#see... the only seeing three things is too much

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - SIX

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mention of pregnancy; abortion; lack of self-care; drug and alcohol addiction;

Rafe had been clean for the past three years.

Over the course of the year, things between him and you had been smooth sailing. 

It was almost easy, something he wouldn’t have believed a few years back when everything he touched seemed to go up in flames. There’d been a time when he was just too much—angry, impulsive, doing all the wrong things for all the wrong reasons.

He’d been selfish, reckless, it was intense, way too intense, and when you fought, it was like you were both throwing grenades, just waiting to see who’d blow up first. You’d pushed him away, he’d pushed you harder, and you’d both crossed lines that should’ve never even been close.

Eventually, both of you learned to talk instead of shouting, learned when to back down instead of pushing buttons just to get a reaction. You’d gotten better at letting each other breathe. He’d pull back when he felt himself getting heated, and you’d do the same.

It wasn’t perfect; sometimes you’d still get into it, still end up in an argument that felt like old times, but it was different. There were no more lines on the bathroom counter, no disappearing at all hours. 

Until Ward died. 

Rafe didn’t know what the fuck to feel when he got the news. He knew what he was supposed to feel, right? He’d done it before with his mom, now it was his dad’s turn. The man who had raised him, the one to teach him everything he knew about how the world worked, even if it wasn’t pretty. 

Ward was a hard man, a strong man. The kind of guy who commanded respect, even if he didn’t always show it the way others might expect. But that’s the thing, he was a man of respect. 

To Rafe, that meant something. Everything. 

Ward had shaped him, he couldn’t just forget that, couldn’t act like that wasn’t important.

At first, you were there for him, no question. 

He knew you hated Ward, you barely tolerated the thought of him even existing in the same room as you. You spent those first few weeks with him, making sure he didn’t spiral back into the shit that nearly destroyed him. He needed the support, even if he didn’t always know how to ask for it.

You were there, holding it down. You got through it, the late-night talk, but then, you started getting distant.

At first, it was subtle—small things. He’d catch you looking at him like you didn’t quite get him anymore. You’d pull away when he needed you to listen, when he was ranting about Ward, and even though you tried to hide it, Rafe could see the dissociation.

He pretended he didn’t sense it, tried to tell himself you’d come around. 

After all, this was his grief, and no one else was going to understand it the way he did. His dad had been everything to him—maybe not in the way you thought he should’ve been, but that was just the reality of it.

For the first time in years, it felt like you weren’t there with him. It didn’t make sense to him how you couldn’t see it. 

Ward had been a tough guy, sure, cruel sometimes, but he was also a provider, a father who tried to teach him how to survive, even if it didn’t always come wrapped in the right way.

He wasn’t perfect, but he was the only father Rafe had ever known. He was gone all of a sudden and that was what had hurt the most—knowing he’d never get the approval he’d always been chasing, even when he was clean, even when he was doing better. There was no fixing that. 

He wanted to mourn in peace, but no one seemed to understand why Ward still mattered to him, not even Sarah.

Three weeks after the funeral he spent his days surrounded by a few bottles of scotch he’d stolen right out of his dad’s stash. Who was gonna stop him now, anyway? He almost laughed. Three years clean. Shit, that was something, wasn’t it?

He’d had people telling him he wouldn’t make it three weeks, let alone three years. Shit, his dad sure didn’t think he’d get this far. Only you.

Rafe squinted at the amber liquid swirling in his glass, then leaned back in the worn leather of his dad’s old armchair. It felt weird being in here, in his chair, in his office, breathing in that persistent smell of old cigars and varnish.

After the whole “funeral”, with everyone looking at him like he was a wild animal about to snap, this was the only place he could sit without someone judging him.

If you’re so clean, why are you drinking yourself half to death? He took a slow sip, letting it burn down his throat. 

It wasn’t like it used to be, that high that hit fast and hard, and didn’t care if it broke him apart.

This was different, a slower, quieter process.

Besides, he was in control this time. Just a drink, he told himself, fingers tightening around the glass. No powder, no pills. That was progress.

So what if he had to take the edge off? Who wouldn’t, if they’d just said goodbye to their only living parent and had to look at their younger sisters crying like that? 

He was practically swimming in alcohol. Rafe knew he was overdoing it, but he didn’t care.

Every time he saw himself— on a window, mirror, whatever—he had a drink in his hand, and something about it just felt terrifyingly right.

Grounded.

Nobody understood him; they just kept looking at him with that worried face, like he was on the verge of losing it like he used to when he was younger. Maybe he already had.

You watched him—really watched him—and yeah, he could tell you were pissed. He saw it in that little wrinkle between your eyebrows every time he took another sip. But you didn’t say anything. 

Even Wheezie was on his case in her quiet way.

She was hanging around, throwing out old jokes and trying to make him smile, but he barely reacted. She was looking at him like she was scared, as if he was some stranger she was trying not to set off. And he hated that—God, he fucking hated it. So he kept his distance, hoped she would back off, let him get through this his way.

But then came that night at the beach bonfire, when everything changed.

He probably shouldn’t have gone, but he needed to get out and feel normal again—even if that just implied showing up and pretending, he was fine. He dragged you along, flashing that cocky grin you could see right through, but you followed anyway, probably just to keep an eye on him. He could feel it—the way you were watching him, worried as hell, that just made him want another drink.

Half the people were staring, too. Waiting to see if he was gonna go off, if he was back to the same volatile Rafe he used to be, the one they loved watching spin out. And just when he thought he could ignore it, some random pogue, scruffy, half-drunk, threw out a comment loud enough for the whole group around him to hear.

“Guess Ward Cameron finally found some gold he couldn’t buy his way out of, huh? What was he thinking, running off to some country where people don’t just take bribes? Practically killed himself.”

It took everything in him not to lunge right there, but he was too plastered to keep the anger off his face. He pushed his way over to the guy, hands clenched into fists.

“You got something you want to say to my fuckin’ face?”

The guy shrugged, muttering something under his breath, people were looking now, everyone watching to see if he was finally going to give them a show.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was shoving him back, hard enough that the dude stumbled, beer splashing out of his cup. The crowd around them stirred, murmurs, but nobody did a thing—they were just staring, waiting to see the blood spill. He felt tempted to hurt someone, felt that cameron fury crawling up his throat.

It didn’t matter that he was twice as drunk as he should be; all that mattered was the way his father’s name was rolling off this nobody’s lips.

He felt you grab his arm, long nails digging hard enough to pull him back, he jerked his shoulder, trying to shake you off, but you weren’t letting go.

“You’re gonna waste your time on him?”

Rafe gritted his teeth, but you didn’t give him a chance to argue. You hauled him back, forcing him away from the guy, who was still standing there with that smug look plastered on his face. 

“Get out. Now,” you urged him, voice calm but with the tone that even he didn’t want to test. He glared at you, mouth opening to argue, but you didn’t let him get a word in. “Rafe. Now.”

You were mad at him.

It was enough to knock some sense into him, and he let you reel him away, but not before you turned back.

“And you,” you called out, enough to silence the chatter around you. “Keep your fuckin’ mouth shut.” 

There was no bluff, no hesitation, and Rafe watched as the pogue’s smug expression dropped instantly, eyes widening as he realized you were dead serious, your family’s name always had an impact around town, old money and all.

As you dragged him to the car, he muttered that he didn’t need you playing bodyguard, but you ignored it, taking him out of the spotlight he hated but couldn’t seem to avoid.

His head was spinning, his blood boiling, and he couldn’t even look at you, not with how angry he felt.

By the time you pulled up to his house, you got out, guiding him inside with that hard, that silent determination he both hated and admired in you. 

You were there, right behind him with that look on your face—angry, disappointed, like he was missing something big, as if he was the one who didn’t get it.

He stumbled into the bathroom, holding himself against the sink, and before he could even catch his breath, you turned on the faucet and splashed cold water in his face. He jerked back, sputtering, wiping it with the back of his hand. When he looked at you, his anger burned again.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he snapped.

“My problem?” you scoffed head already shaking, “Are you serious?”

“You don’t get it,” he growled, barely controlling the rage, the shame—everything. “You don’t know a fuckin’ thing about him. I had the right to defend him.”

You took a step forward, finger pointed at your chest, “Don’t I? Because I remember standing in this very house, watching him tear you down every chance he got. You’re so busy mourning this man who treated you like shit, that you’re pushing the people who care about you away. It’s not just me. It’s everyone.”

Rafe laughed bitterly, the sound humorless. “Oh, here we go,” he muttered, rolling his eyes as he turned back to the sink, gripping the edge hard enough to make his knuckles turn white.

“Don’t you dare roll your fucking eyes at me,” you retaliated, stepping up beside him. “I stood by you through all of it, I’m not gonna stand here and watch you kill yourself because of him. He’s the reason you felt like you had to be so perfect all the time, why you’re always trying to prove yourself to people who don’t deserve it. And now he’s gone, and you still can’t see it. You’re still trying to be good enough for him!”

He didn’t look at you, didn’t want to see the indignation—or worse, the pity—in your eyes.

“Just stop,” he muttered, but you were past listening.

“No, I won’t stop. I can’t. I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself again. You’re better than this.”

He suddenly pushed himself away from the sink, and turned to face you, his blue eyes practically black with a hurt that was older and deeper than either of you could touch.

“You don’t get to stand there and tell me what I deserve.”

“I know what you deserve.” 

He scoffed, rolling his eyes again, though his face had gone a shade paler. “You think you know everything, don’t you?” he sneered. “Think you know what’s best for me? Get off your high horse.”

“You’re damn fucking right I know better than you do, I’m not the one who’s drowning every night in some pathetic tribute to a man who wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”

He could feel it now, the bitterness you’d been hiding for weeks. It wasn’t just about him drinking himself stupid. It was everything—every fucking thing you’d been ignoring, it had festered between you two while you pretended things were okay.

“You’re the one who’s just tired of me, of everything that comes with me.”

You took a step back, eyes narrowing, but you didn’t flinch.

“What?” Your rage momentarily dialed down, the sound gurgling, “You think I’m tired of you? I’ve been here this whole time, trying to make you see the truth, but you won’t even look at me. You won’t let me in. You’re too fucking blind to notice.”

His breath was shaky, too fast, but he didn’t care. “So now I’m blind, huh? I didn’t see you sneaking out the door when I needed you? I didn’t notice how you pulled back, how you stopped giving a fuck about me? You’re just waiting for me to give you an excuse to leave.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he wasn’t done.

“You don’t get it! I didn’t need you to fix me, I needed someone to stay. But instead, you—" His voice cracked, the anger choking him up, "Instead, you started to make me feel like I was a b-burden. Some mess you had to clean up. How am I supposed to deal with that, huh?"

You were shaking your head, your eyes had already been filled with tears, your chest suffocating.

“I’ve been here. I’ve been standing right next to you, waiting for you to pull your shit together. I didn’t walk away. You did.

His stomach churned, as if you’d taken every inch of space in his chest and twisted it, just for fun. The worst part was, he couldn’t even argue with you. Not really. He had been so wrapped up in his own shit, so obsessed with keeping everyone out, that he hadn’t even seen how far you’d already gone.

“Don’t. Don’t you dare try to make this about me,” he spat, the words ugly in his mouth, it felt like they were scraping their way out of him. “You don’t get to make me the villain in your story just because you’re tired of playing my fucking hero.”

“I’m not trying to play the hero!” you screamed, stepping closer, your eyes were cold. “I’m trying to help you see that you have to fix this. Not me. Not anyone else. But you. And if you’re so fucking broken you can’t see that, then maybe you really don’t need me.”

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Rafe could feel his heart racing, that agonizing coil in his chest, but he couldn’t stop.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said, voice quieter, but just as venomous.

He turned his back on you, walking to the door. The sound of his boots clamped against the wood floor like a countdown.

“Maybe I don’t. Grab your shit and go.”

"Don’t you fucking—" you snarled, but he was already moving, grabbing your jacket off the hook by the door and throwing it your way, “You know what? Fine. Maybe I will.” You shoved that stupid thing on, hands shaking as you yanked the zipper up. “Don’t come running back in two days like you always do. Don’t come crawling back.”

Rafe paused, hand on the doorknob, his jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle ticking.

He didn’t turn around, didn’t look back at you.

“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.”

“Good. Because I stopped feeling sorry for you a long time ago,” you replied sharply, every syllable punctuated with weeks of resentment. “What I feel now? That’s just disappointment.”

You watched his shoulders lock up; his whole body wound so tight it was like he was one wrong look away from completely losing it. He didn’t turn around either, even as you slipped out the door, but he knew.

That was it.

Two moths later, almost three, he was standing in front of the ER pacing like a complete fucking idiot after you passed out in his arms earlier.

He’d told himself he’d stay away, make it easy for both of you. 

That shitty plan had gone down the drain once he saw you speed away at that party with absolutely no regard for your safety or Topper’s. He’d seen that wild look in your eyes before—the one that said you were about to burn it all down. Or when your dad’s gala came around, and he couldn’t sleep properly knowing he wasn’t going to be there that year, knowing how you spiraled every time you had to step on that stage.

He had stupidly thought that maybe, one day, you two could still be friends. But today? That shit blew up in his face, for the second time in the span of a week.

He forgot what you could invoke in him when you were standing merely an inch away. He promised himself that he’d moved on, forced to consider that the love of his life might not be someone he could spend his lifetime with. Maybe you weren’t meant for each other.

But how the fuck was he supposed to act when the girl who had been everything to him was hurting? 

No, no, no.

Sofia was what he needed.

Someone who didn’t know shit about his past, who didn’t ask questions he didn’t want to answer. She hadn’t seen him the way you had, hadn’t been there through every drunken rant and punch he’d thrown at the wall or someone’s face, hadn’t heard him rail against his dad or drag himself back from one of his darkest nights. 

She hadn’t called him a fucking idiot when he chose to throw his father’s ashes on the ocean. She wasn’t going to call him a coward for it. She didn’t have a clue about any of it, and that was supposed to be what he wanted.

He looked up at the ER doors for the millionth time in the past hour, his fingers clenched around his jeep keys so tight they left marks on his hand.

It was over between you two. He’d make sure to keep the fucking distance, two whole months. If he didn’t give you enough closure, you’d hate him faster and you’d both get over it. 

So why the fuck was he about to set the whole hospital on fire as he watched John B’s beat up twinkie pull up to the parking area? It shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. 

Of course you’d call her, his own sister—his father's favorite.

Sarah had always been the golden child, Ward’s little angel who could do no wrong, while he was the family screw-up. Even now, you’d picked her, just like Ward would have. 

He didn’t think before he moved, closing the distance between him them in seconds. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He barked right up in her face, daring her to explain herself.

Sarah didn’t back down, though. She just looked up at him with that same cool, level expression she always had whenever he tried to get a rise out of her. 

“I’m here because she called me.”

“She called you?” He scoffed, eyebrows pulling together in disbelief. “You? She called you?” He took a step closer, “So what, you’re her savior now or some shit? Why the hell would she call you if I’m right here?” His eyes narrowed, searching her face like he couldn’t believe it. “Are you kidding me?”

Sarah threw her hands up, a look of pure exasperation on her face.

“Are you dense, Rafe? You’re with someone else! Why would she want the guy who broke her heart to drive her home?”

He blinked, thrown off. “I broke her heart? She broke mine!” He laughed, but it was harsh, bitter. “I did us a favor. We were just—”

“Oh, right. A favor?” Sarah cut in, voice dripping with sarcasm. “That why you’re pacing out here like a goddamn lunatic?”

“Go away. I’m driving her home.”

She stepped closer, her voice steely as she looked him dead in the eye.

“No. She called me, she wants me here. Not you. So do yourself a real favor and go home before you do something even more stupid.”

A breathless chuckle escaped his lips, “She already hates me, Sarah. What’s the fucking harm, huh?” He threw his arms out, as if daring her to come up with an answer that would hurt less. “What’s one more screw-up on top of everything else?”

“You’re real dumb if you believe that. But if you wanna make it worse, then by all means, go ahead. You’ll just prove her right.”

He stayed rooted in place, chest heaving, the conflict ripping him to pieces. His hands shook, his throat tight with words he couldn’t even begin to understand.

But Sarah had already turned her back on him, heading toward the entrance.

“Walk away,” she warned him, looking over her shoulder, “That’s the only thing left for you to do right now.”

Rafe didn’t know why the fuck he listened to her.

It was as if his body had already made that decision for him, understanding that if he didn’t leave right then, he’d end up doing something stupid—something even more fucked up than what he’d already done. His tongue was locked in place, a curse on the tip of his pursed lips, but it never came. 

His feet wouldn’t move, his hands stayed at his sides, and that tightness in his throat wouldn’t let him get a single word out, not one that would make any fucking sense. He hated that. Hated that you still had this kind of control over him.

Hated that he just…felt like something was wrong.

You hadn’t been this frantic, so impulsive since he had to take you home after your sister passed. He didn’t want to remember that night—you damn near threw yourself out of his truck.

But he couldn’t ignore the memory, the desperation on your face, the screams, the fight in his grip as he pulled you by your shirt back inside.

He’d felt like he was holding on to something breaking apart in his hands, something he couldn’t fix but couldn’t let go of either. He’d seen it again in your eyes when he’d caught you earlier at the beach clean-up, the way you’d tried to dodge his stare, voice cracking, legs wobbling when he mentioned the hospital. 

Rafe still felt like he’d swallowed shattered pieces of glass every time he thought about you. And if he could just push it down, if he could just get through one fucking day without looking back, maybe he’d start to forget you.

His feet were glued to the hospital pavement, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. If you were about to crash, if this was anything like before…He didn’t know what the fuck he was going to do.

He had no reason to stay, you’d made it clear as day. He was supposed to be gone—out of your life for good. You’d told him you didn’t need him, he told you he didn’t need you. So why the hell was he still standing here? 

Perhaps because he remembered the last time he’d let you walk out, the way he’d watched you disappear, thinking he was doing the right thing—giving you the clean end you’d both needed.

Maybe that made him sick to his stomach now, thinking of you in there with Sarah, telling his sister things you wouldn’t say to him, letting her be the person he once was to you.

But you’d called her, not him. You’d picked Sarah to be here, and that hurt like a bitch, but it was what he’d asked for, wasn’t it?

This was what he deserved. He told you to grab your shit and go, forced you to leave because that was supposed to make it easier.

He’d impulsively made his choice the minute he’d wrapped his arm around Sofia, pulling her close in front of everyone who’d once known he was yours. He’d talked himself into it. It was the right call, moving on was the only way to finally get you out of his system. 

He was the one who decided it’d be easier to act like he forgot you than to actually try. He thought he could make it easy—pain-free.

Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose as he walked back toward his Jeep. He gripped the door handle so hard he could break it in half if he wanted to, feeling his knuckles strain.

If he let go, if he closed that door and stormed inside, he’d just be right back where he started.

He stared at his reflection in the window, his hardened face staring back. His pulse was pounding in his temples, his gut twisting and turning as he tried to bury it all six feet under—the need to just go to you, to hold your hand or yell at you for making him care so fucking much.

He finally released the death grip he had on the door handle, forcing his fingers to relax, his knuckles still throbbing. He slid into the driver’s seat, the cold leather you’d help him choose, mocking at his skin as he slammed the door shut.

With a quick flick of his wrist, he threw the car into drive, the tires screeching as he peeled out of the parking lot.

He drove like he was being hunted down. He wanted to get as far away from that place as possible, praying the miles between him and you would stop the churning inside him. 

You’ll just prove her right.

He hated her for saying it, hated Sarah for knowing exactly what buttons to push. 

As he rounded a curve, his headlights swept across Topper’s house. Rafe cut the engine and stalked toward the backyard. Topper’s sprawled-out form on a reclining chair, arms crossed over his chest, sunglasses somehow still on evenly.

He stomped up and smacked the end of his chair.

"Wake the fuck up."

He jolted, nearly tumbling off the chair, ripping his sunglasses off and squinting up at him. “Jesus fucking christ, dude, ever heard of calling ahead?”

But Rafe didn’t answer. He just paced, hands in his growing hair, digging into his scalp like he could rip the frustration out of his skull. Topper sighed, propping himself up on one elbow, he didn’t even look at him, just kept muttering to himself, biting his lip, pacing.

“What the hell happened?”

Finally, he stopped, “I need you to find out what’s wrong with your cousin,” he muttered, not wanting to admit he cared enough to ask.

Topper blinked, brow furrowing. “What do you mean, what’s wrong with her?”

Rafe only shook his head, hands on his hips as he stared at the ground. “I don’t know, okay? She just…she’s acting off. And I can’t—I’m not supposed to care, Top. I’m not. I’m with Sofia now, alright? But she’s still…” His voice trailed off, as he scrubbed a hand down it.

Topper tilted his head, eyeing him knowingly.

“Right, yeah, whatever you say. I’ll figure it out.”

If Sarah Cameron didn’t walk through that hospital door within the next three minutes, you’d lose all the courage you’d summoned over the last hours. Or was it just an hour? You weren’t sure how long you’d been lying there, the IV needle taped uncomfortably into your arm. 

Your fingers curled into the thin blanket draped over you, and you wished—desperately—that you didn’t feel so…empty.

Ten minutes later, she strode in with a glance at the door, as if she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to get there on time. The relief on her face when she saw you was reassuring but it only made the confusion in your chest heavier.

She was so different from Rafe, yet still looked so much like him. She sat in the chair by the bed, eyes scanning your face like she was trying to gauge just how bad it was.

“Hi.”

You swallowed, blinking up at the ceiling to keep the tears at bay.

“Thanks for coming.” 

“Of course,” She reached for your hand where it lay on top of the blanket, hesitating for a split second before giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You okay?” 

You felt a laugh bubble up, “Not even a little.”

She let out a small breath and nodded, squeezing your hand again. “I figured,” she said quietly, and you appreciated that she didn’t pretend to have some miracle answer, “I made him leave.”

She’d made him leave.

You could imagine his face distorted with anger.

You wondered if he’d put up a fight or if he’d just walked away,  giving in to his sister in that infuriating, self-pitying silence he’d perfected.

You weren’t going to ask, the less you knew, the better.

“Good.” You were relieved, but it felt bittersweet, “I didn’t want him here.” 

Except your voice shook, like it simply had to let her know you were lying.

You’d been telling yourself for so long that you didn’t need him—that you didn’t want him anywhere near you. But the second you pictured him there, waiting… God, you hated yourself.

Hated that tiny, pathetic part of you that still wanted him to care, even if it was just a sliver of anything that wasn’t anger or flat-out ignoring you.

“He threw a hissy fight, but don’t worry. He’s not coming back.”

You nodded, half in agreement, half in frustration, “He never listens.”

“Especially when it matters,” Sarah added, rolling her eyes. “I swear, sometimes I think he just likes to make things worse for himself. And everyone else.”

You recalled the sound of his footsteps trailing yours earlier, the way his hand had hovered near you when you swayed, the wild look on his face when you told him to back off. He had seemed…hurt. Like he wanted to fix something he’d already smashed to pieces.

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

She respected that—she wouldn’t insist. There was a lot to unpack when it came to Rafe, but you didn’t need to go there right now. She could tell.

"Okay. Do you want to tell me why you called me and not Topper?”

There wasn’t any judgment in her tone—just plain curiosity, confusion. And you couldn’t blame her. If the roles were reversed, you’d be asking the same thing.

You had to bite your lips to avoid crying for the hundredth time that day. You hadn’t planned on telling someone the biggest secret of your life in a public space, or after nearly having a mental breakdown.

Not like this, with the IV in your arm.

"I—" you started, the words tangled in your throat. "I don't trust him," you admitted quietly, "I don’t trust him with this.”

This.

You turned your head to look out the window, the late afternoon light pouring through the blinds, but it never touched the void you felt inside. 

“He’s too close. He wouldn’t get it. I needed someone who could just… not be involved, you know? I mean—You’re still his sister but—”

Sarah’s already frowning, interrupting your pitying party, “Sweet girl, you don’t have to explain your reasons to me. I’m listening either way. I don’t know what’s going on, but I get it, I understand why you’d want to keep him out of this.”

“You’re the only one I can trust to keep this a secret,” you confessed, “If anyone finds out—if Rafe finds out—it’s over. I’m not ready for that.”

A shadow crossed Sarah’s face, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t ask questions about what you meant—about how Rafe had ruined things before. She didn’t need to. 

“I won’t tell him,” Sarah promised, her grip tightening on your skin. “It’s safe with me. I’ve got your back.”

You closed your eyes, breathing out slowly.

This was hard, harder than anything you’d ever done before, and that was saying something considering all the shit you went through when your family died. She had no idea what you were about to say, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it would change everything between you—between you and her, and you and everyone else.

"Sara, I—" The truth choked you once more, cutting you off. You couldn’t breathe.

Your chest felt vacant, something was missing, something that you didn’t know how to fix, but you had to say it. It was the only way out.

“Are you—" she started to ask, but you quickly shook your head. You could hear the hesitation in her voice.

"Just… just let me tell you,” You begged, pushing the words out before you lost them. “I-I’m pregnant,” you finally blurted out, as if confessing it all at once could make it easier.

But it didn’t. 

You didn’t dare look at Sarah right away. 

Your eyes were stuck on the ceiling, blinking rapidly, you didn’t need her to see how much this was breaking you or how terrified you were. You could feel her eyes on you now, and your hand clenched around the blanket, your knuckles white from the lack of circulation. 

Then, slowly, Sarah squeezed your hand again, she was giving you a moment to breathe, even though you didn’t feel like you deserved it.

“Rafe’s?” she asked quietly, confirming what you already knew she understood.

You nodded, not needing to say it aloud; she could sense the truth in the way your chest hitched, how you couldn’t bring yourself to meet her eyes.

“God,” Sarah breathed out, "And you... you want to...?"

You nodded again. She wasn’t asking if you were sure; you could hear it in the hesitation of her question. She was asking if you were ready to make the choice.

“I don’t want this,” you choked out, the tears finally breaking free. “I can’t have it, Sarah. I can’t. I’m not ready for that. I’m not sure I even know what I want anymore," you spit the doubt out with the brokenness you felt, wiping the traitorous tear that traced down your cheek. "I don’t know what to do."

“I’m here. Whatever you need, however you need to do this—I’m here,” she promised, making sure you wouldn’t float away.

“I can’t… I just… I don’t want him to find out,” you managed between shallow breaths. “If he knew, he’d… I don’t know what he’d do. Maybe it’s stupid, but I don’t want him to look at me like… like he owns me something.”

Sarah nodded, not a hint of judgment on her face, “He won’t know a thing from me, I swear. He’ll never have any say in this, not unless you want him to. This is your choice, no one else’s.”

You didn’t know you’d been holding your breath, but it came out all at once in a shaky exhale.

“Thank you. I just… I didn’t know who else I could ask.”

“Hey,” she said, her voice gentle. “This? This is exactly what I’m here for. I’ve got you, no matter what.”

The empathy there, the way she held space for all your broken pieces.

“New Mexico’s clinic rules… they won’t let me go through with it alone. They said I need someone with me.” You took a shaky breath. “I can’t imagine anyone else but you there, Sarah.”

“Then I’ll be there,” she said, without hesitation. “I’ll get the tickets, we’ll go together. And if you feel like breaking down, then break down, because you don’t have to keep any of this in anymore.”

Her words broke something in you that had been holding everything so tightly. The relief, the gratitude— “You’re really… You’d really do this for me?”

“Of course,” she murmured, pulling you close so your head rested against her shoulder, her fingers brushing through your hair soothingly. “Sweet girl, I’d do this a thousand times over.”

“I mean—he’s your brother. I don’t want to mess things up between you two even more.”

She sighed, giving a small, sad smile, almost like she’d been waiting for you to say that. “You think he’s my priority right now? Don’t you worry about me and him, we always figure it out. Trust me, I’m used to it.”

“He might hate me for this. And if he takes that out on you…” You couldn’t finish.

“Listen to me,” she sighed, “I’m here because I care about you. Rafe and I, we’ll always have our issues—he’s stubborn, and he thinks he has all the answers. But that’s our problem. He’ll never have a say over what I do or who I’m there for. Especially not with this.”

You swallowed hard, “I don’t want you to regret it.”

She gave a wry laugh, brushing a piece of hair back from your face. “You don’t have to protect me from him, remember? He’s my brother, yeah, I love him despite all our shit, but I’m not here for him right now. I’m here for you.”

“You’re sure?” you asked, the question a whisper, almost childlike. You were afraid of the answer, terrified she’d eventually pull away.

“Of course I’m sure,” she replied, tilting your chin so you’d meet her eyes. “Whatever’s going on with Rafe will figure itself out—But right now, you need someone who’s all in, no strings, no doubts. That’s me. You focus on you. I’ll handle him.”

You looked down at your hands, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket, “I don’t think he loves me anymore,” you admitted, almost hoping she wouldn’t hear it, “I was so mean when your dad died.”

When you finally looked up, Sarah was watching you with a sad smile, one that made your heart hurt in both comfort and ache. “You really believe that?” she asked quietly, and you could hear the disbelief in her voice as if it was so obvious to her, something you couldn’t see.

You nodded, swallowing down the sting in your throat. “He doesn’t want me, not really. He’s…he pulled away. Like he’d rather hate me than be close to me. He’s with her.” 

The words tasted bitter, and made you want to hurt him twice as bad, but there was finally some relief in saying it out loud.

She sighed, looking down for a second, almost like she was thinking how to tell you something that hurt her to admit.

“I don’t think that’s the problem,” she murmured, with a knowing sadness. “I think the problem is that you two will never stop loving each other. He’s still hurting from dad’s passing, he’s angry because he doesn’t know how to stop loving you. And you—you’re here, angry that he loved my dad so much, hurt that he left, trying to protect me from him, still worrying about me when you should be focusing on yourself. You’re scared he doesn’t care anymore, and he’s scared you don’t need him at all."

Your lips quivered, your heart about to leap out of your throat, your tongue darted out, briefly brushing your lips.

You weren’t sure you should say it out loud, but maybe you had to. “We’re better off without each other, aren’t we?”

“You’re allowed to be someone without him, and you’re allowed to find out who that is.”

You were slipping, falling back into that spiral of guilt and shame, the one that told you maybe this was all you were good for. Maybe Rafe was right to break things off, perhaps he’d realized that, in the end, you weren’t worth fighting for.

And shit, you hated yourself for still caring. For still wanting him to want you, even though you knew it was poison. Even though you knew that being with him, needing him, was only dragging you both down.

“Thank you.”

And as you sat there, in the stillness of that room, with the sunlight dimming outside, you felt that maybe someday you’d be able to trust yourself too. To believe that you were worth more than the heartache you’d come to accept as your own.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige

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@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

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[jk-kiwi]

Warmth of December

Warmth of December (18+) Characters - Sergeant JK x Y/N reader (women) Genre - slow burn (?), strangers to lovers, basically everything is war themed, the story takes place in old time but is not an accurate representation of real life events, pretty much an old mentality on how things should be and about how people should act, THIS is fiction.  

Summary - Everyone wants a chance at freedom once a brutal war starts taking place, this also means that taking risks and dangerous paths is part of it. But what would you do when a chance for survival appears before you? Will you reach out and take it? Warnings - war stuff (blood, death, mentions bad things done to women, weapons and fights, etc.), angst, drama, fluff, fictional characters, 5 years age gap (20/25), older Jk, suggestive/smut, Jk is kinda cocky/arrogant and sometimes a jerk, he gets better after a while and becomes a total sweetheart, Jk hits a women once (not you), mentions of enslavement, women are kinda treated like objects that have no function other than being obedient housewives that must listen to their husband, mention of chastity/virginity, a lot of mixed feelings, mentions of pregnancy.

MINORS PLEASE STAY AWAY! Warnings for the not so holy parts (18+) - they get naked in front of each other without doing it, mentions of soft and hard manhood as well as female parts, reader is inexperienced, they take things slow at first, it’s consensual, I won’t detail what I’m about to write because I’m embarrassed so read at your own risk, no heavy/crazy stuff though I think, they do it 3 times along the story, has some other suggestive parts. X<

Author’s note - Y/L/N Y/N stands for your first and last name. Also, NEVER in my life have I written smut, first time (probably last) don’t come for me if it’s bad, please. BTW It’s been a while since I’ve written something, this is also the longest one I've ever wrote. If there are any mistakes please let me know!

Enjoy!  Word count - 19k

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

30 August 1955

“Keep quiet!” Poor heart beating out of your chest.

Step by step and you were almost out of this hell hole. You started clenching your long skirt tighter while the other three girls were following tightly through the thick blanket of rusty leaves. Escaping through the forest was not an easy task, especially for young women and since this damned war has started, more and more people seek liberty and justice. 

But it’s not that easy to seek freedom.

Around every corner you can find soldiers waiting to attack, and once you get caught by one of them, it’s game over. Dragged in a hidden place, if not taken right there and then for their own sick pleasure, losing all hope of a good life and just succumbing to the dark and shameful path you will have to live, if they pity you enough to let you do so.  

Every person wants a chance at freedom after all, right?  And because of this you are forced to take the risk. Either make it safe over the border, through the woods and get to a small town where you can start your life all over, or fall into the hands of the devil himself.  “I’m scared…” The youngest one of us, Mai, says, tears pooling in her eyes. At only 16 years old she’s forced to take such harsh decisions in order to gain safety. 

“Calm down, if you make too much noise we will get caught, that’s what you should be truly scared about.” Yun-Mi tries to reassure her, hoping she will calm down and not get us in trouble. With cold hands you push the bushes in front of our faces and look over to the hill we have to go across. Over the sun covered land we can see the thick border of trees, that’s it! That’s the last part we have to cross. After days of hiding and countless sleepless nights of looking around, we have finally made it.

”That’s it, right Y/N? That’s the border.” Jia, the oldest one exclaims in eagerness. “Yes, after that…we are finally free.” You can say, slight uneasiness crawling into your head, almost like you could predict something bad was going to happen. The three girls smile and hug each other, happy that they finally can get away from what the war has brought. “Let’s go then, what are we waiting for?!”

Oh, only if it was that easy. Perhaps this was the hardest part of all, beside the fact that this area was the most watched over because many attempted to cross over, the emptiness of the hill made the perfect chance of being spotted.

“Let’s go by the tree line, it’s much safer.” With a plan set, You try to take the lead.

Safe to say, the place looked deserted, the sun was almost setting and the only thing you could hear was the gentle sound of the wind. It was dangerous, luring people with its quiet demeanor, thinking you are safe until you wake up on the ground with a gushing gunshot wound and one or more soldiers on top of your body. With slow and steady steps the four of you go along the tree line, skirts raised above the knee level. If the nuns at church you used to live all these years would see, they for sure would pass out. 

“It seems clear.” Jia point’s out, looking around. And so you thought, until your head turned to look through the thick tree trunks, scanning the area below. In a split second making eye contact with a guy who was down at the river, he was watching you. 

Your blood ran cold, his head turned sideways, almost confused like, wondering if his mind was playing tricks. But when you saw him take his rifle out looking through the scope to confirm that what was happening was, in fact, the horrifying truth you will be living. “Get on the ground.” You managed to mutter when you saw him signal to someone while taking better aim, a horrifying grin spread across his face. 

“What?” The others ask. Your cold hands grab Mai by the shoulder, pulling her down with you, while yelling at the other two. “Get on the ground, now!” With your head down the only thing you could hear was a deafening shot. Looking back you see Jia holding her arm, bright red liquid staining the white fabric of her dress. All four of you fall to the ground, screaming and crying, finally grasping the situation. 

You try to keep composure, to look for a place to hide, but you were like a lost bunny that just fell into their prey's trap.

Dragging Mai away, Yun-Mi helping Jia follow, even though she screamed in pain and wiggled in shock. Looking around you try to find the best spot to hide, already hearing their footsteps getting closer. Still, you had some time to try and get away. 

“There!” you point at the overgrown bushes and piles of dead leaves and branches. They for sure will think you ran away and not look through the debris. So you get close, Yun-Mi stuffs Jia’s mouth with her apron to try to stop her screaming. 

“Keep quiet! They're going to catch us!” she manages to whisper, the girl nods and swallows the fear and pain she feels knowing this is the only chance for survival. And then you see one, pretty tall and muscular, a dark green hat covering his eyes, weapon in hand looking ready to strike anytime, clearly a soldier. Close to him another wonders, looking around cautiously trying to think of your steps.

You cuddle closer, hiding away in the leaves, eyes shutting tight holding your breaths. 

The two boys go down the path, while a surprising third goes up the hill towards the borders to check. That’s it, that’s our end. Knowing you are close they will continue to search until they find you, and then, God forbid, what’s going to happen. You try to think of a strategy, head running wild with possible solutions, in your madness I barely notice Yun-Mi’s hand tagging lightly on your skirt. “Y/N…” she whispers and then gulps. And so you open your eyes to see another pair in front, big and dark eyes scanning you like a predator. You reach under your dirty apron and slowly pull out the emergency knife you carried all this way, pointing it in his direction. He chuckles and tilts his head, amused by your bold reaction.

“Leave us alone!” You say, seeing his tongue pushing the inside of his cheek, his gaze still curious, but instead of doing something the only thing does is look around for his mates. 

That’s our chance! 

In an instant you try to launch at him and hit with the knife. With one hand he catches your arm, making the knife hit the ground. 

You wince in pain and he does not stop his actions, one of his knees presses over the knife while he maneuvers you around, your face hitting the ground roughly. 

You try to resist, but he catches your other hand and straddles your back making you unable to move under his heavy weight. 

“Get away from her!” Mai tries to come closer to hit him but his hands are quick, taking his pistol and pointing in her direction. “Have any other surprises left in you, pretty girl?” He says, hands starting to wander under my apron searching for other potential weapons making you feel disgusted. 

Though in fear, Yun-Mi drags her shaking body over, begging the man on her knees, her voice soft. “Please, I beg you, let her go!” The others crying too, probably aware of what was about to happen, seeing their fate being sealed through what was happening to you. “I have no intention of doing that, but I must say, you are some brave girls. Going around all this road for a chance to escape, on your own? No other man? Just four young girls.” He laughs a little, chilling your bones.

“Must say you have a lot of balls. You know what happens to people like you, right? If not, then I can only warn…not nice things.” He rises a bit, letting go of your arms, pistol pointed at the back of your head. “Turn around, I want to see your face.” You obey and turn around, the man still on top of you, his eyes boring along your body making you avoid his gaze.

“Hmm, not bad. How old are you? 18, 19?” Rough hand comes in contact with your face wiping the debris that got stuck before gripping at your jaw, turning your head to look at him.

“I asked you a question, therefore you should respond. Aren’t you in a bad position? Why are you making stuff harder for yourself?”. “I’ve just turned 20.” You spit through clenched teeth.  

He hums, seeming satisfied with the response. In a flash he gets off of you, putting his pistol back in his carrier, taking my knife from the grass. Quick footsteps being heard in the distance. 

“Sergeant! Have you found them?! We lost track!” An older guy approaches you. “Yes, four of them, pretty young. All girls by the way.” He says boringly. 

“Oh my! They really are pretty. What a delight.” Three other guys gather from behind, eyes praying over you, their faces plastered with sinister grins. “So, what do we do with them, sergeant?” asks another impatiently, hoping to get a green card for some potential hideous actions. The guy who found you, despite his appearance, looked to be the youngest, but also seems to be the leader. 

His body was pretty muscular, black hair almost covering his eyes, one of his hands covered in tattoos. He looked at you and caught your gaze again. You can see how his hand dips in his military jacket, searching for something before responding to his mates. 

“To be honest, we should follow the rules, right? All that are caught are enslaved, no other funny businesses." The three whine but obey his orders. 

His body crouches to your level, putting the knife under your chin making you gasp and close your eyes.”But I feel a little pleased with today's catch. To see such young women trying to fight for their lives in such a brutal world, tsk tsk, truly a pity.” He pushes the knife upwards, making you tilt your head with it. 

“Who wants to live from here?” He says delighted, devious plan coming together in his mind. 

Is he a sadist or what? Playing with your feelings for his own pleasure, enjoying seeing you suffer and making you beg for him to let you live?

The three girls start begging, even Jia, who’s body became pale from all the blood loss, raises her hands to pray for forgiveness in front of the soldiers. So you do what seems the best option, you wrap your hands around his one that holds the knife, pressing lightly, but enough feeling a warm droplet of blood drip down. “Would you look at that?” He doesn't even flinch, but you could see his muscles contracting in trying to hold the knife steady. “Let go. Do you want to die?” His face was stern, but amusement was growing behind his facade. “Yes, I would rather die than get dragged to who knows where, letting man touch and spoil me over and over like a slave. I refuse to go to that hell, so kill me.” He snatches the knife away, your head hitting his knee from lack of balance. You could hear his laugh seeing how pathetic you are in front of him. “You know…I really like you, very bold.” He gets up from the ground, his hand throws the thing he searched from under his jacket in your lap. You take it in your hands, it was a cold, shiny and silvery tag. It reads “Sergeant” on one side, with a few stars engraved showing his status, on the other side it’s only what I can figure it’s his name “Jeon Jungkook”. You look up at him, hands holding the cold chain, already knowing what it meant. He smiles cockily at you.

“Congratulations! I think you can call yourself a lucky lady, you know. If you think the place I was supposed to shove you was hell, then what can I say baby, I guess I just brought you back to heaven.” He says delightedly, before signaling his man to take your friends. 

You can hear them screaming and crying, trying desperately to free the grip these devils had on them. You bow your head down, refusing to witness the grotesque scene unfolding in front of your eyes. Jungkook comes over and with one arm he snatches you from the ground. “You need to wear it sweetheart, people will grow suspicious otherwise.” He puts the necklace over your head, sealing your faith as well. “Let’s go.” He says while dragging you with him, from now on his property to mess with. You tried to feel even in the slightest relieved, you were given a chance at a new life after all, right? 

The silver military pendant is only given as a token of proof for married women with high military men, showing their status and letting others know not to mess with them. But why did this feel different? Why you?

“I should be happier.”, that’s what you told yourself…happier that you lost your friends? Or that you are at the hand of such a man, someone you don’t know, that could use you like a puppet whenever he wants? 

You should've just taken the chance and stabbed yourself right there and then, only if you weren't such a coward. In the end, you just followed him around like a lost puppy, letting him drag you where he wanted, your body and soul now his to play with. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Shortly you two arrived at what seems to be a military camp, night already setting in. Your friends, nowhere to be found. 

The guy presumably named Jungkook took you to one of the tents, his by the looks of it. 

“We will leave tomorrow morning, I will show you where to wash up and I will bring you some clothes to wear.” He took off his jacket and boots laying back on the singular bed while you stayed close to the entrance, like a lost lamb. “Why are you doing this to me?” You ask quietly, breaking the silence, your eyes staring at the ground. Jungkook only sighed, didn't even bother to look your way. “You said you don’t want to go there, didn’t you? I fulfilled your wishes so be happy. You are not there, are you?” You didn’t know what to say or do, why did he even want to do this in the first place, it didn’t make any sense. “It does not make sense to me. Do you save all types of girls this way? If so, why not my friends too.” Now his attention was full on you, he sat up and looked at your figure. 

“Are you always such a pain? You got it better than the others, I gave you my tag, you get to marry a high rank military man, everyone is happy!” 

I scoff “I am not! I don’t understand your reasoning in wanting to marry me in the first place, I am just a low commoner that is basically a run-away! Why did you decide to save me and where did your men take my friends!” I ask authoritatively.  Jungkook groans, throwing his head back. “You really are a pain! If I knew I would’ve never taken you, maybe the crybaby would’ve been better.” He mutters the last part, but you hear it anyway. “I don’t need a reason to do this, I just wanted to. End of discussion.” He says making you look away annoyed. 

You see him get up, his body coming closer to yours. 

“Also, you better not tell a soul about this. If they ask, I just found you in a village and took you over because I fell in love with you, understood?” His presence was scary all of a sudden. Tall frame hovering over yours, dark eyes staring dangerously. 

“I saved you, so you owe me. If you say you wanted to cross the border and I took you in out of pity, or anything else that will bring trouble to me…then I will not hesitate to send you to a place worse than hell itself.”

You gulped even though your throat felt dry, he was intimidating.

“Those girls are not your friends anymore, we don’t speak of them, and if you want to live good then you follow what I say and are obedient to my words, understood?” His hand comes over to grab your cheek, not as rough as before, but with much more authority. You can only comply under his underwhelming presence. 

“Understood…” And with that he grabs your hand and a set of clothes, taking you to where the shower area is. 

… “So what do you think, prestigious?” He asks while you look around scanning the area. It was not much, but decent enough. It felt more like a communal shower than the prestigious luxury he was talking about. A simple room with a few shower heads and walls for a bit of privacy.

“You can shower wherever, the water is a little cold, but it’s still August, you should be fine.” And so you go behind the wall, slowly starting to undress. That is until you hear a whistle from behind the wall. 

“Why are you still here?!” You ask in horror only to make him laugh in response, already enjoying the situation. “I can’t let you THAT alone, what if you run away?”. “Don’t worry though, I promise I won’t peek, I’ll have all the time in the world to gush over your body.” He says suavely, making you gasp 

“I can’t do this like that! I am a woman after all, what about my chastity? Have a little decency!” You say in rage “And how can you even say such lewd words!”

“Relax, I will just stay here. I won’t just barge in like an animal. Plus isn’t it better? What if someone else decides to come and shower? You’ll be my wife soon, I will have to carve their eyes out if they see it before I do.” You were disgusted to say the least, such unscrupulous man. You sigh and with the little patience you had you decided that maybe it was for the best and just went with it. Jungkook seemed to keep his promise, every now and then your head peeking to look at what was he doing. 

He was leaning on the wall, arms crossed over his chest and eyes closed, he seemed tired. The peace around you was nice, but part of you was also longing for some discussion. 

After all, he was the first person to talk after all this time, of course, other than your now “not to speak of” friends. 

So you decided to break that silence and try to get to know him a little. “So, I should get to know you a little, I think.” Jungkook only hummed. “Jeon Jungkook is your name, as I recall from the tag, also a sergeant?” 

“Yup, I am him in flesh and bones.” “How old are you?” “24, 25 soon.” He was pretty stiff with his answers, but at least you hoped he responded honestly to your questions. 

You tried to think of some more stuff to ask, but Jungkook beat you to it. “How about you, I responded to all your questions, but I don’t even know your name.” “My name is Y/L/N Y/N” you tell him. “Pretty name.” He adds.

“So…Y/N, where are you from and why did you decide on doing these things?” You close the water and grab the towel Jungkook prepared. 

Sitting deep in thoughts while drying your hair, the bathroom became quiet.

 “It’s fine if you don’t want to say, I was just curious.” You can hear him taking a big breath of air before his steps start taking towards the door, he was leaving. “From a small village in the south.” You bluntly say, making the man stop in his tracks, his back facing you.

“I don’t have a family if you’re wondering, I grew up in the church. I wanted a better life since there was only misery there, that’s why I left.” 

You see the boy turn around, his eyes scanning your body, only wrapped in the towel, small droplets of water falling from your hair to the ground.

“It’s not polite to look at a girl like this, I didn’t wear my clothes yet so please just turn back around.” Embarrassment and shyness take over when you feel his deep stare, never being watched as exposed as now. 

He complies however, turning his body around, staying in front of the door, almost looking like he’s guarding it. 

“I see, so you are a church girl.” He snickers “I figured since I’ve seen you for the first time, the clothes gave it away pretty well, not to mention you look scared every time I get an inch closer.” “Is that a bad thing?” You ask. 

“Nope. Just so you know, I’m not exactly into practicing stuff like this, does not match my personality.” He says before exiting. Letting you put on the clothes Jungkook gave, most probably his.

“How did you become a sergeant at such young age?” You cautiously ask him while going back to the tent. “My dad is the general of the east side of the army, I worked hard to match his steps, but in the end I got stuck as a sergeant and was given my pluton.” 

The man opened the tent to let you enter, him following right after. 

“How are you not married yet? Especially having such a function and family, aren’t girls throwing themselves at you at any given chance?” Your bold question takes him by surprise.

“You became even bolder I see, already asking me personal stuff? Are you worried I have a wife and kids at home?” He asks cockily, making you look back at him with wide eyes.

Sure you have your doubts, but your thoughts were still pure, asking just to get to know him better. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think my question was intrusive. I wasn’t under any means doubting you!” I rush to say, my cheeks heating up making him chuckle again. 

“Don’t be so stiff, sugar, I was just playing around. Plus, you have the tag, don’t you, so no other women are involved.” He closes the tent letting behind him, inside only the small oil lamp give in some light.

Without care he starts pulling at his t-shirt, leaving his upper body exposed in your sight.  

Your eyes go wide, cheeks brighter than they were already, your hands fly up to cover up your vision. “Oh my lord! Have some decency, I am also here!” 

In the end you close your eyes and turn your back to him. However, when you can feel his muscular chest stick to your back you stiffen up. 

He leans down, his breath gently caressing your neck. “I wonder what are you going to do after we get married? Hide around and let me play catch with you, little one?” You gulp down, pressing your legs to the nightstand in front of you, his hands come from behind resting on the wooden surface, your face pure red now.

“You know…you’ll have duties to take care of as a wife, I am a man after all, I have my needs.” His lips brush ever so slightly to the side of your neck, leaving a lingering feeling on your soft skin. You never felt like this before.

“Jungkook…please” You breathlessly say while trying to get away from his hot embrace. But he only chuckles once again getting away from you. 

You can’t turn around, eyes fixed on the back of your hands while you can hear him taking his shirt on again and searching for a new set to wear. “I’ll go wash up too, go to sleep and don’t think of running away. This is my camp, I’ll find you.” 

And so he leaves. With shaky legs you lay on his bed. It smelled manly, a little bit like the forest, but it also had a sweet scent to it. Soon you get engulfed by the peace and quiet around, finally falling asleep in the comfort of his scent. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When you woke up in the morning, Jungkook wasn't here. You can’t recall him entering the tent after he left for the shower nor getting close to you again. But soon enough his footsteps enter the confined space making you sit up. 

“Slept well?” He asked while starting to gather his stuff, putting everything into a big wood box. You just stared at him blankly trying to process everything happening. 

“I asked if you slept well, sugar.” That damned nickname again. “Yeah, I guess you could say so, better than caves and leaf beds.” He hums, pleased. “Then we should get going, people are waiting for us back in the city.” He throws next to you what seems to be your clothes, now washed and dried overnight.

You go out after you’re done and with Jungkook’s help you step for the first time in a car. 

You can see some men get in the front seats while others help boarding up all types of boxes and gear.

“Do we leave for good?” I ask looking outside the window “Do you want to live in the forest?” He says mockingly. “When I said you were lucky it wasn’t a joke, today we are supposed to swap places with another pluton, if you were to cross today, your fate wouldn’t be as lucky.” 

You didn’t know what to say after that, part of you wanted to let Jungkook know you are at least a little thankful for his acts, but your mind drifts to the thoughts of Mai, Yun-Mi and Jia. You hope they are safe.

Jungkook forbade you to talk about them, telling you that his man won’t dare to stand in front of him, let alone say something about what happened. And safe to say he ensured that if you were smart enough you would live a peaceful and decent life by his side, outside of ruins and misery. … Entering the city you were slightly mesmerized, it was not of luxury, but at least it wasn’t run down or bombarded like the place you came from. 

You stopped after a long ride in front of a pretty big house, with a beautiful front garden and even a fountain and a swing on the side. 

“We are here” Jungkook said, getting out of the car and helping you out, once again, showing a warmer side to you. “What is this place?” You asked, looking around, trying to take in every detail. 

“It’s my family’s house, let’s get inside.” But before you could take on, a lady’s screams could be heard.

“Jungkook, my days, you’re back!” The lady, looking young as well, with long and black hair flowing down her shoulders, beautiful clothes and even well done make-up jumped in his arms, hugging him tight, her lips coming in contact with his cheek.

“Hey! Long time no see!” Jungkook hugged back, bright smile on his face, and for the first time you felt weird, almost…small like. 

Yes, you only knew him for a day, but the fact that he wants to marry you out of the blue yet he’s having women jump him right when he arrives home makes you feel just a little strange, like you didn’t fit in the picture. “I thought you weren't coming back this month at how long it took! Did you eat well? You seem a little thinner than last time I saw you.” The woman lets go of him with one arm, starting to feel around his biceps for any muscle loss. Jungkook smiles even more, his head bowing a little, letting a giggle out. “I’m fine, Yuna, just tough business getting the best of me.” The girl named Yuna seems to finally notice my awkward presence, she tilts her head, eyes locking into mine, her smile disappearing quickly. “Who is she?” 

Finally the two part ways and Jungkook remembers that he also brought you along. “A shit, yes, You almost forgot.” He clears his throat scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment. 

Coming closer he is taking your hand in his. “Yuna, this is Y/N.” 

His hand brushes over your shoulder coming in contact with the metal chain that rests on the base of your neck, pulling from under your ragged clothes his military tag. 

Yuna’s eyes widen when she sees you wearing his necklace, her body stiffening. You can’t help but feel like an intruder under her burning gaze. She tries to put on a smile, forced by any means. “So, you’re getting married…” That’s the only thing that managed to come out of her mouth. Jungkook smiles at you and says breathlessly “Yeah.” 

What a play pretend…

“That’s…wonderful news! I kept wondering when this was going to happen, being away from me and home all the time, I knew you would find someone to take your heart. I am so happy for you two!” Tears almost started forming in her eyes, but probably you were the only one to notice since Jungkook only thanked her lightly and started going towards the house, with your hand in his.

… “Don’t worry about meeting my father, he might seem stern, but he’s not a bad guy.” He instructs you 

“Yes.” “And don’t think he won’t like you because you are not rich or something, I am pretty sure he will be happy to know I found someone to love, even though it’s just a facade for us.” He whispers the last part.

“Yes, sure.” You were out of it, mind going blank now that you were here. He gave a small squish to your hand trying to knock some courage into you and knocked on the door, entering with you behind. “General!” He saluted, letting go of your hand, and waited for what seemed an order. “It’s fine, son, you are dismissed for today!” He got up from the chair and came over to pat him on the back. 

“I heard you did very well at the border, less people managed to escape this month, good job.” He smiled warmly. 

“Thank you, father.” They engage in some conversation that you don’t really grasp.

Instead, you stare at the ground hearing how he is so praised for doing such “horrible” things. 

Yes, it was his job after all, you knew it already. But it still felt painful thinking of all the other people that didn’t manage to escape. They exchanged some more words before his father’s eyes laid on you, same questions addressed, same acts put up. 

You only smiled at him, being as polite as possible while staying in front of such a big figure in the community. “You’re getting married!” He exclaimed with a big smile on his face when Jungkook points at the dangling tag you wear. 

“Oh thank the lord! It was about time, Jungkook!” 

Both of you were pretty embarrassed to say the least, his dad was already making plans on when the wedding should take place, where you two should stay and how many grandchildren he wanted, but to your relief Jungkook cut him short.

“Next week father, no fancy stuff, no big parties, I just want to get it done fast.” And so his smile witheres. 

“But son, this is your wedding! You will only have one, it can’t just be like this, you are a general’s son and also a highly respected member of the community!” His father argued, definitely not pleased by his son’s roughness in handling such a “big” event.

“I don’t care, I just want it done fast, you know I am not the man to celebrate such stuff. I just want to focus on future work and…my wife.” His eyes met yours, they looked brighter at you, reassuring even, making you wonder why is he so good at pretending. 

“But how about her, Y/N is this what you also want?” Your future “husband” looked a little stressed when you were addressed with such questions, not knowing whether you will comply with his act or not.

Smiling bright, you chuckle before responding. “Yes, sir, if this is what my husband wants I will comply, I trust his decisions.” You could finally see his features softening a little, relieved and happy with your answer. 

“Then…it’s set. It might not be what I dreamed of for you, but if you are fine like this then I will ask the priest to officiate the ceremony next week and move you into an apartment downtown.”

He smiled at us one last time, exchanging a few more words with his son and making the arrangements for our future before letting some maids show me around. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

7 September 1955

The days have gone by quicker ever since you got into the city. You had a nice room where you stayed alone since Jungkook’s father said it’s immoral for the both of you to share the bed before being properly wed. The food was plenty and also the facilities were high quality, and the people around seemed decently kind.

The only downside, if you could call it like this, is you haven’t seen Jungkook as often since he’s apparently very busy all the time.

However, you had your chance at speaking with some of the people around his house, collecting crumbs about him and what he truly is like. 

The place was nice, and soon you started to feel much more at peace with the future life you were going to live, finding out that despite his appearance and inappropriate runny mouth, he was a well raised man. Right now you are standing in front of a mirror, dressed in a simplish white gown, hair and make-up perfectly done and a bouquet of white flowers in your hand. This was your big day, and looking back on what happened not long ago made you realize how much you've already changed.

After today you will not be a little kid anymore, you won’t need to run away or plan a better future. Still, everything is making you unsure, giving yourself away like this, for a man you barely knew made you just a little sad. “Are you ready? Oh my, how pretty you look!” In the time you spent at Jungkook’s house you managed to get along with an older lady, Miss Min, someone that knew him ever since he was a young child. 

You talked a little and bonded over tea and biscuits in the afternoon. She was the only one that really acknowledged your presence since Yuna only gave you stingy glares and huffed when you asked her little things, clearly not being fond of you, and the others only greeted and shied away knowing you will be a sergeant’s wife. “I think I am.” You said, going over the bottom of the dress once again, making sure there are no wrinkles and then taking a deep breath. Miss Min accompanied you to the church's door, where Jungkook’s father was waiting. Since you didn’t have any parental figure next to you, he took it upon himself to lead you to the altar. Inside the place was beautiful, there was some music playing in the background, and all of the people Jungkook knew were here, everyone was either a friend or relative to him. 

His father led you to him and you took his hand into yours. Looking around once again you felt alone. His smile was reassuring in a way, trying to calm your nerves down, but you just felt empty. The ceremony went over almost too fast, the priest said what he was supposed to say until now, the moment everyone was waiting for. “Do you, Jeon Jungkook, take Y/L/N Y/N to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?” 

“Yes!” 

And then he repeats his sentence, your eyes looking into Jungkook’s. Silence took over the place waiting for your response.

What should you do next? Say yes? If this was the answer, it felt wrong. 

You could feel a squish of your hands bring you back to where you are, the reality you are supposed to live, his eyes looking sternly while waiting for your answer letting you know that blowing your cover up now was not a good idea. “Yes.” And yes you say, people cheer, but there is no smile on your face. 

In other words, you feel like crying. 

Why were you doing this? Why are you marrying this man? The ceremony continues, vows are exchanged, vows that are fake, rings are exchanged, rings that just trap you into this unreal story, tied to a man you barely met.  “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”  And now a kiss. It was supposed to be the one you love to do this with you, to take these steps with you, but it’s not and so you close your eyes, a warm and soft pair of lips meet yours for the first time in your life, the saltiness of your tears taking away from how bitter everything feels. Everyone congratulates you, they are happy, and you, once again put on your facade and tell yourself to be grateful for what you have. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Time flies and after the wedding you are in front of your new apartment, smiling and saying goodbye. 

And then you find yourself inside the living room and soon enough in the room you are supposed to share, looking dumbfounded at your now to call husband. “Take them off.” He demands, arms crossed. 

No way you’re doing this…like this! “Can’t you hear me? Take your clothes off, I want to see you.” 

Your face burns red, arms wrapped around yourself, gripping the soft fabric tighter around you. Your ears refuse to acknowledge his words.

“If you don’t then I will.” The man takes a step further and you run towards what is supposed to be the bathroom door…locked. 

“So you really want to play like this, I thought you would be more understanding.” Jungkook comes over,  his hands drag you over to the bed sitting on the edge with you in front of him.  “Take your clothes off.” Burning gaze almost rips the dress itself. There is no escape from this so you start peeling at your clothes under his stare.

First is the vail that falls from your head, next he helps you with the zipper and then there you are, all naked in front of him, hands trying to hide what’s left of your dignity. He doesn't seem satisfied however, arms still crossed, eyes still burning on your body. 

“Are you a virgin?” You look up to him in shock, eyes wide, blood rushing to your already red cheeks. 

Was this a way to shame you? Asking these types of vulgar questions, making you do such things in front of him. “Is this your way to humiliate me?” You ask, voice small. “Nope, not at all.” You feel tears burning into the corner of your eyes, arms bending even more trying to make you disappear. 

“Is this embarrassing to you?” He asks curiously. 

“Yes…” you say in a whisper, hoping to ease some of the shame he’s making you feel. 

The man gets up, still fully clothed, big hands push you gently on the bed. 

You close your eyes, expecting something to happen, but you only feel a cold piece of material being thrown over you, a blanket. 

You are looking back at him confused, wondering if he’s just playing with you or making fun of you, but when you see him take off his clothes as well, you start to panic a little, not knowing where to look. “There you go, are you feeling better now that we both are naked?” You can’t look at him, body burning up under the covers. If you could dig a hole and crawl into it you would do so. 

Once again you expect him to do something, but he goes out of the room leaving you naked on the bed. Maybe he’s crazy, you think, but when you see him return with a knife you get worried. “What are you doing with that?” Gulping you asked. “Well it’s clear you have no idea of what we are supposed to do, and, to be honest, you don’t even seem fond of having sex with me.” You gasp at the boldness of his words. “See, you can’t even bear to hear the word itself!” “Meanwhile, just the thought of doing it LIKE this, makes me uncomfortable. It can’t even get up, see?” And you look at his member then away once again, making Jungkook laugh. 

“How about the knife, what are you doing with it?” Your mind is still filled with worry.

“You see, everyone expects us to consummate the marriage, Nana Min will come tomorrow to clean up. But since we can’t right now, I need to make it believable. I will just snip my finger a little, they won’t know where the blood came from anyways.” You try to calm down, at least he’s not forcing you into stuff, it’s just that, it’s weird. Doing so much for something so fake, he’s really on the long run. With a small wince he cuts himself a little on his palm, letting a few drops of blood to stain the covers. “Done.” The boy wipes his hand with a spare cloth until the blood stops and then crawls into the bed, laying on his back. “Let’s just go to sleep.” 

You stay seated at the edge of the bed, covers still fully on you so Jungkook takes this as a sign to try and comfort you, finally feeling a little bad about the way he acted towards you. 

Gently, pulling you back, until you lay flat against the bed, he unwraps the cocoon you created around you and pulls the sheet over both of you, leaving a little space in the middle so your naked bodies don’t touch. “You’re worried?” He asks. “I am.” You respond, turning your back to him.

“We can talk if you want too, don’t be so closed around me, aren’t I your husband?” “Fake husband, Jungkook, everything about this is fake.” Jungkook hums. 

“Yes, but…it doesn't mean we can’t work it better.” He proposes. “What even is the purpose? You don’t love me and I don’t love you.” You say revolted. "Y/N. How can I explain this to you?” He sighs. 

“I know we don’t know each other, and this is a play pretend right now, but we can work it out, we just need some time?” “Time for what?” You sound defeated, and so you feel, especially everytime you’re standing in front of this man, if you can’t read him, how can you even get close to him later on?  

“For the fact that I’m not as unfond of you as you think.” He blurts out taking you by surprise. “What?” You turn to face him, letting him see your tears, his hand coming to your cheek to wipe them away. “Come on, do you really think I would go this far for someone I want nothing to do with? Getting married, saving you and what not? I can’t say I love you right now, I just met you. But…you seem nice and I won’t complain if I get to spend my time with you.” You scoff shoving his hands away.

“So you only saved me because…I seem nice?” You prop on your elbow and look at him. “Yeah, and fierce, and determined, not someone who will beg for her life like all the others do, you seem like a strong woman who actually wants to do something in her life.” He also props himself on his elbow, looking at you with soft eyes. “I could’ve just sent you there with the others, but something in me just decided to keep you, that’s why we are here.” A fresh new wave of tears threaten to fall from your eyes “So you want to tell me, that you only got me to this point because I was appealing to you, like…an easy catch?” You scoff once again. “Yes, shitty reason, but these are my valid feelings, and I’m sorry if they hurt you.” You could feel the anger bubbling in your veins and it wasn’t even for Jungkook. He thought you were just a nice piece of meat he could have, and he was right. You just fell into his den and now he can just devour you whenever he feels like, only because you were that dumb.

You offered yourself to him without a fight since that seemed to be the most profitable option for you back then. 

“You think I’m a jerk right?” Oh and so much more, but now this is the jerk you are stuck with.

“Yes, I do, a big one, thinking of me as just an object you could have.” “You’ll learn to love me one day. I don’t plan on getting away from you.” The sincerity his eyes hold just confirmed everything you needed to know and “Never.” was your answer, deep inside knowing that this was not how things will be. Those were the last words spoken that night, before a sigh left his lips, probably tired and unsure himself of all of this.

You turned around, body seated as far as possible from him, emotions running wild, letting only time say how this will unfold. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

22 December 1955

And time truly heals, at first it felt horrible, long days spent inside these walls, your husband being away, not like it mattered that much since you two were not making it easier for each other, being at each other's throats almost everyday. 

It’s been a month since you met, and then it’s been two, then three, and things started to calm down. 

And now you stay in front of your oven, almost end of December, eyes sparkling while looking at how beautifully the snowflakes fall from the sky before getting lost in the darkness of the night. 

The smell of baked cookies fills the apartment, maybe not as big as his father’s, but big enough for you two. 

Jungkook is not home yet, or so you think, but when you feel two strong arms wrapping around you from behind you can’t help but get startled. “Did I scare you bun?” His voice was gentle, his cold embracing slowly becoming filled with your warmth. Things did get better, and he was right. 

It took a while for him to pull at your heart strings, but once he started it was way too hard to stop. 

First, it was the nicknames, then he started to give you some of the space you needed to explore what you like, coming across your knitting hobby. 

He made sure you felt spoiled, always bringing back stuff so you could cook and bake for him since you were fond of homemade food, and he became fond of your cooking. 

He became more gentle and opened up about a lot of stuff to you, and slowly so did you. It was coming along nicely, you were both learning how to love each other. “What are you making?” He asked while sniffing the air. “Just some basic cookies, Christmas is right around the corner and I need to prepare. You said we are going to visit your father and I thought we could also bring some goods to him.”

He nozzles his nose on the side of your neck, a new stuff he likes to do to bring some butterflies in your stomach. “Did Nana Min come around today?” He asks while leaving a kiss on your cheek. “Yes, she did.” 

Ever since the first night here, lady Min made sure you two had great comfort, being his maid for so long already made things easier, and you don’t want to admit it but her presence did make you two get closer faster. “You smell nice.” His hands leave your waist and start getting dangerously low for your liking. Even though you two have been married for quite some time, you were still uneasy when Jungkook initiated things further than kissing, that also being a step taken very hard in your relationship.

He didn’t want to pressure you either, into doing something you possibly wouldn’t enjoy, but as he said once, he was a man and his needs started growing a little beyond the line, especially since you two started getting way closer. Stuff like intimacy was discussed before, he knew you didn’t have experience and you found out he lingered around sometimes, from having a few flings here and there to actually going to the more “exclusive” places of your times where you can pay for such services.

You were a little horrified to find about this, but he assured it was long in the past, just when his youth was kicking in, and it’s been years since he stopped going there. However, he did say he’s never gone with a virgin, so the doubts were still there, both of you felt them.

Your body rigids when his hands slips under your blouse. “Jungkook.” You try to warn him, but his mouth starts leaving small kisses to the side of your neck. 

“Relax baby.” And you try, until one of his hands slips under your bra, cupping your right breast. You whimper a little, eyes closing and only then Jungkook knows he’s gotten you right where he wanted once again. “Let’s go upstairs.” He stops the oven, leaving the cookies half baked, slowly guiding you to the bedroom. Hungry lips come in contact with yours even before entering the room, and you could feel that everything about this is different, but you don’t stop.

You learned now that he will never hurt you or go beyond something you don’t like, you just need to tell him and he’ll stop. “Can I take this off?” He asked since your bra straps were already going down your arms under your blouse. Jungkook’s hands were already toying with your breasts, yet he still was sweet enough to ask if he could remove your upper wear. 

“Yeah, please do so.” Your small voice was not uncertain yet, truth to be told, you’ve gone a few times through him groping and kissing on your body, more or less naked, but he never dared to touch beyond that, and you always made sure to stop him out of your own fears. With careful hands Jungkook takes off your blouse, unclasps your bra and lays you down on the bed, head right between the pillows. His lips trail down from your neck to your chest, stopping right above your breast before taking your nipple right on. He manages to rip a louder moan out of you, your back arching at the feeling making him grin. His hands help you out of your skirt, now only in your pair of panties in front of him, and when one of them starts to play with your underwear that’s when you let all of your insecurities take the better of you.

“Jungkook, stop.” You rise from the bed and try to avoid his gaze, you know he’s annoyed with your behavior, always stopping him before things become more serious, but he also realizes how scary this is for you. 

Your hands grip the sheets, eyes getting teary in frustration, a warm hand cups your face. “Look at me, Y/N.” Head turning slowly, soft dark brown eyes bore into yours. “We are never getting past this if you don’t trust me.” He says a little worried. “But I do trust you…I just…don’t trust me.” You sniffle and wipe the tear that just fell from your eye. The man in front of you giggles, he pulls his uniform off, leaving him only in his boxers and he rests his head on your shoulder leaving feathery kisses. “I told you I don’t care, good or bad I want you.”

You also rest your head on his shoulder, more tears wetting his skin in annoyment with yourself. “Will you be gentle with me?” He hums, wrapping his arms around your body, dragging you on his lap, letting you feel how hard he is for you. “I will go easy, and if you feel really bad just tell me to stop.” He lays you back eyes looking for reassurance before sliding your last piece of clothing off your body, and you give him the green after so long. Jungkook feels excitement bubbling inside him and he tries not to let his feelings get the best of him at this moment. 

“You look so pretty.” His palms start rubbing your legs up and down before parting them to look right where he wanted. One of your hands makes their way down quickly, but before you can hide away he takes your hand away making you whine. 

“Don’t look, please!” You say, embarrassment running through your veins “Then what am I supposed to do? I want to see it.” His comments always bold, making you bright red for him. “I have to touch you a little, you won’t be able to take it otherwise.” You bite your lips at his remark, already too embarrassed to say anything. You saw him, not once after that night, sometimes soft, sometimes hard, he was a lot. 

It worried you a little, however, his touch on your private parts made even the clearest part of your mind cloud. He touched lightly, playing with the bundle of nerves first, making you feel stuff you’ve never felt before, and then you felt it, one of his fingers, thick and slightly rough to the feeling, entering you. “Oh my God!” Your whole body contracted. It felt weird, not exactly bad, but weird, a new feeling. 

“Shhh, relax for me.” He made sure to kiss and caress you in such a way you wouldn’t feel the second going in just after. And slowly, you whimpered and squirmed around as he was pumping them in and out. 

“I don’t think I like this.” You say, a strange new feeling already developing inside of you. “You’re just close, don’t worry, you will feel better in a second.” He picked up his pace, thumb rubbing over your clit every time he pushed his fingers into you. “This is scary, please.” 

His lips reassure you a little when they make contact with your temple. “It’s going to be better, let it out, my soul.” And you overspill, all the emotions that bottled up spill right in that moment, a wave of pleasure washes over you making you almost scream. It takes you a minute to get down from the high you just had, your husband whispering how good you did for him while his hands leave your fluttering count. You close your eyes for a little until you hear some rustling around you. Jungkook is getting out of the bed, boxers still on hard cock threatening to escape out of them. 

“Where are you going?” You ask confused, awaken fast from the mind blowing pleasure you just felt. “I’ll run you a bath, I’ll be right back.” You rush to get up, hand managing to catch his.

“But why? Are we finished yet?” He smiles gently at you and pats your head. “You are a little overwhelmed right now, you just had your first ever orgasm, my love. Don't worry about me, if we go further it might be too much for you.” 

He tries to soften your grip and go but you hold even tighter. “No!” You jump out of the bed with wobbly legs, dragging him towards the bed and making him sit down on the edge. “You’re just working me up for nothing? I’ve been waiting for this and now that I have the courage you stop? What kind of man ar…” You try to revolt and anger him a little. And you also obtain what you want, he turns you around manhandling you, face in the sheets, his hard on pressing on your bum making you gasp. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, I won’t be able to stop if we continue.” 

You turn your head to the left looking up at him, eyes clouded. “Maybe I don’t want you to stop.” He growls a little, warning you. “This attitude you have! Y/N, I don’t want to hurt you in any way, it will just make this experience bad for you.” 

He lets go and you turn around. “Please, I want this.” You beg him to please your wishes making him sigh once again, head dropping, finally giving in to your desires. “Just…hit me if it hurts or I don’t stop.” He crawls back in bed, sitting once again on top of you, his hand slip his boxers off, knocking the breath out of your lungs when you see him stand so tall in front of you, hand gripping his hot cock, his eyes clouded by his own desires.

“Spread nicely for me, love.” And you do so, much more confidently this time, excited even. Jungkook looks down at you, seeing how small you look under him, a little unsure if he really wants to continue, but you seem so excited to finally let things happen, so he caves in. Pumping himself a few times he rubs up and down to collect some of your left over wetness, his hand guiding the tip at your entrance. “It will hurt .” He warns. “It’s fine, I trust you, Jungkook.” You whisper, making his heart skip a beat knowing that you trust him so much. He bites his lip and with a small nudge he pushes lightly past the ring of your entrance looking over for any reaction, anything and he will pull out instantly.

You seem quiet and calm so he gathers some more courage to push just a little further, just until his head is in, and then he looks over to you seeing the signs already, tears pulling in your eyes and fists lightly clumping his pillow. 

“I’ll stop.” “No!” You say once again, more determined to try new stuff with the man you are finally in love with. ‘But you are in pain, love.” He coos softly. “Just do it please, it’s not that bad.” Jungkook pushes further and further until he is almost fully in, his face comes closer to yours just to kiss your lips and face and soothe the pain away, letting you adjust to the new feeling, giving him a nudge when you feel ready.

“I’ll move now, tell me if it’s too much.” And he slowly pulls out, a few droplets of blood staining the sheets. You moan harshly when he pushes in again, this time fitting all of himself inside you. 

And he holds you through the pain until you start to claw at his back, more sounds coming out of the both of you. “It’s starting to feel good.” You breathlessly say while the man above you seems to have his mind almost out of this world. It doesn't take much for the feeling to start appearing once again, warm bubbles forming in your tummy. “I’m close.” You say calmly, knowing what’s about to happen. “Me too, baby.” Your husband whispers breathlessly.  

Jungkook’s starts being a little rough making you whine while your walls contract at the sudden peace. “It’s just me baby, relax for me.” He says making you melt in his embrace. 

In a second the bubbles burst making you arch your back, scratching Jungkook’s with your nails in the process. And soon you feel it, the sloppy pace, the trembling and the even warmer feeling within your walls. Maybe you were inexperienced, but you knew what this meant. “Jungkook, did you…” Both of you were trying to catch your breath. “I’m sorry…I came inside…I told you I can’t stop.” The boy was ashamed, not being careful could lead to greater consequences, and he, for sure, did not want to knock you up on the first night you shared your love. 

Slowly he pulls out, looking at the mess he’s made, saying sorry once again. “If I get pregnant, you’re in big trouble, mister.” You laugh a little pulling him down for a kiss. 

“But until then let’s wash you up, you must be tired.” He says picking you up and carrying you in the bathroom. Life just gets sweeter and sweeter from a point, that’s what everyone says. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

4 March 1956 Thankfully you didn’t manage to get pregnant from your first try, or second, or third, and the many more that followed after. At a point you even wondered if it was possible for you to carry. But your husband was not worried, he always said “When’s the time, it will happen.” 

To be honest, you think he was just grateful he didn’t have to worry about protection. You were at Jungkook’s family house right now. He was on his border shift and whenever that would happen, you would stay over with his father and the others. 

Winter was finally over, flowers started to bloom again and the weather was pretty warm for the beginning of spring. 

You were waiting patiently, it was time for your husband to return and everyone waited eagerly ever since they heard this month, due to their skilled squad, nobody managed to pass the border. 

You got used to it by now, old events long forgotten, your mind and soul accepting Jungkook’s work more and more, after all it was also part of him. Playing with the chain of your silver necklace, rocking on the swing in the front garden, looking outside through the thick fence at the various people passing by. Humming gently while letting the breeze run through your locks, a surprised voice calling your name. “Y/N?” You look up, eyes widening in surprise, happiness washing over you at the sight of Yun-Mi. She looked ravaged, her clothes were pretty dirty and she had some visible bruises on her, not to mention the prominent belly she was carrying. You wanted to say hi, to ask her how she’s doing, what happened all this time, worried about how did she end up in this state, but before your body to make a move Jungkook’s words came up in your mind “Those girls are not your friends anymore, we don’t speak of them, and if you want to live good then you follow what I say and be obedient, understood?”So you stop, you can’t do this. You avert her gaze and slowly get off the swing, turning your back to her, feet rushing to get inside. You hear her scream, her hands open the gate running after you. “You can’t do this to me! Why are you pretending you don’t know me?!” “I don’t know you! Please leave, this is private property!” You look back, she’s struggling with all that’s going on, but you don’t stop. In front of the door Yuna appears out due to all the noise and screams. You look at her expecting to call some guards, or do something about the situation but she just sits there, a small grin plastering her face in satisfaction. Within seconds, you fall to the ground, your feet tripping over a stone. Yun-Mi’s body turns you around, getting her form on top of you, one of her hands gripping your hair while the other hits the arms that tries to cover your face. “Get off me!” You scream in pain. “How can you do this! Filthy bitch! You don’t know me anymore? You don’t want to know what I went through while you lived a good life?!” And she hits even harder, tears coming out, running on your face. You close your eyes expecting more, but the only thing you can hear is her yelping. With trembling hands you try to arrange your hair. Looking up, your eyes only see the very furious figure of your husband, his hands gripping Yun-Mi’s hands above her head. 

“How can this happen in my yard, on my property!” His soldiers drag Yun-Mi’s body out of the garden while she’s pulling up a rage fit, screaming insults. Jungkook doesn't look at you first, his eyes lay on the girl in front of his house, who’s now avoiding his gaze, his father coming out from behind her shock plastered on his face. 

“What is happening here?” He rushes over to see my state. Jungkook grits his teeth, heavy and fast steps taken towards Yuna, both me and his father turn around to watch him. His hand came in contact with her arm, pulling her towards him. “Why did you let this happen?” Yuna bows her head, avoiding his glance. “Yuna, I’m asking one more time. Why did you let this woman hurt my wife?”  She looks at him through her lashes, biting her lips, spitting venomous words between her teeth. “She deserves it for stealing you away from me.” Slap Her face turns to the side, eyes widening and tears gathering in them. The man shakily exhales, his hand running through his hair in anger. 

“If you ever let my wife get hurt and do nothing about it, I will throw you out on the streets. Remember who brought you here and be grateful, not a greedy bitch who wants a married man’s attention.” With a low, dark tone he tells her. He’s finally coming closer to you, his father scolds him for hitting a woman, but he doesn’t seem to care. He tries to be gentle with you, but you can see he's still full of rage. “Are you okay, my soul?” You shake the dust of your dress, brushing your hair back, collecting the few strands that fall. “Yeah, I’m fine, a bit scuffed, that’s all.” He sighs, helping you get up from the ground. “Let’s get you inside and clean your wounds, I have something to discuss with my father.” He takes your hand in his and helps you inside the house, passing by Yuna whose body was on the ground, shaking from all the crying. Lady Min took care of you while Jungkook and his father went into his office to discuss. It didn’t take long to hear the shouting and arguing, at a point even some glass smashing to the ground.

“Oh my, what is happening in there? Today is not a good day.” She bandages you with worry and by the time she is done your husband storms more enraged out of his father’s office. “Come on Y/N, we’re leaving.” Using your name surely startled you, after months of being used to praises, your name felt strange coming out of his mouth. “You are not doing as you please, Jungkook! This is not your decision to take!” His father screams while going after him. “You can’t make me stay, this is my life! I’m 25 for fuck’s sake! I am allowed to make my own decisions!” And with that his hand grabs yours, pulling you out of the house, and pushing you into the backseat of his car. 

His dad still screaming after his son, but he wouldn’t turn back. He buckles up into the driver’s seat and drives you home. … “Pack up, tonight I’m coming for you.” He said sternly after you two entered the house. “Jungkook, what’s happening? Where are we going? Why were you fighting with your father?” He pinches the bridge of his nose, annoyed. “Answer me, please.”  You could see him clench his fists. “Pack up I said! And don’t ask stupid questions!” He growls violently back at you. Startled by his anger, you bow your head and nod, a little scared by his actions. What was happening to him all of a sudden?  You wanted to have answers, to not be in the shadows, clearly he didn’t want you to know. But you could only wonder, did something bad happen? Your husband sighs and comes closer to you, pulling you into his embrace, finally trying to calm his nerves down. “I’m sorry, love, didn’t mean to scream at you. Just pack up and I’ll explain to you on the way.” He kisses your temple going out of the door and right back at the car, leaving you alone in the cold and empty house.

… Packing up was definitely a challenge for you since there were many things you had now and don’t know if you need, but after a few hours you think you finally have everything essential down. 

The sky is dark now, a car stops in front of your door, and one of Jungkook’s soldiers boards your items in the trunk. In the backseat, your husband reads over some documents, his eyes soften when he sees you enter, he is way calmer now. “Hey.” His hand comes in contact with your hair, brushing gently through it. “Hey” You respond with a small smile, hands fidgety. “I know you are confused, but don’t worry. I’ll explain everything to you.” And he does. He told you how some of his soldiers died in a border attack, and how he was tired of doing this work, always seeing his mates pass away. He put up a petition to move departments and work in city patrolling and other governmental work instead, and it got approved. 

Not by his father though, who taught he doesn't have to move away in another city and work with the government, that sparked the argument between the two. He insisted on his son staying close to home since the war was getting rougher with many more enemy squads were coming closer to habitable places, the borders being attacked more often. 

But Jungkook made his decision, he was a 25 years old man after all, he needed to think about his whereabouts more and also take into consideration all ways to keep you safe. 

And now there were you going, another city, another house, another life to live. Looking into the night, part of you was conflicted. You knew your husband only wanted the best for you and himself, but leaving behind all that he knew, friends and family, was this really a good decision?  Your thoughts were all over the place with everything that happened too. I guess you could say your husband noticed your worries since he took you into his embrace, cuddling you close to the heart that was now beating only for you, your eyes slowly closing while listening to it, letting go of your worries for tomorrow.

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21 July 1956 

Months have gone by fast in the new city. At first, accommodation was hard. You knew no one and making friends was not an option when Jungkook, a highly seen sergeant now working with the government, was your husband. 

The place was poorer than the one you lived in before, that’s why people avoided you, being commoners made them afraid to engage so they don’t end up in prison or enslavement. In this case you remained alone, now already used to the feeling. However, your husband was more often at home since his duties didn’t make him take so much time apart, mostly working in the place you are settled. This also makes it easier for you to get even more closer to each other, almost a year passed since your meeting. Dates occurring more often, just like right now.  The last few days it rained quite a bit, but now the weather is starting to warm up again, making it perfect for spending your time out. And after spending so much boring time in your house, you filled a little basket with goods, took a nice blanket and urged your husband to get out for your little picnic, it was his day off after all, he should enjoy it. “Come on, Jungkook! Be a little faster!” You found yourself on a little hill right outside the city, it was pretty similar to the one you had back home, but with a better view and not as dangerous. You let your basket down, hands spreading the blanket nicely between the taller grass and the pretty summer wildflowers. Your husband chuckles at your eagerness, his back laying on the blanket while watching you rummage through the goods. “I hope I didn’t forget anything at home.” His hands pat your back urging you to lay down next to him. “We will enjoy what you brought, honey. Just sit and enjoy for now.” You sigh and shoot him a glance, but quickly conform and lay next to him staring at the clouds in the sky. “There are many clouds today, I hope it won’t rain.” Jungkook hums next to you, closing his eyes, enjoying the summer breeze. “I want to do it.”  You sit up so fast, clearly taken aback by his words, making him grin. Sure, you learned the hard way that he is the type of man who gets what he wants when he wants it, but right now? “Are you serious? This is supposed to be a nice evening that we both enjoy!” You nag at him. “And we will both enjoy it, I promise.” His arms wrap around your waist, dragging his body closer, lips make contact to your clothed thigh. 

Your hands try to push him away, but he doesn’t budge. “Jungkook, not now! We are in the open eye and…and what if someone just stumbles across us doing inappropriate things? That’s only going to ruin your reputation and make me want to vanish from the face of earth!” You try to fight back but in vain, his hands push you down to lay back on the blanket, his body hovering above you. Your hands grip his biceps, trying to stop him from running your skirt upwards, but when his sweet lips melt on the side of your neck you loosen up a little, letting him do whatever he wants. Soon enough the skirt of your dress is ridden above your waist, panties long forgotten to the side. Jungkook smirks while looking at how wet and glistening you are. “I missed this, I’ve been so busy lately that I forgot how pretty you look.” You slap his hand lightly, being embarrassed. He hums thinking about something, while you just lay there expecting his touch. “Is everything alright?” You ask, a little worried when he doesn’t touch you. “I’m contemplating on what to do, my fingers are dirty so I can’t use them, and going without prepping you will hurt.” 

Oh…he was just so thoughtful that it just melted you. You wanted to tell him that he can just put it in, you’ll endure. But before you can say anything his lips come in contact with your warm clit. You gasp in shock, fingers already tangling in his hair to try and push him away. He’s never done this to you before.  “Oh my lord! What are you doing!” But he doesn't budge, he only sucks harder around your folds, making you lean your head back moaning loudly. One of his hands pushes you down before coming to spread your thighs even more. His lips and tongue working wonders on you, almost making you forget about everything around, but getting you so, so flustered by all the slurping and licking sounds that fly in the air. Soon you feel your high coming and when the tip of his tongue brushes past your entrance you lose it, a high pitched moan leaving your throat while stars start to appear in the day sky. You breathe heavily, chest running up and down, legs shaking. Jungkook emerges from the skirt that fell down over his heads, lips glossy and grin almost as big as his pride from making you come so fast. “I think you are prepared enough now.” He pulls your skirt back up, gripping your legs and putting them over his shoulders, almost folding you in half. 

“I don’t want to know where you learn all of these nasty things from.” You say, finally getting back to your senses, only for a short time though. He laughs and pushes in, his cock sliding in and bottoming out instantly at how well prepped you were. “Would you look at that?” He cockily says. It only took him a few seconds of accommodation before starting to thrust quickly into you, making your breast almost spill from the confinement of your top. His lips eagerly nudge at your neck, hands not letting your legs slip from his shoulders. “Don’t worry, sunflower, you were the first one to try this one, until today I only see it done by others.” He whispers in your ears, making you clench tightly around him. Your arms grab him by his neck, pulling him closer, sweet sounds pouring into his ears making him hiss. “I’m embarrassed right now, you always pull stunts like this.” He laughs wholeheartedly, peace never slowing down. 

He gets up from your chest, eyes staring lovingly into yours before he stretches upwards, making him go even deeper if possible, also taking a moan out of you when you feel his tip gently nudge your cervix. “You’re a little deep…” Your heart flutters, fingers gently caressing his face. You could feel so much love all around you. Feeling your second orgasm come close, you turn your head looking at the sky above. It felt like you were the only ones under it at this moment. “I’m close, love.” You say. Jungkook’s peace also starts to wither, getting close to his own high. “Me too, my soul.” In an instant the love blooms between you two, your bodies burning up with passion and desire, the knots untying letting you claim each other once again. Both of you breath heavily, sweat running down your foreheads. He doesn’t pull out, but his arm reaches above your head, pushing him a little deeper once again, making you whine.

He comes down quickly not to hurt you, placing a daisy in your messy hair. “My beautiful flower.” He whispers, rough hands caressing the soft skin of your face making you blush even more. He collapses on top of you, your legs falling off his shoulders, but still feeling a little uncomfortable from all the soreness that’s appearing.  “Can you pull out, please?” “Nope.” He raises his head smiling smugly. “I’m getting sore.” “Sorry baby, but I’m starting to get a little worried by now. It’s been a year yet you are still not pregnant, not that I’m eager for a child, but I wonder what’s happening here.” He smiles and pecks your lips quickly.

“So these are your worries now? Weren’t you the one who said when it’s time it will come?” You scoff. “But it’s been long, what if you can’t get pregnant?” 

You frown a little, baby talking was a pretty sensitive topic, especially after so much trial and error. You didn't think it would affect you in any way, you were still young and if it was to come you will be more than happy to welcome a little bundle of joy. 

Jungkook didn’t seem very fond of the idea of having a baby either in the beginning, always saying how he was too busy to care for one. However, you are a little hurt now. Giving him a child is a dream of yours, but if that doesn’t happen, is your relationship going to stay the same? Maybe he will leave you for someone else that can give him one. Worry and insecurity starts growing into your veins. “It hurts, can you please get off.” You start to wiggle and he finally complies, pulling out and wiping you clean with a napkin. “It hurts badly? Did I hurt you?” He also grows worried, pulling your leg to inspect whether he hurt you badly or not. “It seems just like any other time after we’ve done it? Where does it hurt?” He asks, concerned. 

“Here…” You point to your heart, hurt more by the thoughts of him possibly leaving you for someone else then the soreness between your legs. 

He takes your hand in his and looks over you with worry. “Why? Is it bad, do we need to see a doctor?” You shake your head sitting up. “Will you leave me?” He tilts his head holding your hand close to his chest. “Leave you, no. Why would you think that?” “Because I might not be able to bear your children.” You sniffle. He laughs and puts your palm under his shirt, right where his heart sits. “Do you feel this? It beats for you and you only. Even if we can’t have them, this, what I feel for you…will never fade away, trust me.” The sincerity in his eyes and words make you tear up, cuddling closer to his chest to listen to the way his heart beats. And you stay close, holding each other until the sun almost dies down, enjoying his presence and eating all the goods you made. Packing everything up, Jungkook helps you on your feet, hands grabbing the basket and blanket. Thick and dark clouds covering what’s left of the sun. “I think it will rain tonight.” “Yes, so do I, we better hurry. I’m already dirty and I don’t want to wash up in the rain.” With quick steps you get back to the city. Welcomed by agitation right from the beginning. You grasp Jungkook’s hand tight and stick closer to him. “What is happening?” He asks, concerned.

We make our way into the madness, the rain starting to pour all of a sudden. Nobody can say anything, they just wander around, running and gathering what seems to be their belongings. Are they leaving? With heavy steps and hearts you arrive in front of your house, a car filled with military men waiting in front. “Stay here.” Jungkook instructs you, leaving the basket in your hands and covering your head with the blanket. 

You try to get closer to hear what’s happening, but all that you can see is Jungkook’s worried eyes. He gulps thickly and turns to you for a brief second, finally letting you see his glossy eyes. Without a word he jumps in the car and leaves. You remain alone on the streets, clothes drenched, the wooden basket falling from your hands on the ground. You stare into nothingness not wanting to believe that he just left without an explanation after sharing so much love. After what seemed to be an eternity, your sore and cold body finally moves. With shaky hands you pick up all the food that spilled on the road, most of it washed by the rain. Unknowingly tears start running down your face. You gathered everything and went inside. It was warm, but you just felt cold. 

After you wash up and lay in bed you can finally let all your emotions run wild, painful sobs being heard around the room in hopes of someone hearing them.

All you could do was wait…wait for his answers, wait for him to return home.

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19 August 1956 It’s been almost a month. A month since Jungkook left and never returned. You waited for a sign, you waited for him to show up at your door and jump in your arms. You always told yourself that no apologies can make you forgive him for this, but the truth is that you only needed to see his eyes, to feel his warmth and you know you will forget anything that has happened. You tried getting answers, but nobody knew much. You asked other military man to drive you to where he was, knowing that they knew where he was, but in vain. You were stuck for almost a month in this city, living like a widow instead of a happy wife. But now you know, a soldier came into the city and you overheard him saying how General Jeon was on death bed due to being injured in an attack in the city, his son getting ready to take his place. You almost fainted out of shock, not wanting to believe that was the truth, the reason your husband left without a trace. With the little power you had, after being drained out for so long, you gathered some necessities and jumped in the first communal carrier that was passing through the old city you lived in. And there you were, after many hours spent on the road, feet planted in front of the Jeon family house. The look of the place now eerie due to the attack of the enemies. You step inside the big garden, once decorated with pretty flowers, now only dirt and mud covering the yard, even the swing was just a pile of broken wood. Getting closer to the door you could feel your feet soften, shaking hands come in contact with the door knob. You enter, the house seeming devoid of life. Putting the little suitcase you carried down you scan the place for any movements. From the corner of your eyes you could see Jungkook’s father's office with a slightly open door. Your feet take slowly towards it, peeking through the gap. A figure sits lonely in the chair, head resting on the desk. Your heart skips a beat when you notice the messy hair of someone you know very well, Jungkook. Slowly you make your way in admiring his sleepy figure after all this time. His eyes carried dark circles under them, tired by all the work he had to do. Your hand makes its way to his locks, now just a little longer than you remember, but just as soft. You can’t help but let out a sigh at the sight of him, slight pang growing in your heart. He must have felt your touch, stirring in his sleep until his eyes opened and looked at you. He is shocked, jumping from his chair, strengthening his posture looking like he’s just seen a ghost. 

“Long time no see.” It’s the only thing you can say after so long. You had so many questions you wanted to ask, but it was hard to form them. “Y/N…” He mutters, hands rubbing his eyes in confusion, wondering if you would disappear. But you are still here, yet too calm. 

“You came.” He says. “You left me.” You respond.

He avoids your gaze, conscious of his actions and behavior. “I had no choice, my father is sick, I had to return, and…” “Stop, Jungkook.” He looks up at you, goosebumps appearing on his skin from your stern voice. “I don’t want to hear your nonsense, you left me. Why did you leave me?” He puts his hand on his forehead, eyes closing, trying to think of something to say. “I didn’t leave you, this is temporary, I would’ve returned to you, I would’ve come back home.” He argues back.

“When? I waited for a sign from you for almost a month.” You sniffle, eyes burning with tears that threaten to fall, the feeling way too overwhelming. 

“I waited for a letter, or a call! Someone to just appear at my door with any information. Hell, anything would’ve done!” You spit out in a blurry rush, afraid that he might just disappear again, leaving you alone and cold.  

“But you? You just left me there without any care, to rot and die from missing you so goddamn much…” You try to swallow the boulder you feel in your throat, but nothing can stop the feelings who already overspiled. Jungkook turns his head, eyes getting teary as well. “I had no choice, Y/N. He’s dying...” “And so was I!” Your fist hits his desk, rage burning like the salty tears that run on your face. “I was dying little by little everyday! I lived with you being away because I knew you would return. But now…you left without a word, I was worried sick! I didn’t think I'd see you again!” You bite your lip, the pressure making it almost bleed. “Stay out of it.” Your shoulders slouch, figure softening at his words. “Go back home and stay out of it, Y/N.” He looks sternly at you, after all this time still pulling this stupid obedience game. You’ve had enough. “If you don’t want me here and just continue to push me away, throwing me into the shadows then so be it, but don’t expect me to welcome you into my house, or my bed, or my heart anymore.” You grip with cold hands the tag that you wore for almost a year. In a swift motion, take it down from your neck, making Jungkook widen his eyes. “Don’t you dare!” He says, voice shaking. “Screw you.” Your hands throw the tag on the floor, landing right at his feet, turning your back to him you run out of the room, forgetting about everything else. Jungkook's body is stiff as a stone, head trying ever so hard to process what just happened. He missed you, he missed you like crazy. He imagined in his head the way you two would meet again, the way he would make it up and make you forget that he was even away. 

He ached to have you in his arms, to feel your touch, to kiss your lips. Now all that he could do was grip the piece of cold metal in his hands, sobs leaving his body uncontrollably. 

A warm hand places itself on the crown of his head, hoping that this was not the end, that you came back and forgave him, that he didn’t just lose you forever. It was Lady Min, however. Her eyes soft and warm, holding so much pity for the boy she raised all these years. “Oh my Jungkook. My swell little boy.” She pats his head while he cries and sobs, just like she was doing when he was just a small boy. “I-I lost her. Right?” He says through hiccups making her sigh.

“You only lose something you don’t care about anymore, Jungkook.” Her hands wipe his tears and help him back on his feet. “You are a soldier yourself, young boy. Are you going to lose without a proper battle?” He wipes his tears and calms down, holding the chain tightly to his chest. “No. I don’t want to let this happen.” “Then what are you waiting for? You’ve surely made many mistakes, but we are all humans after all, it’s in our nature to make mistakes. Y/N is a sweet girl, she will forgive you.” Jungkook gets a little courage from her reassuring words. “Go after your girl, Jungook. Don’t let her break away from you.” He nods and rushes after you, hands holding the tag like his life depends on it. … Things were just as heavy for you, already regretting having such attitude towards your husband. It was getting late and you needed a place to stay, since your old apartment was most probably sold already. You sigh, trying to wipe the remaining tear stains of your face, until a hand grabs your arm. You turn away alarmed, sensing that coming your way was only trouble. A man. His uniform was one of a soldier, face grinning from ear to ear, making goosebumps appear on your skin, this guy ment danger. 

“What’s a pretty lady like you doing at such late hour? Should I accompany you home?” You gulp and try to take your arm out of his grip, keeping as well as you can composure. “I’m fine, my husband’s waiting for me.” You say trying to free up once again, hoping he gets the signal and leaves you alone, but instead, another guy makes its way towards you two. “Is there a problem here?” He asks, looking at the shorter guy in front of him. You look pleadingly, hoping that he will instruct the one in letting you go, but you are so wrong. “She’s alone at night, in such place, I figured I could help her get back home.” 

The other guy laughs and shakes his head. “It’s pretty late, you are right.” And then you see it, the nasty stares you get, the way his hand goes ever so slightly upper on your arm. “Let go of me, I am a married woman, if my husband finds out both of you will be killed.” You try to say confidently, after all it’s the truth. You just gave them a chance to not experience their eyes being carved out, because if he finds out they touched you, not even begging and praying would help. “Come on, don’t be so stiff, it’s just some fun we can have before you get home, doesn’t it sound tempting?” You shake your head, finally understanding their motives. The other hand moves to pull out Jungkook’s tag, only to touch nothing in return. 

You threw the tag at him. You start gulping harder, body tensing up and muscles starting to shake. “Let go of me, I am not joking, my husband is in high military, if he finds out you will be tortured!” The men only laugh, the second guy comes close to you, gripping your hands from the back, while the first one plays with the ties on your top. 

“Let’s see what we have here.” He says untying your top, your cleavage now on sight. “Let me go, this is your last chance!” You try to wiggle out, but it’s in vain, they are way stronger and bigger than you. His hands work fast, dragging your top low enough for your bra to be in full sight, his disgusting hands pull down your arm one strap. “Oh! So pretty, do you see this? Such a tasty dinner for us.” Tears fall once again while you still try to resist, the soldier's hand reaches to cup your breast through your bra, but it never touches it. Everything stops in time for a second and you look at his wrist, blood rushing, a huge hole in it. The soldier looks confused until the pain and shock starts to kick in and he falls to the ground. The other one lets you go, trying to run away but two more shots could be heard, and he falls to the ground with a wound on each leg. You cover your chest with your arms, looking in the distance to see your husband. Eyes burning red in anger, in his hand shining the piece of metal you needed back so much. 

He rushes over, putting his hands on your shoulders to examine whether you got hurt or not. You feel too ashamed to look at him, other men have touched and seen your body. His hands put your necklace back on, his jacket is gently placed over your shoulders. “It’s okay, sweetheart, I am here now.” He grabs your trembling body in his arms, caressing your head and back, shushing and calming you down. He grabs you even closer while some of his men appear at the scene, he made his whole pluton to look after you. 

“Sergeant! What’s your order?” The men salute him with respect. “Get them away and I don’t care what you do to them, just don't have mercy, they touched what’s mine.” He said through gritted teeth, a dangerous, dark look on his face. “Yes, sir!” They all comply and try to take the two who are crying and begging for their lives, but Jungkook doesn’t budge, he just holds you close to him until you get back to the house. … After he made absolutely sure you weren’t hurt, he let you take a bath, saying he wants to discuss once you are ready for bed. And he stayed truthful to his words this time. Entering the room also ready for bed, he comes closer to you letting his body rest. “We should talk.” You hum, turning your body away from him. “I know you are upset with me, and you have the right to be so. But I love you, Y/N, I would never want to do something as cruel as leaving you all by yourself. I should’ve explained myself first instead of just leaving like an idiot.” He comes closer to you wrapping his arms around your form from behind. You shy away at his touch. “Please, don’t hide from me, I’ve made mistakes, I know, but I am so, so sorry, forgive me.” He whispers, his nose buried in the back of your neck. You want to cry, and it’s not even for the reason he thinks, you feel disgusted about what happened. “I’m dirty now, right?” You ask biting your bottom lip. “Dirty? In what way?” He slowly asks. “They’ve seen and touched, I’m disgraceful.” you say while your hand presses the tag closer into your skin. Jungkook rests on his elbow and turns you around so you could lay on your back. Hi other hand cups gently your face. “You are not dirty nor disgraceful.” His hands caress your features gently. “Don’t feel that way, please.” “But they touched me, they almost saw me naked.” 

Jungkook leans down and kisses your eyes, then goes lower and lower, spilling praises along the way, his lips stopping at the nape of your neck. “If you really feel like this then how about you let me see and touch? I would make everything go away, my sun, you would only remember my eyes and lips on your pretty body after this, what do you think?” You look away and lightly tug at the top, loosening it for him to see and touch, and he complies. “That’s my girl.” His touch was gentle, cupping everything he could, kissing everywhere was skin.” 

It felt intimate, not lustfull or filled with desire, just intimate. His hands gently run up and down your waist while his mouth runs over every little crevice making you forget those two disgusting men even exist, imprinting only Jungkook’s lips and scent in your skin. “Are you better now? No more bad thoughts?” He asks, head resting on your chest. “Yes, and I also want to say sorry, I shouldn't have reacted like I did, it only led to trouble.” He smiles and kisses between your breasts once again, then looks up and also captures your lips in a slow and tangy kiss, something to remember. After your quick reunion, Jungkook tells you all that has happened in the city and with his father, and how the government wants him to take his father’s place and become a general. You listen to all his worries, you cry together and laugh together, sharing some love in between. You stay up all night just talking and catching up, and until dawn arrives he also reveals that you two have to move away again, in the countryside this time. They have a vacation house there, and since the enemy started getting closer and closer, it would be best for you to remain in a safer and unpopulated area. Even though not pleased with the plan, you comply, knowing that he only wants what’s best for you, and getting you hurt or potentially killed is not in any of his strategies.

After all that you fall into a deep slumber, entangled in each other’s warmth, even though both of your heads were clouded with worry, you at least have each other, and from now on without any run-aways. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

11 September 1956 After all that happened you wanted to stay and celebrate Jungkook’s 26th birthday, still hoping for some more time together, however, you were shortly after sent alone to the location of his vacation home. A beautiful, cozy house, with a big yard and a lake behind. It looked straight out of paradise. Jungkook kept sending you letters when he was away and couldn’t contact you on the landline, he promised to come and visit somewhere around mid september, before he will take on a dangerous mission, trying to annihilate all the enemy’s camps from your region.

You were scared to say the least. You were seeing him less and less and now he was about to go to war and fight for your region’s freedom. But you waited patiently, hoping that he will arrive soon so you can get a piece of his love once again. Possibly even the last, but you didn’t want to let those thoughts linger around your mind, he was a strong guy, you knew he could lead such missions with minimum damages done and high success rate. And so you waited, day after day, from sunrise till dusk. He promised you, and you knew he would come. Tonight was no special, September began warm in the beginning, but right now the cold started to settle more and more. It was just like you were feeling, the warmth you once felt was slowly losing its power, making you grow colder without him by your side. Putting one more log in the fireplace you sit down, eyes glaring into the open flames who burn hot and red. It’s quiet. But not even the quietness lasts long once you can hear a car stopping in front of your house, heart starting to beat faster, mind racing. He’s home.

With quick steps you rush to the door opening it, in front of you a tall figure, dressed in military attire, his smile bright when he sees your figure. You jump in his arms knowing he will catch you, and he does, even though outside was cold, his arms felt just as warm as ever. His lips even come in contact with yours, leaving a sweet feeling behind. “You came.” Voice barely a whisper, fighting back tears since you’ve cried too much lately. “I promised.” He also whispers to you, leading you both back inside, you still wrapped around in his arms. Once your feet were on the ground you could examine him, wondering if he’s eating properly, or taking care of him the way he always did. He looks almost the same, only his eyes seem a little tired, but they hold so many emotions that is easy to forget about it. “I can’t stay long.” He says, voice sweet but sad, you look down, staring at his feet. “You just came, now you have to leave?” You ask a little upset. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, tomorrow we set trace for the first camp. I wish I could've come sooner to spend some time with you, but I had so many things to take care of, they didn’t allow me to leave.” His hands caress your cheek, taking in that you were upset, making his heart swell with pain. But it was for the best, his duty is to keep the people safe, you being his first priority. 

And since the attacks started being more and more aggressive, his only choice was to send you away from population until he manages to take everything under control. “When will I see you again?” You ask, biting down the sobs that want to erupt. A war could take months if not years. Jungkook bites his bottom lip and looks away from you, his voice a whisper when he says “I don’t know…”. You fall on the rocking chair, head in your hands, breaking down in the end. He comes closer and kneels in front of you, resting his forehead on top of your head, breathing heavily while trying to surpass his own tears. “Please…just stay tonight.” You mutter, looking up at him with doe, teary eyes. “I can’t, love.” He tries to resist his desires to hold and love you. “You can leave in the morning, just stay tonight, please!.” You plead, and plead, begging him to hold you tight like your life depends on it. He swears and looks away, getting up from the ground and straight to the phone on your wall, finally giving in. He calls at his base to inform them he will be there first thing in the morning, but he can’t make it tonight. He turns to you giving a small smile. “You see the things you do to me? Didn’t I say a while ago to not bring me trouble?” You laugh and open your arms for him, not taking long to feel them wrap around you. “I wonder how you didn’t see I was trouble from the first time we met?” Your voice suave, enchanting even, luring him in even more. “Oh God, how I missed you.” He says leaving kisses down your neck. “Didn’t you say you weren’t a believer when we first met?” He grins at you unbuttoning your shirt, eyes never leaving yours, making you feel hotter than the fire burning next to you. “You start to believe a little when this is the woman you have next to you.” You laugh caressing his hair gently, looking how he manages to take off your top, bra following right after. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you like this, still the hottest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.” He says managing to make you blush. “Let’s go upstairs.” You say trying to pull him up, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, his arms carry you to the couch nearby, laying you down on it with him on top. “Here?” You ask unsure. “Yes, here, I can’t risk letting too much time pass by.” His hands worked fast, stripping you both of your clothes and turning you around to lay on your stomach. “What are you doing?” You ask looking back, but he doesn’t respond, only maneuvers your body in such a way that your bum is up in the air, making you exposed for him. 

“Jungkook, what is this?” You ask concerned. “Relax, I’ll make you feel good in just a bit.” And then you feel it, the tip of his member running slowly from your bundle of nerves till your entrance. You gasp at the feeling, having been deprived of touch for so long made you so wet and ready. He runs up and down a few more times before you could feel him penetrate your warm walls. “Honey, this is.” Your words get stuck in your throat when he fills you up fully without any warning or preparation, but you were so excited to have him again that he just slid right up without much worry. “You take me so well, so ready for me all the time, didn’t need preparation either.” He says, hands gripping the flesh of your ass firmly while moving in and out. “I missed you, that’s why.” You manage to make out through your moans. He whines when he realizes he touched your sweet spot, making you yelp loudly, hand thrown back trying to grip his wrist. He starts going a little faster making you see stars and shapes all around the room. “I’m close.” You say, high approaching at a rapid state, but in your disbelief he denies you and stops, pulling out completely making you whine. “Why? I was almost there.” He’s never denied you in the past, why now? “Don’t be greedy, soul. I need to have you for a little longer. Who knows when I can get another glimpse at this sweet pussy.” You gasp in embarrassment as he turns you around, your hands already gripping his strong back. He kisses you once again, longer, harder and so much sweeter before entering you again. This felt different than anything you’ve done with him. Hot bubbles of pleasure were bursting around you, both your bodies warmer than the burning fire. It felt so raw and so pure, just sincere love being exchanged like it was for the last time. Getting closer to the edge once again, your husband seemingly close too, this time. He rests his head on your shoulder, his breath tickling your neck. You scratch his back when maybe the best orgasm he’s ever given you washes over, followed by the feeling of warm cum stuffing your walls. For a few minutes the only things you could hear in the room were the creaking of the fire and two bodies trying so hard to catch their panting breaths, foreheads resting against each other. 

Jungkook raises his head to look at your figure, your eyes closed in a blissful haze. He smiles sadly knowing he can’t be here much longer, lips coming closer, catching yours in another kiss. “I love you.” He says, your eyes meeting just like the first day, this time instead of terror, only love and care could be seen. “I love you too.”

All night was filled with love, your two bodies melting into one another in front of the fireplace. Jungkook made sure you knew how much he loved you and assured you that you will meet again someday. Opening your eyes, trying to adjust to the light that was peeking through your bedroom window. You scanned the room remembering the events that happened last night making you smile, turning around you expected to see the face of your sleeping husband, but the bed was cold. You frown, knowing what it ment, he already left. 

He did say goodbye last night, but you were too tired to acknowledge it. You get up from the bed, legs almost giving up. You were dressed up in warm pajamas and even cleaned out, he must have done it for you while you were falling asleep. Going down the stairs, the house was empty, the car was not in front of your door anymore, the fire long gone. On the kitchen table there was a singular piece of paper, a letter. “My dear wife, Y/N. I’ve been gone for so long the past few months, busy and away. Forgive me. I know I might have never been the best husband for you, I always felt like I’ve been depriving you of the freedom you always craved for. But, believe me, all that I do is for you to get that freedom one day. I might be a hypocrite, making you wait over and over for me to come home just to give you bits and pieces of what you truly deserve.

And I thought of letting you go, having you achieve your own dreams and goals, but I am a greedy man…

It does not matter how far you run, it makes me run even faster after you. It does not matter how much you push me away, it just makes me want to come to you even more.

So, please, forgive me for everything. Not being there for you, letting you in the dark, wandering around uncertain paths. 

And in my shame I ask for you to wait for me once again, carry the thought of me in your head, and the tag I gave you close to your heart so you don’t forget me.

Until we meet again, my soul.

Yours to love, Jeon Jungkook.”

Soft tears fall onto the piece of paper, making the ink run, you fall to the ground clutching the piece close to your chest. 

How can you even forget him? You are so grateful for what he’s done for you. You smile, wiping your tears. The silver tag dangling in the air. You bring it close to your lips, leaving a warm kiss on his name, the name of the man who makes you feel so much. “I’ll wait for you, my love.” You whisper, clutching everything tight to you, praying he’ll come home safe and unharmed. One day you’ll have him back in your arms again.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

31 December 1956

The last day of December.

Outside heavy snow is ripping through the night sky, letting a thick layer gather on the ground. In the suburbs a house could be seen, on the front porch the snow has been swept away. Looking towards the house, the man admires the scenery in front of him. Inside only a small light could be seen coming out from the front window, lighting his way. He takes small steps through the crunching snow, feet planted right outside the door when he’s hit with the warmth of home. His home. He doesn’t knock, only opens the door slowly, letting his frame inside.

In front of the fireplace, rocking on a chair, a woman could be seen. Her hands quickly knitting what seemed to be a small blanket. His eyes warm up at the sight in front of him, and she finally acknowledges his presence, stopping her hands to look at him. He smiles, taking a step closer until his eyes widen in surprise. With love filled eyes she looks at him, while her small hands uncover what seem to be the small outline of a belly. “Welcome home.” She says, opening her arms, making his eyes burn with happy tears, gently throwing himself in them.

Resting his head on her chest, listening to her heartbeat,

December has never felt so warm before.

[creamflix]

gojo satoru x female reader; established relationship, you're married. mentions of alchohol, getting drunk, gojo is drunk. fluff and crack. featuring suguru geto. inspired by this dream i had. — masterlist here ☆

you opened the door to find suguru holding up your completely sloshed husband, gojo satoru, by the shoulders. gojo's bright blue eyes were glassy, his face flushed, and a huge grin spread across his face when he saw you. he nearly toppled forward, but suguru steadied him just in time.

"look who’s back," suguru sighed, rolling his eyes playfully. "he kept talking about needing his 'wifi.' you were the only person i could think of."

gojo lit up even more at the sight of you, slurring, "my wifi! babe, my wifi’s here!"

"your wife, satoru," you laughed, stepping forward and grabbing his hands. "but yes, your wifi’s here."

he threw himself into your arms, clinging to you like you were the last thing tethering him to the earth. "mm, see? knew my wifi would always come back for me," he muttered into your hair. "you’re… so fast, like 5G, even."

"wow, i didn’t know you married a router," suguru snorted, gently helping him settle against you.

you laughed, rubbing soothing circles on gojo’s back. “and here i thought i was just his wife.”

gojo’s eyes suddenly went wide with shock, and he leaned back, looking you dead in the eyes with absolute sincerity. 

"you’re more than wifi. you’re... you're the whole internet." he grabbed your face, squishing your cheeks together. "like, fiber optic. unlimited data."

"okay, okay, i get it," you chuckled, kissing his forehead. “unlimited data and all.”

gojo grinned, totally triumphant, and turned back to suguru with an exaggerated, wobbly point. "see, suguru? i told you she’s the real deal."

"yeah, i got it loud and clear, buddy," suguru said, looking at you with a smirk. “he's all yours.”

“thank you for escorting my data-deprived husband home,” you said, shaking your head with a smile.

“no problem. he spent the entire cab ride showing the driver pictures of you, actually,” suguru replied, amused.

gojo’s face brightened even more, as if he’d just been handed the greatest compliment in the world. “she’s… my favorite picture. no, wait.” he blinked, trying to gather his thoughts, swaying a little. “she’s my wallpaper. like... my home screen.”

you couldn’t help but laugh as suguru tried (and failed) to hold back his own amusement. “you’re a lucky home screen, then. good luck with him.”

after suguru left, you guided gojo to the couch, where he immediately flopped down, reaching for you like a kid needing a hug. you obliged, settling beside him, and he buried his face into your shoulder.

“satoru,” you murmured, gently running your fingers through his hair, “you’re so dramatic when you’re drunk, you know that?”

"it's not drama if it's real,” he said, pulling back just enough to look at you with the most sincere gaze you’d ever seen, despite the fact he could barely keep his eyes open. “like, i knew i wanted wifi in my life, but i had no idea it’d be this strong.”

“oh?” you smirked, leaning in closer. “and what does that mean?”

“it means you’re, like, the only signal i wanna connect to,” he muttered, sighing and nuzzling his head into your neck. 

“like… one bar, two bar, three bars — full signal, only with you.”

you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing at his adorably drunk logic. “you’re too much, you know that?”

he just hummed, eyes closing as he settled against you. “but, babe? promise we’ll never lose connection?”

you held him a little tighter, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “never. as long as you don’t go dropping signals in my house.”

he grinned, letting out a soft, happy sigh. "perfect. ‘cause i’m… gonna marry you, wifi lady."

you held back a snort. “well, lucky for you, you already did."

he looked up, astonished. “i did?! really?!”

“yes, satoru, you already did.”

he flopped back, looking so utterly content that you could practically feel his happiness radiating off him. "best connection ever,” he whispered, clutching your hand in his like he never wanted to let go.

produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡ banners by cafekitsune

[moonstruckme]

Hi!! I had surgery a few weeks ago and I’m definitely hitting a wall mentally. I’ve been so sad with recovery and I’m so exhausted and cranky (unfortunately). I was wondering if you could write an emt!marauders or poly!marauders w reader going through that?? Thank you! Your writing has been a huge comfort for me during this time 🩷

Hi lovely! I realize it's been a while since you sent this so I hope you're feeling much much better now! Thanks for requesting <3

cw: post-op recovery, shoulder injury

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 727 words

James enters the bedroom to witness three stages of wakefulness. There’s Remus where he left him, fluffy haired and squinty eyed scrolling through his phone. One of Remus’ hands is toying idly with the ends of Sirius’ hair, who’s still dead asleep next to him, on his stomach with his face pushing into the pillow (James has never been able to figure out how he can breathe like that). Then there’s you, just sitting up with a groan and a sour look on your face. His angel. 

“Here, love.” James sets the coffee he’d brought for Remus on the nightstand, making sure the handle is facing him. Remus’ thanks is croaky with drowsiness, his smile gentle. James says to you, “Morning. How’d you sleep?” 

“Hard,” you mumble. You shrug your one shoulder experimentally, and grimace. “Too hard.” 

Remus makes a sympathetic sound, looking at you over the rim of his mug. “Did you sleep on it wrong?” 

“No.” You sound a tad defensive. “I was on my back all night.” 

Remus hums. “This is what happens when you don’t do your stretches at night, dovey.” 

You scowl. James ruffles Remus’ hair. “Be nice,” he chides. “You could do some stretching now, angel.” 

Sirius makes a disgruntled sleepy sound, rolling onto his side to wrap his arms around your waist. He settles his head contentedly on the plushness of your thigh. “Everyone shut up,” he grumbles. “And stop getting up.” 

“We’re not getting up,” James placates him. “She’s only doing her stretches.” 

“But it hurts,” you whine. 

“That’s why you do your stretches, sweetheart.” Remus gives you a look. 

James can feel you getting irritated. You’ve been recovering from your surgery for weeks now, and you’re growing exhausted not only with all the things you can’t do with your shoulder but also all the things you have to do to build back its strength and mobility. He goes to the dresser as you slump forward into your own lap, hapless. 

“Come on,” he laughs, tossing you your towel. “You can start with the towel one first. That one’s fit.” 

You look up at James. “It is not.” 

“Y’always look good, babe,” Sirius mumbles into your thigh. 

“See? And extra good when you stretch your arms like that.”

“He’s dead to the world.” You roll your eyes, though you’re petting Sirius’ hair fondly. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” 

Still, you sigh and pick up the towel when Remus nudges it towards you pointedly, rolling your neck in preparation. James feels a bit of warmth come to his face (he was only partly joking about how attractive you are when you stretch). 

It’s a bit difficult for you at first, clearly, the result of growing a bit lax about your stretches over the past few days. James can see Remus’ lips press together like he’s physically restraining himself from commenting on it. A low whine builds in your throat. 

“There you go,” says Sirius in a salacious tone. James is beginning to suspect he’s more awake than he’s letting on. “Tell us how you really feel, sweetheart.” 

“This is so pointless,” you grumble. “It’s too lame to do anything.” 

“Don’t say that,” James chides you. It’s not his intention to make you feel like you can’t vent to them, but James is firmly of the belief that ceasing negative talk will eventually lead to an abatement of negative thoughts. “It’s working, you just need to give it time. You’re tons better than you were a couple of weeks ago, right?” 

“If you mean I can pick up an empty soda can,” you say drily, “then yes.” 

“That is what I mean. Empty soda cans are a big step.” 

“It’s a process,” Remus tells you in a more placating tone. “You can’t expect to be all the way better overnight. Especially not if you’re not doing your stretches.” 

You don’t miss the judgment threaded through that last bit, your expression turning sour again. Sirius appears to sense this without opening his eyes. He hugs you around the middle, smearing a kiss over your thigh. 

“You’ll get there, lovie,” says James. “And hey, if it’ll help, I can sit with you while you do your stretches every day. I wouldn’t mind that at all.” 

Remus snorts, and Sirius mumbles something into your skin that sounds like “I’ll bet you wouldn’t.”

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 BLIND TO THE PURPOSE OF THE BRUTE DIVINE

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: you're finally in a position to make your first, and hopefully final, move, but the guild isn't your only enemy that's actively working against you. you were foolish to think things would be so easy.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: happy friday lil guys, i struggled with this chapter unfortunately and i'm not sure if i'm happy with the results </3 hopefully you guys will enjoy it more than i did hahah. comments & reblogs appreciated

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, civilian!dazai, dazai's struggles w suicide & sh, reader partakes in mafia business, dazai isn't dazai without a bit of obsessiveness and possessiveness (the possessiveness doesn't come til later but the obsessiveness starts from day 0).

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited. suggestive language. reader is a bit of a cunt to fitzgerald & takes advantage of his love for zelda. she also takes advantage of zelda's fragile state to manipulate her. repin's ability (memory manipulation) is now going to be heavily in play for the rest of the series so keep that in mind. mentions of gore (blame klaus).

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

The human mind is terribly fragile, but some are more so than others.

You don’t even need to use your ability on Zelda Fitzgerald to make her crack.

One conversation to plant the seeds of trust.

Three conversations to make her believe you’re a friend of her husband.

Five conversations to convince her that Fyodor Dostoevsky was the one who had her kidnapped from her home in Manhattan, and that you, as a favor to Fitzgerald, were the one who had her rescued. 

In the seventh conversation, you hinted at knowing something about her daughter before you left for a meeting with the other executives. You let her stew on it for a few hours before returning. By the time you came back, she’d worked herself up into a mess. 

In that eighth conversation, you acted apologetic, pretended that you’d misspoke, you backpedaled and bit your tongue. You made it seem like you were reluctant to speak, like you didn’t want to betray Fitzgerald’s trust. She begged you for hours to just tell her what you meant; you refused and left.

You came back three hours after that, and you put up a nice facade of guilt when you did. You told Zelda that you didn’t like lying to her, that her husband is a dear business partner of yours and you’ve come to think of his family like your own just from how much you hear about them through him. You told her that this wasn’t your secret to share, but she begged and pleaded, and you still made sure you came across as reluctant, but this time you gave in and told her.

In that ninth conversation, you told Zelda Fitzgerald that her daughter was still alive and her husband was keeping her away, because the last time Zelda spoke to her daughter, they’d gotten into an argument that drove Frances away. Her husband thought it would be easier for Zelda to think she was dead, because for all intents and purposes, Zelda was dead to Frances. You told her that you got your information through Nabokov, because Frances was living in Russia now under a new name with Dostoevsky’s help.

She believed you.

It took four days.

You don’t really have anything against Dostoevsky. You’ve met him a handful of times during events and he was pleasant enough, but his rats have been seen a bit too frequently in Port Mafia territory and since he and Tolstoy are both Russian, it’s easier for you to help Zelda confuse them. You figure this will be enough of a warning for him to leave Yokohama. If not, it’s just another issue for you to tackle later.

Nabokov, on the other hand—he pissed you off you. You’ve never thought highly of the man, even when you visited him in Saint Petersburg, you thought he was quite despicable, and the more you heard from Klaus about the things that happened in the fighting rings, the more your distaste grew.

Now, he backed out of a critical transaction with the Port Mafia which fucked over one of Piano Man’s deals with the Family in Rome and one of Ace’s casinos, so he’s turned just about the whole round table of executives against him and you think this is a quick way of getting even with him. He would be quite unhappy once Francis Fitzgerald turned all of the resources of the Guild onto him in retaliation for spreading lies about his daughter. The man's one weakness has always been his family, he wouldn't think twice once given a name and reason.

All of this is the reason why you prefer to work from behind the scenes. There are many pros, of course, to being in an organization like the Guild where each executive member is an influential, internationally known public figure, but there’s one big con that you just can’t get over: the lack of privacy. 

The Fitzgerald family has been headline bait for all of the world’s most popular tabloids for years, and when his daughter passed away five years ago, you made sure to follow each and every story. You figured one day that the Port Mafia would end up in conflict with the Guild—Fitzgerald’s reach has always been endless, Yokohama was one of the few places out of it, and you knew one day he would move to gain a foothold here and you didn’t want to be scrambling for information about the man once it happened.

Chuuya always rolled his eyes at you when he found you surfing the tabloids, but look how handy it is now. There’d been several popular theories circulating when Frances Fitzgerald was killed in a car accident. Some people thought it was an assassination—the tabloids speculated that Fitzgerald was the intended target but his daughter got caught in the crossfires; the people that knew of the Guild’s ties with the underworld tended to think that his daughter was the intended target as a means to try to break Fitzgerald.

You didn’t buy either of those theories.

You’ve witnessed many assassinations—assassinations gone wrong, assassinations gone right; assassination attempts on you and assassination attempts on enemies. You are very well versed in the art of assassination. You’ve plotted many of them yourself with Albatross and Iceman, and the ones you didn’t, you still oversaw.

You don’t think Frances Fitzgerald was assassinated, by accident or otherwise. 

No one bought into your theory when you tried to place bets on it with the Flags—not until one of the American tabloids released an insider scoop from a relative of Zelda Fitzgerald who claimed that the mother and daughter had gotten into a blow out fight the night she died in the car accident. 

You think that was the last bit of information you needed to confirm your theory: Frances Fitzgerald was not assassinated, she was a stupid and reckless teenager who was upset after a fight with her mother and drove too fast down a road that was too windy and ended up driving herself right off a cliff. It was a gamble to bring it up now to Zelda, because you couldn’t be entirely certain, of course, but it paid off. 

You’d been right—some type of argument had broken out between them the night of her daughter’s death, and Zelda has blamed herself for her death ever since. The woman, who’d been the face of American socialites for almost a decade, had all but retreated from the public’s eye after it happened. People whispered that her daughter’s death broke her mind, and you think that they were right—this woman is hardly a shell. You almost feel bad for what you’re doing to her.

Almost.

Unfortunately for Zelda, she’s a fair trade in Fitzgerald’s eyes, and until Dazai is back to you, she will be treated in the same way you assume Fitzgerald is treating his guest. He’s lucky that you have a high enough opinion of him to believe that he wouldn’t stoop to physical torture; he’s likely just trying to turn Dazai against you in the same way you have with Zelda, but Dazai will see through his manipulations.

He will.

He will.

He has to.

Your eyes slide shut as you fist one of Dazai’s sweaters—a cashmere one you’d bought for him to wear when you take him to nice restaurants, he prefers them to button ups. It still smells like him. He wore it when you took him to a hibachi restaurant in Nishi-ku a few days before the argument the two of you had that led to all of this and you haven’t had the chance to do laundry with everything going on.

You know that you don’t have time for this—there are more things you have to do to prepare Tolstoy’s subordinate, Ilya Repin, for what you’ll need him to do. You haven’t even met the man yet; Tolstoy is embarrassed over it, he keeps apologizing and saying that Repin is fickle when he’s in the middle of projects, but you’re not exactly in a position to make demands when they’re doing you a favor. 

“Should you be laying around right now?” a familiar voice hums from the entrance to your bedroom. Your gaze flickers up to see Chuuya's concerned face staring down at you, head tilted to the side. “You look like shit, y’know?” 

Your lashes lower as you look away. “I didn’t even hear you come up,” you say quietly. “Shouldn’t you be going to the meeting with the Family envoys with Piano Man?”

You’re the one that usually handles negotiations with the Family, but Piano Man brushed you off when you said you would go. Told you to focus on getting things settled here with the Guild. Told you to get Dazai back. You almost wish he would’ve let you go so you could busy yourself with something other than torturing yourself with reminders of Dazai.

Chuuya exhales as he tosses his hat onto your dresser before sitting down on the bed next to you. You almost want to turn away from him, but he doesn’t let you. He wraps an arm around your shoulder and drags you a little closer to him, and your eyes slide shut as you sink into him, hiding the way your vision blurs against his shoulder. Your breath shudders when you feel his hand running up and down your back, slow and soothing—Chuuya is always warm, but somehow, even with his arm wrapped around you and your body curled up against his, you still feel cold.

“Piano Man’s fine,” Chuuya murmurs. “He and Albatross are handling it. Wanted to come check on you.”

Ordinarily, you would make a snippy comment about him being sappy and he would get mad, smacking you over the head with a pillow. This time, you only let out a shaky breath and a noise of acknowledgement that’s far too weak, and evidently, concerning considering how Chuuya’s hand tenses on your back.

“Why are you here, Chuuya?” you ask tiredly, voice a bit raspy, before he can say anything. “I thought you were mad at me.”

“Never that mad at you,” he says quietly. “Not enough to leave you alone. Especially right now.”

The next breath you take in is wet and ragged, the tears that mist your eyes threaten to spill over. You’ve been on the edge of collapse for over a week now and every time you find yourself alone, you think it’s finally going to happen, but for better or for worse, someone shows up and you have to pull yourself together. But now… Chuuya’s arms are so familiar, too comforting—living in a world like you are, casual comfort is a rare delicacy, one that you can rarely allow yourself to indulge in.

“I’ve got you,” Chuuya whispers. His arms tighten around you and he pulls you more firmly onto his chest, shifting so you could wrap your arms around his waist, your fingers digging into his gray waistcoat. Oh, you realize, desperately trying to bite back a sob bubbling in the back of your throat, it’s happening. “We’ll get him back.”

“I’m tired, Chuuya,” you say, the words wobbly as you fight off tears. Your breath hitches when his hand slides against your shoulder blades gently. “I’m so tired. I don’t know how you did it.”

Your words don’t register until you feel Chuuya pause in the absent strokes of your back.You look up at him, about to speak again to change the subject because you hadn’t meant to bring up what happened two years ago, but he answers before you can.

“I didn’t,” he says with a wry smile. “I destroyed a ward and shut down. You handled it, remember?”

 And you failed, you finish, but Chuuya can certainly hear the thoughts running through your head from how his arm tightens around you. He pushes himself up into a sitting position and shifts you to sit upright in the bed. You sigh when he reaches out to grab your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“What happened back then, it wasn’t your fault. That shit was out of your control, you know that. Don’t let it start getting in your head now,” Chuuya tells you firmly. “You didn’t fail back then, you’re not going to fail now. Yeah?” 

You don’t even realize you’re crying until you feel Chuuya wiping the tears away. You avert your gaze and whisper, “I miss him, Chuuya. You were right. I never should have-”

You never should’ve let this happen. You knew from the beginning that you couldn’t let this go far, but you did. And even then, Chuuya warned you. He told you what would happen if you continued this, but you did.

Chuuya stares at you for a moment with an indecipherable expression before nodding to himself, pushing himself to his feet. 

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go force that fuckin’ Russian to talk to us. I’m done waiting around for him to finish his shitty project.”

—

It is not Twain, James or Fitzgerald who walks through the door to Dazai’s prison cell of a room days after your alleged release from prison. It’s a girl who seems to be a little younger than him—she wears a maid’s dress and has long crimson hair tied into two thick braids.  

A girl who probably should not be there considering she looks shifty-eyed and nervous. Plus, Fitzgerald has not hid that he’s been making an effort to ensure that nobody else knows about Dazai’s presence here—he’s kept him isolated, and Dazai never hears anything going on outside of his room, so he assumes he’s purposely being secluded from the rest of the Guild for whatever reason. Probably has to do with the reason behind Fitzgerald keeping his knowledge of your ability on the low—he doesn’t trust that people aren’t listening and doesn’t want this information to get out to anyone.

So this girl is likely not supposed to be here, but Dazai can’t even bring himself to be curious as to why she is here, because he’s tired.

He is so tired. 

His gaze is listless as he tracks the girl. She acts like she’s the cornered animal as if she wasn’t the one who willingly came into his room. She paces to the corner of the room furthest from him and presses herself into it, eyes narrowed on him, studying him like he’s some sort of specimen. 

She’s his first visitor in eight hours. Dazai assumes that means it’s around morning. He doesn’t know exactly what time it is—there’s no windows in the room he’s been staying in, so he has no way to gauge the time of day, and everything has just been blending together. He tried to keep track of when they would bring him food to have some sense of the day and time, but he realized quickly that they were bringing it at uneven intervals so he couldn’t figure it out. 

He thinks it must be some kind of torture tactic—making the days seem impossibly long so that it feels like he’s been here even longer than he has. It’s working to some extent because it is hard for him to tell how long he’s actually been here. Realistically, he knows it can’t be longer than two weeks, but it feels like it’s been three or four. 

“You don’t look special,” the girl finally says, her tone slightly accusatory. Dazai’s eye twitches, he’s been reminded quite frequently by Twain that he’s nothing special and it’s exactly why you aren’t coming for him, and he doesn’t need to hear it from anyone else. “Francis has never taken a foreign prisoner and not consulted the rest of the Board. They’re not happy.”

“Does it look like I care?” Dazai asks irritably, rolling his eyes. He should probably try to get information out of this girl, but he has no patience for it.

The girl gives him a scowl in return, but her expression quickly returns to a more contemplative one. “I’m just curious. What organization are you affiliated with? Why didn’t he tell us what’s going on?”

Dazai can’t help the snide comment that spills from his lips. “Us?” he mocks, looking pointedly at the maid’s dress she wore. “I don’t think you’re a member of the Guild’s Board… Seems more like house-keeping.”

Her face flushes as red as her hair, eyes wild and angry, but more than that ashamed. Clearly, Dazai hit a sore spot and he can’t even bring himself to feel guilty for the way the girl gets embarrassed over it. Her lashes flutter as she looks away, not speaking for a moment.

“I was,” she finally says, voice strained, cracking over the word ‘was’. “I was, and I would’ve been consulted with the rest of them at the time, but I wasn’t. I want to know why, who are you?”

Dazai’s lips curl up into a taunting smile. “None of your business,” he sings, leaning back against the wall and raising his eyebrows at the girl when she nearly snarls at him in response. “Who are you?”

“Lucy,” she spits. “There. I told you who I am, tell me who you are.”

“Nope,” Dazai says with a grin. “Why would I tell you that? I didn’t promise to tell you who I was if you told me.” 

“You-” Lucy raises her voice, furious, but then cuts herself off, looking nervously at the door. She gives him a sharp look and then continues just as angrily, but more quietly, “Tell me who you are. Why didn’t Francis tell us about you?”

Dazai doesn’t respond. He thinks Fitzgerald has the right idea. The less people who know about him, the better, because if it does get out who he is to you, it’ll just give more of your enemies ammunition against you. Dazai’s done enough damage by now, he may as well mitigate as much as he can.

“You’re with the Port Mafia, aren’t you?” Lucy suddenly demands, and Dazai looks at her quickly, wondering how she managed to figure that out. She looks entirely too smug as she lifts her chin. “It explains the sudden pressure they’ve been putting on us. They blew up the S.S. Zelda a couple days ago, intercepted some of the supplies that we were sending out to our people back home, and slaughtered a whole regiment of Margaret and Nathaniel’s men. From what I heard from Mark, they’ve been nonstop for almost two weeks.You must be the reason why. Am I right?” 

“None of your business,” Dazai replies again, but this time, his chest feels a bit lighter. 

He makes sure not to let the sudden relief cross over his face, but Twain, James and Fitzgerald have made sure to leave him with no information on what’s going on in the outside world. Especially any information regarding you. But now he knows. He knows that you’re out there still fighting for him, even if you haven’t been able to get him back yet, you’ve been fighting for him—you’ve been taking out the Guild’s bases, you’ve been isolating them from their allies, you’ve been backing them into a corner. 

Suddenly, the past two weeks had become entirely more bearable. The heaviness that had been weighing on him wasn’t as oppressive anymore and the nagging doubt that had been clouding his brain was all but gone.

He knew you hadn’t forgotten about him—in his heart, he knew it, but getting verbal confirmation of it was much needed. 

“Oh, come on,” Lucy snaps. “I just-just tell me something. Tell me something I can bring back to Francis, anything, I just-

Dazai’s gaze flickers up curiously, watching as Lucy straightens, inhaling sharply as she tries to hide the tears of frustration that suddenly clouded her eyes. Her hands are balled into fists at her side, she gnaws at her trembling bottom lip as she forces herself to settle down enough to speak without her voice wavering.

‘I was,’ he remembers her saying, and realizes instantly why she came down here.

“You want something to bring back to Fitzgerald so you can get yourself out of the doghouse,” he drawls, eyes flicking over her. Her face flushes red, lips parting to protest Dazai’s words but nothing escapes them. “You want to know my opinion?” 

“I want information,” Lucy says. “I don’t care about your opinion.”

“I think that’s pathetic,” he shrugs, ignoring her. Lucy’s lips part in disbelief, but Dazai continues before she can say anything. “It is. You’re sneaking down here to beg me for information that you can bring back up to your boss because he demoted you… for what, exactly? Didn’t bring him the right food?”

Lucy swallows thickly, unable to meet his eyes. “I lost a fight,” she whispers. “I lost a fight to one of your people, and I lost everything. I worked so hard to get where I was. So hard. Harder than you could ever understand and-”

“I don’t care,” Dazai says, turning away from her. “If you want my opinion, if you got demoted to being a housekeeper because you lost one fight, you have a shitty boss and should probably find somewhere else to work instead of begging for scraps just to be treated like shit.”

Dazai doesn’t say anything else after that, and makes a show of not looking at her to make sure she knows the conversation is over. Luckily, she gives him no grief over it—in an instant, he hears the door slamming as she storms out of his room and Dazai lets out a soft sigh as he rests his head against the wall. Tired, lonely, and missing you so badly that it almost makes him ache.

Don’t keep me waiting too much longer.

—

You are irritated.

You’ve been waiting in one of the larger rooms in the Mafia headquarters for twenty minutes now—the smell of paint is giving you a headache and the sheer insult happening before your eyes is nearly enough to send you over the edge. Ilya Repin has the audacity to keep his back turned to both you and Chuuya even when Tolstoy introduces you to him. He sits on his stool and continues to paint his canvas, ignoring the two of you quite blissfully: he doesn’t look at you, doesn’t greet you, doesn’t acknowledge you. 

Tolstoy is becoming increasingly more embarrassed if his red ears and apologetic looks have anything to say about it. Unfortunately, you’re not sure if any number of apologies will save him from Chuuya’s righteous wrath at this point, because if you are irritated then he is downright murderous. 

You watch your fellow executive from the corner of your eye as his eye twitches and his lip curls up. The thin thread of control he has snaps as his tongue kisses the back of his teeth and he starts to storm forward. You stop him quickly, grabbing his wrist and giving him a sharp look.

“He-” Chuuya begins to hiss at you, but you only raise your hand to quiet him down and move forward yourself.

You don’t know if you’re making a mistake by forcing Repin’s hand before he’s ready to help, but you do know that you’re tired and you need Dazai back desperately. It’s been over a week now and if Fitzgerald has been half as aggressive with him as you have been with Zelda, then you know that he’s been playing mind games with Dazai. And Dazai is smart, yes, but how long can someone hold out when given no hope or reason to?

It takes ten long strides for you to cross the room, placing yourself between Repin and the canvas he’s working on. The man pauses, paint brush inches from your cheek, and then looks down at you with narrowed eyes.

“You’re in my way,” he notes astutely.

“And you are in mine,” you counter with a thin smile. “It seems we’re at an impasse.”

Ilya Repin is not what you expected. From how Tolstoy described him, you expected an old stubborn coot who had one foot in the grave and acted like each day was his last on earth. Instead, you’re met with a man who can’t be much older than you—with tousled brown hair and light blue eyes, you’d think he was pretty if he wasn’t so irritating. 

He looks down at you with a pinched expression, like he’s considering painting right over your face, but after what feels like an eternity, he lets out a dramatic sigh and glares at Tolstoy over his shoulder.

“I told you not to let anyone bother me until I was done,” he complains, rolling his eyes. You watch as Chuuya’s eyes bulge at the way Repin dismisses you, a familiar red glow flickering around his fists, but Tolstoy responds to Repin before the artist can find himself splattered on his own painting.

“Ilya.” Tolstoy spits out something in such rapid-fire Russian that even you can’t catch what he said. Whatever it is, it makes Repin roll his eyes again before turning to you with a smile that’s too sweet for comfort.

“Her Highness finally decides to grace me with her presence. Honestly, I thought you’d be down here days ago—you’re awfully patient for someone whose lover’s life is on the line… Unless, you don’t actually love him? But then why go through all of this trouble?” Repin hums, leaning forward so close that it has you taking a step back, forgetting that his painting is behind you. His hand darts out to curl around the back of your neck, stopping you from hitting the wet paint while at the same time forcing you even closer to him. He looks down at you through his lashes, nose nearly brushing yours as he says, “Don’t mess up my painting.”

You click your tongue and step away from him, careful not to let it show just how disconcerted you are by his casual disrespect. Chuuya looks like he’s on the verge of bringing the whole building down, Tolstoy has left a wide berth between the two of them as the gravity manipulator becomes more and more vexed by his subordinate. You give him a look to tell him that it’s fine, but it doesn’t seem to ease him in the slightest.

“You’re lucky that you’re Leo’s cousin,” you finally say, giving Repin an equally saccharine smile as you stand a few feet away from him. He finally spins in his stool to turn his back to his painting and his attention onto you, a curious expression on his face as he looks down at you. “I’ve had people’s tongues taken for less.”

“What a waste that would be, my tongue could be used for things much more pleasurable than glossectomy,” Repin replies easily, tone laced with innuendo as his lips curl up into an amused smirk. 

Unbothered, you amend your statement. “Your hands, then—a fitting punishment for a painter, I think.”

Unfortunately, Repin is equally unphased, holding his hands out as his smile widens. “But then of what use would I be to you? I thought you needed my ability,” he says.

You raise your eyebrows, silently beckoning him to explain what exactly his ability is because Tolstoy thought it would be better coming from the ability user himself. The man sighs and hops off of his stool, speaking as he starts to put away his painting equipment.

“Essentially, I can take memories from people and store them in my paintings,” Repin explains, walking over to a covered painting and pulling the cloth off of it, revealing a scene of a midnight rendezvous between two lovers. “This is a favor I did for an acquaintance. He was cheating on his wife, his wife figured it out and was going to grill him, he asked me to remove his memories of his mistress so his wife didn’t realize he was lying. I don’t really like him, so I keep the painting on me and light the bottom on fire whenever he irritates me.”

“What does that do?” Chuuya asks, side-eyeing the painting before turning his attention to Repin distrustfully.

Repin gives him a once over before looking back at you pointedly. You don’t have to look at Chuuya to know that he must be livid, so you give Repin an equally pointed look and wait for him to answer Chuuya’s question.

Repin sighs. “Burning the painting returns the memories to whoever they’d been taken from, so whenever I light the bottom on fire. He starts to get that looming feeling that he’s forgotten something important. He’s tortured with that feeling of something being on the tip of your tongue but unable to fully remember it. He calls me all wound up about it whenever I do… I think I might be his only friend, which is kind of sad considering I can hardly stand the sight of him…”

He’s rambling more to himself now than to you, frowning as he taps the tip of one of his paint brushes to his chin. You press your lips together as you think—removal is good, you need to have Fitzgerald’s memories of Dazai gone, along with any other of his subordinates that might’ve seen or met him.

But you need more than removal.

“What about implanting memories?” you ask, interrupting his stream of babbles. He casts you a curious look. “You can remove, but can you implant new ones to take the place of old ones?”

He studied you now, an intrigued expression on his face as if he’s seeing you in a new light. “I’ve done it once,” he says after a few moments. “It’s a far more… demanding process.”

“How so?”

“I need to have a painting ready for it,” he says. “More than that, I need a scene. A story. Every painting has a story—that’s the theory my ability is built on. Memories are stories that can be captured in paintings. I need to have the same depth of detail that a memory would have to make a painting that can be implanted as one. It’s much harder than you’d think. One lack of detail, one inconsistency, it could throw everything off, and once someone becomes suspicious that an implanted memory is a false one, it unravels. I burn the paintings here to return stolen memories; they, figuratively, burn the implanted memories in their mind once they start getting suspicious.”

Not quite as reliable as you’d hope, but you can make it work. You have to make it work. You’re running out of time, each day that passes—each hour that passes… You need to make your move, and you need to do it as soon as possible.

“If I can give you a detailed story, how long would it take you to create a painting that can be implanted as a memory?” you question.

Repin smiles, tilting his head to the side. “With the right muse? A couple of hours,” he murmurs.

Finally, you think. The relief that hits you is almost debilitating; you let out a sigh as you nod, giving Chuuya a long look. For the first time since your arrest, you feel an inkling of hope; you see the first rays of the sun breaking over the horizon, shattering the long night that’s been hanging over you.

The end is in sight. You’ll have Dazai back before nightfall. 

“Good,” you say. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. Have everything ready to start.”

You don’t bother to listen to the response, turning on your heel to leave the room. You have one last thing to take care of with Zelda, and then, you can sit down with Repin to finish up the final preparations. It’s almost vindicating when you pull out your phone to send a location and time to Fitzgerald.

Just a little longer. I’m almost there. 

—

Dazai is lounging in bed when the door opens again. 

“I was sleeping,” Dazai says irritably. He wasn’t sleeping, but they don’t need to know that. Twain and James are the ones unfortunately gracing him with their presence, which is odd considering they’ve never shown up at the same before. “What?”

“Up,” Twain says, clapping his hands together twice as he ushers Dazai out of bed. “C’mon, kid. Francis is waiting. Let’s go.”

Dazai scowls when Twain grabs his bicep to pull him off the bed, slapping away the other man’s hand. His skin crawls where his fingers had once been—Dazai has never enjoyed physical touch, not until he met you, but even then it’s limited to you and you alone.

He misses you.

A heavy air settles around him as he drags himself out of bed. He doesn’t know why he’s started to descend into such a depressive spiral since Lucy’s departure from the room, he thought he would be happy knowing that you haven’t forgotten about him, but he’s only become increasingly more despondent. 

His fingers feel numb and clunky as he pulls on a pair of shoes—you bought him them. You bought him everything he’s wearing right now, actually. Despite the fact that Fitzgerald has brought Dazai several new pairs of clothes to wear, he hasn’t changed out of the outfit he’d arrived in. He’s sure it smells terribly and he must look like a mess, but Dazai’s mind has always been cruel and now more than ever, it enjoys playing tricks on him.

He’s never slept well before. Usually he doesn’t sleep at all, but when he does, he’s plagued with nightmares. The past few days, weeks, however long he’s been here, it’s been no different. When he sleeps—which is frustratingly often because of the head injury he received the day they kidnapped him—he wakes from long, vivid nightmares of lives where he never met you. He wakes entirely convinced that the entire past few months with you was just an elaborate dream that his mind made up to torture him, that you don’t exist, that you’re just a figment of his imagination created to show him a life that he could’ve had if he were more normal.

It’s only the physical evidence of you that drags him out of a dangerous spiral—the clothes you bought him, the lingering scent of you on him, and the few marks that remain on his body from the night spent with you in the cabin. But your scent is fading and the marks are disappearing, so all he has is the clothes on his back to remind him that you’re real, you’re alive, you’ll come for him.

You’ll come for him. 

“Where are we going?” Dazai finally asks, finishing getting on his shoes, but he doesn’t budge as he stares at the two of them, waiting for a response. They don’t give him one. He wonders if the Guild is done with him, if they’re skipping over torture and going right to execution. “Hello? I asked a question.”

“I told ya,” Twain tells him, stepping out of the room and raising his eyebrows, urging him to move along. “To Francis.”

“But why?” Dazai presses. “Why didn’t he come here? Where are we going?”

Twain and James share a long look, like they don’t want to explain to Dazai where they’re going. And-

And Dazai doesn’t dare get his hopes up—he knows better—but it’s impossible to stop the way his body physically reacts to the realization he just came to. His throat swells and he works on over time trying to stop the way his heart suddenly starts racing. He can’t.

Twain would’ve eagerly told him if they were marching him off to be executed; he’s been gloating over the fact that you ‘left him to rot’ since you were released from prison. If this were the Guild getting rid of him, Twain would be just as vocal about that, but it’s not, so could it be…? 

He stares at the two members of the Guild. He wants to ask, but he doesn’t want to be disappointed, so he waits to see what they say.

It’s an eternity before Twain rolls his eyes and says, “Seems your girl didn’t forget about you. She called for a parley. We’re going out to meet her.”

Dazai lets out a wavering puff of air, one that he can’t bite back. The tension in his shoulders instantly dissipates, after what seems like weeks of darkness and despair, Dazai finally sees the light at the end of the tunnel.

“I told you,” he tells them, voice a bit more breathless than he meant for it to be. “I told you she’d come. Maybe you should’ve listened to me.”

Twain clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. “Get moving,” he snips, forcing Dazai out of the room and leading him down unfamiliar halls. Dazai is quick to map out the place, noting all of the twists and turns just in case he somehow ends back up here. He’ll get out on his own if he has to, he’s not spending another night in this place. “Don’t get your hopes up. I doubt she’ll be able to come to an agreement with Francis.”

Dazai is a bit too smug as he says, “If she reaches out to meet you, then it’s already over. She wouldn’t have reached out to meet you if she wasn’t sure things would land in her favor, otherwise she would’ve reached out days ago.”

It’s the truth—Dazai knows it. His faith in you wasn’t misplaced, never has been and never will be. You just needed time to make sure everything was in place because you didn’t want to find yourself on unequal grounds during the negotiation. He almost feels giddy as he follows Twain and James out of the building, walking in the direction of a long black car.

Their base is in one of the southern wards, he recognizes immediately. Sakae or Totsuka… maybe Kanazawa. It’s in a residential district, and there's a road sign to Kamakura, so he must be in Sakae or the southern part of Totsuka. His gaze flickers back over to the two escorting him, wondering why they wouldn’t have blindfolded him before leading him out of the building.

Maybe they think it doesn’t matter—they don’t intend on coming back to this base for whatever reason after their meeting with you, or maybe… Dazai’s gaze lingers on the side of Twain’s face, noting the way his jaw is tight and his eyes keep flickering around aimlessly. He looks over to James, seeing the larger man in a similar state.

“You’re nervous,” Dazai voices, still entirely too smug. When Twain doesn’t respond, only giving him a sharp side-eye, he realizes that his assumption was right, and it makes him even more amused. As he gets into the black car, he gives the man a simpering smile before saying, “Good, you should be.”

Fitzgerald is already in the car waiting for them. He’s so hyper-focused on his phone that he doesn’t even realize the three of them entered the car until Twain says something. Dazai should probably be paying attention to what they’re saying, but he finds himself dizzy over the thought of seeing you again. 

When the car starts moving, his heart starts racing. He doesn’t know where they’re meeting you, but it can’t possibly be more than a thirty minute drive and that means he’s thirty minutes from seeing you again after days—weeks, maybe—of isolation. He finds himself nervous, almost, because he doesn’t really know what to expect from you—are you mad at him for what happened? Do you still want to be with him? Dazai is unsure because he thinks that even if you did want nothing to do with him anymore, you’d still make sure to protect him if he got caught up in this.

He chews the inside of his cheek, doubt whittling away at his excitement; he’s only drawn back to the present when Fitzgerald responds to something that Twain says.

“I haven’t heard from Zelda today,” he murmurs, looking a bit unsure. “She usually calls when she wakes up in the morning.”

Zelda, Dazai notes the name down, recalling that Lucy had mentioned it too and thinking back to the comment Fitzgerald had made during the second conversation he had with him. I’ve only met one other… you remind me much of her. His gaze flickers down to the man’s left hand, seeing the gold wedding band sitting on his ring finger.

Fitzgerald notices Dazai’s lingering gaze and sighs before looking away, staring out the windshield as the driver continues down the road in the direction of Nishi-ku. After a few moments, he says quietly, “Zelda is my wife… All of this, it’s for her.”

His tone is solemn, eyes heavy as he stares ahead. Dazai tilts his head to the side as he studies the older man, curious. “All of this?” he asks dryly. “You kidnapped me because of your wife?”

Fitzgerald’s lips curve up into a resigned smile. “Yes,” he says. Dazai’s brows furrow, mind racing as he tries to put together the few puzzle pieces he’s been given. What does his endeavor in Yokohama and with the Port Mafia have anything to do with his wife? He’s missing something. “I’ve done terrible things in the name of love, I’ve gone well past the point of no return. I have to see things through now.”

“I would do terrible things for you, Dazai Osamu. I have done terrible things for you, and I would do them again and again and again.”

Dazai misses you. The reminder of your words from the beach house makes his body ache with longing. Yet, Fitzgerald’s words don’t settle well with Dazai. They make his skin crawl with nerves, itching uncomfortably beneath his bandages—he needs to replace them, he’s hadn’t had the chance to change them since the Guild kidnapped him. They’re all yellowed and grimy now, and they’re almost intolerable against his skin. He wants to go home. Wants to be with you. 

“What do you mean?” Dazai presses. “What does this have anything to do with your wife?”

Dazai figured that the Guild was just trying to expand into Japan and wanted their first foothold to be in Yokohama to unseat the Port Mafia as the reigning leaders of the Eastern Hemisphere’s underworld… but what would that have to do with his wife? It doesn’t make sense. There’s something he’s missing, something that runs deeper than just territorial conflicts. 

Before Fitzgerald can answer, Twain clears his throat, giving Dazai a suspicious look before speaking to his boss. “I’m sure Zelda is fine,” Twain says. “The nights have been getting longer and colder back home, she always gets more quiet when winter comes around.”

Any disposition Fitzgerald might’ve had to answer Dazai’s questions is gone as the man sighs and leans back in his chair. Dazai shoots Twain a dirty look, to which he receives an entirely too smug one. Bitter and irritated, he hopes that you humble the redhead severely in the meeting.

“You’re right,” Fitzgerald says more to himself than to anyone else. “I’ll see if J.D. can stop by the high-rise after this meeting, he offered to check in on her since he decided not to come along.”

Fitzgerald doesn’t seem inclined to continue any conversation at all. He looks out the window of the passenger seat and a tense silence falls over the car—Dazai is wildly uncomfortable between Twain and James. He can feel both of their thighs bumping against his with each turn the car takes and the forced physical contact makes all of this even more unbearable. 

The seconds feel like hours, the minutes feel like days. When the car finally pulls to a stop, Dazai is itching to claw past Twain so he can have fresh air and personal space. The other man takes far too long to open the door—Dazai thinks it’s on purpose from the way he gives him an entertained look. Dazai scowls at Twain and shoulders right past him, frustrated and antsy, and then-

And then he sees you.

Dazai’s breath catches when he steps out of the car, nearly tripping over his foot when he realizes that you’re standing outside of the teahouse. There are two people on either side of you, but he’s tunnel-visioned on you and you alone. The world could be burning around him and all he would be able to see was you.

You look beautiful. You always look beautiful, but you look especially beautiful now when he’s been deprived of the sight of you for so long. The sun is setting over the bay and Dazai thinks he could drown in the image of you, that he could die happy now that he’s seen you again. You’re dressed neatly in a suit and your expression is cold and closed off, but he can see the way your eyes soften as soon as he’s in sight and it makes his whole body warm with a comfort he’s been so awfully deprived of the past few weeks.

He loves you. He’s missed you. The apology that he’s been rehearsing every day since he was kidnapped threatens to burst from his lips along with everything he wished he said to you but thought he’d never have the chance to. He refrains, if only barely, because he knows now isn't the time for this, not in this setting, but he itches to be at your side, to feel your skin on his again. 

“Don’t try anything funny, yeah?” Twain says with an unkind smile as he nudges Dazai forward. He feels the muzzle of a gun pressed to his lower back, a silent threat for if he was thinking about running to your side.

Fitzgerald walks in front of the three of them, stopping at the bottom of the stairs you’re standing on—a power play, Dazai recognizes, you on a higher ground forcing them to crane their necks to look up at you. Now that Dazai is only partially dazzled by your appearance, he recognizes Nakahara Chuuya and Piano Man on either side of you. The three of you seem to be purposely blocking the entrance of the teahouse and don’t make any effort to move once Dazai and three members of the Guild start making their way to you.

“Do you intend for us to parley out in the open? I would’ve thought that the Port Mafia would appreciate discretion more than that,” Fitzgerald notes dryly.

“I’m afraid we will not be parleying under the current circumstances,” you sigh, and your voice. God, your voice is heavenly, he’s missed it desperately. “You send your… guest over to the car waiting right over there, and then we can talk.”

Hm? Dazai watches curiously, wondering what you’re playing at. There’s no way that the Guild will just hand over their leverage before going into a negotiation, even Dazai knows that much. He knows that you wouldn’t have called this meeting unless you got yourself on even footing with them, but even footing wouldn’t be enough to force Fitzgerald to hand his only advantage over to you. Unless… 

“Unfortunately, you’re in no position to be making demands,” Fitzgerald says with a thin smile. “Once we’ve come to an understanding, I’ll be happy to return your lover to you.”

Lover, Dazai thinks a bit dreamily as if he’s not currently a hostage.

You let out a soft laugh, but it’s not a kind one. Dazai snaps himself out of the borderline trance he was in because of how he was addressed when he hears it, gaze flickering back over to you. The smile on your face is small, but equally unkind, like you know something that Fitzgerald doesn’t. From the way Fitzgerald stiffens, he seems to realize that too.

“I fear that I’m the only one in any position to be making demands,” you say light-heartedly. Dazai watches as you slide something off of the ring finger of your left hand, brows furrowing as you hold up a ring between your thumb and pointer finger, showcasing it for Fitzgerald. “Beautiful ring, truly… You must really love her.”

You flick the ring toward them carelessly. Dazai watches as it bounces against the ground with a soft plink once, then twice, and then everything descends into chaos around him. 

His eyes widen as a gold glow emanates from around Fitzgerald—within a blink, he’s in front of you, Chuuya and Piano Man, fist raised as he threatens to land a devastating blow onto you. Dazai’s lips part in a cry that doesn’t even have the chance to escape his lips because Chuuya is instantly between the two of you, the Tainted Sorrow activated as he throws Fitzgerald back roughly into the road. 

The gun that had been pressed to Dazai’s back is now at his temple, and as Fitzgerald rises back to his feet, you raise your hands in mock surrender. 

“Careful now,” you say, an amused lilt to your tone. “We don’t want things to get violent before negotiations even start. Zelda is a lovely woman, I’d hate for something to happen to her.”

“Give me my wife back,” Fitzgerald says, voice strained, but he deactivates his ability, expression hard as he glares at you. “She has nothing to do with any of this. She-”

“Neither did he,” you interrupt, the easy tone replaced with a much colder one. “Let him go, and then you can come in and we can talk.”

The standstill that takes feels like an eternity. James and Twain stare at Fitzgerald, waiting for orders, and Fitzgerald stares at you, angry and frustrated. It’s almost odd seeing the suave and collected man that’s held him captive the past few days acting like a cornered animal. Dazai supposes he can’t blame him—if he’s done all of this for his wife only for you to now have her as a hostage… Dazai would pity him if he still wasn’t so bitter about the head wound and weeks of captivity. 

Finally, Fitzgerald nods. After a moment’s hesitation and with a conflicted expression, Twain drops the gun that’s pointed at his head. Fitzgerald is stiff as he makes his way forward, Twain and James a step behind him, leaving Dazai standing alone at the bottom of the steps of the teahouse.

You smile thinly as you step out of the way for them, letting them walk into the building. “Good choice,” you say quietly, mockingly because you know that he didn’t have another choice. 

Chuuya and Piano Man share a quick look with you before following the Guild members into the building, leaving you alone outside with him. Dazai stares up at you, all of his practiced words failing him, he wants to walk up the stairs to you but his legs are rooted to the ground. He doesn’t need to move though, because as soon as the doors shut behind them, you’re rushing down from your high ground to him.

Dazai nearly collapses into you as soon as he feels your arms around him. One arm curls around his shoulders, hand cradling the back of his head, and the other wraps around his waist to hold him steady when he leans his full body weight onto you. He has so much he wants to say to you, but he can’t even speak a single word—his breath is ragged and his nails bite into the back of your suit jacket, face pressed in the crook of your neck.

I’m sorry, he wants to say, I’m sorry for what I said, I’m sorry for running out on you, I’m sorry for putting you in this position, I’m-

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly. Your voice cracks over your words and Dazai’s throat spasms as he swallows back a lump. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“It’s okay,” he replies, voice muffled against your skin. His lashes flutter as his eyes slide shut, basking in the familiarity of your arms. For the first time in weeks, Dazai feels safe, he feels warm, he feels like he’s home. “I knew you would come.”

Your arms tighten around him and Dazai almost wants to ask you to skip the meeting with the Guild and come home with him. He doesn’t—mostly because he doesn’t think he has any grounds to ask you to do anything after everything that’s happened, but also because a part of him worries that you might agree to it and he knows this meeting is critical. 

When you pull away from him, Dazai barely bites back a protest but he can’t stop the way his face drops as soon as your arms drop from around him. You notice, a soft smile curling at your lips as you lift your hand to cup his cheek. Dazai leans into your touch, eyes lidded as he looks down at you.

“I shouldn’t have left,” Dazai whispers after a few moments. He’s always struggled with apologies, and even now, the words taste like ash in his mouth, but he forces them out. “I’ve caused you so much trouble, I-”

“No,” you say, shaking your head, not even letting him finish. “Don’t. I shouldn’t have let the argument escalate the way it did, I knew better. What happened isn’t your fault.”

Dazai begs to differ. Your words don’t ease his guilt, but he doesn’t want to argue with you about it, so he lets it drop. His eyes flutter shut again when you run your thumb along his cheekbone, fingers carding absently through the tips of his hair. He doesn’t want to leave you again, almost wants to ask if he could stay for the meeting, but again, he doesn’t.

“Atsushi and Kyouka are going to go back to the apartment with you,” you finally tell him what he’s been dreading, and he knows it’s only a matter of time before you send him off. “I won’t be long. I promise.”

Dazai lets out a heavy sigh, a bit more dramatic than he intended, and you give him a fond smile.

“I left some crab linguine in the microwave for you,” you add. Dazai lights up at the mention of his favorite food—he hasn't had crab since the night he was kidnapped by the Guild. “Go, the quicker I can get this over with, the quicker we can get home and curl up in bed together.”

Dazai makes a show of pouting and being unhappy, but he does step away from you in the direction of the car. He doesn’t get out of arm’s reach before he’s pausing and looking at you again, you raise your eyebrows, silently asking him what’s wrong.

“I love you,” he says very softly, almost like he’s hesitant. Not hesitant in his love for you, just hesitant voicing the words out loud when he knows how much the world likes to fuck with him. It’s not the first time he’s said it, but it’s the first time he said it first.

You give him a small, adoring smile. “I love you too, Osamu.”

Dazai lingers for a few seconds longer before making his way over to the car. As his fingers curl around the handle of the door, he pauses and looks back at you, remembering something crucial that he’d been meaning to tell you, calling your name.

“Yeah?” you ask with a frown, looking a bit concerned.

“The Guild isn’t working alone,” he says. “Fitzgerald… he mentioned that he had allies, referred to them as rats that he didn’t trust not to be spying on conversations. He also knows what your ability is, one of your executives is feeding information to him and the Ivory Eagle.”

Your expression shifts into a more unreadable one, gaze shifting from him to look out at the horizon. “Rats, hm?” you say quietly, more to yourself than him. “That explains a lot, actually.”

Dazai isn’t sure what you mean by that, but he figures he’ll bother you for more information when he gets the chance later. He gets into the car with another quiet goodbye, hardly paying attention as Atsushi and Kyouka greet him. His eyes stay on you even as the car pulls away, and you don’t budge from your spot at the bottom of the steps until the car is out of sight.

Somehow, Dazai still has a looming feeling that he’s not out of the woods yet.

—

You enter the teahouse a few moments after the car disappears around the bend leading to the main street of Nishi-ku. The air is brisk and familiar, you’ve spent many days and nights at this teahouse dealing with business for the Mafia. It's your favorite place to bring adversaries for negotiations—the owners are always quick to accommodate you even for last minute meetings, and they’re pleasant enough company when you’re there early waiting for the other party. 

Despite having seen and held Dazai, you still somehow feel discouraged. There’s an unexplainable heaviness in your chest as you make your way into the private room in the back of the teahouse, closing the door quietly behind you.

Chuuya and Piano Man sit on either side of the empty chair left for you; Fitzgerald opposite you with his two lackeys on either side of him. An executive of the Family sits at the head of the negotiation table—originally, you wanted Tolstoy to oversee the negotiation, but you figured that Fitzgerald would be at ease with a more neutral party as the host, and two executives of the Family were already in Yokohama to meet with Piano Man. While the Family is definitely more aligned with the Port Mafia, they also have significant business endeavors in Guild territory, whereas the whole world knows that the Three Deaths and the Port Mafia are pretty much extensions of each other because of your relationship with Tolstoy.

The Family executive is a young woman—you recognize her vaguely, most of your meetings have been with Goldoni himself, but she usually follows along like a silent shadow. You think Goldoni has her set to take over as the next ‘Father’ after him. Regardless, as soon as you take your seat at the negotiation table, she looks at you, waiting for you to begin the discussions. 

A tactical advantage, one that you appreciate. 

“Now that-”

“Where is she?” Fitzgerald interrupts, knuckles white around the edge of the table. “Where is my wife?” 

The executive of the Family turns an unimpressed look onto Fitzgerald. What a fumble, you think, amused. Negotiations aren’t just political devices to create a space for peaceful conferences between rival factions, they’re also used as avenues that can make or break alliances. Disrespect the mediator of the negotiation and you might just find yourself on the outs of the entire organization—the mediator chooses who gives the first dialogue of the negotiation, you don’t ignore that unless you want to piss people off.

You raise your eyebrows at Fitzgerald. “I didn’t say I would give her back to you if you let him go. I said we would talk.”

Fitzgerald slams his hands against the table and rises to his feet. His two subordinates share a look with one another, and you feel Chuuya’s hand rest on your knee, ready to activate his ability at a moment’s notice if Fitzgerald tries to attack you.

“Give me my wife back,” Fitzgerald says, jaw tight and voice rough, clearly trying to restrain himself. “I let him go, so give me her back.”

Your lips curve up into a small smile, and then you say, “No.”

Chuuya doesn’t sigh, he knows better than to not show a united front at the negotiation table, but you know that even though he knows this is necessary, he doesn’t like it. Still, you find yourself enjoying it—what Fitzgerald is feeling right now, you’ve felt for almost two weeks. You’ve never claimed to not be vindictive. 

Your smile widens a bit when Fitzgerald stares at you, expression entirely unreadable. You raise your hands up casually as you shrug, finding the whole situation entertaining. 

“Why would I do that?” you ask, amusement clear in your tone. “I never would’ve given Dazai up in your position. Much less without even getting a promise out of me to get your own hostage freed. That’s crazy.”

You almost expect Fitzgerald to launch himself right at you, no ability activated, just throwing hands, but after what feels like an eternity, he sits back down, back rigid and teeth grinding together. 

“What do you want then?” Fitzgerald asks, his voice is still strained but he’s calmer now.

“Why are you in Yokohama?” Instead of telling him what you want, you hit him with a question yourself, watching him carefully. Now that he’s calmer, your ability starts to go to work—not nearly enough to override how on edge he is because of the situation with his wife, but enough for you to work with. “We both know this isn’t about territory, Fitzgerald-san. Let’s start this off right; tell me what you’re really here for, and maybe we can come to an understanding.”

Fitzgerald’s subordinates share a look with one another, and Fitzgerald himself does not seem keen on answering your question. Interesting, you think, what’s so important that it makes him hesitate even under these circumstances? This is something big, it has to be, especially if Dazai heard correctly and Dostoevsky is involved—that man only ever gets involved with conflicts that have high stakes that he knows he can win, and that doesn’t bode well for you. 

“It is about territory to some extent,” Fitzgerald finally says, resigned. When you narrow your eyes, he shakes his head and continues. “We’re looking for something here in Yokohama. So yes, we were trying to get a foothold in the city so we would have an easier time looking.”

What?

You can feel both Piano Man and Chuuya give you a sharp look, but you keep your gaze trained on Fitzgerald. Your mind races trying to figure out what he means by this, but you just don’t have enough pieces to put the puzzle together. You need to press for more. 

“Looking for what?” you ask coolly.

Fitzgerald stares at you, lips pressed together, expression cold and conflicted. You stare right back, unrelenting. After a few moments, he shakes his head and says, “A book.”

“A book?” you echo. 

“A book,” Fitzgerald confirms. “A reality altering book.”

“What?” Piano Man asks sharply, unable to help himself. You give him a look from the corner of your eye—only the two people sitting in the central seats are supposed to speak during negotiations, but you honestly can’t blame him, because you don’t fully understand what Fitzgerald just said to you.

“What do you mean?” you ask slowly. “A reality altering book here in Yokohama? Where did you hear this from? How do you know it’s real?” 

“Fyodor Dostoevsky of the House of the Dead-” You almost roll your eyes. Of course, it’s him. You’re glad you decided to go with the route you did now. “-approached me about it. It’s something that I simply can’t let pass me by… my daughter…”

Fitzgerald’s face twists in pain; you almost feel bad for everything you’ve done with Zelda. Almost. His two subordinates—Twain and James—lower their gaze to the table, frowning. After a few moments of silence, and carefully constructing a question to figure out if this ‘reality altering book’ might be real’, you speak again.

“And how do you know this book is real? I know enough about you to know you wouldn’t start a full blown war over what could just be a wild goose hunt, what makes you think this thing actually exists?” 

“James was with me when I spoke to Dostoevsky, his ability allows him to decipher whether or not someone is lying. More than that, I’ve seen the Book at work,” Fitzgerald says. Your eyes widen a bit in surprise at his words, more so at the fact that he doesn’t seem to be lying. “Dostoevsky… he has one page of this Book. To prove its ability, and to secure an alliance with the Order of the Clocktower and the Guild, he used a section of it. The Book is real, I was promised a page of it to bring my daughter back if I helped Dostoevsky retrieve it.”

What the fuck. 

You stare at Fitzgerald, careful to keep any emotion off your face even though you’re full of turmoil on the inside. If there’s even a chance that Fitzgerald is telling the truth and there’s now a reality altering Book at play, and not only that, if Dostoevsky already has a page of it, that changes everything. There’s no telling what has or has not been altered, the entire truth of this reality is at question. How much damage could be done with a single page? How does it work? There’s too many variables. 

It might not even be real, you think, trying to calm your racing thoughts. Dostoevsky is notoriously manipulative, there’s always a chance that he manufactured the existence of this book to get Fitzgerald and Christie to do his dirty work. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s pulled something like that—he could’ve used someone else’s ability to make it seem like the page of the Book altered reality to ‘prove it’ to the two other leaders… but somehow you have a feeling that might not be the case. 

“What does the Book have to do with the weretiger you put the bounty on?” you ask. 

You’re starting to feel a bit anxious—this is way more than you anticipated, and there’s so many bad implications that you almost feel overwhelmed, but now’s not the time to let it get to you. You need to focus, you can’t afford to shut down. You need to understand what’s happening before finishing up this negotiation, especially now that Fyodor Dostoevsky and Agatha Christie are seemingly involved. 

“We were told that the weretiger is essential in finding the Book,” Fitzgerald says after a few moments. “I wasn’t told more than that. I intended on getting my hands on him to figure out why.”

Atsushi doesn’t know anything about this Book. The first thing you did when you got ahold of him was interrogate him for any reason the Guild might’ve put so high of a bounty on his head. Your mind drifts back to Dazai’s theory—that maybe the tiger is a separate consciousness, maybe the tiger knows something about the Book, but you’re not going to voice your theories now. You’ll talk about it with Chuuya and Piano Man later.

“I see,” you say with a thin smile. “How enlightening.”

“Where’s my wife?” Fitzgerald asks again. “I told you everything you want, I-”

“I didn’t promise to give you your wife back if you answered my questions,” you tell him dryly, tone a bit mocking. “That’s twice now. You’d think you would learn.”

You almost commend Fitzgerald for not instantly snapping at you. He stares at you, expression tight and voice strained as he speaks, “Tell me what you want for my wife. Enough of this.”

You watch him listlessly for a few moments, trying to decide if there’s any more pressing information that you should get for him. You’ll have a chance later, but you need to figure out if there’s anything more that might affect the plan you’ve concocted with Tolstoy and Repin. You don’t think there is, and you have to be careful with what you say anyway considering the human lie detector is sitting right next to Fitzgerald, so after a hesitation that lasts too long for Fitzgerald’s comfort, you finally give him your answer.

“How many of your subordinates are aware of Dazai’s existence?”

“Just the three of us,” Fitzgerald replies. Your eyes narrow, so he continues, “I didn’t want it to get out to Dostoevsky. I was worried he would capitalize on the situation before I could. These two were only made aware because they were the ones I had bring him in.”

“Is that so?” you ask coolly. “And which one was the one that left the massive bruise on the side of his face?” 

You don’t get a response, you don’t expect to, but you do catch the way that both glance at the man sitting on the left—Henry James. Your gaze slides from the man over to the far right corner where Akutagawa is standing; Klaus is in the far left one, but Akutagawa will be more brutal if you let him off his leash for this, and you want him to suffer. The boy catches your gaze and gives an imperceptible nod, acknowledging your silent request.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say even though you’ve gotten your answer. “I’ll release Zelda to you, but there’s one non-negotiable condition to it.”

“Tell me it,” Fitzgerald demands. “I’ll do it.”

You lean back in your seat, tilting your head to the side as you study him for a moment, and then you tell him, “You’ll meet with a friend of mine. He has an ability that allows him to alter memories. All memories of Dazai will be removed.”

The room goes silent at once. The redhead, Twain, stiffens in his seat and casts a justifiably wary look toward Fitzgerald who looks caught off guard by the request. You imagine that he probably assumed you would demand he stops working with Dostoevsky and leaves Yokohama. You don’t need to demand that, because that will come as soon as Repin does his job… but Fitzgerald doesn’t know that, of course. 

“How do I know you won’t mess with other things in my head? That you’ll only remove those memories?” Fitzgerald asks tightly.

Originally, you planned on lying and telling him that Repin’s ability didn’t have the power to do anything more than memory removal, but you can’t do that with Henry James sitting next to Fitzgerald, so you're forced to pivot.

You shrug and say, “You’ll have to trust me not to.”

Fitzgerald stares at you, and it feels like hours even though it’s only been a few passing seconds, but when he speaks, you feel as though you’ve won. 

“Fine,” Fitzgerald agrees, expression pinched and conflicted, swallowing thickly. “Fine.”

Your lips curve up into a small smile when you realize he’s decided to trust you—not that there was much of a choice for him if he ever wanted to see his wife again. 

“Good,” you say softly.

Still, a fatal mistake. 

—

“So… uh,” a white-haired boy says awkwardly as soon as Dazai settles in the car next to him. A girl with black hair dressed in a red kimono sits on the other side of him, back stiff and expression eerily blank as she watches Dazai—she doesn’t blink, hardly breathes, Dazai is almost unnerved. “Don’t mind Kyouka. She takes our missions… really seriously, and you’re our mission right now, so…”

“I’m your mission?” Dazai asks dryly, sighing as he rests his head against the head rest, careful to not touch either of the teens sitting next to him. God, he’s tired of being around people, he just wants to curl up in bed. Preferably with you. 

“Mhm.” He nods his head a bit too enthusiastically. “Boss told us to make sure you get to her apartment. We’re gonna stay with you until she gets there.”

Great, Dazai thinks, a little bitter over it.

Evidently, it shows on his face because the boy cringes in on himself and says, “We’ll leave you be, I’m sure you’ve had an, uh, exhausting past two weeks. You won’t even know we’re there. Promise.”

Dazai side eyes him, noticing the way the boy stares ahead embarrassed as if contemplating all of the words he just spoke. He looks… normal for the most part—not like the girl sitting on Dazai’s other side, definitely not like that emo Akutagawa that trails after you like a lost dog, and certainly not like that unhinged brat Klaus who follows you around.

“What’s your name?” Dazai asks for a few moments, sparing the kid from his own thoughts. The kid looks at him startled as if he didn’t expect Dazai to willingly speak to him. “Well?”

“Ah-” he splutters out and then smiles a bit. “I’m Nakajima Atsushi. Just Atsushi is fine though. It’s nice to finally meet you, y’know, without the others around.” 

He lets out an awkward laugh and Dazai recalls the last time he saw the boy—he was with the other two outside of your building when Dazai first got the blackmail on you. Of the three of them, he seemed the most nervous. He’s met both Klaus and Akutagawa since then, unfortunately, but never him.

“That’s Kyouka-chan, by the way. She’s not much for conversation, but she’s great. I would’ve introduced myself sooner, but the first time we met wasn’t exactly the best situation, and boss has me training all the time to try to learn better control over my ability, and Kyouka’s always on missions for Kouyou-san so you probably haven’t met her yet.”

Dazai nods, although he’s not fully paying attention. “What’s your ability?” he asks absently, wishing he was sitting at the window so he could at least distract himself with the passing buildings. 

“I can, uh, turn into a tiger. I can’t control when though,” Atsushi explains, tossing Dazai a sheepish smile. “That’s why I’m always training. I need to be able to control it without relying on boss or, uh, the collar.”

“You’re the weretiger,” Dazai realizes, glancing at Atsushi and then down to the collar around his neck. He can’t tell from first glance what exactly it does, but before he can figure it out, the boy is speaking again.

“She’s mentioned me?” Atsushi leans forward, eyes wide. “What did she say? Did she say anything about how my training is going? She’s been so busy, I haven’t really been able to get any feedback from her, but I’ve made some progress with controlling my transformations… Kind of.”

“Uh,” Dazai says smartly. Weak-hearted, too soft, not fit for the Mafia. Atsushi's smile starts to drop, so Dazai quickly adds, “Yeah, she has. She’s noticed all of the work you’ve been doing. She’s impressed.”

Atsushi frowns and side eyes Dazai. “She’s never impressed with anything. You don’t need to lie.”

Dazai grimaces and decides not to argue. Instead, he asks, “How did you end up with the Port Mafia?”

“Oh, ah… it’s a long story,” Atsushi says, laughing awkwardly as he rubs the back of his neck. “I lived at an orphanage, but I got kicked out because there wasn’t enough food. Or well, actually it was probably because I was attacking people when I turned into a tiger at night. But it was for the best anyway! And, well, I ended up here in Yokohama, and I guess at night when I transformed, I started attacking Port Mafia warehouses. So boss sent Klaus and Akutagawa to, uh, kill me, I guess. Or capture me, maybe, for the bounty. I’m not sure now that I think about it; it felt like they wanted to kill me, but they’re both also always trying to kill everything, it’s just their natural state. But I wasn’t tiger-me when they got there, I was me-me, so they brought me back to her… um, and then I talked to her for a bit and she told me about the bounty, and then she fought the other executives to not hand me over to the Guild, and now I’m here.”

Dazai stares at Atsushi. “Wow,” he replies blandly. “Quite the story.” 

Atsushi flushes. “You asked,” he accuses, scowling at Dazai and looking away.

“Yes, very narrative, ten out of ten story-telling skills,” Dazai says with a simpering smile. He notices the stone-faced Kyouka’s lips curl up as she looks out the window, as if trying to hide it, so he considers it a win, even if Atsushi gives him an outraged look. “What?”

“We can’t all be literature majors, some of us spent our entire lives in an orphanage only to be kidnapped by the Mafia as soon as we got out,” Atsushi hisses, face still pink as he pointedly looks away from Dazai. 

“Actually, I’m a creative writing and classics double major if we’re being specific,” Dazai corrects with a sweet smile. “... How did you even know that?” 

Atsushi clicks his tongue and side-eyes Dazai. “Aren’t you supposed to be smart?” Dazai squints at Atsushi, a bit insulted. “Where do you think I heard it from?”

You, Dazai realizes, lips curling up a little instinctively. He wonders how much you talk about him—Atsushi isn’t the first to throw in his face that he’s supposed to be smart. Klaus did when he first met Dazai outside your building, Chuuya has too. He imagines you must brag about him, and it makes Dazai’s chest feel warm and bubbly because he’s never had someone brag about him before. Never.

“You make her happy, y’know,” Atsushi says quietly. He’s not looking at Dazai, opting to stare out the window instead. “She’s… not as… Forget it. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“You can’t just say that,” Dazai complains, interested in knowing what Atsushi was about to say about you, but the boy seals his lips shut and stares out the window. Dazai rolls his eyes.

“Hime is not as cruel as she pretends to be,” Dazai startles at the voice of a young girl, almost forgetting that Kyouka is on his opposite side. “She looks out for everyone, but doesn’t let anyone look out for her. Acts like she doesn’t care so no one cares about her, but she does. A lot. Ane-san worries about her, I can tell.”

Atsushi nods. “When she found out everything that… happened at the orphanage, she had the whole staff removed and replaced them. Made sure what happened to me didn’t happen to anyone else,” he says quietly, an indecipherable look in his eyes. Dazai isn’t sure what happened at the orphanage, but he doubts it was anything good. 

“Hime and Ane-san helped me figure out the truth of what happened to my parents,” Kyouka agrees softly. “Ane-san couldn’t have gotten the files without her help.”

“And she’s done stuff for Klaus and Akutagawa too,” Atsushi adds, “but she won’t let anyone else help her with anything. Not me, not Klaus or Akutagawa. Hardly even Executive Nakahara. She relies on you though, I think a lot more than she realizes… she’s not been good the past few weeks.”

Dazai’s expression drops, lashes lowering as he looks down at the floor of the car. He’s wondered while he’s been captured how you might be doing. When he got really in his head, he imagined that you were doing perfectly fine without him, didn’t even care that he was gone. He thinks maybe he would’ve preferred that than to know that you haven’t been doing well, he doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like that you were hurting because of him and his stupid decisions.

He’ll just have to make it up to you, he decides. He’ll make it up to you once everything has calmed down. But how? He can’t buy you nice things like you do for him because he’s broke. If he tries to take you out somewhere to eat (not that he can even afford it), you wouldn’t let him pay the bill. Maybe… maybe he could show you what he’s been working on for his poetry workshop.

His face flames up at the thought, pushing it away immediately.

No, he’ll think of something else.

“Why is your face all red?” Kyouka suddenly asks, eyes sharp as she stares at him. “Are you ill? Did they poison you before releasing you? Look at me, I can call Doc-”

“I’m fine,” Dazai bristles, flustered. “I’m fine, I’m not sick.”

Kyouka looks unconvinced, reaching forward to try to press her hand to Dazai’s forehead. Dazai leans back, almost into Atsushi, who yelps and worms away from him.

“Stop that,” he hisses, grateful when the car rolls to a stop in front of the familiar sight of your building. Dazai is climbing over a protesting Atsushi and pushing open the door before the car has even fully stopped. “Thank god.”

He almost trips and falls, foot catching on Atsushi’s leg as he stumbles out of the car. He ignores Atsushi and Kyouka rushing to scramble after him as he rushes into the building. He’s too eager to be back in your apartment, he has every intention of getting up there and locking himself in your bedroom until you get back. 

He’s home free now, nothing else matters.

He’s home.

Home.

It’s almost too surreal for him to believe. He’d just about come to terms with the fact that he was never going to see you again, that his fate was in that cold and ugly room the Guild had him trapped in, but now he’s moments away from being back in the familiarity of your apartment. 

Moments away from being home. 

In a few hours, when you’re back, he’ll be able to curl up in your arm, he’ll be able to hear your voice, he’ll be able to be with you. He just wants to be with you. And he will be. Soon, he-

Dazai freezes when he takes a few steps into the lobby of your building and feels the muzzle of a gun press to his lower back. His eyes widen and he hears Atsushi and Kyouka skid to a stop a few steps behind him. He swallows thickly, realizing while he’d been lost in thought, he’d also lost track of his surroundings. 

There’s a group of unfamiliar people in the lobby of your building, all armed and all wearing strange collars around their necks. Not like the one Atsushi wears, these ones are large metal ones with a gem implanted in the middle. Your doorman, an older man named Hinata who Dazai has become acquainted with over the past two months, lays dead on top of his desk, hand still reaching out for his phone. 

“Who-”

“Shhh,” an equally unfamiliar voice says dismissively. It’s nasally and grating to the ears, Dazai already knows this man is going to be a piece of work. “Don’t speak, I want to get this done and over with.”

“Ace,” Atsushi shouts angrily. “What the hell are you doing? Get away from him.”

“No can do, weretiger,” the same man, Ace, drawls. “On orders from the Boss. I suggest you step out of the way, I was told he needed to be alive… but anyone that tried… well, you see what happened to old man Hinata over here. Never liked him, thought because he answered directly to our precious hime that he was something special. He wasn’t. Neither are the two of you, so get out of the way so I can complete my mission, yeah? Yeah. Good.”

Atsushi and Kyouka don’t verbally respond, but they don’t need to. Kyouka seemingly responds well enough from the sound of her katana being drawn, Dazai wants to turn around to look, but the gun against his lower back stops him. He’s so frustrated that he almost wants to cry, of course things couldn’t be this easy. He should’ve known better.

Ace clicks his tongue and Dazai still can’t see him, but he can tell just from the mocking tone he uses that the man must have a really punchable face. “Careful, Kyouka-chan, you won’t be the only one getting in trouble for going against the boss’s direct orders. Little hime and Kouyou-san will face the consequences for your disobedience too. You don’t want that, do you?” 

“Kyouka-chan, it’s okay,” Dazai says, voice deceptively even. “It’s okay.”

It’s definitely not okay, but if they’re not going to kill Dazai on the spot, then he can safely assume that they want something from him. That means he’ll have time to stall. Enough time for you to finish up the negotiations and get here. 

“But-”

“You heard it from the man himself,” Ace sings, forcing Dazai to turn around to walk right back the way he came. “Swords down and claws away, kids, and step over to the side so my men can make sure you don’t go and let our shining star know what’s happening too early, alright? Let’s give her time to handle things with the Guild so we don’t have to worry about those irritating Americans anymore.”

Dazai was right. Ace’s face is extremely punchable, and his hands twitch at his side when the man has the nerve to give Dazai a very smug smirk. 

“I’ve been waiting for someone to knock that girl off her high horse for a long time. Longer than you can imagine,” he says wistfully. “I’m so glad I get to be the one to do it. Get moving.”

“She’s gonna kill you,” Dazai says quietly.

“And disobey a direct order from the Boss?” Ace mocks. “You must not know her as well as you thought you did. She’s like a loyal hound to that man. A real bitch if I do say so myself.”

Dazai’s body moves before he actually processes the words, arm shooting out and fist cracking against the man’s jaw hard. Dazai is almost proud of himself as he watches Ace crumple to the ground, groaning, realizing that even after all of this time, he can at least somewhat remember the self-defense lessons that Odasaku forced Dazai to take part in. Though he doesn’t have much time to bask in his pride, because for the second time in less than a month, his head is bashed in by a baton and he crumples to the ground hard.

Shit, he thinks, pain coursing through him as his vision starts to go black. This is bad. This is-

—

“Is it done?”

“Don’t talk to me,” Repin says, holding up his hand as he swiftly walks past you. “I have paintings to create. Too many memories are flooding my head right now, if I have to see that moron you call a boyfriend for longer than I have to, I will gouge my eyes out.”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll take that as a yes then.”

“Don’t forget our deal,” Repin shouts as he leaves the room. “I’ll be cashing in on it. Those additions you asked for were not easy work.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say dismissively. “Go do what you need to do.”

Chuuya looks concerned. “Deal?” he demands. “What deal?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you sigh, shaking your head and turning your gaze back to the one-way glass showing the room that Twain and Fitzgerald are sitting in.

The two are chatting with one another, oblivious to what just happened to them. Repin told you to give it a few minutes before going in, let their brain adjust to the new memories he implanted, but you’re impatient. You want to finish things up here so you can get to Dazai. You miss him desperately already—the few seconds you were able to hold him in your arms were simply not enough. Each passing minute without him now is agonizing.

Before you can spiral deeper into your thoughts, the doors to the room behind you open. Akutagawa and Klaus step into the room—an impassive look on the former’s face, as if his coat isn’t dripping blood onto the ground beneath him, and the latter has a wild smile on his face and an even wilder look in his eyes. Akutagawa evidently allowed the other boy to partake in the bloodshed considering Klaus’s face is smeared with an equally disturbing amount of blood.

“It has been done,” Akutagawa announces, raising his chin. “Henry James was killed.”

“Really fucking brutally too,” Klaus interjects with a laugh that almost disconcerts you. “Wanna come see?”

“No,” you say flatly. “Call the clean up crews.”

Klaus visibly pouts at your words, but Akutagawa nods and pulls out his phone, taking a step away. You turn your attention back to the room, lips pressed together. It’s… odd almost—Fitzgerald and Twain talk casually, not knowing that the negotiation that took place between the two of you even happened, not knowing that 

Not odd—scary. 

You’ve encountered all types of abilities before. Chuuya and Akutagawa have two of the most lethal abilities you’ve ever come across. Klaus’s ability has always disconcerted you with the way it takes and takes and takes from the boy, knowing that someday it would consume him entirely. There was a child you once met with an ability kind of like yours—a type of mental manipulation triggered by physical harm to the user that ravaged the human psyche with hallucinations; they couldn’t control their ability, couldn’t even stop it at their own will, so you had to have them killed. Ayatsuji Yukito, the notorious Homicide Detective that the Special Division has recently leashed, concerns you because the man could kill just about everyone you care about with minimal effort if he’s ever brought into Yokohama to investigate the Port Mafia.

But this is different. Repin’s ability alters the mind so fundamentally that you don’t even know your mind has been altered. That scares you. It scares you almost as much as the prospect of that reality altering book Fitzgerald mentioned. The idea that one person could completely manufacture your perceived reality and you’d have no idea…

It scares you.

“What’s wrong?” Chuuya asks quietly as Akutagawa and Klaus leave the room to direct the cleaning crew to wherever they butchered Henry James. “Hey, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say, shaking your head. “Just want to be back at my apartment.”

“Soon,” Chuuya tells you, nudging your shoulder. “You wanna go in and talk to them now?”

“You think it’s been long enough?”

“Yeah,” Chuuya says. “Go for it. I’m gonna head up to the conference room. Mori wants to see us after you’re done here.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m going to see Osamu first,” you mutter. “I need to make sure he’s okay before…”

Before getting back into all of this bullshit. You just need to spend ten minutes with him before doing anything else. Ten minutes. Even though he’s back, and you know he’s safe, you watched him get into the car with Kyouka and Atsushi… you’re still on edge. You don’t know why, but you’re still on edge.

Chuuya nods. “I’ll cover for you,” he promises. “Now go finish things here.”

You don’t say anything else, sighing as you make your way over to the door. You wrap your fingers around the door handle, pausing for a second to collect your thoughts. You already know what you’re going to say—you’ve scripted it out, rehearsed it a hundred times. You’ve gone over information with Repin dozens of times to make sure everything is ironed out. 

You know what you’re going to say, you just have to say it, and then you can go see Dazai.

With that thought in mind, you push open the door to the room where the two Guild members are waiting for, making sure the smile on your face is warm and inviting while amping up your ability just enough for it to have a physical effect on them. The tenseness in their shoulders eases, and Fitzgerald rises to his feet with a small smile. 

“Ah, Miss Mori-” God, being called that makes your skin crawl. You can’t remember the last time someone actually referred to you that way—you even prefer hime to it. You have to make an effort to not let the irritation show on your face as Fitzgerald continues speaking, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Fitzgerald-san,” you greet lightly, holding your hand out to him. He shakes it firmly and you add, “I wish it didn’t have to be under the circumstances.”

Fitzgerald grimaces as he nods and takes a step back. “Yes,” he agrees, voice low. “My wife. You have her?” 

“I do,” you tell him, taking a seat next to him. “She’s… not doing well.” 

This is a more casual setting, a sitting room in one of the central building’s higher levels—a few couches set up in the center of the room around a coffee table, a window overlooking the city and a bar on the opposite side of the room. Twain lounges back in one of the armchairs in the corner of the room by the window while Fitzgerald sits closer to you. You chose this setting on purpose: it’s more intimate, less official than a negotiation room. 

More like a meeting between friends than enemies, which is exactly what this has become with Repin’s meddling. 

Fitzgerald sighs and looks away, lashes fluttering. “I feared that would be the case,” he murmurs. “How bad is it?”

You give him a small, sympathetic smile as an answer and Fitzgerald inhales sharply, rubbing his hand across his lower face, forehead creased in worry. 

“I should’ve known better than to deal with Dostoevsky,” he sighs, despondence lacing his tone. “I was warned, but…”

“Many have made the mistake of falling for his charms,” you say quietly. “You can’t blame yourself.”

Good, you start to become a bit more comfortable. Repin pulled through. If all went according to plan, Fitzgerald should believe that Dostoevsky was the one to have Zelda kidnapped, and the Port Mafia was able to intercept. You’ve spent the past few hours tying up all the loose ends—Tolstoy handled the security cameras in New York, you the ones here in Yokohama, there’s no physical evidence left of Tolstoy’s involvement in Zelda’s kidnapping and you’ve ensured rumors have already started spreading about Fitzgerald reneging on his alliance with Dostoevsky and Christie by withholding information. You don’t need to whisper anything else, the entire world knows that Fyodor Dostoevsky does not take treachery lightly, the assumptions will be made on their own. 

“I can when my wife is on the line because of it,” Fitzgerald snaps, and then lets out another heavy breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just frustrated with myself.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him easily. “I understand.”

“Can I see her?” Fitzgerald finally asks hesitantly. “Or is she…”

You make sure the expression on your face is contemplative, a bit concerned and then say, “You can, but I don’t know if it will go well… Dostoevsky… he did a lot of damage to her psyche with the stories he was telling her. I’ve hardly been able to make any progress with her, I’ve only been able to convince her that I’m a friend.”

Fitzgerald grimaces and looks away. While he decides what to say, you contemplate your next move. You have Lippmann ready to bring Zelda into the room; you know that she won’t take the sight of Francis kindly, you’ve ensured that much. Zelda Fitzgerald’s mind has been all but shattered even without the use of your ability. But if Fitzgerald insists on taking her with him, which there’s a good chance he will, you’ll lose some very critical leverage over the Guild. If Fitzgerald ever manages to unravel the memories Repin has woven into his mind, it’ll leave the Port Mafia vulnerable to a full blown war with the Guild without a hostage in hand. 

You really don’t want to lose Zelda.

But… maybe you can still make this work. 

“I want to see her,” Fitzgerald says after a few moments. “Please.”

You nod and glance down at your phone to shoot a text to Lippmann. You’ll only have a few seconds before he walks through the door with Zelda, but you’ll have to figure out your exact approach once you see how visceral her reaction is to Fitzgerald. Though you know it'll be bad, if it’s not bad enough, you won’t be able to convince Fitzgerald that she needs your help. 

The door to the room cracks open and Fitzgerald is on his feet in a second, holding his breath as Lippmann steps in, holding the door open for the fragile woman. His blue eyes are glittering with amusement as he catches your gaze, and you find yourself relaxing, realizing he must’ve been able to get her worked up before leading her in here.

You lean back in your seat, folding your hands in your lap, settling in to watch the show about to unfold. 

It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for it to begin.

Zelda freezes in the door frame as soon as her eyes fall on Fitzgerald. You watch the way her breath catches, the way her eyes widen and the way her pupils dilate. She mouths the word ‘no’ before speaking it, shaking her head slowly.

“Honey,” Fitzgerald whispers, taking a step forward, but Zelda takes a step back as soon as he does. “Honey.”

“Stay away from me.” Zelda’s voice breaks over the words, lips visibly trembling as she presses her back against the door frame. She looks like she’s on the verge of fleeing, but Albatross’s sudden presence in the door stops her. “Stay away. You lied to me. You lied. Frances… our daughter, my daughter, you…”

“What?” Fitzgerald breathes out, brows furrowing in confusion. “Zelda, honey, what are you talking about? I don’t-”

“You lied,” Zelda cries, voice rising. “You lied to me. You took my daughter from me, get him away from me, get him away! I don’t want to see him, I don’t-”

Zelda is hyperventilating, hardly breathing properly, eyes wide, wet and watery. You nod at Lippmann, and the man leads her out of the room. It’s quiet once she’s gone—your gaze sweeps across the room, Twain looks sick from where he’s sitting stiffly in the chair he’d been lounging in and Fitzgerald, the powerful leader of the Guild, looks crushed, ashen as he takes a shaky step backward to sit back down.

To his credit, he still tries to keep himself put together. You can tell from the way his breaths are robotically even and his fingers are trembling in his lap. You watch him for a few seconds before reaching out to place your hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve been trying to help her,” you say, carefully choosing your words. “I’ve been told you know what my ability is, is that true?”

You know that it is, you were careful to make sure that Repin didn’t disturb any of those memories. You figured it could help you in convincing him to let you keep Zelda if he thought you could undo the damage ‘Dostoevsky’ had done. 

“I don’t want you messing with my wife’s head,” Fitzgerald spits out. “That Russian bastard has done enough damage.”

“Of course not,” you agree amiably. “That’s not what I mean. I can use my ability to keep people at ease. Every other hour she’s going into violent fits of hysteria… tries hurting herself, I-”

Fitzgerald lets out a sharp breath, looking away. “What did he tell her?” he asks, voice wavering. “She mentioned Frances. I-”

“From what I was able to gather, she seems to think your daughter is alive and you helped her… escape to a foreign country to live out her life away from Zelda,” you say, watching Fitzgerald’s face twist in distress and frustration as he buries his face in his hands. “I can release her to you, if that’s what you want, but-”

“You can help her?” Fitzgerald demands, looking at you. His eyes are red and glassy but his face is tight. He seems to be doing his best to not fall apart until you’re gone, but his self control is wavering the more he hears about Zelda. 

“... I can.”

“How?” he asks. “How will you do it?”

Here’s your chance. You can’t mess it up.

“When Zelda is having those… hysterical fits, she’s impossible to reason with and can’t settle down on her own. I’ve only been using my ability to calm her down so I can speak with her. It’s taking a lot of time, but since I’ve managed to convince her that I’m a friend, I think I’ll be able to make progress in convincing her that Dostoevsky's lies were just that—lies. It’ll be… tenuous, definitely won’t be a smooth path, but I think, with time, I’ll be able to do it.”

“Will there be any side effects to you using your ability to calm her down?” he questions, watching you carefully.

“Nothing major,” you say honestly. “In the future, she’ll probably feel instinctually more relaxed around me—her brain will just associate me with being at ease, so even if I’m not actively using my ability, it’ll still reflect that way, but no lasting effects.”

After an agonizing few seconds, Fitzgerald nods. 

“Help her. Please,” he says, voice raspy. “When Dostoevsky comes to Yokohama, you’ll have the Guild’s support in dealing with him. I swear it. Just help my wife.”

Wow, you think, almost unnerved by how well this worked out. You have Dazai back, you managed to keep Zelda, and you turned the Guild against Dostoevsky. You can’t help but feel like there’s going to be some sort of catch, or that it’s going to backfire. It would track considering how poor your luck has recently been. But for now, you roll with it and hope for the best. You'll start preparing for the worst after you’ve been able to spend a few days with Dazai. 

“I’ll do everything I can for her,” you say, rising to your feet and giving Fitzgerald a small smile. “You can stay here for as long as you need. I’ll have one of my men wait outside to escort you back to the lobby when you’re ready.”

Fitzgerald thanks you, and you finally turn to leave, ready to see Dazai. You just need fifteen minutes with him before you go off to your meeting with the other executives. You need to see him, hold him, talk to him. Need to make sure this isn’t all some cruel, elaborate trick your mind has played on you before heading into another exhausting meeting. 

Klaus, Akutagawa and Albatross are waiting outside for you. Albatross parts his lips to speak but you shake your head, not wanting to risk saying anything until you’re well out of ear shot of this room, just in case. They follow you to the elevator, and it’s only once the doors close that Albatross bursts into laughter.

“You’re one evil bitch,” Albatross snickers. “Fucking that woman’s head up just to play the hero? That’s messed up even for you, doll. I don’t know how you sleep at night.”

Your lips curl up into a smile as you toss a wink at Albatross. “I’ll sleep just fine tonight with Dazai in my bed.”

“Gross,” Albatross complains, rolling his eyes. “No, but really. This was one big play—less than two hours and we’ve managed to totally turn the tables. Crazy. What exactly did you have Repin do besides remove their memories of your boy?” 

“Before Dazai went back to my apartment, he told me that the Guild was working with Dostoevsky,” you explain as the elevator gets to the lobby. Albatross walks at your side, Klaus and Akutagawa trailing behind the two of you as you make your way out of the building to walk across the property to your building. “I already intended on using Dostoevsky and Nabokov as scapegoats, but this made it a lot easier. Fitzgerald was withholding information from him-”

“Everyone knows that bastard doesn’t let disloyalty slide,” Albatross grins sharply. “Of course he’d retaliate.”

“Exactly,” you agree. “I had Repin twist the situation. Made them believe that Dostoevsky was the one that had Zelda kidnapped, but we were able to intercept. Only Tolstoy’s executives, our executives, and my direct subordinates know the truth. Tolstoy handled CCTV in the States, we handled the ones here. If Dostoevsky tries to convince Fitzgerald that it’s not true, there’s no proof—only he said, she said—and even if he does…”

“We still have Zelda,” Albatross finishes with a sharp grin. “Evil. I can’t believe we managed to come out of that with your boy back, the Guild on our side, and the hostage still in our custody. God, I love you. You can be fucking terrifying sometimes, y’know that?” 

Your lips part to make a quip back at him as you push open the doors to your building, but the words die on your tongue as your gaze lands on what’s awaiting for you in the lobby. The first thing you see is your doorman slumped over the desk, blood dripping over the side and pooling on the ground in front of it. The next thing you see is Kyouka and Atsushi, both unconscious, needles discarded carelessly on the ground next to them.

You don’t see Dazai.

“What the fuck,” Albatross breathes out, pulling out his gun and shifting to stand in front of you. “Klaus, go check on Atsushi and Kyouka.”

Klaus and Akutagawa rush from behind you—Klaus to Kyouka and Atsushi, trying to wake the two of them up, and Akutagawa in front of you and Albatross, Rashumon at the ready. You can feel Albatross’s hand tight around your forearm, you can hear him talking but you can’t make out any word that he’s saying.

“This isn’t real,” you say flatly as you stare ahead. “This cannot be real.”

Something bubbles in your chest—you don’t know if it’s rage, distress or sheer hysteria, you think a combination of all three because although your blood is simmering, you feel your eyes misting over and a laugh about to burst from your lips because what the fuck? 

You press your hand to your mouth, hardly even registering what’s going on around you. Klaus is trying to shake Atsushi and Kyouka awake, Akutagawa is scouting out the rest of the lobby to make sure no assailants are still lingering, and Albatross is trying to get your attention but you don’t take notice of him, shaking your head, and trying to hide the way your lips are curling up into a disbelieving smile.

What a joke, you think, breath catching as you pace over to Klaus, Atsushi and Kyouka. Shit.

As soon as Atsushi’s eyes flutter open, you’re grabbing his chin and craning his neck to force him to look you in the eye. “Where is he?” you ask, voice surprisingly steady. “Where is he? What happened? Answer me, Atsushi.”

Albatross says your name and grabs your wrist to try to get you to back off, but you toss his hand right off of you. Atsushi is still out of it, not understanding what you’re asking him, but before your frustration can bubble over, you feel your phone vibrating in your pocket. 

Your hand drops from Atsushi’s face to reach into your pocket. Your fingers are stiff and clunky as you pull your phone out, and as soon as you see the name on your screen, you know. 

You don’t say anything as you answer the call and lift the phone to your ear, waiting for the person on the other line to speak first. 

“Hello, little hime,” Mori says, you can hear the smile on his lips. “Have you finished with the Guild?”

“Where is he?” you ask in response. “Where is he?”

“Safe for now,” Mori hums, sounding entirely too amused. “I’ve had quite an interesting conversation with him. I can see why you like him as much as you do.”

“Everything I do for you,” you hiss, the nails of your free hand digging into your palm. “Everything I do, and this is how you repay me. I’ve spent my whole life doing everything you want, and you can’t even spare me a shred of fucking loyalty. You-”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, dear,” Mori sighs and your blood pressure skyrockets. “I’m doing this to protect you, as has everything I’ve ever done. You truly have no faith in me.”

“To protect me?” you shout, your throat burns and it’s a struggle to force yourself to breathe properly. You feel dizzy, a panic attack coming on, but now is not the time, you need to calm down. “You did this to protect me?”

“I did,” Mori agrees. “This boy had been lying to you for months. I had a feeling, but I wanted to confirm it before bringing anything up to you. I know you care for him. I didn’t want to unnecessarily break your heart.”

“What are you talking about? You’re not making any sense, I don’t believe you.”

“I’ve never lied to you, little hime. I have to many people, but never you. He’s been lying to you about who he is… I suggest you get up here quickly.”

“What do you mean?” you ask. Your voice wavers this time, you can’t stop it. You can feel several sets of concerned eyes on you, but you can’t bring yourself to meet any of them. “Stop being cryptic, just spit it out.”

“The boy’s name is not Dazai Osamu, dear. It’s Tsushima Shuji.”

Your ears ring as his words slowly process through your head. Your silence is enough of an answer for Mori.

“I’ll be waiting in the conference room for you. Do get here soon.”

[tame-the-lion-writes]

alpha!slasher!königx omega!reader

CW: implied murder, (and in bonus thoughts) implied kidnapping, non-consensual drug use

Damn pheromones.

If it weren't for petty social sensibilities, König would be clamping a hand over his nose to stifle the thoughts--and scents--running through his mind. In the past, it wasn't so bad. Alphas like him were drawn but could otherwise stand their existence(--at least until the addicting whiff of a heat). But omegas smelled so artificial these days; sickly sweet, like candy, or even worse--chemicals. Perfumes made to amplify the already-overwhelming smell of sugar. More like cough medicine hacked down with two bottles of water. And even a spoonful was far too much.

But the woman across the table seemed to flaunt that.

Silly thing--he thought. Pretty, by all standards, as omegas often were, but silly. Sure, he'd agreed to court her and bring her to a high class restaurant, just as his salary and rank could provide, but that cherry red smile on her lips seemed as plastic-ridden as the patch on her neck. Artificial enhancers. As he's learned in the past three and a half decades of being mate-less, it had become a staple.

No matter, though.

He'd get rid of the scent soon enough.

His date is going on and on about some topic he doesn't care about. Maybe commenting on the scars cutting through his face (though she doesn't seem to mind). Cherry red lips parting and teeth shining, but he doesn't hear a word. There's a gag waiting for her at the back of his car, anyway--and scent blockers ready to be forced down her throat. Did the police ever think about that, he wonders?--how scent blockers made it so easy to disappear without a trace? Stupid creatures hadn't learned to investigate without relying on their nose.

(And even if they had, he'd left no paper trails; he was a dead man walking, at least on paper, thanks to convenient career aspirations.)

But before he could reach on over, suggest an escape to elsewhere--(from life itself)--up came the sweet young thing holding a notepad in hand, apron around the waist, apologizing that the other waitress had clocked out for the evening, and that she was here to take over. And König's hand stops, hovering over the edge of the table, a light, unnoticeable tremble to it as he finally breathes in.

Subtle. Subtle.

Almonds. Cinnamon. Warm bread and butter.

He licks his lips subconsciously, tasting the warmth as he swallows.

König leaves the restaurant that night, still letting the other omega cling to his arm, but he returns a week later--(it's all he could wait)--alone because, "things just didn't work out." But of course, you take him at his word: he looks surprised to see you again, and squints as if to re-read your nametag. But really, he's learned your schedule, the make and model of your car. The license plate, registration number--the address of your apartment. (Of course he has--why wouldn't he?--) Not once have you left his mind. Because you're something new to him, new to occupy it--how strange; how precious.

-- And not too sweet.

_

Bonus Thoughts:

König continues to visit, and though you find it strange he goes alone--the restaurant is more popular with couples after all--you start to look forward to seeing him now and then. König's patient the first month or so, upping the frequency only little by little, because at first, he's convinced that seeing you from a distance every night is enough.

But patience only lasts so long.

He finally asks you out on a date, and you agree.

There's a few dates, really. (Can't have you disappearing from your friends' lives the moment you mention going out with him, after all.) A few dates before it happens.

You can't recall going to his house, or even his car. And you certainly don't recall getting into a bed that smells just like him (--cold metal, maybe iron, maybe from him--maybe from something else--)

You're about to unwind from the (admittedly warm and comfortable) bundle of sheets around you when König walks in, carrying a tray of freshly cooked food, and sets it down nearby. Before you can ask any questions, he's shoving his face into the crook of your neck. Brushing his nose against your scent gland--almost purring.

"K-König? Where am I? What are you doing--"

"Shh, Mäuschen. It's alright. You're home."

[persevereforahappyending]

No Man's Land |9|

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x Reader

Summary: Sam can’t help but be drawn to the cute stranger from her gym, even if everything about them makes them the perfect suspect, just when Ghostface has returned.

Warnings: Fighting, Guns, Violence, Attempted Murder, Shooting

Word Count: 3.5k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

You and Sam walked back to Blackmore in a comfortable silence. You preferred the quiet and appreciated that she didn’t ask you questions or push you on anything. Sam had no reason to trust you, but she was taking a chance, and you were going to make sure to prove you were worthy of her trust. When you got to Blackmore you and Sam sat on one of the benches outside the building that held Tara’s class until she came out half an hour later. As soon as you had her, the three of you went back to the apartment.

When you got back to the apartment Tara flung her backpack into the corner and plopped herself down on the couch, kicking her feet up as she reached for the remote on the coffee table. She flicked on the TV and instantly began scrolling through one of the streaming apps.

You mindlessly watched at Tara continued to scroll until you felt her eyes on you. You glanced at her and waited to see what she would say. Mindy was the most suspicious of you, which was fair, though she seemed to be more of a conspiracy theorist than anything, Chad seemed almost too trusting of you, it was slightly concerning, and Tara seemed to be hesitant of you, like Sam was with everyone, though she wasn’t as paranoid Sam. The one thing different about Tara though was half her suspicion seemed to come from just being protective of her sister.

“Do you like movies?” Tara asked, squinting her eyes as she waited for your response.

You shrugged. “I’ve seen a few,” you said.

That seemed to make Tara only narrow her eyes even more. “What’s your favorite movie?” You opened your mouth to give her what would probably be an unsatisfactory answer once again. “Wait! Let me guess,” she turned so half her body was facing you. “Saving Private Ryan!” You opened your mouth, but she didn’t stop there. “No! Hacksaw Ridge!” You closed your mouth and waited; you knew she wasn’t done yet. “You have a dog you love,” she mumbled more to herself than you. “War Horse!” She clapped her hands, quite proud of herself for that one. “Wait!” She shot her hand out, grabbing you on your arm as if you were about to get up and leave. “The Patriot.”

You waited a second to see if she had any more, but she just looked at you with a raised eyebrow. You chuckled to yourself with a shake of your head. “All military related because I’m in the military?” You asked.

She shrugged. You playfully rolled your eyes. “Those are all great movies,” you started. You caught Sam out of the side of your eye, she was in the kitchen making a sandwich, but she tilted her head just slightly, indicating she was listening. “The superhero stuff is also good. I-”

“I bet you’re a Captain America person,” Tara cut you off. You rolled your eyes. “You give off the same vibes.”

You gave her a thankful nod. You had never been compared to Captain America before and you were truly honored, though you were inclined to disagree with her. “Cap is great,” you said. “And Steve Rogers is definitely much cooler than me.” Tara shrugged, seeming to agree with you on that. “But I’ve always been more of a Batman person.”

Tara looked at you and nodded her head. “That tracks.” You tilted your head in question, but she didn’t elaborate any further.

“But my default movie, the one I’m always cool to watch, The Mummy.”

“Where Brendan Frazier plays a soldier,” Tara nodded, clearly not surprised by the answer.

“Only in the beginning do the movie,” you defended. Seriously the movie started with him figuring in the desert but that was it when it came to military related things. Unless Tara was also counting the pilot they found to fly them back out there.

“So, you just really love mummies?” Tara raised an eyebrow.

“The Mummy is fantastic, it’s got everything, action, comedy, a supernatural element, and romance. There should be no explanation required.” You had never had to defend liking The Mummy before, you thought Sam’s sister was going to school for film, you figured she’d know this better than anyone. “Oh, and Rachel Weisz,” you added.

“All good points,” Sam said, coming back into the room. She handed you a bottle of water before taking her seat in the chair next to the couch. You gave her a thankful smile; you hadn’t even asked for a drink for her to just bring one to you.

“You too?” Tara shouted, whipping her head around so fast you were surprised she didn’t get whiplash.

Sam shrugged as she curled her feet up on the chair, tucking them under her before reaching for her sandwich on the coffee table. “Who doesn’t love Brendan Frazier and Rachel Weisz,” she said as if they explained everything.

Sam went on to eat her sandwich while Tara was looking at her sister in a whole new light, as if she was seeing her sister for the first time. You were still new and getting to know the sisters, but you were curious why Sam liking The Mummy would be so surprising. Tara just stared at her sister for several minutes before finally going back to scrolling for a movie, finally deciding to settle on The Mummy.

Not long after the movie ended did Chad walk in with a stack of three pizza’s, quickly followed by the others. “Dinner is served!” Chad said, holding up the pizza’s as he took them to the dining table.

“Thanks for picking them up,” Sam said as she got up to grab some paper plates.

Chad waved her off and flipped open all three boxes. Each pizza was different, there was a plain cheese, a pepperoni, and then a meat lovers. You and Tara got up to join the others around the table, everyone grabbed their slices and then went off to separate corners of the room. Quinn took the seat across the room, closest to the door, Mindy and Anika cuddled up next to each other on the floor, Ethan plopped himself down in the seat furthest from the door, and Tara dropped herself down in what was Sam’s seat because Chad stole her spot on the couch next to you.

Once Chad finished up his pizza, he wiped his hands off on a napkin and tossed it onto his dirty plate. He was still chewing the last bit of his food as he switched the channel on the TV and grabbed a PS4 controller. You wiped your own hands and put your trash on top of his, creating an organized little pile. You leaned back and watched the screen as Chad flipped through games.

“What are you playing?” you asked.

“Crash,” he said mindlessly.

“Racing or the original?”

Chad’s mouth opened and closed, gaping like a fish. He looked at you then back at the TV, only to do a double take and look back at you. It was like he couldn’t believe you were asking him about video games.

“R-Racing,” he said. “Want to join?” he reached over and grabbed the other controller and held it out to you.

You shrugged and took the controller from him. “Sure,” you said.

The two of you selected our characters and started the first race. You let Chad pick the track, you knew he’d need the edge anyway. The two of you raced around, doing your laps, you felt everyone’s eyes on you and the TV but you paid them no mind as you drove your way into first place. You were on the last lap when you dropped a TNT crate, only to hear Chad hit it a few seconds later. You quickly crossed the finish line, coming in first, then you leaned back and watched as Chad tried to fight his way back up the line, striving to just not come in last.

You repeated that with the same outcome another three races. Chad was hunched over, pressing the buttons hard as if that would make the cart go faster. You kept your eyes on the screen, never wavering as you completed lap after lap, coming in first every single time.

“You’re good at this,” Chad said. “How are you so good?”

“I play all the time when I’m home,” you said with a shrug.

“That’s why the only thing in your house is a game system,” Sam said.

You looked over at her and smiled. “Got my PS5 and my dog, what more could one possibly want?” Sam tilted her head, seeming to actually think about the question then nodded with a small shrug.

“One more,” Chad said, already flipping through the tracks again.

You rolled your eyes and got ready again as Chad finally selected the track. You were fully prepared to beat Chad on every track, using any character.

You got distracted when you noticed Sam staring down at her phone. You paused the game, ignoring Chad’s protests as you waited to see what was going on with Sam. “Everything okay?” you asked.

Sam looked up, meeting your eyes. “I don’t know,” she said. “Your dad is calling me,” she looked at Quinn.

Quinn furrowed her brow and leaned forward in the chair. “He’s probably just following up,” Quinn said with a shrug. “Or wanting to update you.”

Sam nodded but she didn’t seem too certain in Quinn’s guess. Whatever doubt she was having didn’t stop her from raising the phone to her ear. “Detective Bailey?” Sam spoke into the phone.

You couldn’t hear the other end of the line, but Sam’s furrowed brow deepened. “Yes, I know him,” she said. You look around the room, seeing Chad, Mindy, and Tara all looked just as confused. “Of course, I’m on my way.”

As soon as Sam hung up the phone she was moving and so were you and Tara. Sam didn’t even so much as look at any of you as she grabbed her keys. “Sam,” Tara said. “Sam, what’s going on?”

“Stay here,” is all Sam said.

“What happened?” you asked as you made your way over to the sisters.

Sam finally paused her movements and looked up at you, then at her sister. “That was detective Bailey.” You and Tara both nodded. “He said Doctor Stone is dead.”

“Who?” you asked. You glanced at Tara to see her furrow, her brow before her eyes widened.

“He’s my old therapist,” Sam dropped her eyes to the floor.

You furrowed her brow; you weren’t sure why Sam seemed ashamed of that. You went to a therapist; she didn’t know it was because you were ordered to, but she knew you saw one. She went with you to your appointment earlier, you couldn’t see why she would think you would judge her for seeing a therapist herself. You didn’t want to pressure her though; she didn’t owe you any answers.

“I need to go down to the station,” Sam said.

“Great, let’s go,” Tara said, gesturing for Sam to walk towards the door.

“No, no,” Sam spun around, holding her hand up to Tara. “You’re staying here.”

“No, we’re not splitting up,” Tara shook her head. “School was one thing, but this?” she pointed around her. “No. I’m going with you.”

Sam let out a tired sigh and ran a hand through her hair. “Fine.”

“Obviously I’m coming as well,” you said. Sam opened her mouth, probably to argue with you as well. “This is why you asked me here,” you whispered, looking her in the eye. You weren’t sure what it was but the idea of Sam and her sister going out there alone, at night, after Ghostface killed someone connected to Sam, it didn’t sit right with you.

“Okay,” Sam conceded, nodding. “The rest of you stay here,” she said loudly, looking at each and every one of them. Once they all nodded in agreement Sam finally made her way to the door.

You followed behind Sam and Tara, keeping close as they quickly ran down the steps and out the door without a second thought. You checked your surroundings as soon as you got outside, making sure to keep your head on the swivel.

“Why would Ghostface go after your old therapist?” Tara questioned. “I though you hadn’t seen that dude in months.”

“I haven’t,” Sam said. “It was only a couple sessions before I left him.”

“So, is he important?” you asked, inserting yourself into the conversation.

“No,” Sam shook her head. “As soon as he learned who I was…” she crossed her arms over her chest. “He wasn’t the right fit, we never even got into the details.”

You nodded, you could understand why she might not want to share that information. You didn’t care about why she was seeing a therapist or why she left this Doctor Stone, it was none of your business.  “Then whoever this is might not know you switched therapists.” You looked around, carefully watching the other people on the street as you passed them. “They might have gone after him, thinking he was your current one still.”

Sam furrowed her brow and then nodded. “The only one I mentioned my new therapist to was Tara,” she looked at her sister.

“And I haven’t told anyone,” Tara said.

You nodded. “Good, don’t tell anyone. Your therapist is safer if no one knows who they are.”

Sam and Tara both agreed and continued their walk down the street. It was only a few minutes later when Sam pulled out her phone, you saw over her shoulder that she was getting a call from some guy named Richie Kirsch.

“Why do you still have his number?” Tara asked, clearly recognizing whoever this was.

Sam looked at her sister guiltily. “I couldn’t bring myself to delete his number,” she admitted quietly. You furrowed your brow; you could only begin to guess who this guy was.

“What do you want asshole?” Sam asked as she answered the phone, her attitude quickly becoming aggressive.

You couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, and you were just watching Sam’s reaction until you caught a shadow moving out of the corner of your eye. You just reacted, your arm shooting out to catch the arm of Ghostface as he tried to bring a knife down on Tara. You knocked Tara back toward Sam with our free arm, and twisted Ghostface’s hand, then punched him in the face.

“Run!” you called out to the girls, hoping they listened to you. As Ghostface stumbled back, trying to shake off the hit you brought your knee up, nailing him in the gut, and sending him falling back into the bushes.

You didn’t hesitate to turn around and take off after the girls, quickly catching up to them. You felt something when you kneed Ghostface, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it as Sam flung open the door to a bodega. You were only a couple steps behind them, swinging the door open to see them begging the cashier to help them.

You looked back and caught a flash of a cloak through the window. You pushed Sam and Tara back, spreading out your arms so that they wouldn’t be easy to hit as Ghostface charged into the bodega. One of the customers stepped forward and was yelling at Ghostface when Ghostface just started stabbing him in the chest and then a few of the other customers.

“The backdoor!” the cashier called out, nodding his head to the side as he reached under the counter and pulled out a shotgun. You glanced back to see a door on the other side of the room. You pushed Tara and Sam towards it so they could get out first as you kept your eyes on Ghostface.

The cashier tried to shoot Ghostface but couldn’t raise the gun before Ghostface reached out and ripped it out of his hands. Ghostface flipped the gun around and blasted the cashier in the chest. Your eyes widened and you turned and grabbed Sam and Tara. Ghostface had just raised the gun and fired at the back door when you pushed Sam and Tara down to the ground behind some of the shelves.

You raised a finger to your lips and then gestured forward, indicating for them the to slowly move. You kept your back pressed against the shelf as Tara and Sam slowly crawled around to the next aisle. When they got over there Sam looked back at you and you gestured for her to continue forward. If they kept going and kept quiet, then they could make it back to the front door and while you distracted Ghostface they could slip right out. Sam seemed hesitant to continue on, but she did anyway.

You stayed low and kept your eyes looking up, waiting for the perfect opportunity. You listened as Ghostface’s boots slowly crunched across the broken glass and bags of chips that were now scattered across the ground. You caught a glimpse of the barrel of the gun when the sound of someone hitting a bottle echoed throughout the room.

You held your breath and froze in place. The barrel of the gun disappeared and then a shot echoed through, hitting the shelf across the room and sending snacks flying. You only had to hear the crunch of Ghostface’s boot to make your move, shooting up from your spot and launching yourself at Ghostface.

You grabbed onto the gun and kept it pointed up as Ghostface tried to turn it on you. The two of you went back and forth, each of you fighting for control of the gun. In your struggle the gun got pointed up and went off, blowing a hole through the ceiling and sending chunks raining down on you.

“Go!” you called over your shoulder. If the sisters didn’t move now, you weren’t sure you could get them another chance.

You heard the sound of footsteps running across the floor and caught a flash of Sam’s jacket out of the corner of your eye. You jerked the gun up, finally ripping it out of Ghostface’s hands. You flipped the gun around and fired, only for nothing to happen, it was out of ammo. You flipped it back around and used the butt of the gun to smack the Ghostface’s chest with all your strength.

Ghostface went stumbling back until he hit the back door. As soon as Ghostface pushed off the door you thew the shot gun at him, making him react and catch it, the impact making him hit the door again. You reached behind you and pulled out your gun, not hesitating to raise it and fired three bullets into Ghostface’s chest.

Ghostface slid to the ground, his back against the wall and his body slumped over as the shotgun rested at his side. You stepped forward, raising the gun to Ghostface’s head when you finally heard the sirens. You dropped the gun back to your side and quickly tucked it back in its holster at your back before making your way out of the bodega.

Almost as soon as you stepped foot outside you were hit with a small impact. You let out a groan and looked down to see Tara with her arms wrapped around her waist. “Thank you,” she mumbled into your shirt. Police officers rushed past the two of you, none of them paying you any attention as they made their way into the bodega, their guns drawn.

“Are you okay?” you asked, looking down at Tara. You weren’t big on hugs but if it made Tara feel better then you were willing to accept it.

“What happened?” Sam asked, rushing up beside you. “Did you get him? Are you hurt?” she looked you up and down, searching for new injuries.

“I’m fine,” you assured her. “I shot him, but I didn’t get him,” you looked back at the front door, just waiting for him to come out.

“What do you mean?” Sam furrowed her brow. Tara finally released you and looked up as she waited to hear your answer as well.

“He was wearing bullet proof vest.”

“Are you sure?”

You nodded. “Flet it as soon as I kneed him on the street.” It took a while with all the adrenaline for you to finally connect the dots as to what you felt. You had more to say btu you didn’t think this was the time or place with all the prying eyes. You knew it was a good idea to keep the information to yourself when the cops came back out and said Ghostface was gone.

You, Tara, and Sam rushed back into the bodega to see the back door open, the lock that was on the door now lay scattered on the ground. Ghostface recovered fast, he could certainly take a hit, but you weren’t surprised he escaped. Just one fight with this Ghostface and you had enough information to narrow down your suspects. You weren’t sure when you’d have the time or privacy to go over everything with Sam though.

Taglist: @thatshyboy1998 @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @acutenobody @godamnityess @luvwanda @rqizzu @riyaexee

[aritsukemo]

There goes my baaaabyyyy | Multiple Characters

Characters: Isagi Yoichi, Bachira Meguru, and Sae Itoshi

Summary: After seeing an abundance of tiktoks about the Usher trend, you decide to try it out on your unsuspecting boyfriend after a while of not seeing him

Warnings: This is the author's attempt at being funny so crack ahead. I apologize in advance.

A/N: Idk what came over me today, but I decided to waste my time writing this anyways after getting inspired by this amazing slideshow on tiktok talking about how each Haikyuu character would react to you doing the Usher trend. This is also my first time writing for Sae ( and I also know virtually nothing about him as I've only seen season 1 of Blue Lock ) so I'm sorry if he's ooc. I just realllyyy wanted to add him as I've been thirsting over edits of him ( and Reo ) for the past day or so.

A sigh of relief escapes through the chapped lips of the soon-to-be world cup competitor Isagi Yoichi. After hard fought battles during the preliminaries and all the stress and trials that come with it, it was finally the time for Isagi to return to his safe haven. He was hesitant for a time as he was still riding the adrenaline rush and wanted to stay back and train with some of the others, but since Bachira was returning to Japan to visit his mom and celebrate with her, it reminded him that he also had someone to return home to; you.

And so, after the longest thirteen hour flight of his life, he was now walking, suitcase in hand, alongside his best friend as the two of them exited the baggage claim and was nearing the lounge where you were allegedly waiting for him.

It had been so long since he's seen you, touched you—held you.. He finds himself wondering, how much has changed? Has your laugh changed at all? Have you switched up your sense of style? Maybe your hair? Do you still taste like the honeyed, buttered pancakes you used to make him every morning? Is your smile still so wide that it creases your cheeks and makes them pudge out more? Do your eyes still gaze at him as if he was made out of gold like they used to?

As he dwells on his thoughts, the yearning for you seeps in more and more like oil filling up a tank. It's heavy and it's only when he's just about to succumb to the weight of it all that he realizes just how much he's truly missed you.

And it seems that he wasn't alone in this feeling.

As he stepped into the lounge, he's met with his first and only warning. A warning that came in the familiar tune of the audio of a certain tiktok you had sent him a week prior before you came sliding his way on your knees. Your voice raised to match the exact pitch of the audio as you sung the infamous lyrics until you came to an abrupt halt when you collided with his stomach, nearly knocking him over with the force you hit him with.

And the only thing he could fathom to do was to stare like a deer in headlights and say, "Uh...what in the world?!"

Bachira couldn't possibly hope to contain his laughter any longer after that.

After seconds of Bachira's wheezing and airless chuckles, it was only when he was beginning to grip his stomach from the pain of his amusement that Isagi finally realized what just happened. And when he did, his entire face flushed a cherry red.

"What- Why are you doing this right now of all time?" He asked, semi-shouting as he grabbed the upper part of your arms—which were wrapped around his waist.

"I missed you, baby~!" You said in a sing-songy voice. And, as you looked up at him with your eyes shining with the familiar gleam he knew just as that same trophy-awarding smile stretched across your face, he found himself faltering for a moment. His shoulders slumping as he began mumbling shyly..

"I- I.. I missed you too.. But please, get up! People are starting to give us weird looks.."

Three months. That's how long it's been since you've last seen him.

Well, that's technically not true. If you wanted to be less dramatic, you could admit that you saw your boyfriend just last week on tv doing his signature dribbling moves and if you wanted to really be frank, you had seen his gorgeous face up close just the other day when he facetimed you and informed you that he'll be home that following afternoon. You could also make it sound much less extreme by simply confessing that you had regularly spoke to Bachira throughout these three months via text and that he'd facetime you at least one a week.

But you didn't want to count any of that.

I mean, sure you got to see him, but you didn't really get to see him. You weren't able to kiss his cheek whenever they perked up and flushed pink. You couldn't run your fingers through his layered hair and watch the satisfying transition of his brown strands turn yellow between your fingertips. You weren't able to hold his chin and watch in awe and fondness as he laughed toothily like a baby kitten..

You haven't seen him, not in all his glory which, to you, was like not seeing him at all. That said, three months of that torture was unbearable.

But all of that pain was forgotten in a matter of seconds at the odd sound of drums playing in the distance.

You didn't have any time to react to—or rather, process—what was happening or prepare yourself before Bachira got a running start towards you and soon dropped to his knees, sliding the rest of the way up to you with the biggest smile on his face—all while Usher's voice boomed behind him from his back pocket.

You had no choice but to accept fate and allow the love of your life to crash into you and completely knock you to the ground.

As the biting cold of the airport's tiles crept up your skin and all the air was just about knocked from your lungs from unexpectedly hitting the flat surface, Bachira stared down at you from above, cheeks dusted pink which made him look like an excited little kid.

"Hey, babe! It's been so long!" He chirped before coming down to press all his weight onto you as he caged your torso with his arms, his face immediately nearing yours to press a big, wet kiss to your cheek.

If it had been any other situation that he had done this in, you'd probably be annoyed from the embarrassment of having basically half the airport staring at the two of you like you were a bunch of buffoons or, at the very least, the fact that his team was laughing up a storm in the background...but having been as starved of him as you were, all you could do was laugh while relishing in the feeling of his warmth consuming every part of your body as he leaned down again to plant a feverish kiss to your lips.

Feet tapped against the small tile floors of the elevator, thumping against the marble in a rhythm that embodied the very dread of its owner.

After months of dreading this day, Sae had, once again, stepped foot in Japan; a notion he refused to even utter aloud from just how much he despised it.

For a man with such negative opinions about his homeland, his reasons for coming back were quite frivolous in comparison. Though if asked, he lie and say that his passport expired—which wasn't wrong—but deep down he knew the real reason for his return; his partner who he was too prideful to call the love of his life.

It had took some time, and for a while, Sae was forced to come back here every other year or so in secret to visit them per their request, but at last, they had decided that so much time waiting for his semi-yearly visits were too much for their poor heart and that they were ready to take the next step and leave with him to Spain.

Sae had pushed the thought to the very back of his mind, but he was more than glad—overjoyed, even—when you told him of your decision over the phone as he himself was starting to grow restless without you by his side at times.

He had already went through the process of renewing his passport so all that was left was to pick you up and drive to the airport—well, get driven to the airport—where he could finally leave this horrendous country, this time with you snuggled up by his side.

But he should've known that you wouldn't have let things be so simple.

As the doors to the elevator opened and allowed him to, at last, step foot into your lavish home, the symphony of his demise began to rang throughout it and bounce of the walls. Sae paused, face contorting into one of visible perplexment before his eyes widened at the sight of you sliding on your knees towards him, mouth opened as you sang to the beat of the music blasting throughout your home.

Your performance was short, glorious, and came to an end when your face was buried into the smooth fabric of your boyfriend's clothing and you smoothly wrapped your arms around your boyfriend's waist.

And it was only a full minute after such an amazing performance that it finally dawned on him what you were doing. And to that, he simply sighs disappointedly.

"I've changed my mind. You're not going anywhere with me," He said, and despite the blunt tone he douses his words in, it does little to your dazzling smile as you knew full well his words held little weight to them. You find yourself playing into your own bullshit anyways, though, as you begun to whine out in a high pitch you just knew he couldn't stand.

"Aww, but why? All I did was greet my pookie--" "Finish that sentence and I will actually leave you in Japan for another ten years."

You promptly shut your mouth after that, much to Sae's relief.

Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx

[dark-konohagakure2]

Fugaku Uchiha mistakes his daughter for his wife and ravages her pussy without shame.

tw: incest, father/daughter, accidental incest, noncon, drunk sex, abuse, cheating, somnophilia, manipulation

All characters depicted are 18+

Fugaku is a very busy man, being the head of the Uchiha Clan, a husband, and a father of three, it can get very stressful, and while he's usually able to take it in stride, even he can get stressed out a times, to the point where he could really use a drink to take the edge off. He only really drinks when Mikoto is out of the house, he doesn't want his beloved wife to worry about him after all. Fugaku was only planning on sharing a few drinks with the police force, but one thing leads to another, and now he's coming home drunk in the dead of night.

He isn't terribly disoriented, but the liquor has made his mind a bit hazy, making it difficult to see, especially in the dark house, not only that, but the effects of the alcohol have gone straight to Fugaku's cock, leaving him with a leaking hard on that only his wife can fix. He knows how understanding and eager to please him Mikoto is, so he'll drunkenly look for her before quickly finding her. Fugaku's befuddled mind doesn't question why she looks a bit shorter, or why she's in their daughters bed.

Being drunk off his ass, Fugaku isn't really thinking straight, instead letting the head between his legs do all the thinking for him, a rare moment of irresponsibility for the clan head as he clumsily sheds his pants, just barely able to line up with the correct hole before thrusting into his 'wife' with a moan. All is well at the beginning, he's feeling relief for the first time in weeks, but he pauses for a moment upon realizing that it's not his wife he's fucking, it's his daughter.

If Fugaku was sober, he might consider stopping, but he's not in a sober state of mind, the only thing on his mind right now is getting off after such a stressful week, and if his wife isn't available, his daughter is the next best thing. She's old enough to get fucked, and inbreeding isn't very frowned upon in any of the major clans, so Fugaku feels no shame about what he's doing.

"Fuck... My mistake... you just look so much like your mother that I thought you were here... You're just as beautiful as her... and even tighter than she is..."

He's now completely aware that he's fucking his own daughter, but he's either too drunk or too horny to care. Fugaku has been needing this release for ages now, so surely his girl can be a good girl for her daddy and take whatever he dishes out, for his sake. He'll also cover her mouth with his hand as he's ravaging her pussy, he doesn't want her brothers hearing what he's doing to her, or gods forbid her mother walks in.

Fugaku is usually a precise and coordinated man, but all of that goes out the window when hes inebriated, his hips are shaky and sloppy as he pounds her into the mattress, his moans slurred while he practically drools over him. He's still able to maintain a small modicum of his usual strict personality despite his intoxication, reprimanding her if she struggles too much or makes too much noise.

The alcohol will loosen his lips somewhat, making Fugaku much more talkative than usual, although his words are slurred and just hardly legible, he'll switch between praising and degrading his daughter as he's recklessly pounding her tight cunt, letting her know how good her pussy feels compared to Mikoto's and how badly her daddy needed some pussy after the week he's been having.

He won't pay much mind to where he finishes, if he cums inside of or onto her body is of little concern. His main priority is getting to cum, and where he does it is of no consequence to him. In a moment of post orgasm clarity, Fugaku will have enough clarity to give her a demand before leaving her be for the night.

"That's my girl... Always so eager to please her daddy... Now don't tell your mother about any of this... We don't want to cause even more problems for the clan now do we..?"

Mikoto is going to start wondering why her husband has been so distant with her lately, rarely getting intimate with her anymore. Fugaku will assure his dear wife that their clan needs him now more than ever and that he's been too busy working on creating a better future for all of them, when in reality the true reason is that he's found a much tighter hole to stick his cock in every night.

[postracehair]

trust me

max verstappen x reader | 2.3k

after an incredible (and wet) weekend in brazil, you have a confession to make.

cw: a loving relationship! discussion of anxiety/fear/worrying about your race car driver bf, healthy communication, and softness galore.

a/n: being a wag must be so stressful. like, damn! also, rain races stress me out, personally. this fic is about that.

__

The triple header comes to an end in the best way possible.

Max Verstappen wins the São Paulo Grand Prix from a 17th-place start! It's the stuff of dreams. The fist around your heart unclenches just a little bit as you watch him smiling, roaring, hoisting his well-earned trophy aloft. It's your best day in a long time, watching your darling boyfriend like that, and you celebrate with everyone late into the night. The Championship battle looms in the background but tonight is about the hard work from the weekend. The stress, the frustration, the damn rain. All of it worth it for the pride you all feel right now.

But what comes after -- that, you can admit, you enjoy even more. Three weeks until Las Vegas and Max and the team have plenty of work to do before then, but for now? For now, it's this: rest.

Everyone gets to go home, finally. And for you, home is wherever Max is. You've spent the first few days of the break thus far at his place. On the floor with the cats, on the couch watching movies. In his bed, sleeping, sometimes, other times... not so much. Hours and hours just being together. You'll have plenty of time for this once the season ends but you can never get enough of him.

You're on the couch, sprawled across the length of it with a book in hand. It's a good one, so much so that you don't notice Max until he taps your ankle and you jump.

"Jesus," you gasp. His lips are pulled up at one corner in the precursor to a full grin, sweatpants slung low enough that you can see the branded band of his underwear between the drawstrings and the hem of his t-shirt. "Where did you come from?"

"Watching race replays," he says with a shrug. "Scooch." You tug your legs back and sit up a little, bookmarking your page as he rounds the couch and plops down where your feet were.

"Max," you whine. "I like to watch those, too. So you can do that thing where you narrate like, every second." You're teasing, but only a little. For all the jokes about "maxplaining," you really do love how he explains things. He tells you what he was thinking at every turn, what the trick is, how long it took him to get it right. He points out his mistakes and those of the other drivers. All of it thoroughly and with enthusiasm, answering your questions like you're the best student he's ever had.

"Yeah, well," he says, sinking into the couch, arm stretched across the cushions towards you. Your eyes rake over the line of his bicep as he talks. "You don't like rain races very much. Wasn't sure you'd want to see it again."

That gets your attention. "How did you know that?" You've never told him outright that they stress you out. It's really important to you that you keep your cool at the track, that you don't do anything to let on that he should worry about you.

But you should know better, it seems.

"I can tell," Max says, looking right at you. "I pay attention."

You hum, not sure what to say. "You've got me there," you confess. "I'm sorry."

"Hey," he tuts. "Why the apology? You can feel however you want to. This weekend was complicated."

He feels too far away. You set your book on the ground and shove your toes under this thigh. He keeps his eyes on your face but you fuss with the hem of your t-shirt rather than look back.

"They're exciting. Rain races, I mean." You sigh. "But I can't help but worry, Max. From the garage, it's so --"

You lose track of your words because Max grabs hold of your legs and tugs them over his thighs as he moves closer to you, almost crowding you against the arm of the couch. He reaches for your collarbone to pick some lint from your shirt, his other arm slung across your calves.

"Were you scared?" he asks. "This weekend, I mean."

Frankly, you avoid telling him things like this because you don't want to distract him. You don't want to detract from his performance in any way and maybe that's selfish, because you know he's very good at what he does and how you feel isn't going to derail his weekend. But you know he loves you, and you know how deeply he feels things. How much he wants to be a good partner, a good driver, a good man. And you try really hard to let him know that he is all of those things.

The reality of your position in his life is that there will always be people who heavily imply that your presence, your actions, your choices could be at fault. It's ludicrous -- Max has said so many times -- but it makes you hype-aware. You don't want to overstep. It's something you know you should articulate to him properly, but you know he'll be upset that you think you can be anything but a good part of his life. It's an endless cycle.

"Hey," he says, mistaking your silence for emotion. "Liefje, I'm fine." He reaches for you, cupping your cheek with a warm hand. You look up at him and find him frowning.

"I know," you say, leaning into his palm. "I know you are. I just -- I don't want it to sound like I'm a whining baby or something."

"Whining baby?" Max gently rubs the skin under your eye with his thumb. "Psh. We've got some of those on track. You couldn't come close to them if you tried."

That gets a laugh out of you and he cracks a smile at the small victory.

You sigh. "I was scared," you admit, voice soft. Max presses a little closer to you, his hand falling from your face to catch yours, fingers twining together.

"Are you always scared?" he asks. "You're more tense on rain weekends, I can tell that much. But you've never really talked about this. I guess I--" He frowns again. "I've never really asked you."

"That's okay," you say. "It's nothing, really."

Blue eyes bore into yours. "No, I want to know," he presses. "Please, tell me?"

You tip your head back a little, eyes on the ceiling. How to say it?

"I guess I'm always a little scared, yeah," you say. "I don't know how I wouldn't be."

He tugs on your hand so you'll look at him. "What is it, do you think?" The question comes out in his typical way. This must be how he is in driver briefings, you think fleetingly. Max is analytical, methodical, always looking for the root of the problem so he can understand it and adapt.

But how do you explain this?

"Well, it's a dangerous sport," you explain. "As you know. And I -- Max, I love you, and I don't want anything bad to happen to you."

The furrow of his brow lessens a bit and he presses a light kiss to the back of your hand. Your stomach flutters, even after all this time.

But Max has no time for your mooning, apparently. "Were you scared before we knew each other?" he asks.

You think about it. "It's different, I guess. I was worried, generally. For all of you. I'm still worried for all of you, but --"

His eyebrow quirks and he fails to hide a cheeky smile. "Me the most?"

You roll your eyes and squeeze his hand. "You the most. But don't tell Carlos that."

Max tuts. "So, now it's just worse? You feel it more?"

Nodding, you try to explain. "I don't even like watching on TV, now, because I'm so far away. I feel so helpless."

You can't make it to every race but you try your hardest, not only to support Max but for your own sanity. It's easier to calm yourself down when you're around other people who believe in him, when you have access to all the details and when he's only a few steps away when he's out of the car.

"I don't want you to be worried," he says, softly. "You don't let on that you are when we say goodbye before the race, aside from being a little tense."

One of your favorite pieces of race weekends -- those few moments when all of his attention is on you. He makes sure you have everything you need and leaves you with a kiss and a smile and a see you later. His confidence and his competence are like balms.

"When I'm looking at you, I'm not as stressed," you say, a bit shy. "You're very good at your job, you know. And your confidence is convincing."

"I know," he says, seriously. "That's why I know it'll be fine. Do you not know that?"

If he was less determined, you'd ask him to drop it, since you're starting to feel embarrassed. But you know he won't let it lie.

"I know it, too, Max." You reach for his face to push back some fringe from his forehead. "I'll always be worried about you, though. You get in the car and drive away and I just -- sit there. And wait for you to come back."

He frowns, deeper this time. You keep your hand on him, cupping his jaw and running your thumb along his stubble.

"And I love it. You know I was a fan before I met you and it's a dream to be there to watch you race. I love seeing you do crazy things like win from p17. It's so much fun."

He knows this about you. You've got a bit of a reputation for your facial expressions in the Red Bull garage, always the first on your feet when he overtakes, jumping up and down when he extends his lead. It's an infectious kind of joy and energy and you lean into it every time, even if your stomach is churning with anxiety.

Max is quiet for a few moments. He covers your hand with his and leans into it further.

"You trust me, right?"

"Of course," you say right away. "Always."

"I've never really thought about it," he says, slowly. "I mean, in the car. I don't worry about you because I'm not worried, so I just thought you knew not to be, too."

"I'll always worry, Max. Even though I trust you."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?"

Your cheeks heat and you look away from him, pulling your hand free to cradle it in your lap.

"You've got a million other things to worry about besides me," you say. "I don't want to distract you."

Max says your name with a scoff, literally waving his hand as if swatting away your silly notions. "Distract me? Come on," he says. "I wouldn't be a three-time world champion if I could get so easily distracted." He leans into your space, nosing at your jaw. "Even if you are very distracting."

You allow the attention for a few moments before pushing him back with a laugh. His cheeks are flushed, hair a bit of a mess, like after he takes off his helmet. And, god, he looks relaxed. You're so proud of him you can hardly stand it. The season is almost over and you know he's got a lot of work ahead of him, and you've got a lot of worrying. But he's motivated, and you know he can win. You know he'll come back to you.

Max leans his head back on the couch and casts his gaze sideways at you, nose scrunched. "I can't fix this, can I? You're still going to worry."

He sounds so resigned, so disappointed in himself that you tug on his hand so he'll get closer. This time, you frame his face with your hands and kiss him, just a light press of your lips to his. Both of you sigh into it, and you drag your mouth along his cheek until you reach his ear.

"I'm still going to worry," you whisper. "But I love you and I trust you. And I know it'll be okay."

Max sighs and presses his forehead to your shoulder, practically pulling you into his lap so he can wrap his arms around you.

"You better hope it doesn't rain for the rest of the season," he mumbles.

"That damn VSC," you groan, pulling back from him a bit. "I was going to tear my hair out!"

Max laughs. "It kept things interesting," he says lightly. "Rain isn't really a problem for me, schatje, you know this --"

"Because you're Dutch, I know, Max." You roll your eyes. "Even Fernando couldn't keep it together! I mean, the gasps from the garage when --"

The seriousness of your conversation fades as you trade tidbits about the race -- you've done this already, hashed it out in the hotel room and the flight home and in bed since Sunday. Max watches you talk, elbow braced on the couch and his head resting in his hand. His eyes sparkle and you know you're amusing him as he corrects you on the turn names and who went in the wall when. Max loves you: you've never doubted this. He loves you and he cares about how you feel and doesn't want you to be worried.

And while you will be, because you love him, you know that it'll be alright.

"Hey," Max says, interrupting your opinions about start procedures. "I love you, okay? Thank you for worrying about me."

"Graag gedaan," you say. Well, you try to say. Max laughs and corrects your pronunciation. You're welcome, he says, over and over, a kiss to your cheeks, your nose, your forehead each time. Ik houd van je. Your lips, your neck, your jaw.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

[peppermintquartz]

Hello! ❤️ For the prompts - not v original but I would love something with them running into each other on a job and one of them getting injured? If it sparks joy (not that there’s much of it to spark atm) ❤️

Tommy can be professional. That's what he tells himself as he half-slides carefully down the steep slope to the two men sitting on the narrow strip of flat geound.

Howie sees him first and his face twitches in a mix of complicated emotions. "Hey Tommy." It's too casual and Howie winces.

Even so, Tommy manages a smile. "Hey Howie." He takes the opening and drops to a crouch, coming face to face with his now ex-boyfriend. "Hey."

"Hey," says Evan, face tight with something other than physical pain. "I didn't know... Didn't know you're working today."

"Changed shifts," Tommy says. To reduce the chances of seeing you at work is what he doesn't say. "What happened?"

They're on a hiking trail. Howie has a few scrapes over his forearms and elbows, and a shallow cut over his brow that's already scabbing over. Evan is the one with the injured ankle - it's his left leg, the bad leg - and Tommy's brow creases.

"I've secured it with what I had," Howie says. "But there's no way he's gonna make it up the slope and I can't carry him up there either."

"That's what I'm here for," Tommy says, not meeting Evan's eyes. He hands the spare harness to Howie. "Gus and Samuels up there are waiting for you. Then Gus will come down for Ev- for Buck."

Evan glares at him, but says nothing other than "Go, Chimney."

With Howie working his way up the slope, it's just Tommy and Evan now, and the silence is so awkward that Tommy almost wishes he had just been on flight duty today. But he had a migraine attack the day before and told Samuels to swap pilot duty for the shift.

"How have you been?" Tommy eventually asks. "Other than, you know, falling down a hiking trail and getting hurt."

"Chimney was trying to take my mind off the breakup, so I suppose I'm doing super," Evan says, sarcasm in every word. It feels wrong, coming from him.

Tommy wants to hold him and tell him how much Tommy has missed him. He settles for a deep breath and a sharp nod. Still, he can't help replying, "Guess we're both doing super then."

"You're such a dick." Evan stares at him, and God, the red-rimmed eyes are as beautiful now as they were the night Tommy ran away like the coward he was. Is.

"I'm sorry." It's a weak reply to this, to everything he's done.

They both hear Gus coming down the slope. Just as Tommy's about to stand, Evan grabs his arm and says, "I want you to visit me, do you understand? Come to the loft with my favorite poke bowl for lunch. I'll definitely be home for this week, and I want you to bring me lunch, and I want you to listen to my side of things. You had your say and you didn't let me have my say and it's not fair."

Tommy can't breathe. The touch of Evan's hand feels like it's burning into his skin. He can only nod mutely in promise and step back slightly for Gus to take charge, securing Evan to be hoisted up the steep slope.

--

Three days after that shift, he shows up with Evan's poke bowl.

--

Three weeks after that lunch, Evan moves into Tommy's place.

--

Three months after moving into Tommy's place, Evan becomes Tommy's fiancé.

[specsthesecond]

°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°

You wake up in the comfort of your home, snuggled in thick fluffy sheets. Despite the cold, birds still chirp outside advising you to start your day already. You stay in bed a little longer today, staring out the window, trying to get a hold of your thoughts.

It's been a good few days since you left that Orcs house, a few days to think about the experience and mull over what to do next.

You jolt out of your thoughts when you see, out the window, quick anxious scampering behind the snow covered bushes. Jumping out of bed, you hastily get dressed, fumbling with your boots and grabbing your trusty bow hanging by the door and a few arrows. You peek outside, sneaking as quietly as possible on the old wooden floor of the stoop, arrow already notched against the bowstring. You can only see the critters ears, twitching, listening for any trouble. It's either a rabbit or a hare, you hope for the latter.

You wait there for a good fifteen minutes, bow strung, waiting for the thing to move just a little to the left of the bush for a better shot. Your fingers burn on the string, didn't have time to grab your gloves. The second it hops slightly out of the bush, you let go of the arrow and send it flying right into the cotton tailed critter.

When you step back inside your warm cottage, you make a beeline for the kitchen with the hare in your hand. It's quite a lucky catch, a large jack. You use this as an excuse, you actually come up with plenty excuses while you prepare a hearty stew. "There's so much meat here, it would be wrong not to share." "If I don't repay him, it'll weigh on me for far too long." "I need to bring him his flask back." "I need a good hike anyway."

Stupid rationales for the absurd idea you have conjured up. Nevertheless, you get out your fanciest ceramic pot and cook your best hare stew. You fret, far more than you'd admit, over how little ingredients you have due to the winter. Come afternoon, and you're trekking the woods, past the Human territory and into unwelcomed lands. You clutch the handle of the basket holding your steaming pot of stew tightly inside and his flask, which you filled with your favourite Red bush tea. This is just so you're even and then you never have to think about this Orc ever again.

Somewhere in your mind you know that's not true, You'll never be able to forget what happened. You were content in your woods, pretending you weren't lonely, why has this Orc changed that? It was easy pushing the cravings down before why is the hunger suddenly so present, so consuming.

You eventually step into the clearing where his home lies, Your thoughts continue to meander as your feet take you straight to the steps into his home. Now, you can't just leave it out for him but you can't just knock on the door and run away either...

You knock on the door three times, taking a deep breath and then cursing yourself for needing to do that. What if he doesn't want to see you again? Sure, he saved you from dying but that doesn't mean he'd want you in his home ag-

The door opens slowly, it takes you a minute to look up from the stone floor of the small veranda but when you do, it's those same dark brown eyes looking back at you. He looks shocked to see you, you expected as much. After a few awkward moments of staring, you hold the basket up with both hands, opening the top to reveal the red ceramic pot and his flask. He looks down at the parcel with a rather blank expression and it makes your skin crawl with anxiety. You gesture for him to take the basket and he quickly, with frustratingly gentle hands, takes it from you. He takes a peek inside the pot, letting the built-up steam poor out and his eyes grow even wider, you can't tell if he likes it or not and it's killing you.

Of course he didn't want to see you. The last time you were together he woke up to you, a stranger, on top of him watching him sleep! Your face is hot with shame, you turn to leave but then hear him say something in Orcish, you turn around to face him. You're a little taken back to see the hopeful look in his eyes as he holds the door open for you, waiting for you to accept his invitation.

Timidly, you step inside. Being here again sends a shiver down your spine. The Orc gently rests the basket on his little (in comparison to him) living room table, then heads to the kitchen. He comes back with a tray of two bowls, two mugs and cutlery. It shocks you how easily you take his silent invitation to stay for dinner as you both set the table as if it's a normal thing for basically strangers to do. While he dishes up hearty portions of steamy stew in rather large bowls, you pour the red tinted tea into the two mugs he brought.

You sit down on opposite sides of the wooden table and dig in. The spoon, like the bowl, is rather big and made out of what appears to be a hard dark wood. As you taste your stew, doubts trickle into your mind. Is it too runny? Is the meat too tough? Do Orcs prefer tougher meat? Is it too bland for him?

The scrape of his chair on the floor interrupts your thoughts and you look up at him. He's scooping up more stew with the serving spoon and plopping it into his empty bowl. You stare at him bewildered, he's already going for seconds. How did he even swallow all that so fast?

He notices you staring and looks embarrassed, like he's done something wrong. You shake your head lightly and gesture for him to continue. He smiles rather bashfully for an Orc and plops another spoon full onto his heaped bowl. You hide the smile that creeps onto your face behind a hot mug of tea.

After the pot has been thoroughly emptied and your stomachs are full, he starts clearing up his side of the table. You go to follow but he swiftly takes your bowl from you, sets it on the tray with everything else and walks off to the kitchen. For a second you sit rather dumbly at the empty table, the sound of splashing water comes from the kitchen as you look around the Orc's abode.

Your eyes are drawn to a packed bookshelf in the corner, you try not to be that impressed that an Orc would willingly read so many books. You imagine you would be pretty insulted if someone said that about you, and you know full well that reading is a lovely way to pass the time in such a quiet life as yours and his.

He steps back into the room holding two mugs of what was left of the tea, you suppose that means he likes it? He places them on the small table in front of the couch and takes a seat. He doesn't show any indication that he expects you to sit with him but you find yourself sinking down next to him anyway.

He picks up a little book on the low table and pages through it, it's green with bold Orcish on the front. You try to seem uninterested with what he's doing, staring down at your tea until he shuffles closer to you, pointing to a specific page in the book. You scrunch your eyebrows and lean closer, reading the text he's pointing to.

"Thank you."

Your breath catches and you read further down the page, seeing bold Orcish words followed by Human Common words.

It's a translation book.

You laugh (more like wheeze) in surprise and disbelief. The Orc looks nervous, looking back at the book to make sure he pointed to the right word. You gently take the book from him and page through it, searching.

After quite a while you finally find it, in what you assume is the "Helpful phrases" section and point it out for him.

"You're welcome."

He lets out a hearty laugh and you grin at the sound. You made him laugh. His eyes crinkle, deepening the crows feet just above his cheeks which seem a darker green than before.

After that you sit together in quiet comfort, drinking the rest of your tea and peeking at the words in his book as he pages through the translations. The book is new, the spine isn't creased from use and the pages are still firm and fresh. Did he get this book because of you?

The thought stirs something strange in your belly and you can't tell if you should invite it in or reject it. Your eyes shift to the window near the door and you jump when you see the sun is setting. How has it been that long?

You rise from the couch and grab your basket, shoving your now clean ceramic pot into it. The Orc looks at you confused, looks towards the window, and then shoots up himself, quickly heading to the kitchen. You shrug your fur coat on at the door and wait patiently for him to return, basket in hand.

He returns with the same flask he gave you the last time you left in a hurry. He may be even more bashful this time he hands it to you and you don't need to open it to know what's inside. You nod your head again in thanks and he smiles wider than you'd think an Orc capable, if you hadn't met him, that is.

You walk out of his house, flask tucked in your basket. When you reach the end of the clearing you turn around and there he is, standing on the veranda watching you leave. You hesitate for a moment and then give him a little wave goodbye. He returns it with his own.

As you walk through thick trees you wonder if the nearby human village has a book vendor. Not for any particular reason.

°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°

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[louisferrignojr]

tell me what if we could go back and take it all back

8x06 fix it • rated E • 3k words thank you @wikiangela and @beefcakekinard for all your help ♥

The box is on the kitchen island, untouched. It’s been sitting there for the past three days. He’s seen it as he’s walked in and out of his apartment, catching his eye every time; it almost felt like it was taunting him. Six months worth of memories sitting in a box no bigger than 10x10 inches — and that’s a small consolation. At least it’s a small box. At least no one had to rent a U-Haul this time. 

It’s been gnawing at him for the past week, something like a dark shadow at the back of his mind that took over every once in a while when he caught himself ruminating, settling like a thick mist and shrouding his vision so much he couldn’t see five feet ahead of him. The only thing that has helped is keeping busy — with work, with his friends, babysitting his niece, going a little too hard at the gym. 

Buck sits at the island, on the same chair he was on the last time he saw Tommy, staring at the box in silence, waiting for the owner of its contents to come by and take everything he’d left behind the day he’d walked out of Buck’s life, thick brown boots stomping on Buck’s heart on his way out.

There’s a couple of DVDs from one of their first dates that Tommy had brought over for them to watch, only to realise that Buck doesn’t have a DVD player, or any device capable of playing a DVD. The look on Tommy’s face at the revelation had been priceless. Buck winces at the image the memory conjures, something clutching at his heart the same way it has every time he’s thought about Tommy in the past week. 

But Tommy’s on his way over to pick up the spare set of keys he’d given Buck pretty early on in their relationship. In case of an emergency, he’d said, and later given Buck permission to come over after work even if Tommy wasn’t off shift yet. How many times did he walk through the front door of his house and head straight to whichever room Buck was in? Bending over the armrest of his couch where Buck was lounging in his comfy sweats to greet him with an upside down kiss; coming around the kitchen table to wrap his arms around Buck’s middle and nuzzle his neck; sneaking into bed as quietly as possible even though Buck was a light sleeper who woke up every time and got a goodnight kiss before they fell asleep wrapped up in each other. 

[continue reading on ao3]

[angelsndragons]

okay so as a federal worker, i tell you this not to make you panic but to give you time to do what you need to do:

it's the holiday season. in addition to the federal holidays, federal workers build up leave throughout the year. the longer you've been with the federal government, the more leave you accumulate. this time of year, many federal workers will be taking their "use or lose" leave, aka the leave they've accumulated that's over the 240 hour cap you can carry into the next calendar year.

that means if you have any renewals or want to apply to anything that requires the federal government, DO IT NOW. many departments are already understaffed but this time of year? yeah, skeleton crews are the norm.

please be patient. you can check in every week or two to see where your stuff is but please be patient. many of us are going to be working our butts off in the next three months to ensure your stuff gets done. but we're only human. if you have an agency number, calling is often better than emailing. yes, even if you have to wait on the line for a while.

notaries can be extremely backed up. if you have an appointment which requires a notary's signature, make sure that you have every single thing ready the second you walk in. you don't want to have to come back.

understand that the ship of state turns slowly. we do have a lot of mechanisms in place to keep things from falling apart completely HOWEVER this time the Executive Leadership is directly coming at us with the intention of fully dismantling certain departments. chief on their list that i've seen is the department of education. if you have a special needs child in a special ed program or are one yourself, check to see who's funding the program (feds, state, local, etc) and plan accordingly. if the feds pull out their money, you need to know who's handling the gap and what happens if it can't be filled. that goes for other programs like housing.

if the republicans control the house, senate, and white house, expect them to defund everything you care about. the only spending i can see them increasing is the department of defense and border patrol. everything else? huge budget crunch. if you think the government is slow now, is unresponsive now, oh boy, just you wait. this will send a shock wave through the economy - the feds are huge spenders in many areas (sometimes the only thing keeping places afloat). much of the government is too big and unwieldy to dismantle all at once (particularly the pieces entwined with big business) but that doesn't mean they can't launch giant holes into the things they really hate. plan accordingly.

the fda director will try to ban sending abortion pills in the mail. plan accordingly. does this step on the usps' toes? yes. do they care? nope, republicans have been trying to privatize them for years. plan accordingly.

if you want to know the baseline fuckery you'll be expected to deal with, the department of veterans' affairs was shadow run by marvel executives for two years last time. i'm not joking. the white house is going to bypass any pretense of confirming executive leadership by making every single one of them "acting director of such and such." those don't require congressional approval.

if you're a dreamer and you've applied for some kind of federal relief, i would advise you to be extremely careful. your information is in a federal database and the republicans want to round up everyone of latino descent. they've already confirmed that they want to deport whole families irrespective of citizenship to "stop family separation."

stay calm and plan accordingly.

[netscapenavigator-official]

I’ve seen a few other perspectives that I also agree with, and I’m gonna go over them here:

#1 - No matter who we ran, we were gonna get fucked. Biden was unpopular, and he inherited an economy that, thanks to COVID, was going to inflate no matter what. I’ve seen a lot of people say that if Trump hadn’t flopped COVID, he probably could’ve snatched a second term in 2020. Then, we’d be in the position they are because, like Biden, there wouldn’t have been annything Trump could’ve done about post-COVID inflation. As a result, Trump would’ve been blamed for the post-COVID inflation, resulting in an overbearing Democrat win in 2024.

#2 - I tuned into a New Zealander’s “day after” live stream, and she said that the general consensus there was that Harris failed to separate herself from Biden enough, and I also agree with that (in hindsight). People didn’t like Biden. He was old, and he was a hold-over President. In 2020, he even promised that he’d only run for one term, then he’d step down to allow someone actually worthy to run. The only reason Biden was so well supported in 2020 was because people knew it wasn’t about supporting him. It was about defeating Trump. Despite his genuine economic improvements and strides in legislation for 2020-2022, people still blamed him for post-COVID inflation. Not to mention how much his name was tarnished after that debate and his refusal to speak highly of Palestine.

We know #2 is (at least partially) true because Harris initially led the polls. When she took over, people were excited! She was a young, progressive face running a campaign for hope, change, and doing things differently. Biden making the shocking and radical choice to step down made people assume that this was a major shift in ballsy-ness for Democrats (and thusly Harris). That’s why Obama won as a black man: He gave people hope of change, and it could’ve helped Harris win as a black woman, too. However, Harris made the same mistake as Clinton: She gave up her radical change campaign for a lukewarm centrist one that basically said “we’re gonna do what we were doing, except slightly different.” People didn’t want the same thing. They wanted change. And we know this because as Harris slowly trekked right, her polling numbers slowly fell back to Biden’s level. People stopped seeing her as the cool new future, and they started seeing her as Biden 2.0. People did not want Biden 2.0.

I also think Palestine played an important role in all this. I don’t think it was any of these three factors separately, but rather all of them working together. By refusing to support Palestine, Harris essentially sealed her fate. People thought she was the change they needed. The big thing people were mad at Biden for was his stance on Palestine. Whether they admit it or not, when Harris took over, people put in their heads that she would separate herself from Biden’s Palestine stance, like she had with his past. But when she refused to break away from Biden’s stance on Palestine, it immediately made younger voters realize that she was just Biden 2.0, and they didn’t want that. It felt like a rug pull, and it discouraged Gen Z.

Support for Palestine was a key to a door. A door that was preventing her from going further left and tapping into the same, younger, more radical voter base that Obama did. She worried that Gen Z’s “we won’t vote for you” rhetoric would cost her the election. She never even considered that sticking to her guns might result in silent (but angry) votes from those people. But to her, she needed more votes, and she couldn’t go further left. So what did she do? She went right. And as she did, her polling numbers declined. That discouraged the people who initially loved her when she first took over the campaign. And it didn’t entice centrist and republicans because, as OP said, why would they vote for the Diet Conservative when they can just vote for the full-fledged one?

I think the younger, Gen Z vote was crucial in 2020. I think it was also crucial in preventing the Red Wave in 2022. And I think it could’ve been crucial in this election for finally ridding this country of Trump and the MAGA Cult. But… Harris didn’t appeal to the young… so they didn’t show up for her. As Bernie said, she gave up on them. So they gave up on her. I, personally, don’t think the swing for Gen Z men is as bad as it’s being made out to be. I think it’s being inflated by the fact that a disproportionate amount of Zoomers simply didn’t vote because they felt like Harris was just Biden 2.0.

Will Democrats learn from this? I hope so, but I’m not holding my breath.

I especially hope (if there are future elections that mean anything) that we can cripple the GOP in the 2026 mid-terms to at least stop their rein of terror. I also hope that when 2028 comes around, more people learn from Harris’s moral betrayal and take the Primaries seriously, so we can send an overwhelming message to the DNC about the type of candidate we want.

I don’t know if these things will happen. I worry that the dismay we’re seeing from the left is a sign for future “what’s the point in voting” mindsets. However, I’m hopeful that, once the dust settles, the sorrow fades to drive, and it lights a fire under the asses of the American left, so we can successfully drag Democrats more left, no matter how much they claw, kick, and scream.

And before I close this post off, I’ve seen another post floating around Tumblr that’s akin to “‘Voting every four years is so tiring!’ Well you shouldn’t be voting just every four years, anyway.” And I agree. This election may have nailed the door shut, but every hammer has a dual-sided rear for a reason. The 2026 mid-terms and 2028 primaries could be CRUCIAL in not only stopping the GOP, but making sure we get a GOOD candidate who can take on Trump or Jance Dance Vance or whoever. People like to only screaming “VOTE!” for the presidential race, but it’s time we look elsewhere. The next mid-term and primaries are what we SHOULD be focusing on. They’re closer than you think. Don’t less this discourage you. Don’t let the future discourage you. In less than 2 years we CAN throw a wrench in this administration’s plans.

Also, P.S., in case anyone says it, in my personal opinion, a 2024 primary wouldn’t have saved us from this fate. Harris had the name. She had the Biden admin’s funds. She had a “hopeful change” campaign, at the start. She had the support, at the start. She had the experience as vice president. In my opinion, she absolutely would have been chosen if a 2024 primary would’ve happened. People loved her at first, remember, and she had far more DNC support, money, vp experience, and notoriety that any challenger could’ve mustered. Her stance as reigning Vice President would’ve done A LOT of work. She would have won a 2020 primary. It wasn’t her rise to candidacy that caused this. It was what she did after she got it.

I think there are some takeaways here, if we want to learn from this.

First: third-party voters were irrelevant. In no swing state did left-leaning third-party voters add up to enough to push Harris over.

Second: many progressive policies and politicians outperformed Harris.

Third: appealing to Republicans did not work.

It has never worked, in the US or in Europe, we've seen time and again that giving ground to right wing policies only legitimizes them and voters then prefer the original. For example, if you worry about immigration, and both sides are saying it's a problem, who do you trust more to handle it?

Fourth: polls were pretty accurate. There were months, years, really, of debate about polling being broken, which demographics were underrepresented, which were overrepresented, herding, hopes that they were overcorrecting for the last two misses on Trump, but they ended up closer than anybody wanted. Which also means that Biden would have lost by even worse.

Fifth: on the one hand, people should hopefully see this graphic and realize there's no minority to scapegoat:

On the other hand, I'm seeing a lot of people take it as a sign the country has simply shifted to the right in a huge, undeniable way that's depressing and ominous and feels hopeless. After all, Trump will win the popular vote by a lot, the first time a Republican has in decades.

However, this should be taken in conjunction with these numbers:

Now THIS is something that's open to further analysis and that can be worked with.

Why did so many Democrat voters not show up?

Here are some potential reasons for this, the truth most likely being a combination of at least several of them:

She's a Black-Indian woman. There's no denying the racism and misogyny among the US electorate, but given earlier polls where she was leading, I don't think this was the main or certainly only reason.

She was seen as too progressive/leftist. Again, by virtue of our racist, misogynistic electorate and our billionaire-owned media, Harris was seen as too extreme left by a lot of people, not just because of policies, but because inherently, her identity itself is extreme left to them. I personally don't think this was a crucial factor because, again, she had been leading when she was going stronger on the progressive messaging, other progressive policies and politicians outperformed her, and a lot of the people who think she's too extreme are Republicans who'd never vote for her. I just don't think it's a good enough reason for the millions of Democrats who didn't show.

Palestine. There's a coalition of pro-Palestine people, not just Muslims and Arab Americans but leftists and other POC too, but numerically, their vote for third parties made no difference. Did enough shift to Trump or not show up at all? Certainly in Michigan they swung to the right, but would that have made a difference? Did they matter in other less tangible ways, e.g., a lot of the same active progressives who'd have been out campaigning simply voted quietly for Harris and left it at that? How much of a distraction was this for Dems, having to constantly address Gaza as opposed to putting forth their own policies, and did it contribute to the overall perception of them being incompetent and weak and bringing chaos when people were tired of it? I think Palestine did have an effect, but enough to swing it overall...?

Not being progressive enough. A lot of people will point to Palestine and immigration, the decision to campaign with Liz Cheney and Mark Cuban and court Republican moderates, stifling Walz, and various other shifts that abandoned the left for the center and then the left didn't show up while the center went for Republicans as they always do, but the left isn't that large. I think, if this one point is a factor, it's more that it was simply difficult for normal voters to show up when they didn't really know what the candidate stood for, aside from "more of the same" and "not Trump".

Biden. When you have a ton of people unhappy with where the country is going, including their biggest priority, the economy, being tied to an unpopular incumbent was going to be tough, especially when, as a Black-Indian woman, she would be judged as disloyal if she broke too much from him. Nevertheless... People were unhappy with him and his administration.

Ultimately, I think there's a lot to learn and I hope Dems will.

I think we're in for a tough time and we're going to need community and solidarity, not fighting among ourselves.

[barcaatthemoon]

complicate me || leah williamson x reader ||

Coming back to Arsenal was a mistake, but you and Leah manage to make an even bigger one together.

18+

You had always known that you wouldn't be at Manchester forever. A three year loan was a pretty long time, and for a moment, you had hoped that it would become permanent. Arsenal had let you stay the couple years, but with Jonas out, management ended your loan early. They wanted you back in red, not that you could blame them. There were a lot of important games coming up, and even if you technically couldn't play in a couple of them, you were still an important piece for practices.

It felt weird for you to walk the training grounds at Arsenal by yourself. Jen was gone, and she had always been the person you could count on to still be your mate after everything. Leah had kept most of your friends after the breakup, and then you hadn't exactly helped your case when you just up and left after everything.

You could still remember the way that Caitlin had practically begged for you to stay with the team. If it wasn't for Jen, you probably would have been convinced to stay. A part of you regretted leaving, but you knew that you hadn't been in your right mind with Leah so close after everything. At the time, it all seemed like too much to be reconciled, but now you were hopeful that things could be fixed.

You'd never in a million years get back together with Leah, no matter how good she looked. It didn't matter how many drinks you had on a team night out. After the first couple to celebrate wins, however, you promptly decided that you'd be a loner at Arsenal. With Jen in California, you had lost your personal voice of reason, the only person who could truly keep you away from Leah for your own wellbeing.

"Come on, you have to come over. You never do anything with the team, everybody's gonna think that you hate them," Caitlin pleaded with you. The two of you had been going back and forth for the past week about you coming to the party she was throwing with Katie at their place. It was a bye week, so everybody was free to enjoy the weekend. You knew there would be a lot of drinking, and that was what scared you. You had always been able to hold your liquor pretty well physically, but you made absolutely terrible decisions sometimes.

"Cait, nobody wants me there. Let's face it, they barely even want me playing here again," you reasoned. Caitlin could see you start to move to get up and rushed to grab onto your wrist. "Caitlin, I don't want to argue about this."

"Then don't argue and just come over for a bit. You don't have to talk to anybody but me. Just please, I miss you. I've missed you since you moved and iced everybody out," Caitlin said. She gave you her best puppy dog eyes, and if it was anybody else, you probably would have just said no. But because it was Caitlin, you gave in despite your better judgement.

That afternoon when you got out of training, you went straight home and immediately called Jen. You had hoped that she would convince you not to go, but instead, she had fully agreed with Caitlin. You hated hearing how it was a good idea to bond with the women you'd be spending the next two seasons of your career with. Once your contract was over, you could go somewhere else, but for now, you were stuck at Arsenal.

A lot of things had changed since you left. The changes may not have seemed like much to people who had been around, but they had definitely taken you by surprise. The big one had been Caitlin and Lia. Caitlin had been clinging to Katie's side when you arrived, and Lia was stuck by Lia.

Years before, you had been close with Lia, even closer than Lia and Leah were. Now, you just had Caitlin, who you had only befriended because of Lia. It hurt for the Swiss woman not to even look your way, but you couldn't imagine how it looked to her. You were sure that everybody had gotten Leah's side of the story, which you weren't calling bullshit, but you knew had to be biased.

"You look good. Leah's staring," Caitlin said as she nudged you.

"Whatever." You brushed off Caitlin's comment, but only to force yourself not to glance over at the blonde. You couldn't let yourself get sucked over there, not when you knew where it would end up. Leah had an uncanny ability to complicate everything in your life, and she had been doing it for years now. Your relationship had been far from perfect, but you were happier then. Now, you were miserable while she was getting a chance to live her best life.

"(Y/n), I didn't think you'd come." Katie looked just as surprised as she sounded. Caitlin swatted at the Irish woman's chest, but Katie seemed unphased. "I'm glad you came. It's been boring without my favorite drinking buddy."

"Do you really want me to drink you under the table this early into the night?" you asked teasingly. Katie scoffed at that, but didn't deny that you usually did win the little competitions. You watched as Katie sent Caitlin a pleading look before Caitlin just nodded. Before you could react, Katie grabbed your hand and led you into the kitchen where the alcohol was.

You let Katie pick the alcohol, and thus, your competition began. You should have known better than to start drinking like this so early into the night, but you wanted to have fun. It had been so long that you believed that you deserved to have a good night out. Several shots later, and you found yourself having to help Katie stumble out of the kitchen.

"Katie, you promised you'd stop at 5," Caitlin huffed as she took her girlfriend from you.

"Hey, it's not my fault that she did doubles," Katie slurred. Caitlin glanced over at you, who just barely had a rosy tint to your cheeks. You didn't seem too out of it, so Caitlin left you there to make Katie sit down and eat something with the hope of sobering her up a bit. It couldn't have been more than maybe 30 seconds of you being alone for Leah to find her way over to you.

"I see that you're enjoying yourself," Leah teased. Your eyes narrowed at her, but your anger was fleeting. You couldn't hold onto any one emotion for too long before forgetting what exactly it was that you were feeling. "You're gonna be feeling that tomorrow."

"That's not your concern," you told her. Leah seemed a bit shocked by the snark in your tone. She shouldn't have been surprised by it, you had spoken to her in worse tones constantly by the end of your relationship. "Why are you over here? You told everybody that I ruined you. Nobody wants to talk to the woman who ruined them."

"(Y/n), I was hurt. You know that I lash out when I'm hurt, besides, I am much more mature than I was before," Leah said. She placed her hand on the small of your back, and it ignited something inside of you. Without an ounce of hesitation, you turned and tried to kiss Leah. "Hey, no, not like this. I want you, but I want you to want me back."

"Leah, it's complicated. I'm complicated now," you told her. Leah bit her lip and glanced at the bottle of alcohol just sitting on the table behind you. You followed her gaze and immediately knew what she was getting onto. "You want to be on my level?"

"I don't think I'd feel so bad if I was," Leah reasoned. You didn't like the thought of her needing to be drunk to want you, but the notion was gone as quickly as it popped into your head. Everything was fleeting, except for your desire to have Leah. You didn't necessarily want her sexually; you just wanted her close. If you had to crawl into bed and open your legs for that, then you were more than willing to do so.

The trip back to Leah's was a bit of a blur. Leah's place wasn't too far from Katie and Caitlin's, close enough for the two of you to walk there. The two of you had left fairly early into the night, but it was nearly 11:30 by the time that you had gotten inside. Neither of you seemed to care as you had both been guilty of stopping to kiss and feel the other up.

Your lipstick was smeared on Leah's mouth and neck by the time that you got back to her place. She paused as she caught a glimpse of herself, a little more disheleved than normal. Leah promptly turned her atttention over to you. You looked just as far gone as she did, pupils blown wide as you watched and waited for her to make another move on you.

"Come on," Leah said as she tugged you along with her. Leah tried to move quickly with you, not giving you a chance to take in the state of her home now that you were gone. She was scared that if the two of you stopped for too long, you would notice all of the little pieces of you that Leah had refused to give up.

The truth was that she had tried, and for a while, they had been gone. However, Leah had always kept the few boxes of trinkets and little things you left behind in her closet. Lia had begged Leah to throw it all away, but the blonde couldn't bring herself to do it. Eventually, she began hating the way that her house felt, so she slowly put all of your things back in their rightful places.

Leah kept the light in her room off, guiding you to the bed herself. She didn't think about you waking up in the morning and seeing anything, but Leah doubted that the two of you would be on speaking terms for a while after tonight. Any time that you let yourself get remotely close to Leah for a little, you always blanked everybody for about a week or two.

"Lee, it's dark," you said. Leah just hummed, neither of you stopping in your attempts to undress each other. You wanted to see Leah's body, but you weren't willing to pull yourself away from her to turn on the lights. You didn't need the lights on to know the look of concentration on Leah's face as the two of you ground against each other.

You could vividly imagine everything happening around you. This was far from the first time that you had closed your eyes and just tried to imagine all of the things you remembered about Leah. Now, it was much more real than before with Leah panting and moaning in your ear.

"I want to feel you. I want to be inside of you," Leah told you. You had never been glad to be laying down before in your life. There was no way that Leah wouldn't have known how her words would affect you. You were sure that Leah could feel the surge of arousal as it coursed through your body.

"Fuck me, Leah, please," you begged her. You pushed a needier tone than usual, letting Leah really hear every ounce of desperation inside of you. Leah groaned as she sat back on her knees. One of her hands slipped between your legs while the other went between her own.

Leah could just barely make out the twisting of your body in the moonlight. She was so much closer than you were, but Leah wanted to make you cum. She wanted to feel you clench around her fingers at least one more time. She didn't know whether or not she'd get another chance to touch you like this again, and so she tried her best to savor the moment.

…

The hangover from hell was the least of your problems whenever you had woken up the next morning. With Leah fast asleep next to you, you quickly snuck out of her home. It had once been your home too, but once again, you were running from it. A few quick phone calls to Arsenal's management staff about taking some time off for your mental health and a hasty plane ticket purchase later, and you were dead set on leaving the country.

Leah would be mad at you, as would Caitlin and everyone else, but you had to go. You watched as a text was sent out from management about you taking the next month off. Text after text began flooding in as you packed a bag. You didn't know how long you'd really be away for, but you just had to get the fuck away from London for a while.

"Jen? I know it's early for you, but I fucked up. I'm not over her, and I just need to clear my head for a couple of days. I swear that I won't be long, they're giving me the month, so I'll probably go back to Glasgow for a bit too. I just, I'll see you later." You had always hated leaving voicemails, but the words just poured from your mouth. You knew that your best friend was going to kill you when she saw you, but she'd also take care of you too.