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#Only the things they personally like are what happened of course

arieslost · 2 days

Note

personally since I want to take a nice bite outta oscar (and you do too)

what about an oscar x gf!reader who just constantly bites him, not hard enough to leave a mark (thats only in bed) but just a little chomp

like he has an arm around her shoulder while talking to Lando and she just turns her head and *chomp*

lord knows i wanna give that man a nice little monch. just a little 🤏🏻 little bit

chomp | op81

something about oscar unlocked the habit within you. he’s just so… yummy. all the time. so one day you acted on the urge to bite him. you did it gently, just barely sinking your teeth into the skin covering the taunt muscle of his bicep when you were cuddled up together in bed. he liked it; encouraged it even, so you never really looked back.

instead of “pinch me,” he soon adopted the phrase “bite me” in its place. it was just an affectionate thing that you did when your feelings for him became so overwhelming words failed you. it happens more often than not— just looking at him and knowing he’s yours is enough to render you speechless.

his instant enjoyment of your gentle bites had you dismissing the behavior as normal quickly, so it now comes as a surprise to you when other people have a visceral reaction to it.

you never pay much mind to what people say on social media, particularly twitter, but almost every day you’re greeted with the sight of you being caught biting oscar and hundreds of people asking what your problem is. it mostly stemmed from the one time that oscar asked (more like begged) you to leave a mark in the throes of a passion-charged moment that happened the night before qualifying and thus it was clear as day to everyone in the paddock the next morning.

you were usually careful to bite parts of him that were almost always concealed. his thighs, his hips, his shoulders, the junction between his shoulder and neck. but he’d been adamant that you bite his neck and leave a mark, and who were you to tell him no? so the whole world ended up becoming privy to your little habit. but oscar never gave anyone the time of day when asked about it, so it never crossed your mind to stop.

now, lando had been the very first to tease him about that infamous mark on his neck, but he’d never been there to see it happen. until today.

oscar had insisted that you join him while he and lando were waiting to be called in for a race debrief, with the promise that he’d take you out for dinner afterwards. you’re always happy to spend extra time with your boyfriend, of course, so you were more than happy to agree.

except lando has a special talent for boring you out of your mind with extremely technical talk. and he loves to talk. you need something to do in order to not implode from boredom, and oscar’s arm is right there, wrapped around your shoulders, so you turn your head and lightly bite the thin skin of his wrist.

the sudden silence is deafening as lando stops talking in the middle of his sentence.

“i thought that was just a weird rumor. you actually bite him?” lando asks.

“um, yeah,” you reply slowly. “so?”

“got a problem with my girlfriend, mate?” you can feel the muscles of your boyfriend’s arm flexing around you as he tenses up a little.

“nope. no. not at all,” his teammate is quick to respond, hand reaching back to scratch his neck. “carry on. i’ll just act like i’m not here.”

so you do, biting him a little harder as a silent chill out. he just kisses your temple, stifling his laughter.

when it’s finally time for their meeting, you’ve traveled from oscar’s wrist all the way up to the inside of his elbow, grazing your teeth along his skin and inhaling his addictive scent. you’d happily do this for hours, and you pout when he separates himself from you.

as an apology, he leaves you with a parting whisper of, “you’re gonna bite me harder than that tonight, right?” that has your whole body heating up.

word count: 638

masterlist — join my tag list here!

note: hope u enjoyed this <3 definitely not self indulgent for myself and venus at all!!!

requests are OPEN, and my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation!

reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

dividers by @/saradika

tags: @venusacrossthestars @67-angelofthelordme-67 @emails-i-can-send @nelly187 @cixrosie @fangirl-dot-com @sainzluvrr @imheretoread @mellowarcadefun @yourbane @monsieurbacteria6 @c-losur3 @papayatori @ssprayberrythings @namgification @maih23 @evlkking @witchycarmen @ilovethispookie @maxverstappenfan79 @sya-skies @sweatrevenge5436-blog @kimis-gloves @mia-rrrs @decafmickey @customsbyjcg-blog @bigheartsthings @tania2748 @scuderiadevils @iloveyou3000morgan @ctrlyomomma @hiireadstuff @daemyratwst @arian-directioner @evelyn-ny @avg-golden-retriever @likedbygaslyy @vintagefucksstuff @piastorys @jisungstuff @personwhoisther @bernelflo @ahgase99 @ferrarisfailedstrats @levidazai @brune77e

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my-castles-crumbling · 2 days

Text

Boggart

@mundrakan Thanks for the idea! - Wolfstar post-prank but happy ending!

The days passed in a haze, lately. He functioned, sure. But ever since…

Suffice it to say, Remus was suffering.

James was trying to help the best he could, but he couldn’t stay away from Sirius completely. Peter just wanted them all to get along. But Remus…he was hurt. Betrayed.

Terrified.

Hurt and betrayed because of Sirius’s actions, of course. Terrified because part of him, a large part, still wanted him. Wanted him so deeply and wholeheartedly that he would do stupid things for him. Stupid things like forgive him.

And if Sirius could hurt him now, as his friend…how much worse could he hurt him if Remus shared his feelings?

So Remus stayed away, tried to be smart, tried to ignore the way his heart physically ached from being away from the person he loved most in the world. But he could only stay away for so long.

So when he used the map one day to find Sirius alone in a classroom, he decided to find him. If only to…watch him, maybe? To catch a glimpse of the black hair and gray eyes that haunted his dreams?

But as he approached the room, he heard sobs that made him break out into a run, fear coursing through his body at the thought of Sirius hurt somehow. It was only when he entered the room to find Sirius in a corner, cowering from another Remus, that Remus realized what was going on.

“I’m s-s-sorry,” Sirius stuttered. “Remus, please-”

But Boggart-Remus was apparently mid-rant. “- could never!” he yelled, looking more wolf than Remus had ever seen himself. “You think I would ever forgive you? Let alone have feelings for you? Please, Sirius, you’re too dumb, too needy, too annoying, too broken-”

Spells and incantations had completely left Remus’s brain as he processed what was happening. All he could do was run forward, grab Sirius, and pull him into a blinding kiss, his arms wrapping so tightly around him that he was probably hurting him a bit.

But Sirius, tears still streaming down his face, instantly responded, kissing Remus around his sobs, gripping tightly at his shirt, apologies slipping out of his lips as the taller boy swallowed them with shushing noises.

“I care more for you than you’ll ever know,” Remus mumbled around kisses, pulling him even tighter, shielding him from the world.

#marauders #harry potter #marauders era #fanfic #marauders fandom #harry potter marauders #the marauders #the marauders fandom #sirius black x remus lupin #remus loves sirius #remus x sirius #sirius black #sirius orion black #sirius x remus #sirius x lupin #remus john lupin #remus lupin #wolfstar #wolfstarmicrofic

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tojiswhore-aventurinesslut · 23 hours

Text

I think Aventurine has nightmares about his past.

Warning: mildly suggestive content

You're sleeping soundly in your bed until quiet groans and a panicked voice wake you up.

"Don't. Stop. Please, no, no. Don't. Don't."

You look over and see Aventurine clenching his fists and teeth, tears spilling from the corners of his eyes and staining his pillow.

As expected, he was asleep.

This happened every few months. The very first time, you woke him up and tried to comfort him, asking him what happened and if he wanted to talk about it.

He blinked his eyes, trying to get rid of the terror of whatever he was seeing in his dream. You had never seen him look so scared before. The confident, cocky gambler who always won was nowhere to be found. His multi-colored eyes glistened from his tears.

But you only got to see it for an instant before his usual confident expression replaced it, wiping at his eyes.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" He asked, voice impossibly smooth.

You were taken aback at how quickly he changed, "yeah but it's okay... Are you okay?" You asked again.

He chuckled, "of course. Don't worry your pretty little face. Just a bad dream."

"What was it about?"

His eyes grew distant for a split second before replying, "nothing. I just lost a bet."

"Did you lose something important in that bet?"

"Nope. And in fact, I think I was about to win it all back." He grinned.

Your brow furrowed. What kind of bet would leave Aventurine in tears but not be important? It didn't make sense. You were about to say as much when he moved closer to you, kissing your jaw and down your neck.

"Aventurine what—"

"Shh, let me put you back to sleep. It's my fault you woke up."

He sucked on the space connecting your neck and shoulder and moved his hand down your body, knowing just what to do to have you melting under him.

Thoughts of his dream were lost amongst the sounds of your sighs and bodies together.

Aventurine did indeed put you back to sleep, but when you woke up the next morning, he was gone. Nothing but a note that said he had urgent business and wouldn't be back for a few days. Even his texts to you were short. It felt like he was avoiding you.

After about a month, things mostly went back to normal, but he didn't stay the night again until almost 6 months after the incident, always finding an excuse to leave, no matter how late it was.

Which is why now, whenever he had these nightmares, you didn't wake him. Instead, you just laid there, listening to his quiet sobs and pleas. Sometimes shedding your own tears for him.

He was a guarded person, and you realized you didn't know much about his past, but you hoped one day he would confide in you. That one day your gambler would take a gamble on you and share his pain. But until then, you would just stay by his side, so when he awoke from whatever horrors he was reliving, he would see you there: an anchor, a light, hope to sleep again and dream of a morrow without pain.

#posts #im so unwell about him #like #ugh #i need to write a proper fic #this was supposed to be reader comforting him but #not yet #lol #aventurine #hsr #hsr fics #aventurine x reader #x reader #my writing #aventurine fics #my writing - aventurine

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therabbitthatpostthings · 2 days

Text

“Nanami-San is so sweet, isn’t he?” You glanced over to your coworker, Yuka. She seamlessly slid her way into the conversation you and another group of co-workers were having. She tucked a stray strand behind her ear and smiled, “Just now, he helped me fix the paper jam.”

“If only I could meet someone as kind as he is.” Mei sighed with a dreamy smile.

“Way better than the other guys here.” Nitori huffed.

“Don’t you think he’s so cool, (L/N).” Yuka smiled.

“Uh- y-yeah. Of course he is.” You replied quickly. The energy shifted in this small huddle, no one looked to have felt it except for you and…her.

“I’d bet he’d make a great boyfriend.” Yuka voice was traced with vile yet she smiled so sweetly at you and only you.

“He’d make a great husband!” Nitori smiled. “A man like that would be anyone’s dream!”

“Yeah, an equally great and gorgeous partner for someone like Nanami.” Yuka said.

Mei laughed, “Yeah you can say that Yuka because you’re already so pretty.”

“Oh my god guys, stop!” Yuka squealed as she finally took her eyes off you. The conversation faded out in your mind and it was only filled with the thought of Yuka. Yuka is so gorgeous. She had her hair lightened to a beautiful auburn color but even before she looked amazing. A youthful face with elegant eyes and long lashes. Lips always tinted pink, nails always manicured. She looked like every man’s dream. She was every man’s dream…

Yuka’s hand on your shoulder shook you out of your thoughts. “(L/N), are you alright?”

“Y-Yeah. I’m fine.” You replied, noticing the other coworkers had left.

Yuka smiled that sickly sweet smile again, “Don’t worry (L/N), if you ever confessed to Nanami, I’m sure he’d let you down easy. Plenty of fish in the sea. Even someone with your looks could find a partner.”

With the grace of a swan she left. You suddenly felt very sick.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。✫・。.・゜ ✭・.

You entered the apartment slowly and quietly. You carefully slipped off your work shoes and sat your bag down. Lightly stepping from the door to the hallway and down the hall. You knew it was no use, he definitely heard you come in but for a moment you could pretend he didn’t. Deciding you were already caught, you took a nice long shower before heading back to the kitchen.

"Did something happen at work?" Kento asked.

"No."

"Really?" He turned around to face you. His hair was ruffled and pushed back. He wore an old worn out sweater you bought him under his soft yellow apron. A welcomed sight from the stern and business oriented Nanami Kento everyone at work was obsessed with.

"I'm fine." You say plainly. He's probably be better off without me....

Kento gently pulled you into his embrace. He gently caressed up anxiously down your arms as you melted into him. His chin rested on your head, “Please tell me what happened.”

You sighed, “You came up in a conversation today. Everyone said you are so perfect, and you are! And I’m just- not…”

As much as you enjoyed your “low-key” relationship, you couldn’t help but feel jealous at how they would swoon over Kento. How they would talk about your boyfriend to you as if you meant nothing to him. Kento said he loves you and you know he does! You wanted to tell them but then you’d be the talk of the office. There is no way out of this and you started to worry if those same coworkers had more to offer him.

“You are perfect. Far too perfect than I deserve.”

“Ken, don’t say thing just to make me feel better-“

He cupped your face in his hands, “(Y/N), I think you are the most kind, patient, diligent, and compassionate person I’ve ever met. You are far more perfect than a stubborn man like me.”

You laughed as you leaned into his warm hands, “Your not stubborn Ken, you’re just headstrong.”

“Now you are saying things to make me feel better.” He leaned in to place a kiss on you forehead, cheek and lips. Your hearted swelled and all the remarks from today drifted away. Yuka may be beautiful and can desire Kento all she wants but he comes home to you everyday.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。✫・。.・゜ ✭・.

After months of back-breaking labor, you’ve finally gotten a job offer at a new office closer to your home. Meanwhile Kento had also gotten a hire role in his department. It finally felt like things were going well.

“Oh, Yuka! Would you like to catch lunch with us?” Nitori called as Yuka entered the room. She plopped down on the seat next to you.

“I guess,” she playfully sighed. “I tried asking Nanami and guess what! He said he’s eating lunch with his partner! He’s had a whole relationship for like three years now!”

“Talk about lucky.” Nitori giggled.

“Ah, so none of us stood a chance.” Mei joked.

“Are you doing anything for lunch (L/N),” Yuka smiled her sickly sweet smile. You gave her one right back.

“Actually yes, thank you for asking though.”

Before she had the chance to ask, Nanami popped his head in the door. “(Y/N), are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, I’m all finished.” You smiled. You grabbed you phone, making sure to savor Yuka’s shocked face and headed over to Ken. He gave you a light kiss on the head and his arm wrapped around your waist.

“Bye guys.” You waved. You knew you’d never hear the end of it when you got back but it was definitely worth it.

#shitpost #shitposting #nanami kento #jjk #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento x reader #nanami x black!reader #nanami x reader #jjk x reader #writing fanfics at 3am #cringe-#no beta we die like men

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ithebookhoarder · 2 days

Note

your Eloise fics have me in a chokehold! If you would I need an eloise and fem reader first kiss moment! friends to lovers type best

First Kiss (Eloise Bridgerton x F!Reader)

"What if the way you hold me is actually what's holy? If long-suffering propriety is what they want from me, They don't know how you've haunted me so stunningly, I choose you and me religiously..."

- Guilty as Sin (Taylor Swift)

A/N: Well, I love me a good ol' 'friends to lovers' trope, so thank you for sending this in! I am in full S3 mode. 💕Also, side note, but I see this request existing in the same universe as my other piece 'This Love' - which you don't have to read to understand this but if you want to, then check it out.

Warnings: Beginnings of smut, implied homophobia, era-appropriate sexism

Masterlist

“I simply don’t see the appeal of such things.”

“You don’t?”

“No. What could be so appealing about kissing?” Eloise muttered, staring down at the couple on the other side of the library in which you had both hidden.

Fed up with ducking dance partners for one evening, you and the Bridgerton girl (who had been your closest friend since infancy) had escaped the ballroom of the Smith-Smyth family town house and the festivities being held there. Of course, like most nights spent trying to hide from the Ton and its never ending scrutiny of young females, the pair of you had sought refuge in the library of the home. After all, it was typically the room least likely to be occupied, and had more than enough dark, quiet corners for you two to hide in, curled up with a good book until it was time to go home.

It was far superior to being passed from one suitor to the next like some curiosity to be examined, admired, and appraised.

Tonight had been no different so far, with the pair of you taking the first opportunity to bolt and conceal yourselves on the upper gallery of the impressive library. However, you had only been alone maybe a handful of minutes when the door had burst open and a rather amorous young couple had staggered through, a tangle of limbs and lips.

Both you and Eloise had barely had time to even realise what had happened, let alone plan any kind of escape. Unfortunately, the upper level - whilst more private and out of sight - was only accessible via a spiral staircase. There was no way on earth either of you could make it down said staircase or all the way to the door without being seen.

You didn’t know who would be most embarrassed in that instance - you or the couple caught in a compromising position. That, and you’d also made the fundamental error of waiting too long to make such a decision and announce yourselves.

As such, you’d had no choice but to scamper back into the darkness and pray the couple either didn’t hear the hushed shuffling above them, or that they simply left … and soon. However, given the groans and moans coming from the pair as they pawed at one another, you didn’t think they were in any rush to return to the ballroom anytime soon.

“I mean… mama says it depends on the person you’re kissing,” Eloise continued, eyebrow raised quizzically as she leaned closer to the railings as if trying to get a better look. “That if you’re with the right one then it all just feels ...”

“Natural?”

The word fell from your lips easily without a second thought.

“Perhaps,” Eloise continued, tilting her head as the couple’s kisses began to move from their lips to other parts of their bodies.

The sight was enough to make you blush, a sudden ache awakening inside you. It was an ache that had become strangely familiar to you in the past months, even if you would never confess such a thing aloud. You were a woman after all. You weren’t supposed to feel such things, let alone share that fact with other people. Maybe your future husbands, but that was ‘simply not done’ as your mother had cautioned you, whilst giving a rather harrowing talk about ‘the facts of life’. Demure, reserved, and dignified - that was what husbands wanted.

Needless to say, none of those words could be used to describe you at present, nor your best friend. It was what had drawn you two together in the first place - a recognition of a kindred spirit, desperate to survive in a world that was clearly not designed for your kind.

For the first time in whole your life, you hadn’t felt so alone. She too loathed everything society said you were supposed to enjoy - sewing, the latest fashions, making oneself appealing to the other sex. Instead, she encouraged you and your passions, sending you new books she thought you’d like about topics that interested you. She also spoke to you like an equal and wasn’t afraid to debate current issues like politics, female rights, and science. Hell, she hadn’t laughed when you had confessed that you’d be perfectly content living a life that didn’t involve a man at all (let alone as a husband). If anything, she had encouraged it.

So, years later here you were, thick as thieves with Eloise Bridgerton and not the least bit interested in any kind of future that didn’t have her in it.

“I just can’t ever picture me being like that with another person,” she continued, staring at the couple with seeming disbelief. “Especially not one of these boys that peacock themselves about the place, acting like they’re anything other than children showing off for the air-headed debutantes. It’s embarrassing honestly.”

You tried not to laugh at your friend’s visible repulsion at the sight. She had never been one to hide her feelings and her expressive face gave their true nature away every time.

“Agreed,” you murmured, eyes still focused on the display despite vocalising your disapproval. “Oh. I… That hardly looks comfortable. In fact, she rather looks like she’s in pain.”

“Well, considering the fact that he looks like he’s trying to eat her, I’m not surprised.”

“El!”

“What?” she scoffed, sitting up and finally crawling back from the edge of the railings. You followed, shuffling backwards further into the shadows and safely out of sight. Anyone who dared look up would be unable to see you from this angle. “It’s the truth. I’m merely surprised he hasn’t dislocated his jaw yet like some python and simply swallowed her, and her fortune, whole. I merely wish I could understand what drives a person to do such a thing. It isn’t exactly like one can simply look it up in a book. They all simply say that a kiss has some divine power that makes a person lose all sense. That can’t be possible.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it is.”

“Oh, really? What could possibly make you think that?”

You froze.

How could you tell her the truth? That you knew it to be possible because every time you looked at her, what you wanted most in the world was to be able to pull her into your arms and kiss her like it was the last thing you would ever do in this lifetime? That, you had long known that your feelings towards her were well passed the point of friendly?

Even now, your heart raced in your chest in a way it only ever did when she was near. The faint traces of her orange blossom perfume made your head spin and you knew you'd be smelling it hours after she had gone as you always did.

“I don’t know.” You gulped, trying not to let your warming cheeks give away your sudden train of thought. However, your mouth and your brain had never been the most co-operative of organs. They often had a way of defying one another, just like now in fact, as you opened your mouth and the words simply came tumbling out. “Maybe that’s the problem… maybe we don’t know because we have no experience. Nothing to base it on. Maybe, it’s one of those things you have to try and see for yourself… ‘find out’ as it were.”

Eloise’s eyes looked like dinner plates, they became so wide.

“What? That’s… that’s a ridiculous proposition,” she choked, her voice raising dangerously loud. However, a well-timed moan from below brought her back to her senses as she remembered just where you were and what had brought you two into this situation in the first place.

Switching back to a frantic whisper, she continued. “I … I mean - who - what… no one would agree to such a foolish idea, not when they’d think I was trying to entrap them into a marriage-“

“El-”

“-and we all know they’d be desperate to brag about it to everyone. I would be dragged down the aisle by the end of the night, if my brothers didn’t drag them outside and shoot them first-“

“El!” You reached over and took her face in your hands. Holding her still seemed to do the trick as she instantly fell silent. “Breathe. Ok? I didn’t mean with a boy, or some stranger… I … I meant…”

The words died in your throat as your mind raced to maintain in control. There were a million reasons why this was a bad idea, the first and biggest being that your friendship was the most precious and treasured thing in your life. Risking it was beyond idiotic.

You knew that that was precisely what Eloise would tell you too, if she knew what you were about to say. However, you said it anyway.

“I meant someone you trusted. Someone you knew. Someone who cared about you.”

Eloise snorted. “And who would that be then? I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I hardly have a line of suitors waiting for me, let alone any that suit those criteria-“

That was it. You couldn’t wait any longer. You kissed her.

The kiss was everything you’d been brought up to fear and avoid, but you knew that nothing in your life had ever felt so right. You hadn’t been made to want anyone other than Eloise, and you’d spent too many years trying to force yourself to believe otherwise. To believe that your mother was right, that you’d find a suitable man and feelings would grow in time. To believe that you were wrong to imagine kissing a girl rather than a boy…

Well, it was happening. It was no longer just a fantasy and… in a word? It was thrilling. The entire world stopped. The moment was breathtaking… and then it was over.

You paused, waiting with bated breath for her to react. However, moments passed by and Eloise failed to say anything - which in itself was a signal something was wrong. It took a whole minute for her to even open her eyes, let alone look at you.

Ice cold fear spread through your veins and you felt the world crumbling around you.

“I- I'm so sorry,” you choked, hastily pulling away. “I’m so sorry, I … just … I shouldn't have done that, El. Please, if you don’t say a word about this then I’ll stay away from you and you’ll never have to see me again. I promise-"

“W- what?”

Eloise blinked, suddenly waking from her stupor as you began to scramble to your feet, desperate to make your escape - amorous couple, or no. However, her grip was tight as she grabbed your hand, refusing to let you go. She was surprisingly strong.

“No, wait,” she begged, her desperation clear by the way her voice broke. “Please, just - just wait. I … I just was surprised. That’s all, Y/N. I wasn’t expecting it or to… like it. Or at least, not that much.”

“You ... liked it?”

"Yes."

You could have been knocked over with a feather at that point. Instead of rejecting you, or rebuking you, or even feeling repulsed by what you had just done, Eloise seemed almost excited as the shock wore off.

She began to smile, making the tension simply evaporate between you two. Instead, she looked almost liberated, her cheeks flushed and her lips were plumped from where you had just pressed them against your own. Several strands of her hair had also come free from their perfect coiffeur throughout the evening and yet, Eloise had never looked more perfect in your eyes.

You’d have done anything to frame that moment to preserve it forever.

“I did," she murmured. "It seems you were right after all. Perhaps it was a matter of finding the right person to kiss.”

“I was?”

“Indeed,” Eloise purred, a newfound eagerness surging within her as she reached out and pulled you back into her arms. “But, maybe we should test it one more time? Just to be sure. Any sound scientific theory must be based on evidence, after all.”

Well, who were you to argue with that?

#ithebookhoarder #masterlist #thesilentmage #bridgerton x reader #eloise bridgerton #eloise bridgerton x reader #eloise bridgerton x you #eloise bridgerton x yn #Bridgerton

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sorreysorren · 3 days

Text

what it is to be hollow

soccer was a testament to kaiser's existence.

a file was given to you, withholding information about kaiser that probably only 5 people in the world knew.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

you argued to the man at your door, one last time, that forcing someone won't prove effective. neither would sessions for just about a month. it was a desperate measure on dark’s behalf.

your words were disregarded.

and kaiser couldn't play until he went to therapy for the entirety of a month.

–––

kaiser didn't like you.

he didn't understand how talking to a stranger was going to solve all of his “problems”– as the people around him liked to call it.

of course, he wasn't going to voice his dislike for you. he knows how to act in front in front of people– he knows how to keep an image.

acting must've run in the bloodline.

he just had to pretend he was well.

you would only see what he wanted you to see– he thought he had you wrapped around his finger.

this way, he still had some form of control.

but you only smiled.

you smiled like you knew exactly what was going through his head. like you knew what was going to happen. like you knew everything about him.

– – –

it was cold in your office.

your shelves were filled with books, board games, and art supplies.

there was a mirror beside your desk, and right next to it hung a painting: a fish about to be eaten by a shark.

you asked him about himself, basic things; things you already knew. you wanted him to speak though. but he stayed silent. right now, his goal was just to make it through the hour. to just wait it out. even if it wasn’t his choice to be here.

“i can’t help you if you don’t talk”

he didn’t have to choose to open up to you because his demeanor did so involuntarily.

the little glances; when his eyes would widen for a split second; when his knuckles would tighten from how tightly he held them in a fist– you saw it all.

this was very different from the kaiser you’d seen on tv. the one who carried himself like he ruled everything around him.

and yet, in front of your eyes was hollow-like shell of a man.

right now, maybe, kaiser wasn’t a "real" person. there was no sense of self within him. he was a mess of thoughts, memories, and sensations. whatever bit of “self” that existed within him was molded by everything he went through.

maybe in different circumstances, he would’ve resorted to his cocky attitude you’d see on tv and interviews.

knowing his background, you knew he wouldn’t be opening up soon. but if you both had to be here, some use must be made out of the time, right? that was your thought process, at least. you understood not everyone wanted help, even if it was evident that they needed it.

right now, what he has is an open wound. right now, all he’s been doing is pressing a bandaid over it– a piece of cloth, even and continuing a reckless path. he’s stepped over the steps he should be taking; disinfecting, stitching, and healing.

the unfelt emotions in him eat away at his wounds.

– – –

the hour passed by, mostly in silence. the sound of your keyboard interrupted the silence every now and then. through the corner of your eye, you kept an eye on him, watching for anything.

he left as soon as the clock read 5:00 pm.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the following week, he was late by 20 minutes.

“you’re late.” you didn’t really care if he was late or not, but you wanted to get something out of it. “do these sessions get in the way of something?”

he glanced at you, “you know they don’t.”

and he’s right.

to him, this is a punishment– not being allowed to play until he’s done with this. he has nothing else to do, if not play.

i’ll make it work, he tells himself.

“i’m not here to change you, michael. there’s a difference between change and adaptation. i’m not here to judge you either. i can help you alleviate whatever you’re feeling. i can listen to you. i can give advice. but i also don’t make any decisions in your life. whether you like it or not, we are here for you.”

“my…” he trailed off, not finishing his sentence.

there was an indistinguishable expression on his face and you could almost see the way the gears twisted and turned inside his head.

he didn’t say anything about you going on a first-name basis, but he didn’t speak again, only staring at the floor, waiting for the hour to be over.

you looked at his file again.

he had a history with violence, which had you brainstorming techniques that could help with that. when agitated, there are two pathways you think he would choose.

the first is immediate violence.

the second is pushing the thoughts away. doing so aggressively will only cause them to slip through the cracks, and then resurge ten times worse.

“have you heard about compartmentalizing?” you were certain he hadn’t, but this is how you chose to proceed

you explained that when in a calmer state, he should attempt to visualize putting the thoughts in little boxes inside his head.

sure, the method wasn't perfect, and it couldn't be used forever, but it was a step forward

he thought it was stupid.

he thought it was as stupid as the fish painting on your wall, but then again maybe that wasn’t the best comparison since it did catch his eye after all.

another method: EFT

before he left, you handed him a brochure that highlighted how it works.

during EFT, individuals tap certain points on their body – similar to the points used during acupuncture, to send signals to the part of the brain that controls stress.

on the margins, you recommended the side of the palm and the collarbone– this was closest to his neck and his tattoo (roughly 2 inches below it).

when he skimmed over it on his way out, he assumed it was some sort of placebo bullshit.

he didn’t see how this was going to help him, but then again, he wasn’t seeing a lot of things.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

“ –the wound will never really be gone, but it won’t ache in the way it currently does.”

you were explaining how cooperation on his behalf will benefit him.

it was the third week, and there wasn’t much time left. you had been aware that a mere month wouldn’t be enough for effective progress, but you hadn’t expected time to pass so quickly.

here you were, unaware of whether anything you’ve said for the past few weeks has stuck to his head or not. you did know, though, that you’ve somehow gotten to proximity with the line which figuratively served as a barrier between you guys,

the next thing you asked would either bring progress or fuck up everything.

“a lot of people in your situation would decide to kill themselves” you started, “why haven't you?”

his head shot up, before going to its previous position. he thought he must’ve misheard you because what kind of person just asks that? sure, it did make him think, and– it made him think.

it made him think, which made him realize he had no answer. maybe he wouldn’t have said it out loud, but he would’ve had an answer in his head. why hasn’t he?

was it soccer? it had to be.

He lifted his gaze to look at you, and you were already looking at him. You smiled knowingly.

yeah, your office was cold, but you reeked of warmth– and he thinks if he knew what it was like to be human, he would relish in it.

the thought made him sick.

– – –

if he doesn’t believe it, it doesn’t exist.

that was why it was crucial to find a reason; if he wanted to be “human” that is. and he does. you could tell.

the next week, the last week, he was in your office, for probably the last time.

he never said it out loud, but he had a new goal.

the facade he once had– the mask he once wore, was fractured. it was what he sculpted throughout his time in bastard munchen. it was broken, as now his image has been stained.

but now, he will not only rebuild the mask, or build to cover the exterior, but rather build a skull, and a sternum; he will build what makes him physically human.

he will learn to function with his head, his heart, and his bones.

he finally engaged in conversation. you talked about hypotheticals and “what ifs” and turning them into reality.

if you didn’t care about that, then you wouldn’t be human

what you believe to be impossible– make it possible.

“you're alright, kaiser.” it's an observation. he wasn't sure what you meant by it. you think you weren't sure either.

you also see he truly is resilient.

he’s made it this far, after all.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

a/n: I tried not to make him too ooc... I envisioned him with the mindset he had when he was younger and was arrested,, where he looked like he'd completely given up on everything (so none of that cocky facade bs) I TRIED TO DO HIM JUSTICE.

taglist: @huaposh @bloodypaintersgf @gigiiiiislife @wishiknewwhatiwasdoingwithmylife

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tojisun · 2 days

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this is prelude of that angst ghoap x reader (or, johnny and you sleep together for a secret third thing—your mutual love for simon).

you played with the ends of your shirt, trembling fingers feeling numb. it’s already cold outside, and your thin sweater isn’t cutting it—the draft pierces through the fabric, razing your aching body with a sharp chill. still, you couldn’t make yourself come back in, your mind weighed down by the turmoil bubbling in your heart.

you don’t know when the hesitation began, but it settled deep in the crevices of your ribs, making home in the spaces and ridges, bloating until it is all that you are aware of.

it stings.

this feeling you’re carrying, unnamed at most, stings. it was a sharp pain that never left, stabbing into muscle until it feels like a constant bruise. like skin welting, unable to find rest with the constant pressure.

you try to trace when it all began, but you know you don’t truly need to look further—the realization happened on a quiet sunday morning, when the lieutenant stumbled into the mess hall and nodded at you in lieu of a greeting.

you don’t know what it was exactly that made you realize—was it the sun, hitting his masked face ever so softly, making his eyes sparkle like they were made of agate? or was it the quiet way he set about preparing morning drinks for the squad? coffee for mactavish, tea for garrick, and, oddly, tepid water for the captain. or was it the way he murmured your name when he asked if there was something else you would want? another cup of your coffee? or would you want to drink tea, with milk and honey just like you prefer?

you didn’t even know he knew what you liked to drink—mactavish was your closest acquaintance, and you’re sure that he doesn’t even know anything about you past your focal interest in jigsaw puzzles.

(it’s the only thing he gifts you for your birthdays. you learned quick that this is his way to tell you that you mean so much to him.

in return, johnny is the first person you show your completed puzzles to.)

you told your lieutenant that you want the tea, if it was alright with him. he said it was no bother, and you sat there, watching this boogeyman that has people cowering in fear and even pissing their trousers in their terror make you a cup of warm tea, fluffed with milk.

he placed it in front of you with a quiet grunt.

thanks, you said.

of course, he replied.

you like ghost, you realized as you breathed in the wafting aroma. you have loved him for a while, in fact, and now you are unable to take the admission back.

you can’t put the toothpaste back into the tube, your mother used to say about situations like this. tea stains when it is spilled.

“god,” you murmur to yourself, pressing your palms to your eyes as though by doing so it could smother the familiar prickling feeling of the tears rising, ready to spill. “god.”

mactavish noticed just within three days after your own realization.

“i’m sorry,” you murmur, your lips wobbling as you try to tamp down the tears. “johnny, you know i didn’t mean to. please—”

“of course,” he says, cutting you off. his lips tug up in that heartbreakingly vulnerable of a smile that has your heart twinging with guilt. “he’s a good man, isn’t he? so really, it’s no shocker here that you like him too.”

he doesn’t say love. he couldn’t say it, not with the weight of his own denial of his feelings.

“yeah,” you warble out. “he’s a good man.”

johnny laughs and pulls you in his arms, covering you with his warm embrace.

the silence settles, and the cold air hangs, and you and johnny know that this realization of both of your heart’s desires is just the start of an agonizing journey.

(he kisses you three weeks later.

“please,” it’s his turn to say, his heartache vivid in the turmoil in his eyes.

“of course,” you echo his words back to him.)

#….idk if u noticed but ghost says ‘of course’ too when talking to reader which is a lil poke bc parallels :’>#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #ghost x soap #ghoap x reader #<- master tag of the mini series #suns #q

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bekaroth-reads · 2 days

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Baldur’s Gate’s 3 Characters x Reader/Tav Misunderstanding

[This is basically the situation of, “As my partner-“ “Wait, we’re partners?!” Might add more characters later. Proof read but quickly. Sorry if there are mistakes]

Astarion- The two of you were planning out a way to get into a tomb that had some sort of artifact that Astarion insisted was important. “Important,” was, in fact, the only thing that he was using to describe it. This was something that was causing the most problems as you didn’t want to go through the danger of it all for something that might have been nothing more than entertainment for him. When you tried to ask him to give you more details, he snidely scolded, “Listen, as your partner-“

“I’m your partner?!” You interrupt before he could say more.

Immediately, he covered his mouth and his cheeks with his hand, embarrassment flooding in after what he had just said as he turned away. While he could usually recover from almost anything, this struck the line of being too intimate for him to handle. In fact, you were both so flustered and embarrassed from the whole thing that you had to push the planning of everything for the excursion at least a week out. It’s hard to plan adventures when you can’t even look the other person in the eye.

Gale- He thought that you were overworking yourself; and, if Gale Dekarios of all people thought someone was overworking, then it was pretty bad. Then again, you were important to him, so he was also inclined to mother-hen over everything you did. When he thought the time was right, he pulled you aside to gently scold, “I know this is very important. But, as your partner, I must insist-“

“We’re partners?!” You exclaim.

He felt awful as he sees this as him trying to force you into a relationship that you might not have wanted. And, given his history with Mystra, it makes him feel like he has taken on her role, and it makes him nauseous. You will need to take some time to get him to understand it was simply a misunderstanding and that you do want to have a relationship with him.

Raphael- He insisted on taking you to find, “better,” clothing. When you got over the initial insult of the indication that your current choice in clothes was bad, you questioned why he was so adamant on doing so.

“Because, I am a public figure. I cannot have my partner-“ He started to explain before you interrupted,

“I’m your partner?!”

This seemed to entertained him to no end. “Why of course, Little Mouse. Hurry along now.” He hummed as he gave you a tap on the nose before ushering your stunned self out the door.

Haarlep- The two of you finally had an evening to yourselves. They were sitting on the end of your bed in a soft nightshirt, reading a book. It wasn’t even that they were expressly interested in the book, but between all of the scheming with Raphael and succubus work, they couldn’t remember the last time that they had the chance to do something so simple as reading. They gave a contented sigh as they lied back, their horns bumping against your legs where you were sitting farther up on the bed. Without much thought, they sighed, “I am so glad that you are mine.”

“Wait! Are we… partners? Actual partners?” You question in surprise.

They put down their book and turned themselves to lie on their stomach so that they could look at you with gleaming eyes, your reaction seemingly tickling them.

“Well, of course! I’m never this relaxed with anyone but you.” They sat up a bit and motioned to what they had on. “I mean- just look at me! I even put clothes on for you! That’s not something that happens everyday, my sweet.”

Gortash- To say things were tense would be an understatement. Enver Gortash and you had tried to kill each other about a month ago, and you were both nearly successful. It had taken you these past three weeks to heal, and the whole time the both of you were sure the other was going to try to sweep in at any moment and finish the job. Or, you were, and it didn’t take too much imagination to see his situation as the same. You were both in a similar state when your respective parties had broken up your fight.

Now you found out that you would have to work with him publicly for a time. It wasn’t something that you were looking forward to, but it was necessary to get answers for certain things and create opportunities for your team. You were in the hall that this party was being held at; it was nothing fancy, no dancing, no meal- just a simple gathering for some of the upper class to speak with each other and perhaps have a few drinks. You were beyond surprised when Gortash connected eyes with you and instead of an angry or begrudging response, he greeted you with one of the brightest smiles you had ever seen on the man.

“There they are now! The person of the hour!” He walked over to you and wrapped an arm around your waist. There were some compliments and coos of how darling you both looked together, and how you must have been a great match. Soon after the group walked away to give you two a few moments of privacy.

“You said that we were a couple?” You whisper-yelled at him.

“Of course. Because we are.” He whispered back as he leaned closer to purr into your ear, “We did almost kill each other after all.” Gortash gave you a peck on the cheek before moving you both to mingle with the other little groups of people around the room.

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rainylana · 22 hours

Text

“It’s just a cut.” Part three!

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

warnings: physical abuse, mentions of injuries and wounds, emotional turmoil, angst and lots of tears, readers mother is in jail, language, hospitals, reader and eddie are at heavy odds, mentions of betrayal and broken trust. let me know if i missed anything! original request by @h-ness1944

note: i hope everyone is doing okay! enjoy this new instillation of the series, and let me know what you thought about it! this particular series seems to take a toll, so please share your thoughts! it means the world to me!!:) as of right now, this is the final chapter. the ending isn’t necessarily a cliffhanger, but it’s not exactly a solid ending, either! hope you enjoy!

You had shut the world out and everyone in it, refusing to speak or comply with anyone. You were throwing a tantrum, you knew that, but you were too heartbroken to care. Eddie had betrayed you, the one person you loved most in the world had done what you had asked not to do. You wouldn’t talk to the cops. You begged Eddie not to, begged him to keep his silence, but it was clear his feelings hadn’t changed. He couldn’t do it.

He told the cops everything. From every bruise and wound he had tended, to the aches and cracks in your heart from harsh words. Of course, the police wanted to hear it from you, but from the extent of your injuries, they knew Eddie wouldn’t have been making it up.

The tried to talk to you multiple times, so did the nurses and your surgeon. Wayne tried, Eddie begged. The kids came in, so did Robin and Steve, but it was to no avail. It felt as if the whole world knew your secret. You felt nothing but shame and embarrassment, and the worst of all, betrayed and alone.

Your dad had been notified and was on the way, but the last thing you wanted was for family drama. You wanted to rot in that bed, and if you had it your way, you surely would. It had been almost two days since you last spoke to anyone. They’d given up, but not Eddie. He was determined to make you understand. He couldn’t loose you. A life without you in was one he didn’t want to have to live.

And as far as your mom went, you felt cold and empty. You didn’t know why. You didn’t care about your injuries, you’d been hurt before. You didn’t care about the mean things she had said before she pushed you down the stairs. You simply just didn’t care anymore. You didn’t want to see her, but you wished everything could go back to the way it was, as sick as it seemed. You were too hurt, too betrayed to feel anything else. All you felt was grief, and a horrible ache in your stomach.

You were to be on bedrest for the next three weeks so your wounds could heal properly, and you couldn’t wait to get the bandage off your nose so you could breath again. You looked terrible. As the days sat in your bruises began to change shape and color, your face decorated with marks of angry purple and red shades.

The only thing that could be heard in the room was the ticking of the clock, which happened to be running five minutes slow. You could barely move, only laying flat on your back with your head turned toward the window. There were so many damn flowers everyone you felt as if you were living in a greenhouse.

Eddie had resorted to sitting outside your room. You’d made it very clear you didn’t want to see him, but he refused to leave you completely. He’d come in every now and then, asking if you needed anything, tearing up with another I’m sorry. He never got a response.

If he loved you like he said he would, he wouldn’t have betrayed you. He wouldn’t have broken your trust like he did. He wouldn’t have turned your entire world upside down and ripped out your heart. You wondered if you’d ever be able to look at him the same again.

•

“Ed, don’t you think you should go home and rest?” Wayne stood behind Eddie, watching him as he stared at stuffed animals in the gift shop of the hospital.

“I’m fine.” His voice was gruff and cold, almost matching yours the last time you spoke to him.

He was indeed, not fine, not in the slightest. He was completely pale and malnourished, hadn’t eaten in days or taken a shower. He hadn’t slept in almost five days, not properly, anyways. The heart in his chest that kept him alive was breaking second by second, and he wondered if it would completely shatter inside of him.

“Don’t start that with me.” Wayne comes up to the side of his nephew, glancing down at the teddy bear in his hands. “You’re not fine. You need sleep. I’ll stay with y/n. You go home and rest.”

“Wayne.” Eddie stressed, placing down the teddy bear, twirling around toward the exit of the shop. “Stop. Leave me alone.” He walked as quickly as he could out of the store, ignoring the have a good day from the check out lady. He walked with angry, heavy steps, so quickly that his hair bounced with each step of his boots. He could hear his uncle trailing behind him.

“I can’t leave her, Wayne.” He stopped in front of the elevator, pushing the button with a ringed finger. “If you want to go home go ahead, but I’m staying put.” The elevator opened and he was walking inside, leaning against the metal wall with crossed arms. “Are you coming or not?”

Of course, Wayne followed, not ready to give up on his son.

“You’re just as stubborn as she is, you know?” The old man said gruffly, the hot temperature of the elevator making him sweat. “You’re no good to her like that. You’re dead on your feet, boy.”

Eddie stared at the floor and ignored every word, at least tried to, and thought about you staring at the wall, the same spot that you had for the last two days. Would you ever speak to him again? Was any of this worth it? Would the two of you ever be the same? He knew the answer already, whether the two of you were together or not, nothing would be the same in your relationship. That was inevitable.

•

Your nose killed you, your face aching with the weight of your tears that had your bones throbbing with pain. Your shoulders shook with the weight of your sobs, your mouth clamped shut as to not alert anyone that you were awake. It was almost four in the morning and you’d awaken up from another bad dream. You couldn’t sleep no matter how hard you tried.

You were just so sad. You missed your mom, you’d come to that conclusion. You missed her and wanted to be home. You wanted to see your dad. You wanted to be in your own bed. But most of all, you wanted Eddie to hold you in his arms, wanted him to tell you that everything would be okay and that he loved you. You craved him more than anything.

But where did you both stand? The last thing you told him was that you’d never speak to him again, you’d threatened to break up with him. Yet he had stayed. He hadn’t left at all. Or had he? You hadn’t seen him almost all day. The thought made you sob, hoping to god that he was still outside your room.

You looked to the door, flexing your leg. You were barely able to stand with help from the nurses, you surely wouldn’t make it out there on your own. You whimpered and fell back into the bed, covering your face with your good arm, the other now in a cast, and cried brokenly.

“Y/n?”

You jumped and uncovered your face, eyes widening at the familiar face. “Wayne.” You cried, holding out your arm. You broke down into heavy tears at the sight of him as he shut the door, quickly hurrying over to you.

“Hey, hey, shh.” He sat on the bed and scooted to sit beside you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, pulling you carefully into his side. “I got ya, kid. You’re okay.”

You bawled into his shirt, the comforting smell of cheap cologne and cigarette smoke brining a sense of calm over you. Your body shook in his arms, and you cried for everything in that moment, like you were mourning for the entire world.

“It’s okay, darlin. You’re okay.” His face watched etched with concern, have debating whether or not he should go get Eddie from the chapel, but he knew he’d be sound asleep. He shouldn’t leave you, he decided, holding you closer and letting you cry out everything you needed to.

“I don’t know-” Your breath hitched, fingers fisting at his shirt. “what to do.”

The weight of your sobs made it difficult to understand you completely. He kissed the top of your head, shushing you gently.

“I’m so..s-scared.” You whimpered, face burning with a broken ache. You were becoming inconsolable, hysterical with your broken heart, you didn’t even hear the door open up.

“Wayne?” Eddie’s eyes were wide at the sight of your distress, freezing him in his spot. Wayne looked from you to Eddie, knowing that it was his nephew that you really needed. He nodded him over, gently trading him spots as Eddie quickly and carefully swapped spots to hold you close.

“Shh, shh, baby, baby.” He coos, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you to his chest. You’re not cold or distant, you relish the scent of him, bawling into his chest like a lost little girl. “I’m here. I’m here.”

He was so relieved to hold you, so happy that you were allowing him to comfort you. You’d probably hate him again in the morning, refuse to speak to him probably, but this, this was a step forward. He heard the click of the door shut and he was left alone with you, kissing the shell of your ear. “I’m here, baby.”

•

You were left with hiccups and an awkward silence that neither of you knew how to fill. He continued to hold you, almost two hours later. The sun was beginning to rise and you knew the nurses would be making their rounds to your room soon. You weren’t as relaxed into him as you were, now tense and unsure where to keep your arm.

He felt the same way. He rubbed his hand up your arm, trying to keep connected with you, but the awkwardness in the room continued to grow heavy, your tears having long since stopped. He didn’t know what to say and neither did you.

You couldn’t help but groan, your head killed you from your breakdown.

“What’s wrong?” He looked down at your face. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” You said hoarsely, bringing your shaky hand up to your nose. “Just my nose. My head is killing me.”

He sat up, examining the darker shades of your face. “Do you want me to get a nurse?”

You shook your head quickly. “No, I’m okay.” You we’re tired of them pestering you every five minutes with medicine in little plastic cups, trying to get you to use your legs, despite the fact the doctor wanted you on bedrest.

You held your face and he watched you, swallowing dryly as he tried to find words. There was so many things he wanted to say, but would you listen? He got up and walked to the window, peeking out the blinds at the sun that was beginning to rise. He stretched awkwardly, a crick in his neck that made his own head hurt, too.

You looked at his back, trying your hardest not to cry. You had the urge to apologize, but did you have anything to apologize for? Was this your fault? Eddie was clearly suffering, but so were you.

“I’m sorry.” You blurted out. Sorry for what exactly, you didn’t know. You couldn’t forgive him, could you? Could you forgive him for the way everyone was looking at you now? Could you forgive the fact that your mom was in jail?

He twirled around, eyes narrowing in confusion at your words. “For what?”

You gulped, not able to meet his eyes. “I don’t know.” I’m sorry you’re in pain. You could be sorry for that. You still loved him, after all, despite everything that happened.

“Do you hate me?” He asked, looking toward your bed. “For telling?”

It felt so back and forth. You were so sure of your feelings one minute, then completely changed the next. “I don’t hate you.” You answer honestly, voice dry and cracked. “But It’s hard to look at you.”

He nodded once briefly. He understood the feeling. It was your turn then, to look at him, finally taking in just how rough he looked. His hair was matted and greasy, desperate to be washed. He was exhausted completely. “Have you went home at all?” You ask, halfway sat up in your bed, good hand at your stitched side.

He gulped, shaking his head.

You frowned. “Eddie,” You began. “You should go home. I’m okay.”

He finally turned away from the window, standing their awkwardly in the middle of the floor. “Do you want me to go?”

No. No, you didn’t. But it wasn’t fair to make him stay just for your sake. He looked like he was going to pass out any second. He needed food and rest. “I want you to take care of yourself.” You answer. “You don’t have to stay here on my account.”

He gave you a look then. I want you to take care of yourself. He wanted the same for you, yet he was the bad guy. He furrowed his brows, licking his fry lips. “Okay.”

He made it halfway across the room before you stopped him again. “I’m sorry, Eddie.” You say, closing your eyes.

He sighs that time, becoming irritated himself. “Why, y/n? Why are you sorry? There’s nothing for you to be sorry for.”

You shake your head, nose throbbing. “I don’t- I don’t know. I just feel like I should say it, so I am.”

His hand was on the doorknob, and he rested his forehead against the door. “You don’t know what this has been like for me. I had to tell them, y/n. I understand you’re mad, but you don’t need to apologize. You have no reason to.”

Your eyes start to tear up, and you can feel the damp feeling of your bandage against your nose. “You didn’t have to.” You look to the wall again. Your safe spot. “But I know you felt like you did.”

He scoffed without humor, looking back at you like you were crazy. His eyes were matching yours with tears. “I didn’t have to? Is that some sort of joke? Do you not realize the situation you’re in? You could have died, y/n. You almost died.”

You cringed at his words and clamped a hand over your mouth. “But mom is in jail now. She’s going to go to prison.”

“Good riddance!” He couldn’t help but raise his voice, an angry tear spilling over his face. “Fuck her! I hope she rots in there! I don’t care how upset that makes you, y/n, it’s true. She’s a shit mom and deserves what she got!”

You sobbed with each word that spat, glaring at him over your fingers with a look that could kill. “That’s not true! She’s my mom, Eddie! I’m okay!”

“No, you’re not!” He marched over and pointed his finger at you. “You flew through a fuckin’ window and tore your stomach to shreds!” He took a deep breath, that soon had him releasing a sob. “Do you know how scared I was waiting for you to come out of surgery? The doctors didn’t know if you’d pull through, y/n. Do you have any idea how fucking messed up in the head I am now?” He was weeping freely, pacing across the room.

“Don’t you dare say you’re okay.” He said sternly. “Do you really care that little for yourself? Do you hate yourself so much that you don’t care for your own safety? Do you want to die that badly? Well, I won’t watch it. I won’t sit here and watch you wilt away. I can’t, baby.”

You were blubbering and carrying on, saying things that couldn’t understand. “I’m sorry.” He managed to hear through your broken sobs. “I’m so sorry, Eddie!”

You looked up at him with a bloodied nose, hot tears and snot pooling at your cupid’s bow. “I’m sorry that I’ve hurt you so bad, Eddie. Please, please don’t leave me!”

“Y/n,” He crumbled, going to you. “Stop apologizing, you silly girl.” No matter the fight, he would always go to you. “Aren’t you listening to me? You haven’t done anything. It’s your mother. She’s the one who’s hurt you, hurt us.”

He held your face and wiped the blood from your nose. “Please, forgive me, baby. I’m sorry. I promise, I won’t ever let you get hurt again. I’ll protect you if you let me, please let me.”

He’s kissing your hands, moving up your good arm and to your cheek. “God, I missed you, baby.”

“I love you.” You cried, gripping at his shoulder. “I’ll forgive you if you forgive me.”

I love you. He sobbed at the words. You still loved him. He said it back lovingly, muttering the words he forgave you as you said the same. Neither of you realized just how hard it would be to move forward, but that was the thing about love, it conquered above all else.

Over time, you’d come to terms about your mom. Your dad would move down to Hawkins until you graduated, where eventually you and Eddie would have your own place. The abuse you had endured would be something that would always stick with you, but Eddie was your rock at the end of the day, and he’s the one that got you through it. Love always conquered all.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #stranger things season four #joseph quinn #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson angst #eddie the brave #eddie angst #it’s just a cut

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 3 days

Text

You Call It Madness But I Call It Love

Chapter 17: How Could I Ever Forget?

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy. This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter seventeen of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 9.1K

Warnings: References to sex, Cursing, Angst, Past Violence reference, Soft Ben, Fluff, Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, completely a little OOC, Soldier Boy is really all you need as a warning.

Note: This is told from the Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Additional Warning: Soldier Boy is again, super OC and fluffy in this chapter. If you do not like that, you probably shouldn't read this?

****************************************

Guide

Rosemary's Phone

Reader's Phone

*****************************************

You sigh softly as you wake, the light from under your curtains illuminates your bedroom and sends a warm glow over your bed. You had never been a morning person. The only motivation you ever had to get out of bed was the hope of a cup of strong coffee waiting for you in the kitchen. But as you lay there, mind still a little cloudy from sleep you can't help but think that something feels different, that you've forgotten something important.

Maybe a shower will make me remember.

Instinctively you start to move towards the edge of your bed to get up, but something heavy tightens its grip around your chest making it impossible to move from its embrace.

What?

“Where are you going?” Ben’s voice is slurred and muffled against the pillow behind you.

The events of the night before begin to surface from the sweet haze of sleep, Ben showing up, you yelling at him, him bringing you lavender and saying everything you always wanted him to, and finally him holding you while you cried. You still weren’t sure that last part happened. That or Ben's ability to open his heart to you and tell you what he was feeling rather than reverting back into the cold attitude he adopted as Soldier Boy. In fact, you hadn't seen one shred of Soldier Boy yesterday, you'd only seen Ben, and deep down you hoped that you'd never see Soldier Boy ever again.

“Stay.” He murmurs, pulling your back into his muscular chest. “Please.”

His body is wrapped around yours, shielding you from your door, face buried in your hair, while one arm rests around your abdomen and the other is somewhere above your head bracing against the headboard. It feels natural and it makes anxiety electrify your veins.

Because what if he was going to leave again?

You turn your head to look over your shoulder.

Ben’s head is laying on the same pillow yours is, his eyes are closed, and his hair is falling forward into his peaceful face. Deep down another memory of this exact scenario surfaces, of you waking up before him when you were children and wishing that he wanted this as much as you did. Of course now he said he had wanted you the entire time time, and that he wasn’t going to leave, but deep down you dreaded what would happen when he opened his eyes.

Would he go cold again? Push me away? Say that he didn't mean any of it?

You try not to think that. You wanted him to mean all of it. You wanted him to fix it, to make it like it was before, make everything like the morning you woke up on his chest and he smiled down at you like you were everything he ever wanted. You wanted every day of your life to start that way, to be fused with wonder, love, and expectation. That morning you had woken up on his chest after your birthday, was one of the happiest memories you had, but what followed those few moments of happiness tore your heart out.

He said he wanted to fix this, that he wanted to be with me. You bite the inside of your cheek. He’s lied before. The thought fills you with dread.

“You’re thinking too much.” Ben sighs opening one green eye to stare at you. It’s a light green from sleep, but just as piercing as usual.

“I am not.”

Sometimes you though that Ben was psychic, because he was always able to read you, the same way that you always had been able to read him. Even when you were kids Ben was always able to tell what you were thinking, not to mention he always had a habit of showing up whenever you needed him.

Ben chuckles and opens his other eye. “I know you better than anyone else Sweetheart.”

“Maybe a little.” You admit.

“Hmm.”

You turn in his arms so you can look at his face and Ben adjusts his arm to drop over the curve of your hip, gently brushing his fingertips against you the base of your spine. But you don’t smile.

“What is it?” He whispers moving his face closer with a soft smile that tugs at something in your chest. “You can tell me.”

“You know.” You don't meet his eyes, the sour feeling in your chest growing with your confession as you level your gaze at his chin.

“Oh.” Ben's smile drops into a frown.

“It’s a little weird. That you’re here and you want to be-“

“I do.”

“I know. But I keep waiting for you to leave again, for you to push me away.” You hate that you have to say it out loud, but he might as well know what you're thinking. He needs to understand how much he hurt you and how worried you were about that. It was worse to keep it inside. That's what you had been doing for the better part of 40 years and now that it was all out in the open you did feel a little better, but it still hung on your heart.

“I don’t want to leave you-"

“I know that. Or at least a part of me does. The other part…” You trail off.

Ben is quiet for a minute, before he brings his hand up to brush away the strands of your hair that have fallen into your eyes. “Do you still want me here?” His expression turns pained when he asks it, voice barely above a whisper.

You look at him, tracing the strong jaw you’d memorized, the unruly brown hair that you always wished to run you fingers through, the proud arch of his brow, and the gentle bow of his lips. “Yes.” You answer honestly. "I do."

Ben looks relieved. "Then I won't leave."

The weight of those words grounds you to this moment. He wants to be here. He doesn't want to go.

"How'd you sleep?" His right hand is still tracing your spine in smooth comforting circles over the back of your soft t-shirt.

"Good. Did you sleep?"

"Better than I have in forty years."

"I figured." You smile faintly. You allow your hands to rest on his chest, just over his heart between you so you can feel the steady beat against your fingertips. It solidified the fact that he was here with you. You stop the urge to trace your finger across his muscles, but instead focus on the warmth that soaks through his shirt into the palms of your hands. "Probably should get a little more sleep, those dark circles look like bruises." You trace the prominent purple marks that curve beneath his eyes.

You think about everything Ben told you about the lab that he was a prisoner in, all the experiments and torture he went through believing that he deserved it.

He didn't. You think to yourself as you search his face, noting again that Ben looks the same, but also different. I wonder if I'm the same way. Then again I didn't go through forty years of unrelenting torture in a Russian Lab.

The thought makes anger surge against your skin. When you were with Countess you had felt a little guilty about losing control, but now you reveled in it. She deserved more than what I did to her. If I had known what she did to Ben, I would have made it hurt.

You think about Noir, the TNT Twins, and MindStorm. You had been happy to lose touch with them after everything that happened with Ben, happy to leave behind the life you had when you were on Payback, but now you weren't sure. Ben telling you how they betrayed him made you reconsider your life in the shadows, made you reconsider turning your back on your powers. Because they deserved the same thing you did to Countess.

"I was trying to, but somebody woke me up." Ben rolls his eyes at you, bringing you out of your thoughts of your teammates. "I remember you hating mornings as much as I do. Why are you awake?”

"I do hate mornings, but coffee makes them tolerable. Plus, I really need to take a shower."

"Oh good. I didn’t want to say anything but you really stink." Ben teases with a smirk.

"Wow." You scoff. "Big talk coming from the guy who smells like reefer, whiskey, and week old motel."

"You’re right I should probably take a shower too. But I’ll let you go first. Seems like the gentlemanly thing to do." Ben's smirk coupled with the mischievous glint in his eyes makes your heart warm. It was familiar in the best way. You didn't realize how much you missed it, how much you missed him. You'd tried to forget of course, how much you needed him in your life, how much you longed for him to be with you, and how much your friendship meant to you.

"Oh are you calling yourself a gentleman now? Because-"

“I am as much a gentleman as you are a lady and we both know that it’s a close tie.”

“Uh-huh sure.” You roll your eyes. "Maybe I would have been a lady if someone hadn't gotten me kicked out of the Dawson School For Girls."

"I never heard a thank you for that." Ben shrugs. His hand continues to circle at the base of your spine, his touch trailing warmth up your back. You weren't prepared for his touch to do the same thing to you that it did forty years ago.

It made you forget everything else, but him and it scared you. Because again you could feel yourself opening up to him, could feel yourself beginning to depend on him being there with you.

"I'll be sure to write you a thank you note."

“Hmm." Ben breathes. "Don’t use all the hot water.”

“Since this is my apartment and I pay for the water I feel that I should be entitled to use most of it.”

“Are you saying that I have to write you a check to take a shower?”

“Yep.”

“You’re fucking annoying.” Ben rolls his eyes at you playfully.

“I know. I’ve got forty years of sarcasm to make up for, so, might as well get used to it.” You smirk tapping him on the nose.

“I look forward to it.” Ben smiles back.

You try to get out of your bed again, but Ben tightens his grip on your waist pulling you back against his chest so that your faces are inches apart.

“Ben, I can't take a shower if you're holding me hostage." You joke pushing against his chest.

Ben leans his forehead against yours, making the next taunt vanish from your mind. “I missed you.”

You smile despite your mixed feelings over the two of you and the past forty years. It was hard to hold on to the fear of him pushing you away when he was holding you so close to him and gazing at you the same way he did the morning after he gave you everything you wanted.

“I missed you too.” You reply, gently smoothing a wrinkle in the front of his t-shirt.

It wasn’t a lie. You missed him more than life itself. Not just because you loved him, but because he was your best friend. He knew you inside and out, better than anyone else.

His gaze drops to your lips then flicks up to your eyes and you know what he wants but you're not ready.

“Ben-“ You breathe as he shifts his face closer. “I want to take this slow. I need us to take this slow.”

“I know.” He sighs, but then the edge of his mouth twitches. “That’s why I didn’t make a joke about saving hot water and taking a shower together.”

“Much appreciated.”

“Mhmm. It was difficult not to.” Ben pauses, his expression turns serious. “I’m going to make this right I promise. I’m going to fix this.” It wasn't the first time he'd said it, but it was nice to hear again.

The determination in his voice makes you hopeful. It made you understand that he wasn’t going to give up, even if that meant waiting for you to be ready. He was showing a considerable amount of restraint. The Soldier Boy version of Ben was not gentle or patient, but it made you feel special, as if it was only you that Ben reserved this part of himself for.

“I know.”

“I love you.” His hand comes to cup your cheek, bright green eyes searching yours earnestly.

“I love you too.”

Ben's thumb gently traces across your cheekbone. “Maybe don’t take a shower.”

“You said I stunk.” You reply with a snort, leaning your face into his touch.

“You don’t. I actually think you smell a little like me right now.”

“Oh great-“

It wasn’t that he smelled bad. Ben still smelled like his shampoo and aftershave, but there were a few other smells, all of which were stale, and ones that you attributed to the motel room Butcher made him stay in.

I can’t believe Butcher just left.

You hadn't asked Ben how he got him to leave or really why Butcher was so eager to help Ben get out of Russia.

“I like it. Plus that means you'd have to go and I don't want you to go yet." Ben’s voice softens.

Your eyes widen with his confession.

"Stay.” He whispers. The vulnerability in his eyes is back, striking you full on in the chest. You weren’t used to that, used to him being so open about wanting you, about wanting to be with you. Or really his want to do something so intimate without having sex.

"Okay." You relent and he pulls you closer.

Your hands drift up into his hair before you can stop them, rustling through the chocolate strands, smiling as Ben sighs and presses his head into your right shoulder.

And as conflicted you are about all of this, it does something to you, makes a piece of yourself fit back together that you thought you lost long ago, because you saw that Ben was trying. He was making an effort to fix all of this. And you really hoped that he could.

*****************************************

When you get out of the shower Ben isn't in your bedroom and the dread comes roaring back like an old enemy.

Did he leave?

The thought is immediate, followed by how empty your bedroom looks without him in it.

Shit. How can I be so dependable on him being in here already? Why am I doing this to myself again?

"Ben?" You say cautiously, shaking out your wet hair around your shoulders onto your soft t-shirt.

"Out here." Ben shouts from the kitchen.

The amount of relief you hear when he answers in his warm timbre again makes you anxious, because you hated how much your body responded to him and how quickly you had reinserted him into your life. It was like your heart wanted to break again.

You had opted to put the same clothes on that you had been wearing before because the sweatpants and t-shirt were preferable for a lazy morning and you weren't expecting to go anywhere today.

Well, not really. Then again I might have to go talk to Rosemary. How do I tell her that her dad is back and he showed up at my apartment? Or better yet, how do I tell her that he spent the night?

You press your lips together.

I mean I didn't sleep with him, but I did sleep with him and I don’t think she's going to be ecstatic that he's back in my life. Or our lives? Is she going to actually want him in her life?

You think about what Ben said about not leaving and his want to stay with you.

How am I going to explain any of this to her? She's just going to say that I forgave him and not listen to me. She's just so damn stubborn.

Another thought crosses your mind just as quickly.

How am I going to tell Ben that he’s a dad?

You had considered that exact question in the past, when you wondered what would have happened if Ben hadn’t died. If you would have told him that you were pregnant and if he would have even cared. Especially after everything he said that night and everything he did.

And now that he was back and said he didn’t want to leave, you weren’t sure how to tell him he was a dad. He was still trying to get used to living in the present, not to mention you were still trying to get used to him wanting to be there with you and the idea that he loved you.

But I can’t just avoid Rosemary. She needs to know this, needs to know that he’s back. Why is my life so complicated?

Ben's reply is followed by a loud crashing noise and some muffled curses, that draw you out of your thoughts about your daughter.

"Are you okay?" You run out of your bedroom into the hallway, but stop in shock just as you enter the edge of your living room. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Come on you stupid, fucking thing!" Ben shouts. He’s standing in your kitchen, holding your coffeemaker in a chokehold against his chest, and aggressively jabbing his finger against the digital interface.

“Wait stop! You’re going to break it! And I’ll never forgive you if you break Sully!” You rush over to where he's standing in your kitchen, taking the machine from him and placing it back on the counter. It looks okay, but not having coffee this morning was not an option for you. Not having coffee after the night you'd had meant that someone in the apartment was going to die and it wasn't going to be you.

“Sully?” Ben asks confused.

“The coffeemaker.” You begin to hook it up and type in the normal settings you use, before going to look through your cabinets for the bag of coffee grounds.

I know I still have some in here somewhere.

“You named your coffeemaker?”

“He looks like an Sully." You shrug as you look over at him with a smile.

You didn't tell him that it was Lou that named the coffeemaker after you watched Monster's Inc. with her and she imprinted on the closest blue object.

"And what are you doing?” You ask. The smell of the coffee grounds gives you a jolt of energy as you scoop out the correct amount for the machine.

Ben watches you go through the steps. “I wanted to make you coffee.”

The thought was surprising, given that Ben had never made you coffee, ever. Whenever he woke up at you apartment all those mornings you both either went for coffee at the café down the street, or you made coffee while Ben took a shower.

“It’s okay I’ll do it. It’s a little more high tech than what you’re used to.” You start to push him gently out of the way so you can reach the glass decanter where it sits on the drying rack next to the sink.

“No.” He says firmly, refusing to budge. “I want to know how to make you coffee.”

“Why?”

“Because you love coffee and maybe one morning I’d like to- I don’t know- make you some or something?”

“Do you see yourself in my kitchen? Because that’s something I’d never imagine-“ You try to think of him walking around, making breakfast or dinner but the image doesn’t fit. Ben didn’t know how to cook, not to mention his usual misogynistic attitude usually meant that he never set foot in the kitchen except to find a bottle of booze.

He crosses his arms over his chest defiantly. “Well this is where I live. I imagine that I’d be in the kitchen at some point.”

You freeze, your hand still pressed against his bicep from when you tried to move him out of the way.

“What?” Ben realizes what he’s said. “Oh- um- I know you want to take things slow, but I figured I could just sleep on the couch. I didn’t need to sleep in bed with you like last night. I-“ He scrunches up his face, unsure. “I wasn’t lying when I said I wasn’t going to leave you again and I thought I might as well be living here. But if I assumed wrong I can get an apartment if that makes you more comfortable. I mean I didn’t use the one I had forty years ago, I spent most of my time at your apartment with you and I kinda thought-well-“ He’s watching you with wide eyes. “Fuck. I’m sorry I shouldn’t have assumed-“

Ben was blabbering, nervous despite his inability to admit it, afraid in his own way that you were going to reject him, think him less of a man for revealing how much he wanted you to be in his life. And it does something to you, understanding that you're not the only one who's afraid of what comes next.

You smile at his obvious discomfort, heart clenching to see how much he wants to stay, and recognize how much you don't want him to go. How despite everything, you want him to stay here with you, and that you don't want him to live somewhere else. Because living somewhere else means that you wouldn't wake up in his arms and you wouldn't see his sleepy smile when he first opened his eyes.

You hug him around the waist and tuck your face into the hollow of his throat. “You can live here Ben.” You say, your voice no more than a murmur.

“Are you sure? I know that you don’t want to rush things. You want to take this slow and I understand how important that is to you.“ Ben's hands come up around you to hold you closer to him.

“Kinda hard for you to fix things if you’re living somewhere across town.” You mutter into his shirt, nuzzling your face into the soft fabric. “Plus I like the idea of you bringing me coffee in the morning.”

“And I like the idea of living with you.” He whispers into the top of your head. “So does that mean I’m entitled to hot water?”

“We can discuss terms later. Right now I really need some coffee.” You place you chin on his chest and look up into his deep green eyes.

“So you’ll take payment in the form of coffee?” Ben's smile is contagious.

“Perhaps.”

Ten minutes later Sully is buzzing pleasantly as it brews, glinting blue in the light that streams through the large windows on the opposite side of your apartment, and Ben knows how to use it without swearing and breaking it in half.

He drifts over to the part of your living room that serves as your art studio, examining the canvases splashed with color and the half-full sketchbooks on the large wooden table pressed under the windows. It was messier over there than the rest of your apartment, but you thrived on the mess, thrived on the chaos of art supplies that were scattered over the table top like multicolored fish.

“I followed your advice.” You smile leaning against the counter to watch him. “Started selling my art. It’s selling pretty well. Has been for a while.”

It was still weird that he was here in your apartment. Each time you looked up and saw him, you were surprised, but at the same time there was something deep down that was happy to see him there, dressed in normal clothes. Waking up next to him and having him make you coffee was the domestic relationship you had wanted with him so long ago. It was what you used to imagine when you were curled up on your couch in your old apartment downtown.

“Of course it is. You’re talented.” He replies while flipping through your sketchpad, the flick of the pages drowned out by the bubbling of the coffee.

"I actually have a show coming up in a few weeks-" You weren't sure if you were still going to make enough pieces in time, especially given everything that was happening in your life with Ben or what would happen when you told Rosemary.

"Good." Ben glances up from the sketchpad. "I want to go."

"I'd like that." You blush under his gaze before your eyes drift back to the box of letters smiling faintly. “I still can’t believe you kept them.”

“Got kicked out of boarding school number nine because of them.”

“I thought you got kicked out because you were in a fight.” You raise an eyebrow. “You never told me why.”

“Because someone stole the letters and read them out loud in the cafeteria.”

“You’re kidding!” You snort.

“No.”

“So he exposed you for being a simp and your immediate reaction was to fight him in the cafeteria?” Your fingertips brush over the faded script on the sheets of paper.

“Being a what?” Ben looks confused as he walks slowly towards you.

“Oh right.” You press your lips together to think of a way to explain it without insulting him. “It means being head over heels for someone.” It was a bit of a stretch but he didn’t need to know that. He didn’t need to know that the meaning was closer to something Ben would ascribe to being a pussy.

“I am.” His hands go on the counter around you pinning you between the metal and his muscular chest, looking down with so much love and care in his eyes that it makes you dizzy.

It was jarring. How could he flip the switch so easily? How could he be so open now to me and not be like this before?

You think about the moments you spent in bed together 40 years ago, the look in his eyes the perfect morning, how he held you like he never wanted you to let him go and you didn’t want him to.

“Are you now?”

“Mhmm.” Ben tilts his head down towards your forehead, but just before it rests against yours, your phone buzzes where you left it on the counter the night before, drawing your eyes to the illuminated screen.

“What is that?” Ben asks. You gently push him away to pick up the phone that continues to vibrate.

“Shit.” You mutter to yourself. You had ten missed calls from Rosemary not to mention a barrage of texts that each got more and more unhinged as they were delivered.

Hey. Did you land? Mom? HELLO? Mom are you in trouble? MOM. Please you’re scaring me. Pick up the phone. PICK UP THE PHONE PICK UP THE PHONE If you don’t pick up I’m going to buy a plane ticket. I bought a plane ticket. I’m packing a bag- I’m calling Lou’s babysitter. I’m scheduling an Uber!

Alright to whoever has my mom’s fucking phone, I’m coming and when I get there she better be okay. Because if she’s not, there will be nowhere for you to hide.

You tap out a quick message to sate her ridiculous descent into madness, before thinking of what you need to say next.

Rosie it’s okay. I’m fine!

She Immediately texts back.

What’s the safe word?

Pineapple.

What’s the second safe word?

Your fingertips hover over the screen as you try to remember if Rosemary had decided a second word that gave the all clear, but you can't remember one.

We don’t have a second safe word?

I know I was testing you. Where the hell did you go? Why didn’t you text me? I thought the plane was supposed to land early this morning?

My plans changed I didn’t have to go to Russia. I’ll tell you later. Lots happened and I need to work a few things out.

What happened? Did you find out he wasn’t there?

No I didn’t need to go.

You stop typing to try and think of a way to phrase that her father showed up out of the blue and slept over.

Well he didn't sleep over, sleep over, but he did stay in my bed with me and… she's going to kill me.

Because?

BECAUSE?

He kinda showed up here.

HE WHAT?

He showed up at my apartment.

Are you okay? DID HE HURT YOU? ILL BE THERE IN TEN MINUTES-

No he didn’t hurt me. I promise. All we did was talk. If anything I hurt him.

Good.

You watch the three dots flicker across the screen of your phone to signify that she is responding, waiting with your heartbeat thundering in your ears.

Is he still there?

Yes.

Do you need me to come over?

No. He’s been through a lot. The last thing he needs is for you to show up guns blazing. I haven’t told him about you or Lou yet-

You fucking forgave him didn’t you? WHY?!!

I didn’t forgive him. It’s complicated-

What happened to just slapping him around a bit then telling him to fuck off? That was a good plan. I LOVED THAT PLAN!

Well I did tell him to fuck off but it got more complicated.

OH MY FUCKING G-

“Hey you okay?” Ben’s voice jars you from the barrage of messages on your phone. His gaze is leveled on your face, noting the worried frown that pulls at your lips.

“Yeah. Sorry someone was texting me-“ You try to wave him off, afraid that he can see the texts on the screen of your phone.

I don't want him to find out this way. Not by glancing over my shoulder and seeing the manic, overprotective texts from our daughter.

“They were what?” He looks down at the phone in your hand confused, but you lock the screen.

“Oh right. Sorry I forgot that you’ve been living under a rock the past forty years. It’s kinda like sending a message, instantaneously so you can talk to someone else.”

You really didn't feel like explaining texting and Wi-fi at the moment with him. You were too worried about the introduction between Ben and Rosemary that was looming over you like a guillotine.

But he still looks confused.

“I’ll get you a phone, don’t worry.”

There's so much he's missed.

Your phone buzzes in your hand and you know it’s Rosemary.

She's not going to give up.

Ben looks down at it again curious. “Sounds like someone’s trying to get ahold of you.”

“She can wait.”

“She?”

“Friend of mine.” You answer quickly.

Ben raises an eyebrow. “I can tell when you’re lying.”

“I know.”

The phone buzzes again and you sigh, knowing that the longer you ignore her, the worse it will be. And the last thing you needed was for Rosemary to show up and kick down the door of your apartment with Lou in tow.

“Impatient isn’t she?” Ben comments, noting how the phone continues to vibrate.

“Yeah she is. She’s also incredibly stubborn.”

“Huh sounds like someone I know.” The edge of his mouth quirks in a familiar smile that makes you wish that you had the courage to tell him.

“You have no idea.”

“So?”

“Are you going to answer her?”

“I should.” You press your lips together trying to think of a way to bring this up. “Ben I have to tell you something.”

“What?” He brushes back your hair, tenderly stroking his finger along your skin and trailing warmth with his caress. It distracts you for a moment.

“Well after that night we spent together I-um- I stopped being a hero.”

How the fuck do I say this?

“Yes I assumed that given what we talked about at the premiere.” He frowns remembering that night.

“And it wasn’t just because I wanted to leave it was because-um- well, I was different.”

How is he going to react? Is he going to be happy? Angry? Upset that we weren't more careful?

“Sweetheart I know you’re different, that’s why I love you.” He’s watching you softly, eyes a light green, filled with more love than you can comprehend.

It makes it difficult to find your words.

“No not like that I was, well, there’s no easy way to say this.” You pause and take Ben’s hand, raising your eyes to his and stroking your thumb over the warm skin. “I left because I was pre-“

Butcher kicks open the front door of your apartment interrupting what you were going to say next. “Good morning lovebirds. Did you kiss and make up yet?” Butcher flashes a salacious grin, eyeing Ben and your close proximity.

“That’s none of your fucking business.” Ben snaps his eyes narrowed at the man standing in the doorway.

“Touchy.” Butcher raises his hands in a sarcastic surrender.

“Why are you here?” You ask turning to look at him.

Could he have chosen a WORSE time to come here?

Hughie is loitering in the hall behind him as if deciding whether or not to come in. You couldn't blame him. The poor guy looked like a deer in the headlights yesterday when you threw Ben across the room.

Butcher walks into the kitchen straight for the coffeemaker not asking for permission before he pours himself a cup. “Well I found those TNT fucks that your boyfriend was looking for. Thought he’d want to pay them a visit.”

You turn to look at Ben surprised. “You’re going after the twins?”

Ben and you hadn’t spoken about his next move. He’d only talked about his plans to stay with you and hadn’t mentioned anything about going after your old team.

Not that you were against it. You weren't against making them pay for what they did to him. You weren't against making the remaining members wish that they hadn't sold Ben out. Of course, you hadn't said that to Ben. If anything you were going to give it a few days to get settled together before you brought it up. And you certainly weren't going to bring it up in front of Rosemary, who had been less than pleased when you killed Countess, and wouldn't approve of a bloody rampage all over New York. It definitely wouldn't make her like Ben any more than she already did.

"Yeah." Ben's expression darkens as his eyes flick from your face to Butcher. “Where are they?”

“A few hours outside New York. Brought your suit.”

You didn't like how eager Butcher was to help Ben and remember what Legend said about how Butcher liked killing supes. It made you anxious, because why would Butcher want to help Ben? Was it for the thrill of it? But the last thing you were going to do was leave Ben with a guy who likes killing supes.

Hughie holds up a plastic bag that must contain Ben’s old supe suit and you try not to shudder when you remember the last time you saw him wear it.

“I’ll be a minute.” Ben mutters to you squeezing your hand once before taking the bag and disappearing down the dark hallway towards your bedroom.

But you're not done talking about this with him and as you turn to follow, Hughie steps in front of you.

“Hey I just wanted to say that I'm really sorry."

“About what?” You ask confused.

What does he have to apologize for? He saw Ben and me yelling at each other and saw me throw him across the room. If anything I should be embarrassed about them hearing everything that I shouted at Ben yesterday.

“If I had known what happened between the two of you I would have tried harder to keep Butcher from bringing him here.” Hughie rubs the back of his neck and scrunches up his face sheepishly.

Again, what is he doing hanging around Butcher? Hughie seems to care about other people. And Butcher just seems like-

Your eyes skate to where Butcher is drinking from his cup of coffee unamused. And Butcher is just an asshole.

"It's okay. I'm glad you did. I've been holding on to some stuff for a really long time and Ben has been too. I’m glad that we got to talk things out.”

“So you're okay now?" Hughie raises an eyebrow. "He didn't-“ He pauses as if he's uncomfortable saying what comes next and you try to understand why.

“Didn't?” You ask confused.

“He's kinda rough I was worried that he would-“

He thought that Ben would hurt me.

“Ben might seem a little gruff, but not with me. He's never-“ You stop remembering the premiere and adjust your sentence. “He wouldn't hurt me. And if anything you saw that I can handle him pretty well.” You can't help, but smile and nod your head back towards the couch.

“Yeah. That was intense.” Hughie cracks a nervous smile.

“Yeah” You laugh awkwardly. “ I didn’t mean to lose my shit like that. I’m usually pretty good at controlling myself-"

“Is that what happened to Countess?” Butcher interrupts.

You blink at him surprised. “Yeah. She tried to kill me and she- she said a few things not worth repeating. I didn’t go there with the intention of killing her, I actually just wanted to talk but it got out of hand.”

"What exactly are your powers anyway? Vought's files said you were like him." Butcher nods his head in the direction of where Ben disappeared to.

"I am." The lie is easy. It was the secret that you kept for eighty years, the secret that only Ben and Rosemary knew. Because you knew that particular power made you different than other supes. You had been disappointed to learn that Rosemary's power also made her different than the usual roster of other supe powers that you had encountered in your lifetime. And it made you worry about Lou. Rosemary and you were waiting for the day that Lou's powers manifested and you hoped that Lou didn't have any.

Butcher's eyes narrow like he doesn't believe you, but you shrug it off.

“But I’m going to go check on him so I’ll be right back.”

And you leave your kitchen before Butcher and Hughie can ask you anything else.

When you walk in through the door of your bedroom, Ben is changing into his suit. He’s wearing the dark pants, but the top half of his suit is aying on your bedspread, and that means that you can see every perfect indention of muscle on Ben’s torso.

You'd seen him without a shirt before, obviously, many times, but each time it did the same thing. Again you curse him for looking this good after being trapped in a Russian lab for 40 years.

Did they let him work out there? Was the lab the same place Ivan Drago trained before he faced Rocky? How is any of this fair?

Your cheeks warm and your heartbeat thuds loudly in your chest as you gaze at him, so you turn back to close the door behind you to clear your head.

"You also get me pretty excited when you take your shirt off Sweetheart." Ben smirks at you with a wink as he picks up the top half of his suit, sliding it on over his head, but his helmet is nowhere to be seen.

Guess he wasn't trying to hide anymore.

You stand there for a minute watching him. "Are you sure about Butcher?"

"What about him?"

"I don't know. I don't understand why he's helping you with all of this-"

Ben goes silent and he turns towards his toolbelt, gun, and knife on your bed.

"What did you promise him?" You take a step towards Ben, to catch his eye.

He doesn't answer immediately, instead he buckles his toolbelt around his waist. "He wants me to go after Homelander. He said that he would help me find what's left of our old team if I do."

"Homelander?" You sputter. "You're kidding right?"

"What? He looks like a pussy-"

You could see some of the macho version of Soldier Boy beginning to unfold from the man who stood in front of you and you didn't like it. It wasn't that you hated the protective side of Ben, the side that always made you feel safe, it was the other side, the side that beat others into submission after they had surrendered that you didn't like.

"Do you even know anything about him?"

Honestly you didn't know too much about Homelander either, just that he was Vought's new golden boy and seemed incredibly shallow, not to mention each time you saw an interview or a picture it unnerved you.

Homelander's eyes were cold, lifeless, and empty. Each time he smiled you could see a glimmer of something dark behind them. You had seen it before, seen it in the eyes of supes like Liberty who believed that nothing could stop them, supes who believed that they were gods and everyone else was below them.

"Doesn't matter. Butcher thinks that whatever the fuck is in my chest will wipe him out."

"And you believe him?"

"Maybe-"

"Ben."

"What? You don't think I'm strong enough to take him?" His entire body turns back to look at you, something dark lurking behind his eyes that reminds you of the day you stood between him and Noir.

"That's not what I said. It's not about being strong enough to kill Homelander, it's about you trusting Butcher. You don't know anything about him and he's using you to live out his fantasy of killing Homelander. Legend told me that Butcher has this thing about killing supes and he has a bone to pick with Homelander because he did something to Butcher's wife."

"So?"

You shake your head in frustration, trying to get Ben to understand what you were saying. "Ben please, listen to me. I don't care about Homelander, I don't care about Butcher, I care about you-"

Going after Homelander was crazy. The one thing you knew about him, was how Vought continued to stress how indestructible he was, the exact same thing they had said about Ben and you. But leaving Ben with Butcher was crazier. Butcher didn't give a damn about Ben, he was just using him to do the one thing that he couldn't do himself.

"I know that." Ben sighs. "I care about you too."

"And I don't think it's a good idea for you to be doing everything he says-"

"I'm not doing everything he says. We have a deal. And if this is about you being upset with me going after our team, you can't talk me out of it."

“No Ben-“

“Fuck whatever Butcher says about Homelander. I have to do this.” Ben's jaw tightens, eyes flashing with anger as he remembers what happened in Nicaragua.

“Ben-“

“You weren’t there when it happened. You don't understand what they did to me, what it was like to be in that fucking lab! And I’m not going to let those incestuous fucks get away with it.” His teeth grind down together. "I'm not going to let any of them get away with it."

The air in your bedroom begins to get unnaturally warm, a orangish tinge beginning to peak through Ben's suit as his new power begins to manifest.

“Ben!” You shout, stepping towards him and laying your hands against his chest to snap him out of it. Your hands burn as they press against his suit, but you don’t let go of him.

He blinks a few times, gaining control, the brightness fading as he does so, but you don't drop your hands from over his heart.

“What?”

“I know.” You say gently.

“Huh?”

“I know you have to do this and I’m not going to try and stop you from going after our team. They deserve to pay for it. I was going to say that I’m going with you.”

“No.” His answer is immediate.

“What?”

“No.”

“What happened to not wanting to leave me?”

“I don’t want to leave you. But I have to, just for a few hours. I’ll come back I promise-“ Ben's hand falls on your waist, right where your shirt meets the top of your sweatpants, allowing you to feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric.

“No. The last time I let you go alone Countess told me you died and then you got taken away to Russia. I'm not letting you go alone."

The fear of him getting taken all over again squeezes your heart in your chest, because yes, maybe Butcher wanted Ben to go after Homelander, but what would Butcher do when Ben finished the job? Would he send him back to Russia? You weren't going to sit around and find out, you were going to make sure no one did that to Ben ever again. And if that meant him not leaving your sight, you were okay with that.

Ben continues to frown at you, before an odd look crosses his face. "Did you kill her?"

"Yes." You chew the inside of your cheek. "I didn't mean to, she said a few things and she killed me-"

“She killed you?” Ben growls and he begins to lift the bottom of your shirt to find the scar forgetting himself, but you drop your hand over his to stop him.

“It doesn’t matter. She’s dead now.”

She might be dead, but what she said rings in your ears and the proud smile Countess had flashes through your mind. The triumphant look on her face after she told you why she had sex with Ben. The same look that was on her face, before you ripped her head off.

"What did she say?" Ben asks, but then he realizes after the question passes through his lips, noting your expression and remembering what you yelled at him yesterday. "Sweetheart-“

"It's okay-" You shake your head to dissipate the memory of Countess.

“No it isn’t.” Ben's hand cups your face. “What she said wasn’t true. That night meant everything to me. It wasn’t a mistake and it wasn’t disappointing in any way. Believe me.” His thumb brushes against your cheek and you lean into his touch.

“I do. I shouldn't have let what she said get to me and I shouldn’t have believed her. I can't remember the last time I lost control. I hadn't used my powers in a while-"

"Which is why you shouldn’t come."

“I don’t want you to get taken or hurt." Your hand comes up to hold his hand against your cheek.

Ben rolls his eyes at you, cracking a smile. "I won't get hurt."

"It doesn't matter what you say. I'm going."

His smile drops. “No.”

You really couldn't figure out why Ben was doing this. You both had powers and you trained together. You had been on "missions" for Vought before, and before everything happened, you were going to be in Nicaragua with him. So why was this any different?

“Why not? I’m just as strong as you. I’m just as indestructible-“

Ben pulls his hand from your face. “But you’re not indestructible! You die."

"I come back-"

"Have you thought that maybe I don't want you to come because I hate watching you die?" He snaps angrily.

"What?"

"Do you have any idea what that’s like for me?" He shouts eyes blazing through the soft light in the bedroom. “Hearing your heartbeat stop, watching you take your last breath, knowing that there’s absolutely nothing I can do?”

Whatever thoughts or words you were going to say shrivel up on the tip of your tongue. You'd never thought about it like that before. You'd thought that your ability to come back to life after would have reassured him.

He knows what my powers are. He knows what I can do-

"I hate feeling fucking helpless and every time you get hurt I’m reminded that I can’t help you! That I’m not strong enough to protect you!” He sits down on your bed, hands clenching into fists where they rest on his thighs.

"Ben-"

“When you came with me I promised that I would be strong for both of us, that I would always protect you and every time you die it just makes me feel like I’ve failed!” His gaze is leveled at you feet.

You inhale sharply with his confession. It was what he promised you the night he told you to say no to Howard, the night that you thought he was asking you in his own way to marry him. You could remember the promise, remember the way he held you close to him, eyes wide and vulnerable when he spoke it to you. That night anything had seemed possible. And despite everything that happened with Countess, Ben had never broken that promise to you. He had protected you, he had been strong for you when you needed him to be.

You remember the night of your brother's funeral when he drove all night to be there for you, and how he continued to show up in your life when you were having a hard time as if he seemed to know when you needed him the most.

"Ben-” You try again, this time a little softer.

"Do you have any idea what it’s like to exist in those thirteen fucking seconds wondering if you’re going to come back or not? If that’s the last time I’ll ever see you smile? If you’ll ever open your eyes and look at me ever again?" This time he raises his green eyes to yours and you see a lifetime of emotion reflected in them. It's the same look he had when you woke up after you took a bullet for him and died for the first time. He had yelled at you for it, told you never to do it again, shouted that he could take care of himself and he didn't need you to protect him.

And you suddenly understand, you understand why Ben knew it was thirteen seconds, why he was the first one to ever tell you that it was thirteen seconds. Because each time he counted hoping that you would come back to him.

He doesn’t say anything just continues to sit on the end of the bed, dropping his eyes to the floor again, and wringing his hands together.

You sit down next to him, the bed dipping beneath you, and reach for his hands, but Ben has other plans. He grabs your waist and pulls you up into his lap so you're straddling his thighs. You don't have time to be shocked, because Ben presses his face into your neck and brings both of his arms around your torso to hold you to him. Deep down you know that this is the opposite of taking it slow, but you can't bring yourself to push him away. Because again he was showing the vulnerable side of himself that made you want to comfort him, the side of him that he hid from you for so long.

"You’ve seen me die before.” You breathe, running your hand up and down his back in a soothing motion.

“Doesn’t mean it gets any easier.” He mumbles and you feel his lips brush against the half moon shaped scar over your heart, a reminder of the bullet you took for him all those years ago.“I thought I lost you that day.” Ben mutters into your shirt. “I don’t know what I would have done if I had-“

“You didn’t.”

“But I could have. “I hated that you did it. That you were willing to die for me. You’re worth so much more than I am-"

“The fact that you think that means the opposite.” You run your fingers through his hair, feeling his arms tighten around your hips. “Your father may have made you believe that, but I don't. You’re not a failure Ben. And you could never disappoint me.”

“I already did.”

“Hey we’re moving past that. And I’m sure that I’ve disappointed you plenty.”

“Never.”

“I find that hard to believe.” You snort, and for a moment, you think Ben is going to look up at you and smile, but his face stays buried against your chest.

“Hmm.”

You wait for a moment, stroking your fingers through his hair. “How do you think I felt when they told me you were gone? That I’d never see you again?"

“You were angry at me-“

“That doesn’t mean I wasn’t devastated when they told me you died. I thought that the last thing I’d ever said to you was that you were like your dad and that I regretted having you in my life.”

That was something that you had to live with over the past forty years, because even though what Ben did hurt you, you hated that the last time you saw him was like that. You hated the thought that Ben died believing that you didn't care about him.

Maybe in some ways he did die believing that. All those years at that lab weren't easy for him.

“I-“

“I swear if you say ‘I deserved it’ again I will kill you.” You say pulling his face up to yours and frowning at him.

“I won’t.”

"Good. Now are you done coming up with ridiculous reasons why I can't come with you to see our old friends? Because I'm genuinely curious to know if they're still pretending that they're not fucking."

Ben cracks a smile. "Yes. But only if you promise me that you'll stay behind me."

"Can't." You start to get off of him, but Ben tightens his grip preventing you from leaving.

"Why not?"

"Because I've never broken a promise to you and I'm not going to start now."

"I just don't want you to get hurt." Ben sighs.

"I know. And I don't want to lose you again." You press your forehead against his, threading your fingertips in his dark hair.

You weren't sure what it would do to you if you did lose him, if he walked out of your life or if he went by himself to face your old teammates and vanished. You had been destroyed when everything fell apart the first time, and you knew this time would be worse if it happened. You could feel it in every fiber of your being, just like somewhere deep down you could feel that what was happening now between him and you was different somehow, that it had changed, but not in a bad way.

"I don't want to lose you either Sweetheart. I love you."

"I love you too."

And when Butcher beats his fist against your bedroom door a few minutes later, you're still in his arms, allowing him to hold you close and allowing yourself to begin to trust him again.

***************************************

A/N: Sorry it took me a long time to get this one out! I had a hard time writing this chapter, and honestly it's still not my favorite, but big things are coming!!!

Thank you so much for reading!! If you'd like to be added to my taglist please let me know :)

Taglist: @roseblue373 @anundyingfidelity @cheynovak @cassiecasluciluce @muhahaha303 @deans-spinster-witch @kayleighmeister @demodemo909 @fruitfacess @bobbobbobinogs @bughill126 @simplyfixated @sleepjam @tiredstrangerr @freefallthoughts @onlyangel-444 @lov3vivian @mxltifxnd0m @mayafatimakhan @marvel-mistress @my-obsession-spn @lifeonawhim @soldirboy @liuope @brynanna @carpenterswife @xxannyxx @babyinatrench-coat1 @the-gentle-spirit @valryomen @cassieriddle713 @shaggzthatsnottheworm @lil-soup @ej13928 @topstory21 @boywivlove @mrsjenniferwinchester @vivre-dans-la-nuit @megara0224 @daisy-the-quake

#soldier boy x you #soldier boy x reader #jensen ackles soldier boy #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy #soldier boy/ben #jensen ackles #the boys amazon #the boys fanfic #jackles #the boys #soldier boy fic #soldier boy x y/n #the boys series #the boys season 3 #You Call It Madness But I Call It Love

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kaeyx · 2 days

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y!dazai , who has previously rejected you but he got HOOKED when you started to pull away from him , who tries not to absolutely freak out when you say you found someone so cute and you wished you were able to talk to this person more . what about him? isn’t he pretty? you were supposed to be into him, how did you get over him that quickly?? this wont do at all :( !!

Oooooh Dazai HATES not having your attention on him, he didn't realise how much he depended on you until you went away!! He thought you were cute at first and it was funny when you were so obvious about being in love with him, plus you did things for him so it wasn't really a hassle to keep you around. A smile here, a brush of fingers there, and you'd be sharing your lunch with him and doing half his paperwork. Dazai thought it was so stupid and adorable to like him so much, always following him around and talking to him, always sharing things about yourself and trying to learn about him.

When you work up the nerve to confess he turns you down, of course. It's not harsh per se but he doesn't handle it with grace either. You just nod and run back to your apartment before he can see you cry, even though you're sure everyone in the office knows what's happening. You take the day off and have a good cry, and over the next few weeks you work on getting over him.

Dazai notices your absence after a week or two. He figures it's whatever, of course you'd be too embarrassed to show your face around him for a while, things will settle down soon. At least he knows you're still thinking about him all the time, because you refuse to look at him or be alone in the same room as him. Slowly you get better, but it's not in the way Dazai thought you would at all! Instead of getting comfortable around him again you become distant, cordial but professional, like you're work acquaintances and nothing more. He's annoyed, at first because he can't mooch off you and then because he honestly starts to miss your company. Why won't you look at him anymore??

It gets even worse when you start blushing and fawning over someone else. A regular at the café who's always there when the ADA take a break, so everyone knows each other at least in passing. You know his order by heart like you knew Dazai's and now you sit on the opposite corner of the table to him instead of right beside him with your thighs pressed together. He misses the warmth, he misses you making excuses to walk over to his desk or go on cases with him, and now you won't stop fucking looking at this other guy, leaning over the booth to talk to him, laughing, talking about your day and your hobbies. Dazai is starting to get annoyed, but more than that he's starting to get lonely. He wishes your attention was on him again, and only him. He wishes he didn't have to compete for your time, he wishes he could make you jump and squirm with just a look or a touch like he used to. You liked him so much, what happened? You can't have lost feelings this quickly, right?? Surely it's all a charade to make Dazai jealous??

#dazai.bsd #dazai x reader #yandere dazai #yandere dazai x reader #he sucks so much

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thissccounthatesfascists · 6 hours

Text

TL asleep? cool.

(long post, strap in)

i wanna talk about colin's wet dream. that was the most demisexual shit i have EVER seen. there's not even any sex. its just a romanticized, elevated version of their first kiss. its colin's subconscious wanting to replay the moment he fell in love with his best friend in the Most way possible.

lets break it down:

we got the same location of their first kiss. Complete with mood lighting and a fog machine. It’s giving pride and prejudice 2005

Penelope comes out (looking gorgeous, of course) to their rendezvous spot, which has been previously agreed on.

colin thanks her for meeting him, she doesn't know why he's asked her to come

he confesses his feelings for her

she reciprocates (this is the important part of this to me. ) her wanting him, makes him want her more (do you see where the demisexual colin energy is coming from? do you understand?)

they make out

he kisses her neck as she pants his name over and over (see my point above re: her wanting him makes him want her more)

he wakes up, absolutely shook

this is an idealized reimagining for colin: during their first kiss he was basically in shock, his new personality chokes on the reality and vulnerability of the moment

in the book he talks about how he tries to think of something witty to say but finds that no words are necessary, and there's no combination of witty banter or suave bravado that could help in that moment. the rake persona that he has put on up to this point absolutely fails him. but here, in this dream, words are crucial, the declarations of love are why its sexy! (demi colin is canon idc idc)

and its so important that this wet dream, the idealized version of this scenario happens like this. because we've also seen colin having sex with sex workers (and luke newton has talked about this) but his energy in those scenes is very detached, very focused on him and his pleasure with zero connection to the women he's with. he has two different threesomes (if you can even call the second one that, he's barely even looking at them) with four different women and we know nothing about these girls. they don't even get names. they don't matter, and its simply not. as. good. as the feeling of kissing pen. there is no connection

which is, i think, why he taps out during the threesome in ep4. he tries to go back to the devil-may-care attitude toward sex and intimacy that he had before kissing pen, he tries to return to that mask he put on of "the rake" and it just doesn't work! he feels nothing! in fact he feels disdain for the position he's in and the choices he's made!

the threesome in ep4 mirrors the outburst he has later at the club really well. like he's so frustrated with this position he's put himself in, the men he's surrounded himself with. he literally says "none of you are gentlemen!" "you're actually gross and disrespectful!"

a line that i love is :

"... it is tiring, is it not? The necessity imposed on us to remain cavalier about the one thing in life that holds genuine meaning. Do you not find it lonely?"

and they laugh! in! his! face! because these are men that feel perfectly fine sleeping with strangers and bragging about their "conquests" to their buddies

but that is not who colin is! he's still very young. and his experience with marina (who tried to seduce him and it didn't work, imo bc he just didn't feel that passion, that love that makes his relationship with penelope so different) has left him jaded, but not nearly as jaded as he wants to believe. even if he wants to be casual about romance and sex, he just isn't. this man proposed to marina after knowing her for what? a couple weeks? He is an All or Nothing type of guy. He has that Bridgerton 'when i fall in love i will only ever talk about my spouse' Gene

Now: some costuming details that i love:

Her hair:

(i know this is a stretch but go with me here) her hair is in slightly tighter curls than we've seen this season, which to me seems like a nod to colin liking (or at least not minding) her hair the way it was in previous seasons and maybe not caring as much as we might think about her transformation. but its still down and flowy and in line with her new style

let's talk about this! dress! (it has genuinely been keeping me up at night)

the sleeves seem much more similar to the silhouettes of her costumes in previous seasons, not necessarily in shape but in style

the sleeves are bulkier, compared to this season's costumes, which while they might have been the same size and shape, they are made of much lighter material, giving the silhouette a softer, more mature feeling.

compare it to this dress from s3 ep2: it looks very similar with the sleeve shape and the floral appliqués, but in the dress in the image above, the appliqués are much more obvious, closer to penelope's style under her mother's tastes

the point i'm trying to make here will be made more clear in a sec. what I am NOT trying to say that colin prefers her in her little girl dresses with loud designs, bright colors, and silly hairdos. he just associates those bigger, brighter, louder style choices with penelope.

And he has always liked Penelope. Even when he didn’t take her seriously as a potential partner, he always saw her as an equal. He never made fun of her silly dresses and questionable hair choices.

This has nothing to do with Colin but i feel like i should point it out:

there is something to be said about how her muted pastel color palette along with the more demure style that she has adopted shows that she is trying to Show Up with this social season, but as a wallflower, she is shy. she's always hated those brightly colored dresses her mother put her in, because no matter how close to the wall she clung, she was always visible. she was always vulnerable to ridicule.

but i don't think colin knows or realizes this because why would he think critically about the specific style changes she's made. and he probably doesn't really make the connection of the influence her mother has on her clothing. and around him, pen has never seemed all that shy. she's been confident and witty. if you pair her personality that shines around colin with her louder outfits, it seems more congruous

(take the scene from season 2 where we get the line "My purpose shall set me free") this is a side of penelope that no one, not even eloise!, sees

what his subconscious knows is that he associates pen with vibrant, textured, and often 3-dimensional outfits, and his subconscious creates a dress that fits her new style, with a little more of that featherington flair thrown in.

the fucking tie in front: i feel like this is a very clear reference/ foreshadowing to the mirror scene

for those of you who haven't read the book, the mirror scene doesn't actually happen, but colin tells penelope about a fantasy he has about touching her in front of a mirror

this is a pretty small offhand comment made while they're having sex for the first time but amongst book fans the scene has become pretty fleshed out i think, with fanfics especially

because the idea that it touches on is colin fantasizing about penelope seeing herself the way he does, as sexy and desirable (he seriously cares about her pleasure so much its sickening, I'm actually sick)

and although Book Colin doesn't mention it, the idea of him undressing her in front of a mirror has become a popular story set-up

i think the tie in the front sort of plays on the time period sensibilities of propriety: this is a time where in "good" society an unmarried man and woman would never touch skin to skin, its why all the women wear gloves most of the time. its why the scenes in season 1 between daphne and simon play on the excitement of removing the gloves: its a taboo thing

this is unrelated to this post but i need an explanation as to why pen isn't wearing gloves in a lot of her scenes this season, like the scandal that that would cause??? I'm assuming its representative of her growing into her sexuality; and bridgerton is a fantasy, not a historical nonfiction, but like some consistency would be nice guys bc i was so confused abt all the skin-on-skin contact happening. even with Francesca and Lord Samadani WHEN HE KISSES HER BARE HAND I WAS SO UNCOMFORTABLE FOR HER. especially because of all the glove-related tension in s1. but i digress.

so the tie in front is sort of a dare. even though its clearly an addition, and untying wouldn't actually remove her dress, its her (colin's subconscious version of her anyway) way of saying: "you could untie this, you could undress me if you wanted to" "i love you" "i want you"

and i think that's beautiful. this season is great and i will die on this hill.

If you've made it this far, congrats! you're just as feral as me! come and gnaw on the drywall with me while i post fanfics inspired by this season: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55988977/chapters/142190584

chapters 1+2 of my new fic are up

photos are from : https://www.cap-that.com/bridgerton/302/index.php?image=bridgerton3x02_1502.jpg

#colin bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton spoilers #penelope featherington coded #polin #bridgerton season 3 #bridgerton s3 #bridgerton meta #costume design #demisexuality #demisexual representation #demisexual colin bridgerton #bridgerton season 3 analysis #romancing mister bridgerton #romancing mr. bridgerton #adaptation analysis #some historical context analysis as a treat for me specifically

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viixenvi · 10 hours

Text

𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 | 18+

Summary: You have been planning to steal some information from the Avengers compound. You successfully break in but what happens when the one person you never wanted to see again ends up catching you?

Characters: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark

Warnings: Torture, fighting, reader gets caught and tied up, heavy make-outs, slight flirting, some oral (Nat receiving), reader leaves Nat high and dry, villain fem!reader (Reader and Nat hate fuck whenever they catch each other guys)

This was not my best work, actually kinda bad and not proofread so forgive mistakes and like forgive me if it's bad I just had this idea weeks ago and decided to actually write it at 3 AM

Minors DNI

It was only a matter of time before you could escape. Sneaking into the Avengers compound was hard, it took weeks of planning and landing a job as a maid.

Stark was always hiring and it was just perfect when you got a call back that you had been selected for the job. Of course, this job came with risks to your plan. If you were suspected at all by any of the avengers you'd be finished. Which is exactly why you had a disguise.

Shape shifting was your specialty. It had just happened oneday, you woke up with powers of some sorts. You had no idea how to control them or how you even got them.

You were hoping this hard drive you were planning to take had the answers to some of your problems. You could only change your appearance, make others see you differently.

The only person you had to avoid at all costs was Natasha. She knew things about you that you hadn't told anyone else. You and her had a long history, one that you prefer not to think about. You had fought her previously, working with Loki. That went down hill fast and you managed to stay low since then.

Now you were definitely going to set off their radars. You have a plan though, you always have a plan.

"Can you get the lab too while you are at it?" Tony asks me as I mop the floor. I look up and nod, giving him a shy smile. He walks away, his phone in his hand.

Perfect excuse to be in his lab. You walk towards the lab, your heart racing. It was time, finally. You felt relieved, it was finally going to be over and you'd never have to see the avengers ever again.

"You are not authorized to enter this area." The voice startles you slightly. J.A.R.V.I.S was a pain to deal with.

"Mr. Stark asked me to mop the lab," You tell him. You hear nothing or a minute before the card scanner beeps with a green light and the doors click. That was surprisingly..easy?

This was too easy, you hesitate for a moment. You glance around the lab before your eyes land on a hard drive. It's the hard drive. No way Tony would just leave this out conveniently, not when he knew there was a chance it would be stolen by anyone.

But it's right there, and you don't think you have another chance. So you slowly walk up to the table, pretending to mop and swiping the drive off the table.

It swiftly makes the journey to your pocket and you walk out of the lab, leaving the mop on the floor. You have no idea how you can get out without at least being detected.

Stark was far from stupid, but your powers deceived him enough. Now all you had to do was fake an emergency and leave. You pick up the phone, pretending to get a call and panicking.

You find Steve in the living room, cleaning his shield off. "Can you please tell Mr. Stark I have to leave? There's a family emergency!" You spit out before he can really react. You are in the elevator as he says he will.

Something about the way he looked at you was confusing. He didn't even ask if everything was alright like you thought he would. If Steve was one thing, he was compassionate.

You knew they knew about your plans, or at least that you were there to steal the drive. As if on cue, the elevator doors open and Natasha is staring right at your face.

"Hello милый," her voice is sweet, just like how it used to be. You stand there for a moment, drinking in her features. You had spent the past weeks avoiding her and you never got the chance to really see her.

"Natasha, any chance you can let me go?" You say, one hand on the back of your neck as you laugh awkwardly. She tilts her head and raises an eyebrow. So it's a no.

Her fist raises to your face and you block it, swiping your leg under hers. She falls back and manages to flip onto her feet. You land a punch to her face, which angers her.

She kicks your stomach, causing you to stumble back. Before you can even think, she punches your face. You can feel the blood gushing out of your nose. You wipe it away with your hand while Natasha stands in front of you. She's focused on your face and movements.

You could tell she was analyzing you. You both hadn't fought each other in a while and it was obvious you were holding back. You couldn't get yourself to hurt her.

Natasha runs past you, jumping up off the wall and wrapping her legs around your neck. You pin her arms back and lean down, flipping her over in front of you. She breaks free from your grasp and jumps, spinning and kicking you directly in the face.

You fall over and close your eyes, consciousness barely hanging on. Natasha is a damn good fighter and you could admit it. Natasha hovers over you, pulling the drive out of your pocket.

"Some things don't change," She says just before you black out.

When you finally wake up, pain surges through your body. The familiar metallic taste of blood in your mouth reminds you of what happened.

You move to pull your hands free but it seems they cuffed you with some heavy metal cuffs. They definitely seem to be stopping your powers from being used. You are in a bedroom, which seems to be weird for the team as they have their own interrogation room and cells.

A figure comes into view and you know it's Natasha. "It's funny, you always end up in front of me bound by something," She chuckles. I sigh and close my eyes, the headache pounding in my head is not helping the pain.

"If you are going to kill me, just do it."

Natasha pulls her knife out, pushing the tip under my chin and lifting my head. "Aw, you wound me, baby."

"Don't call me that," You spit, clenching your jaw. You and Natasha always had a love-hate relationship. You were a villain and her job was to kill them.

"Tell me why you need the drive and maybe we can have a little fun," She whispers in your ear. You decide to play along, long enough for her to get you out of these cuffs.

"If I tell you, will you take these cuffs off?" You ask, giving her a defeated look.

"Yes."

"They paid me to take it, said there are plans on it they need. I didn't get any other information. I just know that they can kill me easily." Natasha sits on the chair across from you, spinning her knife in her hand.

"Who?"

"I have no idea. Some alien guy, he's weird looking," You tell her. You try to steady your heartbeat and avoid actions that will tell her you are lying.

Natasha seems to like this answer because she gets up and walks behind you. A moment later, the cuffs are no longer clasped on your hands.

You feel Natasha's hands on your shoulders, gliding down your arms. You almost shiver at her touch. You don't want to play into this, but she has given you no choice.

There's a smile on her face when you spin around, your hands on her waist. Your lips meet hers and the kiss is almost electric. Her lips are soft and you taste the cherry lipgloss.

She pushes you onto the bed but you flip over and get on top of her, unzipping her suit. Her belt is thrown onto the floor, not before you take something out of it.

"Fuck, I need you so bad," You whisper against the skin of her neck. You kiss down it, your warm lips sending shivers down her spine.

Her hands roam your body, pulling up your shirt. You stop her before she can fully take it off. "No, let me take care of your first, baby."

She pulls you into a kiss before you descend down her body, leaving trails of kisses. You pull the rest of the suit down to her ankles, kissing up her thigh.

You reach her lips, kissing them before spreading her legs and pushing your face close. Your tongue glides over her clit, circling it. Natasha moans, lifting her hips up and throwing her head back.

You wanted so badly to finish what you started, but you needed the drive and Natasha wasn't going to distract you again.

So you pull away, crawling on top of her and grabbing her face to kiss her. You carefully place a tazer disk on her nack and get off her before activating it.

Natasha gasps and falls unconscious from the tazer and you cover her up with a blanket. This was payback for the last time she caught you. This was your thing, always leaving the other wanting more. It kept up the attraction.

This time you may have gone too far, but your life depended on getting this drive and you didn't care what you did to get it.

You won this time.

#natasha romanoff #steve rogers #tony stark #natasha x reader #angst #x reader #viixenvi #natasha romanoff smut #natasha x you #black widow x reader #smut #kinda angsty #nat and reader have a complicated past #some smut

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theharrowing · 3 days

Text

Collateral 🗡️ 22: I just need a chance to breathe

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

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

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

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

🗡️ word count: 15.9k

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

🗡️warnings: explicit smut (mention of sex & using a dildo; oral sex; ass eating; threesome; talk of anal & double-penetration but not actually doing it; multiple orgasms, cum eating) messy emotions (because, of course); fireworks used to scare characters (to simulate firearms and/or explosions); anxiety; mention of nightmares; the return of some familiar faces & introduction of new ones.

🗡️ a friendly reminder: if there is anything in the tags that may cause you emotional distress to read, please take care of your mental health and don't push yourself. as with any of my updates/warnings, if you would like to skip over a particular warning, please private message me and i can tell you where to begin and end skipping, as well as give you a rundown of what happens in that section.

🗡️note: wow. hello, friends. it's been a long time since i have come to you with a full chapter. are you ready??? did you know that i decided to turn mc's ex into an actually character??? hehehe. enjoyyy!!!

🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin!

🗡️ posted on may, 2024 | read on ao3

My Namjoon,

I often dream of you lying in a field of wildflowers. Your body is sunken into green stems and purple petals, which blow gently in the breeze, creating a perfect you-shaped indent. You wear all white with your hands behind your head—relaxed and serene, without a care in the world.

In my dream, time passes quickly, and the sun always falls, shrouding you in darkness while blotches cover your perfect white clothing and begin to turn deep, blood-red.

I wake up feeling suffocated. I wake up afraid.

My Yoongi,

Your blood is on my hands in my dreams and in the waking world. I know you do not blame me, but the thought of it makes me sick to my stomach. I hope one day I will be able to look you in the eye and not feel so ashamed.

In your arms, I feel like a queen. I feel like I am on top of the entire world. Nobody has ever given that to me before, and nobody could ever come close.

It is not the height that I fear so badly but the fall back to earth.

My men,

The last few months have felt like a whirlwind…they have felt like a hundred years. I hardly remember the person I was before I stepped foot in the mansion. Worst of all, I hardly know the person I have become.

Please don't blame yourselves for my need to break free. The two of you promised to give me the world, and I know with my whole heart that you meant it. You showed me more than once a taste of what that could feel like.

But I fear I am not meant for this world. I fear that all of the joy and the money and the trips and the jewelry and the champagne and the drugs will only mask the fear and the anguish and the nightmares and the dread. My physical health and my mental health are deteriorating before all of our eyes, and I don't know what to do.

You told me that the only way out of this lifestyle is death, and I can't stick around and watch that happen. I know it makes me a coward. I know that leaving with my tail between my legs in order to protect myself will only cause the three of us pain, but I trust that the two of you will get through anything.

I am not yet ready to say goodbye because I don't want this to be the last thing I say to you two. Maybe I just need a chance to breathe.

Some day, if all the stars align just right, will you meet me under the aurora borealis?

♡ Your Sweetheart, Your Darling, Your Love

* * *

9 hours earlier.

You lay in a heap of black satin, sweat, and cum, struggling to catch your breath. From the other room, water runs and then stops, and footsteps approach, making you smile.

"Thirsty?" Jeongguk asks.

All you can say in response is a broken hum. You are parched, but the idea of moving your body after what he just put it through feels impossible.

Jeongguk chuckles, and the bed dips as he asks, "Like your gift that much, huh?"

The birthday present that Jeongguk was so unwilling to allow you to unwrap at your party is a purple, glittery silicone mold of his dick. And although nothing could beat the original, you tore out of your clothes the moment you saw it, eager to try it.

"One day we'll anal train you so you can take both of my cocks at once," Jeongguk growled in your ear, holding you by the throat while your back bowed and he fucked you cross-eyed with the toy.

This is not how you expected your day to go after waking up to a fainting spell and visiting Taehyung's basement hospital. After the way you spiraled in Jimin's coma bed, you have not been able to return home and face Yoongi and Namjoon.

Nor have you been checking your phone. Everything just feels like too much, and if you are not able to drink or do drugs, then you need the next best thing.

Luckily for you, Jeongguk is more than eager to supply you with all the orgasms you could ever ask for.

Unfortunately, he is also eager to talk about shit and destroy this perfect distraction.

"When are you going to head back home?" he asks, flopping down beside you and draping limbs over your body. Your sweat has begun to turn cold, and you roll toward him, seeking warmth.

"I don't know," you respond flatly.

A tinge of sadness works its way into your lungs, causing you to choke. It is not as if you are doing anything behind anyone's back, but you still feel somewhat guilty.

Earlier, while at Taehyung's house, Jeongguk asked his hyungs if they wouldn't mind you swinging by his place to open your gift, and based on their grins and winks, they not only knew what it was, but they expected you to want to play.

Yoongi saying, "Have fun, you two," with a playful little smirk sealed the deal.

You do not feel guilty for lying in Jeongguk's bed all fucked out and exhausted. Rather, you feel a preemptive guilt for all the things left unsaid, and all there is yet to do.

Jeongguk sighs and repositions so that his arms are around you, laying on his side and pulling you into him. You close your eyes and let out a deep exhale, and in the silence between breaths, you make a choice.

"I guess I should go," you mutter.

Jeongguk grumbles and hugs tighter, and you allow yourself to be held a few moments longer. You really are going to miss this.

The urge to cry sneaks up, and you take a deep breath and hold it, then begin to wiggle from Jeongguk's arms. There is absolutely no way you are going to allow him to see you cry again.

Only you cannot help it. You think about Jimin lying in a coma and how you whispered your goodbyes with a kiss to his cheek.

You think about leaving Jeongguk here in his bed without granting him a proper goodbye. Would it be rude to take the toy cock with you as a souvenir? There is no way you are not going to.

As you detangle your limbs and sit up, tears fall. You tremble and attempt to breathe through it, but Jeongguk is sitting up in a flash, tilting his head to get a look at your face.

"Stop," you warn, holding your hand up as if to block whatever he might say.

"Stop what?" he asks with a concerned tone.

"Don't call attention to it. I don't want to talk about it."

"Doll—"

You sigh and shake your head. "Please. Please don't make me explain myself."

Silence hangs, then he asks, "Are you alright?"

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

"No."

"What do you need?"

You shrug. "Taehyung says I need a vacation, so I think I am going to take one."

"And that's why you're crying?"

Although Jeongguk's tone is sympathetic, you fight the urge to smack him.

"I just have a lot of thoughts and feelings, okay? Is that okay?"

You do not mean to snap, and you even attempt to chuckle through your words. But your tears must make your conviction seem as weak as it feels because Jeongguk simply watches you with a frown.

"It sucks to admit that I can't handle this," you mutter, worried you may have said too much but finding it impossible to keep everything bottled up.

"So, then…what if a vacation isn't enough?" Jeongguk asks.

You wish he wouldn't ask that. Why is Jeongguk, of all fucking people, so in tune with what you are thinking?

You shrug once more. "Then I guess I have to think of a new plan."

Jeongguk hums and wraps his arms around you, resting his chin on your shoulder.

"Where will you go?"

Where will you go? Over and over, you have asked yourself this question. But you really have no idea. Wherever Seokjin can send you, you suppose.

"Not sure."

"Alright, well," Jeongguk sighs, "I'll be sure to find you. Wherever you end up…I'll show up."

This makes you chuckle. It is a nice gesture, but it also feels foolish. Jeongguk is not in the position to make such lofty promises, nor would you ever dream of him asking to.

"Jeongguk, what are you talking about?"

"I mean it," he responds, matter-of-factly. "I will find you. You can't just get rid of me, even if you leave the rest of the family behind. I need to be sure that you are okay."

What he says is sweet, but it is too much. You groan and begin to shrug-wiggle out of Jeongguk's hold, then scoot along the bed until you reach the edge and slide off. Your feet hit a soft rug, and you wander around finding your clothing articles, which have been tossed onto the chairs and floor.

"It's nice of you to say that," you respond, glancing over your shoulder.

Jeongguk sits naked with his legs pretzeled and his back slumped forward, eyes on you with a slight frown tugging his pretty lips. You feel the urge to tip-toe over and kiss the expression from his face, but you hold back, getting dressed instead.

"Yoongi-hyung won't take it very well if you leave for good," Jeongguk mutters.

This is not a conversation you want to have, and you take a steady breath before standing straight, doing your best to lie as you say, "I'll try not to leave for good."

* * *

As you walk past Seokjin's mansion, you feel the urge to take a detour and knock on his door. If he weren't such a busy man who likely will not be home at this hour, you would. But instead, you continue toward the mansion.

It is the early evening, but already the sun is setting and you do not want to make your way back in the dark, safe as these paths may be. And you do not want to explain why you are being escorted home by Seokjin, should you find him at his doorstep and talk until it is dark enough that you feel the urge to ask for company.

The tall trees and shrub walls create deep shadows that appear somewhat menacing in the glow of the property security lights, and it is fucking creepy. Even with the sun still providing hints of light, you grip tightly to the satin ribbon straps of your gift bag and shiver your shoulders up to your ears.

With each step, the leaves and gravel are louder and crunchier than usual. It feels like a mockery the way each sound causes your hair to stand on edge. Especially as you approach your home and realize you have never been granted access to enter on your own. Hard to sneak in when you need to ask permission.

You sigh and pull out your phone, relieved to see that there are no missed calls or texts, and you thumb around to find Yoongi's contact. He picks up on the second ring.

"Hello, darling."

Yoongi's voice is bright and chipper, which is a relief.

"Hey. I'm heading back, and I need to be let inside."

Yoongi chuckles and inhales sharply, then he says, in a voice that is strained in the way a voice gets when someone is talking while holding in their breath, "We're actually outside smoking." He exhales, then adds, "See you in a bit?"

"Oh," you mutter. Now that he mentions it, you do smell the distinct stench of weed, and as you come out of the clearing, you can vaguely make out the shapes of Yoongi and Namjoon standing on the stoop. You smile and say, "Right now, actually."

Yoongi hums, then looks from where he and Namjoon stand in front of the door, to you. Without ending the call, you slide your phone into the pocket of your hoodie—the oversized black one that Jeongguk let you borrow several days ago that you have decided never to return. You smile, feeling a bit of a pep in your step, which falters once you remember what you must do.

"Darling!" Yoongi calls, holding his arms wide. "Perfect timing. Namjoon and I were craving sushi. Come along?"

Both men wear their standard black uniform, and Yoongi has a black jacket on, as well. Namjoon takes a hit from a joint that is so small, he has to hold it with the very tips of his finger and thumb. As he tilts his head upward and exhales a plume of smoke, Yoongi begins to walk toward you in slow, measured steps.

"Do I need to change clothes?" you ask because as much as you are hungry, you really do not want to put on a dress.

Yoongi shrugs, eyes up your stolen hoodie and tight black leggings and shrugs. "If you are comfortable this way, that is fine with me."

You actually expected to have to plead your case, and you are surprised by how amiable Yoongi is. Perhaps he is too hungry to wait for you to change. Or he is starting to calm down about how the public perceives you.

"Alright," you say, gripping onto the handle of your gift bag.

Namjoon takes one more hit from the joint and mutters something difficult to hear—you think he asks Yoongi if he wants more of the weed. Yoongi turns to Namjoon and shakes his head, and Namjoon flicks it into the driveway without asking if you want any. You would have said no, anyway.

"Shall we, then?" Yoongi asks, and you nod.

Namjoon takes a few steps toward Yoongi and kisses him on the side of the head, causing Yoongi to chuckle and turn to Namjoon to press their lips together. Then they speak about something you cannot hear, and Namjoon turns to go into the mansion.

"He wants to drive your car," Yoongi informs you with a smile.

The drive into the city is smooth. Namjoon is quiet most of the time, but Yoongi seems to speak at him about this and that—you aren’t really sure. His voice is just hushed enough that it is hard to make out over the soft radio, and you do not strain to listen, enjoying the backseat all to yourself.

Namjoon drives to a restaurant the three of you have been to before and hands the keys over to the valet attendant. Inside, the hostess bows, then frowns.

“Oh, mister Min,” she says, glancing around worried. “The private room is occupied at the moment.”

When you turn to Yoongi, there is a hint of a frown on his face, and he squints slightly at the woman. “Occupied?”

The woman nods and drops her gaze down to the wooden hostess podium.

“My private room is occupied? Interesting.”

The woman looks afraid, eyes scanning around uselessly. She opens her mouth and fumbles around, “I could—we could remove them—I could ask them—“

“A corner booth is fine,” Yoongi says sternly, glancing around the lively, open space. “No windows, please. With a view of the front door.”

“Yes, sir,” The hostess responds, grabbing three menu books with shaking hands. “Right this way, sir.”

“Who has my room?” Yoongi asks before the woman steps away from her podium.

It is clear that she would ordinarily not give out this kind of information, and she stammers once more, saying, “Y-Yu, sir.”

“Yu?” Yoongi asks, cocking his head. He looks from Namjoon to you, and Namjoon shrugs.

You only know one person with the name Yu, and it is hard to imagine him dining at a place like this, much less in a room Yoongi keeps on reserve. The last time you saw him, Yoongi had him on his knees at the Han River with a switchblade to his throat. What business would he have here?

The hostess leads the three of you through the restaurant, to a booth in the far corner. Several people look up, and you can hear murmuring as you walk past. You wish you had changed into something a little nicer than a hoodie and leggings, but hold your chin up and follow along.

The restaurant is just dimly lit enough to feel cozy, but the gold sconces and expensive crystal décor give its opulence away. You can tell this is one of Yoongi's restaurants because the design style is a bit mismatched from what you would expect anywhere else—an amalgamation of comfort and wealth.

The booth you approach is a horseshoe with a red fabric seat that wraps around a dark wood circular table. Yoongi motions for you to sit first, and you do so, sliding in toward the middle.

Then he joins you, scooting close and draping his arm over the seat back behind you. Namjoon sits on the other side but keeps some distance, much to your chagrin.

You understand why Namjoon is distant in public, but you wish it did not have to be this way. It is so nice when the three of you can openly be affectionate. And especially considering this may be the last time the three of you dine…at least, for a while…

Under the table, Yoongi grabs onto your left hand and pulls it onto his lap, pushing his hand into your sweater paw. You glance over the menu, not really paying attention until you feel cold metal on your ring finger and your sleeve getting shoved up to your wrist.

"You brought it with you?" you tease, glancing at your hand in Yoongi's lap and the giant engagement ring that it sports.

"Just in case," he says, looking at his own menu and rubbing your palm with his thumb.

It occurs to you that once you do leave, news will undoubtedly spread. Although it may be reasonable to say you are on vacation, how long will that excuse be believable? What will the public whisper about once you are gone for a long time? Especially after Yoongi threw such an extravagant, public birthday party for you, it is hard to imagine the voices won't whisper far and wide.

Guilt and worry cannot stop you from going through with your plan, and you tell yourself this over and over. No matter how fondly you may feel for these men, you need to stay strong for yourself.

When a server comes by to take everyone's order, you keep your head down. Yoongi and Namjoon confer over items they seem to always get, and you nod along in agreement.

"Darling?" Yoongi asks when the server leaves, lightly gripping your right thigh and giving it a squeeze. "Something the matter?"

With a shrug, you shake your head and attempt to smile. "I'm just tired, I guess. And stressed about the whole fainting thing."

"Ah, yes," Yoongi responds, thumb rubbing firm circles just above your knee. "Perhaps I should have only ordered one bottle of sake."

"I would like to have a little," you pout.

Yoongi leans close and presses a kiss against your temple. Instinctively, you close your eyes.

"As long as you drink more water than alcohol, I will not try to stop you."

Namjoon cuts through the moment, asking, "Did the hostess say someone named Yu was in our room?"

Yoongi sits up tall, looking over you to hum in agreement.

You turn to find Namjoon seated with his arms slung over the back of the booth, somewhat relaxed despite the worried look on his face. He locks eyes with you and asks, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

You are, but there is no plausible way it could be him. Still, you nod.

"What would he be doing in our room?" he asks.

Yoongi chuckles. "Yu is not that uncommon of a name."

"He would have had to have convinced the hostess that he knows you," Namjoon says, staring ahead at the table. "Is there anyone on any of our teams who would know to do that?"

"I am certain that there are plenty of people with that name who run drugs or work security," Yoongi responds, sounding bored. "Or who works at one of the hotels, a casino, one of my restaurants. Hell, they might even work at this restaurant. It is not uncommon for people to use my name. Rarely have I managed to catch someone in the act, but I am certain that it must happen all the time."

"I'm surprised you didn't march back there to see who it is," Namjoon somewhat mutters, sending you a wink when you smile at him.

Yoongi sighs. "I suppose I lack the energy."

Namjoon hums, and you wish Yoongi would elaborate, but you surmise that it may be for the best that he does not. You do worry that perhaps he can sense something is off with your behavior—beyond tiredness and general worry—which, in turn, is worrying him. But the Yoongi you know would come right out and discuss any pressing matters with you, so you brush the thought away.

A server brings two bottles of sake and three tall glasses of water. You reach for a glass of water while Yoongi gets to pouring sake.

You are shocked that appetizers and entrees are already brought out. Small plates of dumplings, sashimi, and sushi slowly fill the table. And although you have barely eaten all day, you only nibble on a savory pan-fried dumpling while the men eat around you.

You cannot help but dwell on what Namjoon was saying moments ago, and you are surprised Yoongi is so dismissive of the notion. Your ex has the last name Yu. And if there is anyone on this peninsula who may have a bone to pick with Yoongi, he is likely high on that list.

That is, if he actually felt some type of way about losing you, which you are not entirely sure could be the case. Things between the two of you had not been great for months—even years—leading up to Yoongi collecting you from him as collateral.

But there was often talk of reconnecting and building a future together. And although you more or less ignored his ideas, disinterested in the thought of building anything with him, he seemed pretty serious. Could he have continued to love you when the two of you parted?

Although your appetite is subdued by anxiety, you do your best to eat, slowly chewing on a piece of sushi and sipping on sake. Yoongi and Namjoon discuss an upcoming meeting with Seokjin, and you stare at the off-white tablecloth and attempt to gather your thoughts.

You are reminded of your need to meet with Seokjin. But when would be a good time? How soon would you be able to get out of the mansion?

Each time you reach with your left hand and the diamond glitters in the overhead light, you feel a tinge of sadness. It nearly makes you want to reconsider, but you remind yourself that even if, by some miracle, you and Yoongi and Namjoon are meant to make any of this work out, it needs to be on your terms, after you have had a chance to breathe.

You consider all the places Seokjin might send you. After all, Busan seems like too much of a gamble. Yoongi and the girls managed to reach an agreement of sorts—but what if sending you there starts an all-out war?

And if your ex truly is suddenly back in the picture—

"Well, well," a man's voice cuts through the conversation between Yoongi and Namjoon and interrupts your thoughts. "What have we here?"

The familiarity of this voice causes an icy chill to cover you. Somehow simultaneously bright and deep, with an accented lilt—it is a voice you heard for years. Still, your mind struggles to reconcile the situation, despite already conspiring over the thought that he might be here tonight.

Your eyes trail up, confirming that the man standing before the table is, indeed, your ex. Christian looks…different. To put it lightly.

The last time you saw him, his style was kind of basic and not very exciting. He liked light-colored button-ups and ripped jeans, sneakers, and simple, casual clothing, sticking mainly to earth tones. And his dark hair was always trimmed and styled neatly.

But now Christian stands before you with his hair grown, falling over his eyes. He has black eyeshadow covering the entire lid and under each eye, with hints of red glowing from the edges, all smudged together like messy bruises. Little black crosses are drawn on his cheeks, and his lips are blotted with dark, messy red.

A red button-up shirt and black tie accentuate a black suit with silver pinstripes. The knot of his tie is encased in a gold cover with stars on the front and spikes coming from the sides, and his hands are in black mesh gloves.

Most curious of all, he is not cowering and afraid. He stands tall and assured, like a completely different person.

Behind him are four men, all around his height, wearing crisp black suits with white button-up shirts underneath. Covering their heads are black balaclavas that show only their eyes and lips, and their hands are clad in black leather.

"Ah, I see the circus is in town," Yoongi chides with a snarl, sitting up tall.

Nervous, you look between Yoongi and Namjoon, then back at Christian, who glares down at you with a smirk.

"Fellas," Christian says, looking at Namjoon before rolling his eyes to glance at Yoongi. "I could not have planned this better if I tried. What are the odds?"

"And was that you in my private room?" Yoongi asks.

Christian's smirk widens into a grin.

Yoongi sighs, then scoots forward, pushing the plates of food that rest just in front of him to the side. He sits up even higher and plants his elbows on the table, waving his hands slowly as he speaks. "You can see that we are busy, so please just tell me what you want."

Christian's eyes drop to the table as he turns to one of the men behind him and grabs onto a black briefcase. Fear spikes as you imagine a number of terrible things that could happen while he sets it on the edge of the table and opens it. You even notice from the corner of your eye as Namjoon's hand begins to reach behind his back to where you assume he has a handgun stashed.

But when Christian spins the case, it contains stacks of notes, neatly organized in rows and columns with colorful rubber bands. His eyes lift to you, and he smiles for a split moment.

Then he says, "I've come to pay off my debt," and his face turns stone-cold serious.

At this, you scoff. To your right, Yoongi begins to laugh, and to your left, Namjoon scoots forward, sitting up straight. Christian hardly blinks.

"It's all there," Christian drawls slowly, staring daggers into Yoongi. "I even added some interest."

You turn to Yoongi in time to see him roll his eyes. His hair is tucked behind his ears, and his glare is just as piercing as that of his adversary.

"You did not really think she would just go back to you, did you?" he asks.

"You don't really think I'm asking, do you?" Christian responds.

At this, you click your tongue against your teeth. "Excuse me?"

Christian leans with his fists against the table, somewhat leveling his eyes with yours despite looming much taller. "I know these thugs likely gaslit you into thinking that their exorbitant amounts of money were a replacement for love. I bet they stockholm-syndrome'd you real good after kidnapping you last spring. But with therapy and different lifestyle choices, you can return to the woman you were before all of that happened to you."

This infuriates you. For one thing, how dare this man show up out of nowhere and so grossly define a relationship that has grown over months and become something that has made you actually believe in love.

For another thing, how fucking dare he not be entirely wrong.

It occurs to you that this could be your way out. But going back into Christian's arms does not feel like the correct choice. You were unhappy in that relationship and coasting along before Yoongi and his men swept you away, so to speak.

Sure, you allowed him to take you out to nice restaurants and buy every little designer thing the two of you desired. But that just makes that relationship as loveless and empty as he is trying to accuse your current relationship of being.

Not to mention, this man who stands before you is not your ex-boyfriend, as you knew him. He looks and carries himself in a way that is almost unrecognizable.

"Don't you fucking dare," you say almost under your breath.

Christian does not break eye contact, and you hate the way sadness yanks at his expression in a soft, familiar way.

"Come on, baby," he pleads. "You don't have to pretend to be happy anymore. I saw how uncomfortable you looked at your birthday party. And when you disappeared for a long time and came back all pale and zoned out…something was clearly wrong. We can get you the help you need."

Anxiety and frustration spikes. You almost feel ashamed when you ask, "You were there?"

It is eerie the way Christian regards you so calmly. Gone is the nervous man who dragged you along hotel hallways trying to escape. However, the way he looks at you has only changed into something sweeter. It is as if he truly has continued to love you in your absence.

"Look, whatever you've been through," Christian continues, eyebrows knit and pleading, "you don't have to tell me. I won't ask questions. Let me just…get you out of here. Please."

Yoongi sighs and drops his chin onto his hands. When you turn to him, you watch him shrug, lift a brow to you, and say, "You know that you are free to go if that is the life you want. Nobody is shackling you here."

And although you understand what Yoongi is doing—although you want more than anything to run far away—the way in which Yoongi appears so bored and unconcerned only causes your anger to grow.

Your jaw twitches to the side, and you run the tip of your tongue between your teeth, feeling every groove of bone. This should be an easy choice, but you feel paralyzed by indecision.

With a sigh, you blink Christian into focus. He looks so hopeful, it nearly tugs at your heartstrings. Nearly.

"You can see that we are eating, Christian," you insist. "Please don't force us to call security."

Christian scoffs and stands up straight. The men behind him are stiff as boards.

"You're causing a scene," you continue, voice flat and insincere. "I don't like to think that the other guests are uncomfortable with this display. We can discuss this in a more private setting."

Something like hope flashes in Christian's eyes, and you hate the way it makes your tummy swoop. His mesh-gloved hands fidget before he shoves them into the pockets of his pinstripe slacks.

"Can I have your number?" he asks, voice lilted with excitement.

Your voice remains flat. "No. I can find you."

With a confused twitch of his features, Christian mutters, "B-but…how?"

"Make it easy for me," you respond with a shrug.

After all, you know Christian's name, what usernames he has used online, and so many other intimate details. If you really did want to find him, you easily could.

"Alright," Christian says, nodding. He takes a step back, causing the small group of men to do the same.

"Take the money," you say, watching him intently, unwilling to break eye contact in a show of dominance. "We'll settle this matter privately."

Christian nods, reaches for the briefcase, and snaps the clasps closed. "I hope to hear from you soon," he says, gaze lingering before he turns to walk off.

As you watch the small group of men clad in all black disappear through the front entrance of the restaurant, your mind struggles to comprehend anything that has just occurred.

What are the odds that Christian just so happened to be at this restaurant? There is no way it could be a coincidence.

A warm hand rubs over the small of your back, and you flinch, muttering, "Fuck," under your breath. Namjoon sits forward and continues to eat, and with one hand caressing you, Yoongi does the same.

"My appetite is ruined," you state plainly, eyes on the front door. You half expect your ex to come walking back in to continue to plead for you to leave with him.

Yoongi hums and Namjoon is silent, save for chewing. You feel like you are going insane.

How is it that Christian has managed to keep tabs on you? What was he doing at your birthday party? You rack your mind trying to place him there—could you have run into him? Would you have known? What if he was one of the gold-clad workers hiding in plain sight, watching your every move?

What if he has been lurking even longer, watching you at Paradise? At House of Cards? How much has he seen?

"I'm shocked he managed to come up with the cash," Namjoon finally mutters as he fills everyone's glass with sake.

Without waiting for the others, you pick up your small glass and shoot the liquid back. Then you set the glass down, reach for your water, and take a nice big gulp. The water is cold and you feel it work its way down into your body, causing a chill to run along your spine.

"Should have castrated him like I promised," Yoongi jokes dryly.

Your stomach churns, made worse by how nobody seems all that concerned about how you must be feeling. Neither of them brings up the fact that you promised to look him up, even as a means to pick on you.

"How did he get into my party?" you ask, voice as flat as it had been before.

"Maybe he's managed to weasel his way back onto one of the teams," Namjoon responds with a full mouth.

"Would have had to have been after Jeongguk stepped down," Yoongi adds. "Unless he has one of the hospitality positions."

"Maybe he works at the hotel," Namjoon says.

You sigh, fed up with this conversation.

"Did you not keep tabs on him?" you ask, turning to Yoongi with an accusatory glare. If this is anyone's fault, it has to be his.

Yoongi blinks, then shrugs. "People go off the map all the time. He could have changed his name, for all we know. Maybe he uses a Korean name to get work."

You hum and sit back, slouched uncomfortably against the booth. Yoongi removes his hand from your back and continues to eat, using his newly free hand to lift his small glass of sake to his lips.

There is a chance Christian goes by the name Barom. It is a name only his mother calls him on occasion, but you would not put it past him to use it on identification cards, especially as a means to slip under the radar.

That could explain his disappearing act, if there ever was one. But Yoongi's team should have noticed. Or, perhaps, Seokjin already has. In fact, you become convinced that Seokjin must know something. It is the only circumstance that makes sense.

Seokjin must have overheard Yoongi and Namjoon discussing coming here tonight and he tipped Christian off. Maybe he thinks this is a good way for you to make a break for it. Maybe it is all a setup and Christian no longer wants anything to do with you but he is playing some part you do not fully understand.

But if that is the case, why wouldn't Seokjin tell you?

You sit in silence for the rest of the meal, refusing more food and drink with a wave of your hand and a shake of your head. Namjoon goes ahead to retrieve your car from the valet attendant, and Yoongi pulls the hostess aside to inquire more about Christian's appearance while you stand near the front door, scowling out into the evening.

The moment Namjoon slips behind the wheel of your car, you shove the restaurant door open and stomp up to the back door with a huff, opting not to respond when Namjoon looks back at you in the rearview mirror and asks, "Do you want to talk about anything?"

Yoongi gets into the passenger seat, mutters, "She was just as stumped as we were," and with that, the three of you are off.

You pull your phone from your pocket and open instagram, type the username ChristianYu, and turn up with nothing. After a pause, you consider he may be using his Korean name, so you search for BaromYu and find him. Although he has not posted a lot since the last time you visited his account months and months ago, all of his posts show a transition from the man you knew to the man you met today.

In his photos, he is shirtless more often than not, showing off his many new tattoos and accessories. And in the comments, people fawn over him, writing embarrassingly lewd confessions and using a lot of tongue and water drop emoji.

Nothing hints at what he could be doing for work, but his follower count has exploded—he is quite the popular man. He never posts his location, nor does he make vague references to any kind of job in any of his posts or responses, and nobody seems to care about much but his face and body.

The only thing that may pass as a hint of any sort is the fact that some commenters call him Mister Insanity. But what that could possibly mean, you have no idea. He did seem to have a small group of goons, but it is hard to imagine him as the leader of anything.

Namjoon pulls into the driveway, and you turn off your phone screen. You are not going to rest until you speak to Seokjin, and you hope that he is home at this hour.

You grab the gift bag that has Jeongguk's dick dildo in it from where it had been left behind the passenger seat, and then get out of the car, shoving the bag into Yoongi's hands.

"Take this inside," you say, turning toward the dark path that connects the properties. "I need to talk to Seokjin."

"Seokjin?" Yoongi asks. "He might not be free at this hour."

"I'll go find out," you insist, turning away before Yoongi or Namjoon can stop you. To your surprise, neither of them tries to follow behind.

Once you are on the path that leads between driveways, you unlock your phone and search for a name you have never called before, and then you call him. It rings and rings, taunting you with its robotic tone before going to voicemail. This is Seokjin. Leave a message. You hang up.

Each footfall stomps harder than the last as you march on, feeling small amongst the tall shadows. The cooling night air sends a chill through you—all the more reason to walk even faster.

There is a light on in one of the second-floor windows, and you storm up to the front door and press frantically on the doorbell. Of course, the door is reinforced enough that even if someone were to be running to the door on the other side, you would have no way of hearing it.

However, you do not take Seokjin for being the type to run.

Still, you feel impatient, and you take to pounding your fist against the door, feeling the impact of armored wood against the side of your hand, hard and visceral—stinging. When the door finally flies open, you pay no mind to the gun pointed at your forehead, fist still in the air.

Seokjin stands shirtless in a pair of black silk pants, and the moment he recognizes you, he sighs and drops the gun to his side, muttering, "Good fucking god."

"We need to talk," you insist, stepping through the threshold despite not being invited to do so.

"I was in the middle of something," Seokjin says, stepping aside.

You kick out of your shoes as he closes the door calmly behind you, and you allow yourself a brief moment to take in his appearance—hair disheveled, body covered in sweat. Seokjin turns and lifts a hand, silently encouraging you to enter further into the home, and you notice scratch marks along his arms and a sliver of his back—deep pink and raised.

"So you were," you respond.

Seokjin sighs and walks toward his staircase, showing off even more long, deep scratch marks. "Give me a moment; I need to tend to something. Help yourself to a drink if you would like."

You walk through the living room and turn the corner to the conjoined dining area and kitchen. Seokjin and Hoseok keep a tidy home, and you marvel at the rich woods and antique furnishings. Their refrigerator is a massive black appliance, and you pull the rightmost door open and notice a healthy store of plastic food containers, fresh fruits and vegetables, and bottles of soju.

Helping yourself to a bottle of clear, unflavored soju, you close the fridge door and crack the lid open, forgoing a glass. One sip is cold enough to send a shiver through you, and you gulp more, eager to calm your nerves before remembering once more that Taehyung has advised you against drinking.

Footsteps retreat down the stairs, and you find Seokjin pulling a black t-shirt over his head. Seeing him dressed down is somewhat surprising, and although you were too on edge to take note of his broad, muscular build moments ago, you notice him now.

The suits and dress shirts Seokjin wears cover a lot. Although he is leaner than Namjoon, his arms are defined, flexing as he adjusts his garment and reaches into his silk pants pocket to pull out his phone.

"Is this about Barom?" Seokjin asks, fixing you with a gaze that gives away absolutely nothing.

You take another gulp of soju, then let both arms hang at your sides, limp and defeated. "So you did put him up to it?"

"Oh?" Seokjin asks, raising an eyebrow. "You mean to say you detected my involvement?"

"I had a hunch," you mutter, frustrated.

"I knew you were smart enough to catch on," Seokjin says as he crosses his arms over his chest, shoulders and biceps flexing. He watches you with just as blank of an expression, not giving you a chance to respond before saying, "He works for me now."

You wish you were surprised. "Doing what?"

Seokjin cracks a smirk. "Whatever I need him to."

You sigh and take another drink of the soju, letting it settle on your tongue. When Seokjin gives you no further information, you raise your own fucking eyebrows—two can play at this game.

"Seokjin, why did my ex show up to dinner with a briefcase of cash offering to buy my freedom?"

"Did he?" Seokjin asks, voice elated and surprised.

You roll your eyes. "I know you put him up to it. Drop the act."

"You are far more clever than any of these men give you credit for," Seokjin says. "But not me. I never doubted you."

You sigh, feeling impatient. "Seokjin—"

"Did seeing your ex make you want to run away?" Seokjin asks.

You hate to admit that the answer is yes, and you hum and nod just once.

"So?" he asks. "Will you?"

"Taehyung says I need a vacation," you respond stubbornly.

"Well, have you begun to pack a bag? I hear Busan is very chilly this time of year, so you will want to be sure to include some heavy clothes."

"No," you mutter. "I have been busy tending to other matters." Seokjin's mouth opens and he gives you a curious gaze, but you cut him off, adding, "And Yoongi is so on edge, I'm not sure leaving right now would be wise."

Seokjin hums. "I think he's especially on edge today because he proposed to you last night and you had a panic attack."

His flat, matter-of-fact tone makes you laugh. It rocks through your chest before you can stop yourself, and you shake your head, allowing the laughter to fall.

"What does he fucking expect?" you mutter. "He knows how miserable I am in his mansion. How was I supposed to react to a proposal? If he has any concern about the way I feel, he should not have done something like that."

"Yes, I agree," Seokjin responds as he approaches and reaches for the bottle of soju. You lift your arm to hand it to him.

The cap is still cradled in your opposite hand, and you turn and find an antique side table made from some dark, polished wood to set it down onto. When you return to face Seokjin, he holds the bottle toward you, which you take.

"Yoongi took the more recent attacks much more personally than usual," he says with a sigh.

You lift the bottle to your lips, mutter, "Go on," and take a drink.

"He doesn't care for the way the girls acted, and the harm that their attacks have caused seems to have pushed him over the edge. Ordinarily, Yoongi would have sent a swarm of men to apprehend or even kill them for what they have done, but I have a feeling he held back because you are here, now."

"I'm holding him back?" you ask, feeling a misplaced tinge of guilt. After all, why should you care?

Finally, Seokjin cracks just a hint of a smile, and you hate the way it makes you feel. You know that he knows far more than he says.

"Or, perhaps I'm misreading the situation," Seokjin responds, smile growing. "I was simply picking your brain…friendly banter about what I assume you think is going on, and nothing more."

Unbelievable.

"Okay," you respond, voice trembling from frustration. "Then what is going on?"

"Yoongi gifted Serendipity to Ryujin's little hoard of women, as a peace offering to get them to back off. You are aware of this, yes?"

You stare blankly at Seokjin and take in his words, then mutter, "Yes."

"Seems Ryujin needed someone to help her look after the place, so I set her up with some men. Barom being one of them. I had plans to send him to another port city to work at my newest casino, but he really thrives in the club atmosphere. You should see him—under the right conditions, he can be a very loyal, hard worker." Seokjin says.

You heavy-blink, taking everything in.

Seokjin continues. "Listen, I would have warned you about his appearance, but I felt like your response to seeing him should be genuine. Yoongi may be distracted these days, but if your reaction was in any way staged, Namjoon would have caught on in an instant."

Although it makes sense, it does nothing to assuage your frustration. With a sigh, you mutter, "Figures."

"Pack a bag sooner than later," Seokjin says through a sigh of his own. "Text me when you are ready, and I will do my best to come quickly, but if I happen to be in the middle of a task, you will need to exhibit a little more…" Seokjin lifts his eyebrows, cracking a smile, "...patience."

You roll your eyes and nod, accepting his terms. Seokjin reaches for the bottle, and you hand it over, muttering, "You can finish it."

"Need me to walk you back?" Seokjin offers.

As much as you would like to have some company, you shake your head. "Thanks, anyway."

You feel somewhat dazed as you make your way back to the door and slip into your sneakers. Seokjin having a hand in Christian's presence leaves a sour taste in your mouth, despite you expecting it to be the case, and you wonder how trustworthy of an employee he is to Yoongi if he is pulling so many strings behind the scenes.

A thought occurs, tickling at the back of your mind, and you turn, finding Seokjin standing right where you left him, watching you.

"Did Hyunjin and his family really die?" you ask.

Seokjin stares at you unblinking. Then he lifts the bottle to his lips and mutters, "They're safe in America."

Anger rises, and you close your eyes, taking a deep breath in through your nose. The fact that Hyunjin's faked death may have aided in pushing Yoongi into a heroin relapse is absolutely infuriating. What would have happened if Yoongi overdosed in that hotel in Paris?

You squint at Seokjin, thinking of the many ways to verbally rip him to shreds. But you need to keep him on your good side, at least for the time being, so you put away your teeth.

"Seems we both have something we do not want him to know about," you say, holding your chin up as if challenging him.

Seokjin raises an eyebrow, mouth tugging into a smile as he says, "Seems we do."

You have no more to say, and you storm toward the door, kicking into your shoes. Seokjin says nothing as you leave, and for that, you are thankful. You yank on the door hard enough to make it rattle shut, then storm off into the night.

Tears stream down your cheeks in fat, hot streaks as you return to the mansion. You are not sad, but you just feel an overflow of emotion that seems to only come out in the form of crying and trembling. Seokjin makes you so fucking angry, yet you need him in order to make your escape—which you do your best not to dwell on, at the present moment.

Although you are glad to see your men standing on the front stoop smoking a joint and saving you the trouble of asking to be let inside, you are not eager to explain what is the matter. You are not sure you are a convincing actor with a straight face, much less in this state.

You attempt to sneak past them before either of them can see you crying, but Namjoon is quick to reach for your hand and tug you close. You bury your face against his chest and sigh, trying to come up with what to say to excuse your crying.

"Sweetheart?" he asks, causing your emotions to boil over.

"Everything is too much," you mutter, unsure what else to say. "I might go to bed early."

Namjoon wraps his arms around your shoulders and hugs you tight. More tears fall, and you are glad when he does not address them. Instead, he kisses you on the top of the head and asks, "Want to sit down and have some water?"

With a nod, you take a step back and allow yourself to be led into the mansion. You kick out of your shoes as Namjoon does, hobbling from side to side with his arm slung over your shoulder. Then he guides you over to the large blue sofa, which you sit against and curl into a ball.

"I need a vacation," you groan into the soft fabric, squeezing your eyes closed.

"Is that what you went to talk to Seokjin about?" Namjoon asks.

You groan and nod, curling further in on yourself. More tears pool in your eyes and you feel the urge to sob, but your body does not have the energy to exert.

This is the final straw. The dizzy spells are too numerous, and seeing your ex has stirred up so many shitty, complicated feelings. You need a chance to breathe.

"Here, darling, drink this."

A warm hand gently tugs at your shoulder, and you comply, rotating and sliding your feet to the floor. Yoongi is perched on the edge of the couch, holding a large cup of water. You stretch your legs and reach for the cup.

The water is tepid, and it feels nice. Yoongi must think you are having another dizzy spell, and he reaches for your forehead, pressing his fingers to the skin.

"The sake must have been too much," he says.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes.

"It's not just that," you mutter. "It's everything. I need to get away for a bit."

Yoongi nods in understanding, looking to Namjoon and then to you, asking, "Is it because of Christian?"

"He is certainly a straw that is breaking my back," you admit.

Yoongi frowns, but he appears comfortable with your choice. "Where would you go?"

"Somewhere calm," you say with a shrug. "By the sea, perhaps."

"I could oversee a trip," Namjoon recommends. "Somewhere else, entirely."

You do not have the heart to tell Namjoon that you would rather go alone, so instead, you nod and mutter, "Maybe."

There is knocking on the door, and you look up expectantly. Before either of the men can so much as move, the knob turns, and Taehyung walks in.

"Guess they'll let just anyone in here," you tease weakly as Taehyung kicks off a pair of loafers with the heels bent forward and crosses the room in quick, elongated steps.

Taehyung kneels in front of you and digs into the pocket of his slacks, producing a little paper box. "I hope you don't mind, I have come to talk to you about medication. The hyungs said you would be home."

You shrug and eye up the white box, muttering, "I don't mind."

"This medication treats high blood pressure, and it may help with what ails you. Are you comfortable with trying something new?"

"Sure."

Yoongi takes your glass of water as Taehyung hands over the box, and you clench the fragile paper square while he opens the small flap on the top, producing a tiny matte white compostable packet with a lump in the center where the pill is.

"Take this once every evening, for now. We can track how it works, if at all, and go from there." Taehyung rips open the packet and prises one of your hands off the box, then he drops a round, white pill into your palm. "Try to avoid taking burupen, if possible. And, depending on which birth control you use, we may need to increase the dosage."

This information is overwhelming, but you nod. Once you do run away, the two of you will no longer be able to sort any of this out, so for now, you simply agree in order to appease him.

Sadness quakes through you as you toss the bitter pill into your mouth and take a large gulp of water, shoving the cup back into Yoongi's waiting hands. You even struggle to swallow, feeling the urge to cry.

Taehyung has been so kind to you. You wish you could adequately express your gratitude to him before you go. You wonder if you will ever see him again.

"Thank you," you mutter. Blinking back tears. "For everything."

Taehyung grins. "No need to thank me. It is my job to care for you." He finishes his sentence with a wink, causing you to sneer. Through laughter, he adds, "I also do so because I like you."

You close your eyes and sigh, doing your best to smile as you attempt to sort your thoughts. You need to pack a suitcase, but the prospect of making that sort of plan is overwhelming. You wish everyone would leave.

"I think I may go lay down," you say, opening your eyes to find Yoongi and Namjoon regarding you with soft, understanding frowns. You add, "In my room," causing their frowns to deepen. "I think I just need some alone time. But I'll come join you two if I get lonely."

Yoongi scoots beside you and wraps an arm around your waist. His musk is calming and familiar, tugging at your heart.

"Sounds good, darling," he says as he leans in and places a soft, lingering kiss on your temple. "You know where to find us."

Every ounce of you pulls to Yoongi, yearning to touch him. You want to embrace and kiss and undress him so badly. But you know that if you fall into bed with him and Namjoon once more, you will not have the heart to go. And one simple kiss could ruin everything.

As you stand, Yoongi slides his arm away. Namjoon steps close and leans in for a kiss. For a split second, you consider turning your lips away, but Namjoon wraps his arms around you, pinning your arms to your side as your hands continue to hold the small paper pill box between your chests.

"I love you," he mutters as his lips press softly against yours.

You have to hold back the urge to sob, swallowing hard. "I lo—" You clear your throat. "I love you, too."

As Namjoon backs away, he watches you with a hint of something indiscernible in his eyes. You almost wish he would confront you rather than allow you to slip away. Could he possibly know anything? Or are you just being paranoid?

With a bow of your head, you walk past Namjoon, to the stairwell. You take each step slowly, feeling the cold marble beneath your feet. At the thought of how much you hated this garish mansion the first day you arrived—impressed by its ridiculousness but fettered like a prisoner—you snicker, and you feel a tinge of sadness.

So much has changed, and, yet, so much of who you are feels the same.

At the top of the stairs, you shuffle quickly into your room and close the door. You hurry to the closet and flick on the light, relieved to see a large black suitcase sitting in the back, to the left of the tall mirror.

It is hard to remember what you came into the mansion with, but you do your best to pack only your own items and leave the rest behind. You do not deserve the designer clothing and jewelry they have given you. How can you bear to wear any of it, knowing the pain you will inevitably cause these men?

The process happens as you somewhat dissociate your feelings from the task. You do your best not to think about where anything came from—under which circumstances you received a gift as you leave it where it is.

In fact, you do your best to refrain from thinking at all, moving from room to room, gathering your things. Sun dresses, leggings, and a couple pairs of denim jeans fill the suitcase, along with several pairs of shoes, toiletries, cardboard pill boxes, and your sex toys.

Some of what you leave behind is designer clothing Christian bought you, but you are not concerned. You do not want to continue being the kind of person who is swept up in luxury. You never needed any of it.

Amongst the many miscellaneous items you find in the bedroom is a notebook and pen pouch nestled on the bookshelf. Without giving it any thought, you begin to pen a letter to Namjoon–because he has always been the best at talking through difficult times—and then to Yoongi, and then to the both of them, filling a single page, which you do your best not to let any wayward tears drip onto when you realize you have begun to cry.

In this letter, you pour your heart out, you apologize for having to leave, and then you end on a high note, telling yourself that it may be possible that you could one day see them again, despite knowing deep down that this is likely not the truth.

You fold the letter into a neat rectangle and walk with it to the closet, placing it in the center of the island and shutting off the closet light for the last time, then you stand in the center of the bedroom and look around, making sure you have everything.

Once the entire task is as complete as you can fathom it being, you return to the bed and sit on the edge. You consider waiting an hour or two before messaging Seokjin, hoping it may give the guys a chance to wind down and sleep, but you find you are too antsy.

You: I have packed a bag. I am not sure what I want to come from telling you this information except to say that I am ready whenever the time is right.

Your thumb hovers and shakes and it takes you several seconds to hit send. You are shocked when three little dots pop up mere seconds later.

Seokjin: Tonight? Or sometime in the next few days?

Anxiety swells in your tummy, and you sigh.

You: Might be best to just rip off the bandage, so to speak.

Seokjin: I agree. In terms of timing, I can have a plane ready in two hours, but I know damn well the men will not be asleep by then. We have a meeting planned at 8 in the morning, which means they will likely be awake between 6 and 7, so 4 is going to be our sweet spot. Can you stay awake?

Although you feel exhausted, you are certain that this may be your only chance.

You: I can stay awake.

Seokjin: Also, your suitcase…can you get it down the stairs? Are you aware of the basement exit?

You: I should be able to handle it. And yes, I am aware.

Seokjin: I recommend trying to sneak down as early as 3. If you need some kind of a diversion, I can do my best to come up with something.

You: Sounds good. Thank you.

Seokjin: Thank me when we're on the tarmac.

With just under five hours to spare, you sit and stare at the yellow comforter on the bed. Soon, you will be sleeping under a different comforter on someone else's bed.

At this thought, you begin to spiral. You think of all the beds you have slept in, attempting to figure out whether any of them have ever been yours.

No, you think. Not really.

The weight of discovering another unfamiliar room and attempting to make it your home feels crushing. You wish that you could stay in the place you have felt most settled, but you know in your heart that this place has also caused you the most anguish.

You are not a mafia wife. You do not want to be one.

A soft knock causes you to gasp and flinch, and you place your cell phone facedown at your side. After a beat, you realize that it is Namjoon on the other side, as he tends to wait to be invited to come in.

"Yes?" you ask softly, rubbing at your eyes with your fists in order to appear tired.

The door cracks open, followed by Namjoon's tuft of dark hair and a sad smile. He hovers in the liminal space between out there and in here, and the mere presence of him makes you relax a little.

"I was wondering if perhaps a nice warm bath would make you feel better," he says, brows downturned as if he is expecting you to say no.

But how could you say no?

This room is cold and lonely, and Namjoon is offering you warmth. Perhaps it is selfish to take this one last moment of comfort, but if there is anything you want to remember him by, it is his ability to ease your weary soul.

"A warm bath sounds perfect," you say. His smile widens, and in turn, so does yours.

"Good," he says, standing straight and stepping halfway into the room. Namjoon wears nothing but tight dark blue briefs, and the sight of his muscular, tattooed body makes your mouth begin to water. He adds, "I've already begun drawing the bath," snapping your wandering gaze from his thighs back to his grinning face.

You leave your phone behind and slide from the mattress, bare feet meeting soft rug. Namjoon holds his hand out and you reach for it, giggling as he tugs you somewhat roughly, forcing you to stumble into him.

"I've missed you today," he groans as he bends and captures your lips, filling you with excitement.

"I've missed you, too," you mutter as your mouth falls open for his tongue to explore.

Namjoon teases, dancing his tongue over yours just enough to make you moan, then retracting it to say, "You sure Gguk didn't wear you out?"

You can hardly hold back the grin that overtakes your face, and you raise your eyebrows, leaning your head back enough to look him in the eyes as you ask, "Awe, is my Joonbug jealous?"

Namjoon scoffs and rolls his eyes, then he turns toward the master bedroom, yanking on your hand to make you follow along. You do your best not to dwell on how limited your time is in the mansion now that you and Seokjin have a plan.

As you shuffle along behind Namjoon, half-running to keep up with his quick pace, you hear the sound of the jacuzzi tub. The bedroom is empty of Yoongi, and you are not surprised when you are yanked into the ensuite and find him reclining in the tub with the bubbling water sloshing over his chest.

Namjoon lets go of your hand and peels out of his briefs, and you struggle to resist reaching out to give his perky buttcheeks a squeeze. You shed the hoodie and undershirt in one swift motion, and your leggings and underwear in another, then prance over to the tub, where Namjoon is slowly getting in on Yoongi's right.

Yoongi lifts and turns his head, opening his eyes and cracking a smile as you approach the tub on his left, across from Namjoon. And although you attempt to take in all of his appearance, your gaze goes straight to the slash that runs through Yoongi's eye, still as red and angry as ever—evidence of your carelessness.

"Ah, her highness joins us," he announces before closing his eyes and returning his head to the rested position against the edge of the tub. The sound of the faucet and sloshing water is almost enough to conceal Yoongi's low tones, but somehow you make out each muttered syllable perfectly.

"Namjoon does tend to be quite persuasive," you respond with a smile, lifting your gaze to Namjoon, whose eyes intently rove your naked body as you step one foot into the tub and then the other, lowering slowly to acclimate to the heat.

Yoongi cracks a knowing smile—a sharp little thing that verges on a smirk—and he chides with a pouty, "Ah, so it was only the promise of Namjoon that brought you in here, tonight?"

Rather than humor him with words, you walk to Yoongi and straddle his lap, slinging your arms around his neck before he has a chance to open his eyes. Two large hands touch your lower back as Yoongi smiles up at you.

"Don't be ridiculous," you mutter as you lean in for a kiss, swiftly stealing his ability to argue.

Despite knowing you should not straddle Yoongi and invite a world of possibilities that will only make the act of leaving more difficult, you find it impossible to stop yourself. Yoongi pulls you close, groaning past your lips. As you settle onto his lap, breasts buoyant and pressed against his chest, you decide to try and forget about your plan. At least for a few hours.

"So much for a relaxing bath," Yoongi teases, lips grazing against yours.

You smile coyly, eyes watching his mouth—your faces too close to see anything else. "What do you mean?"

Yoongi's hands, which rub over your lower back and firmly grab your ass, yank and squeeze, causing your tummy to meet with a growing erection. You gasp despite expecting as much, and chuckle.

"We don't have to—" you begin, ready to assure Yoongi that you are more than happy to stay in the tub for as long as he would like.

"Oh, but we do," he insists as he begins to push you off his lap and stand.

Namjoon chuckles, and you turn to him, still in a somewhat crouched position, chest-high in the water. You lift an eyebrow in a silent question.

"The tub never finished filling," Namjoon says, cocking his head to the side, to where the tap continues to flow across from where Yoongi was sitting.

You begin to laugh, as well. Yoongi, however, has a sense of urgency, toweling himself off with one hand while he reaches into the water to take you by the arm and yank. You are surprised, but comply, standing and walking to the edge of the tub to step out onto a soft mat, water pouring from your limbs.

Yoongi shoves his damp towel into your arms, and when you stand dumbfounded for a second too long, he sighs, takes it from you, and begins to towel you dry in the most rushed, haphazard way possible before discarding it to the floor. He takes you by the hand and pulls you toward the bed, and you hear the tub get shut off and the sound of water pouring from Namjoon as he stands up and exits, as well.

Rather than urge you onto the bed, Yoongi simply steps behind you, shoves you forward so that you are draped over the edge of it, and drops to his knees. You open your mouth to pick fun at his impatience, but his palms spread your ass, and his mouth closes over your cunt, lips and tongue making sloppy work as you widen your stance and bend over a little more.

You moan and shudder as pleasure works through you, more and more each time Yoongi's lips and tongue become increasingly precise in their movements over your clit. You instantly relax, and, as you feared, begin to forget all about why you plan to leave.

Yoongi abruptly stops, smacks your ass, and tells you to get up onto the bed, on your hands and knees. You do as you are told, and Yoongi also gets on the bed, positions the pillows so he can sit against them, and stretches his legs. He pats his thighs and says, "Come here."

As you crawl to Yoongi, eyes intent on his fist stroking his semi-hard cock, the bed dips behind you, and two hands firmly grab your hips before you can get too far. It is clear that your instruction is to suck Yoongi's cock while Namjoon eats you out, and as you lean forward to tease Yoongi with your tongue, Namjoon's mouth begins to devour your ass.

It is dizzying the way the three of you fall into a tangled rhythm of pleasure. Dizzying the way you make Yoongi reach his first climax at the same time Namjoon makes you reach yours.

Namjoon fingers you deeply, thumb on your clit while his lips and tongue work over your asshole, and you are shocked by the intensity of your orgasm like this—how the pleasure feels somehow different with the added stimulation.

"One of these days, I want you to take both of our cocks at once," Namjoon groans against you while his teeth rake over the swell of your ass cheek.

You have to hold back a laugh, curious what the hell must be in the water to make every man you fuck want to double-penetrate you. And although you think it would be funny to put Jeongguk's earlier suggestion on blast, you decide to keep it to yourself.

Namjoon yanks and tugs you until you are beside Yoongi on your back, with your legs spread wide. He fucks you hard and deep, and you muffle your screams against his shoulder as he leans forward and sucks on Yoongi's cock.

It takes no time for another orgasm to crash over you, and you are painted in hot streaks of Namjoon's cum before the two men swap places, and Yoongi crawls between your legs.

He leans close, tickling you with the tips of his dark, long hair as it brushes against your tummy and thighs while he laps up each drop of Namjoon's release like a good little dog. Then he sits high on his knees and wastes no time spearing you nice and deep.

Namjoon kneels beside you and pulls your hands above your head, holding both of your wrists in one of his hands while the other lightly smacks and pinches the skin on your arms and chest, causing you to squeal and scream and chase two very intense orgasms.

When Yoongi finishes, it is in Namjoon's mouth, and then the two of them mutter about taking a proper shower while you begin to drift in and out of sleep.

You nearly doze off completely when the sound of a loud pop, followed by a bright light and a loud bang, startles you awake. Suddenly, you are far too aware of your surroundings, but you have no idea what time it is.

In a panic, you sit up and yank the cold comforter you had been lying on top of until part of it covers your sweaty, naked body. There are more loud bangs and bright lights, and Namjoon is the first to point out that it is fireworks that are being shot off directly at the window, from the other side of the property's security gate.

Yoongi storms over to the window, still nude, and pulls back the curtain a sliver. Namjoon leans forward and also peers out.

"Looks like those goons from the restaurant," Namjoon says, causing your heart to pound.

Is Christian behind whatever this strange display is? And if so, did Seokjin put him up to this?

"Mister Min, are you in there?" a voice booms over a speaker, and it sounds just like Christian—as expected. In a creepy, sing-song manner, he adds, "Come out and plaaayyy."

"Darling," Yoongi says, turning to you. "Do you know about the basement?"

You nod frantically and begin to move, inching toward the edge of the bed. Yoongi's cell phone rings on the bedside table opposite where you sit, and Yoongi rushes over and answers it simply by saying, "Seokjin."

There is a pause, and then Yoongi says, "Sounds good," and hangs up. Then he turns to Namjoon and says, "Seokjin and Hoseok are on their way." To you, he adds, "Seokjin will meet you in the basement. Get dressed and go quickly."

All at once, you throw the comforter to the side and begin making your way to the bathroom, where your clothing has been discarded, deciding that this is your getaway outfit since everything else is packed into a suitcase, and you are not going to leave in a rush wearing an evening gown.

As you hop into your underwear and leggings, Namjoon appears, naked and with a frown on his face. He pulls you into a tight hug, kisses your forehead, and says, "This is not the way I wanted to see you off for that much needed trip. I will find you soon, alright?"

You nod, feeling tears well up, and you allow them to fall, suddenly so overwhelmed with the thought that you will likely not see Namjoon again. At least, not for a while.

Namjoon thumbs tears from below your eyes and smiles sweetly before placing another kiss on your forehead. Behind him, Yoongi appears wearing a black sweater tucked into black joggers, and he pulls you into a hug that has you stumbling and crashing into him.

"I'm so sorry," he says with his lips to your temple. "I know this must be scary, but we will take care of everything. Pack a bag if you can, but do not spend too long on it. We can send for more of your things once Seokjin helps you settle in somewhere."

Unable to form a coherent thought, you simply hum and nod, then allow Yoongi to break from the hug. "Hurry on," he says, smiling sadly as more fireworks and taunting words come from outside.

You run through the dark mansion, startling each time another loud boom erupts. Despite knowing that the sounds are fireworks, you fear that whatever is happening right now could become more dangerous.

Without turning your bedroom light on, you make your way quickly to the closet and grab the suitcase. Then you remember your cell phone, which was left on your bed. You pick it up and turn on the screen, expecting to find something from Seokjin telling you of whatever plan he may have formed before all of this kicked off, and you are surprised to find a text that simply says, "Be there in 3," which was sent exactly three minutes ago.

You open the suitcase and grab a pair of sneakers, deciding that going to the front door for ones that have been left there is out of the question. As you zip the case back up, you hear footsteps running up the stairs and freeze, feeling fear and anxiety rush.

"Cub," Seokjin's voice says in a whisper-yell, "are you ready?"

Without waiting for your response, he reaches and takes the suitcase by its handle and turns to run down the large staircase. You shove your feet into the black sneakers, which you will need to straighten out once you are in a vehicle, and then take one last glance at the dark room before following behind, attempting to make out the sounds of shouting coming from outside.

Seokjin leads you down the hall, into the dining room, and through the open wall panel, which you close tightly behind you. The light has not been turned on, but your eyes are adjusted to the dark, and your heart pounds loudly and heavily as you grip onto the wooden railing and rush behind him, feet quietly pattering against carpet as you descend.

Once you finally reach the bottom of the steps, where Seokjin waits, your thoughts begin to settle. A dim light is turned on, and as you look around at the abandoned recreation space, you begin to accept the fact that all of this is finally happening.

A glance at your phone shows that it is just after one in the morning. Feeling frustration rise, you shove the device into a hoodie pocket and follow behind Seokjin, who continues through the space.

"So much for sticking to the plan," you grumble, head still spinning.

It is shocking to you how the depths of the mansion seem to fully hide the sounds that are coming from outside. You walk hurriedly across the dim, carpeted basement, doing your best to keep up with Seokjin's long legs making quick strides.

"Oh, this is not my doing," he says with an amused laugh, head turning somewhat to the right. "It is lucky that his nonsense is loud enough to be heard across the property."

For some reason, you are inclined not to believe him. You mutter, "Sure," and keep your eyes ahead.

"I mean it," Seokjin insists. "Although I have to admit, it is the perfect way to catch the loverboys off guard, this also poses somewhat of a threat. Taehyung and Jeongguk live deep enough onto the property that simply taking you to one of their homes for safe-keeping would have been a wise choice under normal circumstances. Hell, having you hole up at my place with all of Hoseok's weapons is the best choice."

Seokjin pauses at the end of the staircase, lifts your luggage, and says, "I am likely going to catch hell for removing you from the compound."

You think back to how Seokjin lied about Hyunjin's death, and about how much Jeongguk seems to mistrust him. How many secrets does Seokjin hold onto? How many lies does he spin to protect others?

Namjoon and Yoongi seemed resolute in the fact that you would be leaving the mansion property entirely, but they likely expect to be informed of your whereabouts immediately. What will Seokjin tell them?

And then you remember the letter you wrote and realize how this must look. Under a normal disappearance, this could seem like simply running away, but forgetting to remove the letter before this escape could lead the two of them to think you and Christian really are in cahoots.

Without a doubt, this whole scenario is not going to bode well with the others, even though they seemed to expect as much to happen as you said goodbye. Especially when hot heads like Yoongi and Jeongguk begin to speculate on all the what-ifs.

It is your hope that Namjoon will be able to remain the voice of reason, even if it is just short term. Once he reads your letter, he will realize that you are gone for good, and you worry that he will forget your earlier conversation about needing a vacation in lieu of forming some kind of conspiracy that the letter could point to.

As you make your way up the stairs, your heart begins to pound. You know that once you get outside, the shrubs will provide some cover, but you are uncertain of how you will manage to get away with Christian and his goonies just out front.

Exhaustion and adrenaline keep you from asking too many questions, and you focus on putting one foot in front of the other, trusting that Seokjin has a plan.

Seokjin reaches the top of the stairs and opens the door to the outside world, and in an instant, you hear voices shouting and booming. Your heart pounds so hard you feel disoriented, and you trip over your own feet, struggling to force yourself to get any closer to the sounds.

"The house is armored," Seokjin utters softly as he keeps your luggage in his hand and makes his way toward the end of the shrub, to where the secret door lies. "Don't worry so much about the others. Come."

You close the door to the mansion, pressing it firmly in place, and then step as lightly as you can toward Seokjin. Rather than open the shrub door that Taehyung previously brought you through all those days ago, which leads straight out into the driveway, Seokjin slowly reaches into the shrub on the left, and you watch as it swings open into the wooded area that connects the homes.

Seokjin turns to you and nods his chin, urging you silently to catch up, and you tiptoe quickly ahead toward the opening. You are surprised to discover a fully covered path, not of gravel, but of concrete, leading away from the mansion in the direction of Seokjin's home.

"When I left to come here, I didn't see anyone near my gate," Seokjin informs softly, rushing with smaller steps, as if to stay at your pace. For this, you are grateful. "People tend not to notice our homes, which gives us a means to escape. Although it appears that Christian has been planning this little insurrection of his, I doubt he is prepared for us to slip away into the night."

A particularly loud bang causes you to trip over your own feet and for all the blood in your body to turn cold. You shrink in on yourself and duck your head instinctively.

"Sounds like Hoseok has arrived," Seokjin says with a chipper tone. Then he adds, "It's just a flash grenade, cub. A warning shot, so to speak. Usually that is all it takes to scare lower level guys away."

You accept what Seokjin says, but worry pools in your tummy over the thought of anyone getting hurt. Even Christian, as much as you hate to admit it. You hope that the men are able to solve this matter without anyone becoming injured or worse.

Although you tell yourself that this must be goodbye—that you must bid farewell to the mansion for good—you feel sick at the thought of never being able to see any of these men again. You hope desperately for everyone to stay alive.

The path opens up to Seokjin's property, and you notice a sleek black sports car on the driveway. Seokjin rushes forward, and as the trunk of the vehicle pops open, presumably from a key fob in his grasp, you begin to run toward the passenger door, relieved to find that it is unlocked, and slide into the seat.

As soon as Seokjin is in the driver's seat with the door closed, he sighs, presses the engine button, and says, "I'm not sure if I should thank Barom or flay him alive."

Although there are so many thoughts running through your mind—so many questions that you feel desperate to answer—what you ask is, "Why do you call him Barom?"

Seokjin begins to drive without turning on his headlights, along the dark driveway, toward his gate.

"That is the name he uses under my employ," he responds, looking to the right, to where the large truck sits empty of shouting men, all of whom are either pressed against the gate to the mansion or have wiggled their way inside. "I suppose I have grown accustomed to it."

Good enough, you decide, disinterested in pushing the issue any further. The two of you set off into the night, in the opposite direction of the truck and its bright headlights, and you let out a breath of relief when you realize it is not following you.

Once the road curves and dips, Seokjin turns on his headlights, illuminating the world ahead. Anxiously, you stare into the side-view mirror, waiting for headlights to appear and advance, but they never do.

"Breathe," Seokjin says calmly as he reaches to turn on the radio. You are surprised to hear upbeat pop music coming from the speakers, and even more surprised when Seokjin does not change it. "We appear to be out of the woods—literally and figuratively—and the guys are more than capable of handling those idiots on their own."

You sigh, unable to be as optimistic, but unwilling to argue. Aside from the pop music accompanied by your pounding heart, the rest of the drive is quiet.

Seokjin hums to a tune from time to time, and you stare ahead as the tree line becomes spotted more and more brightly with city lights. You even allow your eyes to close, feeling exhausted from such a long day, and when you open them, the car is driving onto a strip of tarmac, toward a private airplane.

"Let me see your phone," Seokjin says, and without thinking, you hand it over.

Rather than explain himself, he simply pockets your device and hands you a different one, then he gets out of the car and closes the door behind him. You sit still, feeling the weight of the new phone in your hands while Seokjin opens the trunk and retrieves your suitcase.

As you exit the car, tired from the unknowable amount of time you dozed off, Seokjin rolls your suitcase over to the jet, toward a small set of stairs that sticks out from its entrance. He stops at the bottom of the steps and hands the suitcase off to a staff member, then motions for you to get moving.

You make your way somewhat slowly up the stairs, and you are surprised when you turn around to see that Seokjin is still on the ground. He is not joining you.

"In order to prevent the lover boys from following your scent and making a rescue mission, I am sending you to Taiwan," he shouts. Worry rises, and you open your mouth to protest, but he continues, "A liaison will be there to meet you. She will know you when she sees you. Keep your head down, and do not try to contact any of us."

With a different phone, you wonder whether you can contact any of them without jumping through hoops. Surely, Seokjin did not hand you a device with everyone's numbers stored. You squeeze the phone in your palm, overtaken by the urge to cry.

"I will reach out soon!" Seokjin shouts, lifting a hand to wave it. He appears far too calm for your comfort, and you suddenly worry you are making a huge mistake. "Trust that the people you meet have been put in charge of looking out for you, and keep an open mind. Things are not always as they seem."

Before you can respond, a staff member places a hand on your shoulder and ushers you to walk further into the airplane. You resist for a few seconds, but give in, too tired and confused to fight. You want to scream and lash out at Seokjin, but he is already spinning on the balls of his shoes and walking away.

What have you done? What have you agreed to?

Staff members close the door while others make their way into your cabin. They ask softly worded questions, suggesting food and drink to bring once you are in the air. You shake your head, only half hearing what anyone says and finding it difficult to focus.

As the plane begins to move, you find a seat and strap in, then you close your eyes. You are too anxious to properly take in your surroundings, moving on autopilot. The captain is soft-spoken as he informs you that the flight will be just under three hours. And so, you decide to close your eyes and sleep.

Nightmares haunt every second of the flight, and you jolt awake more than once disoriented and heavy, unable to keep your eyes open long enough to move into the bedroom in the back or to convince yourself to ask for something to drink. When the jet lands, you gasp, eyes wide and heart pounding. It takes a few moments to realize where you are.

The plane slows to an eventual stop, and you feel motion sick with the urge to vomit. Luckily, a staff member is close by, and they offer you a cup of water, which you drink quickly.

Seokjin's recommendation to keep an open mind plays in your head on repeat, and you worry yourself with all the horrible possibilities. Who could be waiting for you once the door to this plane opens? You are not eager to find out.

Staff members open the door, and you almost do not believe your eyes when, a moment later, in runs Ahn Hyejin. She looks like an angel dressed in a white tank top and short white shorts, with a long white sweater falling from her shoulders. Her dark hair falls to one side of her face in large waves, and her pouty lips are bright red. You remain buckled into the seat when she falls to her knees and sits tall, wrapping her arms around your middle.

"H–Hyejin?" you try, unsure whether your exhaustion has reached new heights and you are hallucinating.

Her perfume is all too familiar, convincing you that she really is here. The rose hits your senses first, followed by citrus and something sweet, and you relax all at once, letting out a deep breath, only half aware of the tears that pour from your eyes.

"My dove," she sighs, voice somewhat strained as if she is holding back her own tears. "It is so good to see you again. Come, you must get some sleep."

Hyejin reaches to undo your seatbelt, and reality continues to sink in. You move to help with the buckle, limbs moving on a bit of a delay, and you only have a chance to graze your fingertips over metal before she pulls it apart and frees you.

She gets to her feet and reaches out, taking both of your hands in hers and yanking you upward. Once you are steady, she begins pulling you to the exit. It is still dark outside, with a hint of sun coming over the horizon. You imagine you must be one or two time zones away from home.

A blood-red sedan sits on the tarmac, and when the door to the back seat is opened, you notice a woman in the driver's seat and another in the passenger's seat. You are unable to make out their features as you approach, noticing only straight dark hair on the passenger that is pulled tight into a bun with strands sticking out on one side. Both women wear sunglasses despite the lack of sun.

Hyejin says, "No matter what, know that you are safe, and loved, and protected."

This does not assuage the already growing ball of nausea in your gut, and although your hand begins to sweat in her grasp, she is steadfast, holding on tight. A staff member approaches and puts your suitcase into the back of the vehicle, and Hyejin holds out a hand toward the open door and urges you to get in.

Only now do you realize there is a third row of seats, one of which is occupied by another unrecognizable woman who does not greet you. As you slide into the back seat, a woman you had not noticed gets in on the other side, sitting to your right and sandwiching you in the center, with Hyejin on your left.

Once you are settled and surrounded on all sides, an unfamiliar woman begins to drive, and you study her semi-covered face in the rear-view mirror, searching her nose and lips for any hints of recognition. Soft pop music plays, and you wonder if it is the same channel Seokjin had been playing before you remember you are no longer in Korea.

As the car pulls out of the airport, the front passenger turns her body to face you, and you realize in this moment what Seokjin meant when he urged you to keep an open mind—what Hyejin meant when she insisted that you are safe and loved and protected.

You recognize Ryujin even before she fully removes her sunglasses, smiling wide and only a bit devious. She is beautiful with her dark hair pulled out of her face.

"Darling," she says, dragging each syllable out long in a voice that is soft as silk. You swallow thickly, fighting another urge to be sick. "How lovely to finally meet you. I'm Shin Ryujin."

"I know who you are," you manage to say, voice strained and weak.

Ryujin giggles. "Oh, good! Seokjin-oppa called in a favor, so we are going to be taking you home with us. We'll stay here for the next two days, though. Are you hungry?"

Although the question is aimed at you, the car erupts into eager chatting. It seems the other four women are quite hungry. You nod despite not being sure whether you can eat.

"I know you likely have a lot of questions," Ryujin says through the chatter, voice surprisingly clear though much softer. "Let's get you settled in and I will tell you everything you wish to know."

And with that, the six of you drive along dark city streets, far from anywhere you have come to know as home.

* * *

When you realize By the sign of my eyes Without a doubt You can't stop me 'cause Love is banned

🎵 visit the playlist

absolutely bonkers that large chunks of this chapter have been written for literally a year. it's nice for things to finally culminate to this point.

this would have been the end of Collateral. i would have said a bunch of sappy shit and thanked you for your years of service before taking a hiatus and moving into the sequel. but since i have changed how things are going to be, we are simply going to continue. check out the master post to see the changes that have been made, and if you are curious for more context, see this post.

i am eternally grateful, tho!!! i hope you know that, dear readers! i started this fic two (2!!) years ago (as of this week!!!), and it is a honor to have you still here with me. i definitely did not intend for it to go on this long. 💜 thank you, thank you for your patience while i was dealing with writer's block. grief is a hell of a drug, and it knocked me flat on my ass.

this has been edited, but docs acted super weird and made a lot of strange duplications of words and phrases during the writing process, so if you find anything that is just fucking wonky that i may have missed (or even something perfectly normal!) don't be afraid to tell me. i would rather know to fix a mistake than leave it.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!! REBLOGS ARE IMPORTANT BLAHBLAHBLAH LIKES ARE ALSO AMAZING AND SO ON. 💜 tags will be coming in reblogs.

Yoongi's POV is next. i changed my mind about what i wanted his to contain, and i hope you enjoy it.

if you would like to see the inspo that brought DPR IAN to being mc's ex, check out this post.

have some water and fix your posture. 💜💜💜 i hope to see you soon!!! love you byeee!!!

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

#yoongi mafia #namjoon mafia #yoongi smut #namjoon smut #yoongi angst #namjoon angst #jungkook smut #bts mafia #bts smut #bts angst #bts poly #fic: collateral

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otomiyaa · 2 days

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Traveler's Training

Aether & Sethos

A/N: Today is also the bday of the lovely @eliankrios!!! Happy birthday Elian! This one is for you^^ I hope you have a wonderful wonderful day!

Summary: Aether and Sethos spend some quality time and end up training for, well yes, the next time Sethos will challenge Cyno. Aether knows just the way to beat him... (Also on AO3)

Word Count: 1.2K

"Wow, wow, wow!"

Aether smirked proudly. That was already the 3rd time he heard such amazed and excited cries. He watched Sethos run around, look around, explore, cheer, and come back to him with sparkling eyes.

"Amazing, huh?" Aether said.

It wasn't his intention to, well yeah, turn Sethos' attention away from Sumeru's rainforest only to brag about his beautiful Realm Within, but it kind of happened when Cyno and Tighnari left them alone for some business they had to attend to.

Introducing Sethos to the Serenitea Pot Realm was possibly the best way of entertaining him in the meantime. Without Tighnari and Cyno by his side, Aether wasn't too confident about guiding him around Sumeru after all.

"We entered that thing, and -?" Sethos admired the vast exteriors and looked around the realm inside the magical teapot.

"Yes. When I'm not out camping or staying at inns and spare rooms, this is my home," Aether said with a proud smile.

"It's amazing, woah!" Sethos ended up dropping himself in the grass, and he looked up at the sky.

"All this, in that small teapot," he sighed. Aether sat down next to him and smiled fondly.

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself. And also that you and Cyno have been getting along well, lately!"

Sethos glanced at him and nodded slowly. "Me too. It's a breath of fresh air to hang around him, and Tighnari. I still hope to beat Cyno sometime, though."

"Hmm?" Aether cocked his head. Sethos blushed a little when he noticed him staring.

"What? He beat me in a duel, of course I wouldn't forget that, even though we became friends."

Aether smiled fondly. He had grown pretty close to Sethos in a short time. For him to be this honest with him, it was quite sweet.

"I know," Aether said.

Sethos frowned. "Know what?"

"I know a way to beat Cyno in a duel. In a different kind of duel I mean," he explained.

Sethos gave a sigh. "I hope you don't mean that card game. I tried it once and he just completely..." Sethos kicked with his foot into the air.

"Beat my ass."

Aether laughed, poor Sethos was so new to everything! How could Cyno be so merciless with Genius Invokation TCG! Give the guy a break.

"Hehehe, yes Cyno is indeed quite the die-hard card player. But no I didn't mean that. I meant..." Aether rolled over and reached out.

"This!" He tickled Sethos' side which was perfectly exposed since he was relaxing comfortably in the grass while resting his head in his arms.

"HUUUU!" Aether jolted as well at the funny sound that left him. Sethos jumped up like a cat that had its tail stepped on.

"What, what?" Sethos cried. "Why did you tickle me? It really tickled."

Aether snickered and covered his mouth. "Did you not ever have a tickle fight? It's like a duel, but with tickling."

Sethos sighed and shook his head. "I know about tickling, yes. I'm pretty ticklish. But to use it in combat? Hmmm."

The way he talked about it made Aether laugh even more.

"It's the kind of technique I think you could use to beat Cyno. He is... rather ticklish. Even I beat him once... no, twice," Aether said, remembering that second time which actually wasn't really a tickle fight. Just Tighnari holding Cyno down, and Aether having the time of his life teasing and tickling him. Good memories.

"Really?" Sethos sounded genuinely interested. Aether nodded

"Would you like to practice? I can give you a personal training. I tickle you, you try to tickle me back. After some practice, you'll have some good chances of beating Cyno if you use this technique."

Sethos nodded. "Alright then." But without giving him a heads-up, and without getting in position first, Aether already tickled him again, this time with two hands.

Flailing his arms and legs, Sethos let out a hysterical cackle and he threw his head back.

"Hohoho hahahang ohohon I wahahasn't reheheady! Wahaaaaah!" he cried out. Aether chuckled and wiggled his fingers rapidly all over his sides and tummy.

"Then I'd get ready if I were you! Cyno may be ticklish, but he's also quite fast and strong, so I think you'd want to follow this training well," Aether said, clawing at the ticklish guy's torso without mercy.

"Buhuhut! Wahahah! Noooo!" Sethos howled, and his hysterical movements allowed him to turn himself over onto his stomach. Not that it stopped Aether. Pinning him face-down in the grass, he climbed on top of him and attacked his ribs from behind.

"Eyaaaahaha!" Sethos squealed, trying to wriggle himself free. Aether started to wonder if Sethos could ever beat Cyno in a tickle fight. The poor guy really was too ticklish!

"Alright, alright. I'll give you a chance. Tickle me back!" Aether exclaimed and he jumped up and watched Sethos pick himself up on all fours.

Breathing heavily, he stood on his legs and reached out with his hands formed into claws, But Aether simply dodged, caught both his hands and pulled him forward, then threw him back down in the grass and resumed the tickle attack on him.

"You missed!" he sang.

"Waaaahahaha that wahahasn't fahahair!" Sethos cackled. Aether gave him two or three more chances like that. But one time Sethos only tickled him once before Aether easily turned the tables. The second time, Sethos was a little too hesistant, so Aether tickled him before he could even strike.

And the third time, heh. Sethos already started laughing before he even tried, seemingly anticipating Aether's counter attack.

"I wasn't doing anything yet," Aether said as he watched Sethos flinch and giggle.

"I know - but! Waahhh!" Aether tackled him down again and decided to tickle him until he begged for mercy, just to teach him how tickle fights like this could work.

"Do you surrender?" he asked, but Sethos shook his head and laughed hysterically.

"Nohohooo! I dohohon't!"

Laughing along with him, Aether tickled him some more, wiggling his fingers under his arms, against his sides, all over his tummy and even behind his knees, finding the sweetest tickle spots to make Sethos squeal and giggle.

Before Sethos surrendered, they were already interrupted by the arrival of Tighnari and Cyno.

"What is going on here?" Tighnari asked. Aether moved off Sethos, and the latter also got surprisingly well back on his feet with ease, his cheeks a little flushed and his hair messy.

"U-uh ah... I was getting some of the, eh, Traveler's training," he explained tiredly.

"Training?" Cyno asked. Aether signaled to Sethos not to say more; he still had a long way to go before he could beat Cyno successfully in a tickle fight.

"Y-yeah you know. We were just playing around. So, shall we go on or would you like to rest here first?" he asked Tighnari and Cyno. They smiled.

"It's nice here, let's stay for a bit longer," Cyno said.

"I agree," Tighnari said. "Do you have any tea at home?"

"I do," Aether said, and they followed them into his home. Meanwhile he patted Sethos on his back.

"We can practice again next time. Until then, let's keep this training a secret," he whispered. Sethos nodded.

"U-understood. I'll do better next time." Smiling, Aether thought he actually couldn't wait. He was having that much fun!

#genshin impact #sethos #aether #tickling #tickle fic #lee!sethos #otomiya!writes #cyno #tighnari

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blu3-tea · 1 day

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Gift - G/t - Part 2

Part 1: click here

TW: Pet trope, swearing.

Premise: A world in which genetically engineered tinies or Littlins are viewed as pets. Ellen is gifted one on her grandpas' birthday party, as she had graduated the week before.

Word count: 1,505

Note: more parts are coming!

………………………………

Ellen sulked her way back to the dining room, million of thoughts swirling inside her mind.

She cannot keep a littlin pet person. She was not ready to face the daunting anxiety of living with such a fragile tiny person. How could she move around the apartment without the horrifying thought of crushing the girl under her slipper? Sooner or later, Ellen would get employed. How could she type away at work whilst the girl stayed stuck at some table’s surface unable to get off on her own in the case of an emergency? She made a mental note to search for any solutions online to that problem.

“So, how is it?”

Ellen almost dropped the halfway-filled glass she was staring at blankly. “What? What did you say?”

“Oh, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost!” Her mom teased “I asked how your new pet is. Isn’t she just adorable?”

“Ah, yes. Sure, she is.”

“Did you give her a name already? I have some suggestions. Penny or Daisy. They fit her just right, don’t you think?”

“They sure do…” she twirled nonchalantly the glass, forming a little whirlpool in the middle. She hoped that the girl was doing alright.

“Don’t fret about it too hard.” - she got up - “give me a hand with the dishes will you?”

“Of course.”

They gathered all the plates and cutlery, and began loading the dishwasher together. From the kitchen she could hear the tv playing and abrupt commentary. Ellen should have probably given something to the littlin to pass the time. As she tried to figure out what kind of entertainment someone her size would enjoy, her mom’s rambling about some miniature multiple-story houses she had seen on social media distracted her.

“They have working lights and running water!”

“Mhm.”

Ellen realised that she would need another solution to the expenses involved. She had seen in person the three digit numbers on the price tags of miniature items. Yet, she could not bring herself to keep the hamster cage- it just looks so uncomfortable.

“The moment I saw her I knew that she would be the best choice for you. She’s the perfect tiny model to dress up.” She let out a chuckle.

A voice in her head told her that she did not necessarily have to keep the girl. She could just look after her until she found another pet store or person who would be willing and capable of keeping her. This could be a temporary thing.

“Aunt Jessica!” A shrill voice cried from behind, making both women to whip around alarmed.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“My truck is in your car. I forgot it there. Can you open it? Right now? Please!”

“Yes, of course. Give me a moment.” Jessica rubbed her hands dry. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Play with Mouse. Duh.”

“What mouse?” Ellen’s voice trembled slightly.

“Your pet.”

His answer hit Ellen in the gut like a ton of bricks. Fearing the worst, she bolted out of the kitchen.

Please, please, please be safe.

She rapidly climbed the stairs, two steps at a time, her heart pounding like drums in her chest.

They better not have dropped her.

Ellen practically flew inside the spare bedroom, to her horror left open.

“Put her down. Now.” Ellen growled.

………………………………

Nelly picked and tossed around the spruce shavings that covered her cage’s floor, high enough to collide with the overhead metal. Eventually, a noticeable lump of shavings concentrated somewhere in the middle of the compartment, a testament to her ever life-draining boredom.

“This is going to kill me…” she groaned.

Usually she would have slept through it, but the eagerness of securing her near future let her wide awake. Earning the giantess’ favour was earning a roof over her head and a full belly. Not only that, she would also be earning some well deserved alone free time, which the pet store had robbed her of. As of now, she was still working.

Nelly rested her head against the cage’s wall, facing upwards. She listened intently to the noises of chairs grating and shoes clacking on the floor downstairs.

Oh, if only she was not the size of a mouse she would be on her way to buy real food, visit the park or some other place, and make real friends. She has been a friend to several human children who were not and could never be her friends; people do not keep their friends in cages after all.

Nelly hugged her bent leg closer to herself. That is how things are for every littlin, none of them can ask for anything more than the basics just like her. Yet, in the stillness of the room, she longed for something so frustratingly beyond her reach- literally.

THUD THUD THUD

Footsteps interrupted her train of thought.

Finally! Let’s get this over with.

Supporting herself on the mesh, she got up, straightened her shoulders, pulled curly locks of her hair behind her ears and cleared her throat. She looked as perfect as she could for her owner.

The colossal door creaked open at a snail’s pace. Two short figures stood at the threshold. Two children about the age of 10.

A look of hurt and disappointment crossed her face. All of her hopes of having a quiet few years, were shattered. The possibility of being given away to relatives had not even crossed her mind.

She was not prepared to be prodded and grabbed and pinched by their chubby fingers again. She could already feel ghosts of their digits push against her chest and tug her legs.

The children’s eyes widened in excitement and they approached, already bubbling about her.

“It’s so small! Just like a mouse.”

“It’s shorter than my dolls.”

“It could fit in my truck!” With that the boy run off.

Dread filled her as she knew exactly what he was planning to do. Nelly has had the unpleasant, nausea-inducing experience of riding on top of toy cars before.

I can’t go through this again.

With no hesitation the other one opened the overhead latch and reached a hand to grab Nelly. Her mind raced, a whirlwind of confusion and fear. She darted sideways, heart pounding, eyes wide, desperately trying to slip out of reach.

Greasy fingers as long as her body, encased her in a firm grip, way too firm. The world around her swirled, as she was lifted upwards fast, way too fast, close to her captor’s face, way too close.

The human girl’s mischievous face took up her whole vision. She frantically squirmed with all her might, despite the pain in her left leg, to slip and hide away from that familiar expression she knew led to excruciating ‘play time’.

Another hand approached Nelly’s hair. She jerked her head away from the advancing digits.

“Put her down. Now.” The deep guttural sound that the giant released sent shivers down Nelly’s spine.

The digits withdrew immediately. Her world spun again, as her captor turned around, clutching her close to her chest.

“But I’m not doing anything.”

“Natalie, put her back.”

“I don’t understand. Aren’t you supposed to play with it? Mom said that I could.”

“Well, she’s mine. Isn’t she?” That dried up Nelly’s mouth. Every human, no matter how nervous at first, was the same at the end of the day. “If you want to play with her you have to ask me first.”

“Ok.” Natalie nodded “Can I play with it? Please?”

“No, you cannot.”

“But I said please!” Nelly squeaked as the fingers around her tightened.

“Not today Nat.” Ellen sprawled her palm in front of Natalie “Give her back.”

“Fine.” Natalie spat out and hesitantly dropped her in Ellen’s soft palm. She fell uncomfortably face down and she took in a sharp breath. Another palm draped over her, covering her completely from view.

The “platform” bounced slightly up and down with each step, turning the insides of her stomach around, as if it were a washing machine.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. So, so sorry. I didn’t think this would happen. I’m really sorry.” The giantess said, her voice barely above a whisper. “We’re going home now, ok? I’ll leave you in my car and I’ll be back with my things right after, yeah? I promise I’ll be super quick. Sorry.”

What the hell is going on.

Nelly curled around herself, her body trembling with confusion and frustration. The hands around her seemed to close in, their radiating warmth suffocating her. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision, and a sob escaped her lips. She thought she could lie and manipulate to turn things in her favour for once. Hopelessness, just like the very first time, gripped its claws in her chest.

………………………………

Thank you for reading!

Tags list: @i-am-beckyu , @whumpinthepot , @heroofthe13thday

Part 3: (coming soon)

#g/t #giant/tiny #giant tiny #g/t community #gianttiny #g/t writing #gt #gt community #giants #sfw g/t #gt angst #sfw gt #gt/tiny #gt writing

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