fingers as they intertwined with his. The color returned to his white knuckles as they relaxed in her hold. 

He focused on the warmth of her skin, the smoothness of it, how incredibly soft she was, as well as the steady beating of her heart. Knots loosening, his muscles relaxed as she leaned her body heat into his chest. Gentle humid breaths brushed across her collarbone. He breathed her in, deeply inhaling her perfume, her scent, her shampoo, and the hint of hoppy bitterness on her left on her tongue. The simple action ached, like he had been drowning for years and he finally took a full breath. 

He didn’t even hear the bartender prompt them for their next round. Luckily, she was capable of speech and handled it for the both of them. She could’ve ordered the whole bar and he wouldn’t have cared. He was too busy staring at the nape of her neck, the roundness of her shoulders, the delicate ridge of her spine. The feeling of her bare skin against his chest. He wanted to tear apart the fabric that separated them. His swelling heart threatened to burst out of his ribcage.

For a moment, Peter Parker found peace.

“Salud!" she grinned. She had turned around and was handing him a perspiring pint glass. She smirked at him over the rim, locking eyes as she clinked her drink to his. Enamored, his whiskey eyes lingered on hers, before being mesmerized by the cupid’s bow of her lips. 

“Ahh!” she suddenly gasped, as her body jolted forward. The spell was broken at the sound of her alarm. 

Peter glared over her shoulder and shot a death-stare at the two men standing next to them. Red-faced and inebriated, one of them was recovering from a tipsy stumble. The drunk man spun around, looking down with horror at the woman he’d nearly knocked over. 

“Oh shit! I’m so sorry—”

Peter pushed himself between her and her drunk attacker in an instant. She straightened and he spun to face her. Eyebrows pinched, lip curled, blood beginning to boil, his eyes searched her figure for injury. He was in a frenzied state of near-panic, as if he expected to find a gunshot wound.

“I’m okay, it’s okay,” she laughed. 

She laughed.

Peter blinked to see her examining the wet fabric of the front of her dress. Her beer had sloshed out of her glass and soaked the front. Despite the gooseflesh that broke out from the cold liquid, she wore an amused grin on her face.

“Fuck, I am so sorry!” the drunk dead man slurred. “I just—shit, lemme get you some towels—”

Peter turned his head, glaring daggers at the two men, eyes black as coal. He wasn’t just staring at two drunk guys in a bar. He was staring at Danny Rand’s bodyguards at the club. Wilson Fisk’s henchmen in the auto body shop. Flash Thompson’s teammates in the high school locker room. 

“No, no, really—I’m okay!”

He heard her voice somewhere in the back of his head. Her light tone didn’t match with the sirens ringing in his brain. “Look at me, it’s fine,” she chuckled somewhere in the distance. 

Her hand cupped the side of his face, smoothing over his clenched jaw. He flinched at the contact, a gasp catching in his throat. Peter was looking at her now, studying her concerned gaze and the half-smile still on her lips. He raised an eyebrow at her amusement.

“It was an accident,” she murmured, to the group, but more to him. “We’re okay. Don’t worry about it.”

Blinking rapidly, he leveled her with a confused look. Displaced. As if he had fallen asleep and now was awake in a different location. She took his hand and he was being pulled through the crowd away from the bar and the stuttering apologies of the Drunk Bros. He was in a daze, being guided gently until they came to stop in a dull corner of the arcade.

“Hey,” she said, searching his face with concern. “Look at me. Are you okay?”

His tongue twisted in his mouth. “Wha—you... I... I didn’t, uhh, but—”

She stood up on her toes, pulling his face down, and brushed a gentle, soothing kiss at the corner of his mouth. His brain told him that he was flying, fainting and flailing in an icy river—all at the same time.

“It’s okay, Peter,” she whispered, rubbing the nape of his neck. The feeling of her fingertips made him prickle all over. “You with me?”

The fog was slowly lifting from his brain, his cheeks flushing pink with embarrassment. “I... I didn’t...”

“You did okay,” she whispered, combing her fingers through his hair and sending goosebumps down his spine. “I’m okay. We’re safe.”

He let go of a tense breath as her words sank into his cerebrum, relieving a pulsating ache that had started less than 60 seconds ago. For once, both voices in his head were blessedly silent. Closing his eyes, his neck craned forward, touching his forehead to hers. 

“We can go home now,” she softly replied. “I think I’ve had enough to drink anyway.”

Eyes closed, he nodded. Deep breaths. In and out. 

“Look, just give me a minute, I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick,” she coaxed, straightening her back. “We’ll go home right after, okay?” 

He looked up at her, a line formed between his eyebrows. He didn’t have to speak a word for her to read his mind.

“I’ll just be one minute,” she said, backing him towards a wall. “Just wanna clean this up so I’m not so sticky, okay?” Her voice was as melodic and soft as a song. His heart pounded away until her hand came up and rested gently over it. “I’ll be right back,” she whispered with a curved lower lip. “I promise.”

The blood was still returning to his lungs, adrenaline dissipating. After a deep breath, he pursed his lips, nodding at her. Not as approval, but as reassurance that he would be okay. 

She held her gaze on his for several moments, melting his brain even further. If she didn’t leave soon, he’d be runny eggs dripping down the wall. She grinned sweetly, and rounded around him, skipping towards the restroom. His eyes followed her until she disappeared.

Honey felt her heart fluttering as she came to a stop inside the bathroom. Compared to the ruckus outside it was like a sanctuary. She took a deep breath as she gazed in the mirror. That was a close call. That was scary, in fact. So why could she not wipe the stupid smile off her face? 

She smiled like a schoolgirl. Grinned like a fool. She winced at the sticky sensation on her chest, but also sighed at the butterfly wings beneath her sternum. This was ridiculous. She was ridiculous. Why was—

The partition door behind her swung open. Reflexively, her eyes flicked up to the figure emerging, expecting a feminine form. She was wrong. Her smile faded. Her color drained. Terror overtook her features. 

John Walker stalked up behind her. She opened her mouth to scream. 

She didn’t get the chance.

To be continued...

[back to masterlist]

a/n hello! next part is already written and will be up once I have a chance to edit. it's going to be really, really painful. :-) like so much pain.

Thanks so much to all of you that have showed me your support, including your thoughtful comments and generous reblogs. Don't forget to reblog your fav fic writers, just to give them a boost.

To be added to the taglist for this series, you must reblog!