#in case this au needs some romance... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

petit-etoile · 5 months

Note

Oh oh I have an AU I haven't had the chance to write anything for. It's pre-vampirism magistrate Astarion and criminal tav who is incredibly well-versed in law. They keep committing crimes and getting caught in purpose just to see Astarion who fucking hates their guts because he can't ever convict them of anything bc they find loopholes and somehow manage to evade the law. It's an "at each other's throats" kinda romance and they kiss with teeth between cases

darling, if you love me say it back

pairing . ⊱ astarion x tav wordcount . ⊱ 3,604 content warnings . ⊱ canon compliant temporary character death, tav isn't a human but can be whatever else you like, astarion isn't a vampire yet, tav is gender neutral other tags . ⊱ canon compliant, canon temporary character death, introspection, p.orn without plot, oral s/ex, desk s.ex, inappropriate use of a cravat, c.reampie archiveofourown . ⊱ here.

taglist . ⊱ @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, @ghosts-and-ink, @b4um3pfl4um3, @gunslingerorchid, @hypopxia, @m0ssytrees, @erysione, @odette-attackattack, @catching-fire-in-the-wind, @ashrio20, @wills-mental-illness, @queenofcarrotflowers-s, @kirahlene be added . ⊱ here .

summary . ⊱ The Magistrate Judge Astarion Ancunin has a soft spot for you. You like to exploit that fact.

‘I need to see you in my office,’ Astarion hisses — and the tips of his ears are so red you think they might catch flame. He grabs you by the elbow roughly and tugs. ‘Now.’

‘Let’s do it, baby,’ you say smugly. ‘I know the law.’

Knowing the law might be an overstatement. You have studied the law for only one purpose, and that purpose you know like the back of your hand. So when Astarion presses you, you don’t argue. You do as the magistrate says and allow yourself to be dragged across the court. He admonishes you like one would get onto a dog who misbehaves. You can’t help but laugh.

It isn’t like Astarion isn’t a super serious magistrate with a focus on criminal prosecution. He wants to nail you for your sins, for your crimes. The only catch is that no matter how amazing Astarion is at his job, you’re simply better. If you’ve stolen something, you’re more than capable of hiding the evidence. If you’ve murdered someone, you know all the best ways to hide a body. It comes naturally.

Astarion is wearing that ever familiar frown as he marches through the elegant halls. It’s a frown that says you’re in trouble and there’s nothing that I can do. But that isn’t necessarily true. Astarion will do anything you ask so long as you ask nicely, and you’ve been getting good at asking nicely lately. He prides himself in training you even if it isn’t that simple. He calls it rehabilitation. You call it sex.

‘You can’t keep doing this, you know,’ Astarion snaps at you. ‘At some point you must give it up!’

He isn’t good at whispering when he’s riled up. He runs his free hand through his curls in anger, pushing them away from his face like his bangs being wild make it hard to think. It makes him more attractive.

‘You don’t mean that,’ you say with a shrug.

‘I do,’ he says, ‘very much mean that.’

You grin. ‘You would miss me,’ you tell him lasciviously, and he groans. ‘I know you would.’

He huffs. ‘The only thing that I would miss is the peace after the headache you’ve given me. It’s as though you aren’t even aware of how vexing you are.’

You laugh, and the fine line of Astarion’s temper snaps. He all but throws you in his office and locks it behind him. He’s annoyed with the way you stagger dramatically to one of the velvet couches before his desk. You lean over the arm and kick your feet up.

‘Does the idea of cuffs around my wrists excite you?’

You look over your shoulder. Astarion clenches his jaw. It must hurt to frown as hard as he is. You pull yourself onto the cushions and sit demurely. You study him. His rigid lines, tense gaze. He comes and sits on the edge of his desk, pressing his forehead into his hands as if that will relieve him of his headache. You’re determined to make it worse.

‘I apologize,’ you say sweetly. ‘I’ll behave from now on.’

‘We both know that you are not capable of behaving,’ Astarion says thinly.

He shouldn’t have said that. You can’t help yourself, but most of the time, Astarion makes it so easy for you to dig into his weaknesses and exploit them. You stare at him with wide, innocent eyes.

‘You should teach me,’ you suggest.

Astarion’s patience snaps. ‘I beg your pardon? Have some decorum, please!’

‘Having decorum is so boring,’ you say, pouting. ‘Life is much more fun when you live freely.’

‘And committing crimes is your definition of living freely?’

‘What is the point of living if not to live?’ you ask. ‘Why confine myself to rules of good or bad when I can choose what makes me happy.’

‘What exactly makes a criminal like you happy?’ Astarion asks bitterly.

You’ve always been possessed by a sense of otherness. You rise from the couch and carefully twist your fingers in his cravat, tangling yourself in him as he has become entangled in you. The Silverymoon lace tickles your skin. You pull Astarion closer and he begrudgingly caves to your strength. Your lips barely brush against his and already you can sense it. The barely contained restraint. The hunger. Astarion longs for you. He’s carefully hidden it beneath the scent of bergamot.

Slowly, you slide him free of what pressures him most. The cravat slides from his neck easily. It excites Astarion. His eyes glitter like you’ve never seen before. Being a magistrate isn’t about caring about the laws he’s vowed to uphold. It’s about power. You give it to him. You hold your wrists together with a wicked grin.

You balance the fabric on your fingers. Astarion swallows. Being proper isn’t really his thing. It’s thrilling to watch as he changes his mind. You annoy him — he detests you, wishes you gone. You are the object of all his improper late night dreams.

But as if he’s moving through water, he takes his cravat from your hands. You almost think it’s going to be a rejection. Astarion bundles your wrists together with an expertise that suggests he’s done it before. The binding becomes tight but not too tight and you relish in the way it twists your wrists. He fastens the knot into a pretty bow.

And then he kisses you. He grabs you so roughly by the back of the neck that your teeth slam together, but Astarion sighs so prettily against your mouth you decide you could withstand anything.

It’s a passionate kiss made up of teeth and spit and tongue. Astarion is both pushing you and pulling you. He can’t make up his mind. Does he want you and the stain you’ll bring to his reputation? A magistrate with a weakness for a criminal is such an interesting dynamic, but Astarion is a proud man. You are almost certain he would throw you into harm’s way if a situation ever occurred that deemed it necessary. You would do the same given the chance. This is simply a tryst.

You like to pretend it is, at least. You hate coming across as a romantic. You chase a freedom so exquisite no one will ever understand it, but when Astarion pushes you towards the couch, you don’t complain. You fall across the cushions with ease and catch him as he falls between your thighs.

‘You,’ Astarion accuses hotly, ‘are an irrevocable annoyance I may never be cured of.’

‘You are so very frank in all the ways you despise me,’ you say, moaning softly as he kisses your neck. ‘I think you’re capable of being freed after all.’

‘I am glad to see you are finally aware that it is hate that drives me,’ Astarion murmurs thickly. ‘It repulses me that you think you could possibly be endearing.’

You laugh and Astarion sucks a bruise into your collarbone. He’ll pretend to be aloof and noncommittal to your very presence, but he’s invested. You can feel the weight of his pleasure against your thighs even as he denies his feelings for you. Astarion doesn’t bother with your shirt or his own. He clings to your waist as he finds the lace of your breeches and tugs you free.

Astarion pushes his hand inside of your smallclothes and touches your flushed skin, spreading his fingers so that he can touch every inch your body has to offer. The fervor of the motion is what causes you to gasp. He’s a man on a mission, and he touches you at your core so adoringly it makes the bite of his words all but disappear. He fondles you like he’s never touched your skin before. Your gasp turns to a sultry whine, and he bites your neck like a punishment. You almost think he’s going to admonish you, that he’ll say your silence is worth more. He doesn’t. If anything, the echo of your voice spurns him to go further.

Astarion presses two fingers inside of you and the laughter dies in your chest. He’s trying to rearrange you through a perverse method. If he fucks you good enough, crime’s appeal will turn to dust within your mind. It makes you wonder what it would be like to dote on a magistrate. Would it be enough? Could it be enough? Sinning feels just as sweet.

He curls his fingers against your core and your back arches prettily off the velvet cushions. You bite your bottom lip and try to quell the pining, but then you catch a glimpse of him from beneath your eyelashes. Astarion is watching your every move. His lips are parted. His pupils are dilated. His cheeks have colored at the sound of your voice. He is torn between watching your face for your reactions and glancing down at his hand underneath your breeches. You meet his gaze bravely, chin lifting, and smile.

He adds another just to watch you struggle. The angle, the curve of his wrist, and the situation are enough to make your thighs squeeze together, but Astarion doesn’t let you. He roughly throws himself between your legs so that you can’t, and it’s hot, too hot that you cry weakly. He grins at the sound like he always does, like he always will. It’s his victory this evening.

But as quickly as Astarion deigned to touch you, he releases you. He stands up and drags you by the wrists, turning his cheek the other way when you try to taste his skin.

‘The prosecutor is ineffectual — ’

You snort without meaning to, and Astarion digs his fingers into the swell of your hip. You allow him to maneuver you, bending at the waist while he presses you forward, chest against the chilled wood of his desk. You have to rise on your toes to stand comfortably.

‘Is that what you’re thinking about?’ you ask breathlessly.

‘I’m thinking about the necessary reform,’ Astarion snaps.

You press your cheek into the wood and stare at his door. The prosecutor, the defense. It doesn’t really matter, does it? Astarion is the only one who cares. You’re somewhat glad he does. It means he’s taken your case to interest, and when he presses himself to your lower back, you’re excited. He shoves your breeches to your ankles.

‘Are you going to take me here?’ you murmur. ‘On your desk. Where is your propriety?’

‘You dare speak to me of decency?’ Astarion snorts.

‘The weight of my sins will be forever embedded on your desk,’ you say. ‘You flatter me, your honor.’

‘Do you ever stop talking?’ Astarion asks. You can hear his patience snapping.

‘Well, you’re just so boring,’ you say, laughing. ‘Why don’t you do something that — ’

Astarion kneels down behind you and shoves his way between your legs. You shiver when he presses his lips against your core. He mouths at you hungrily. He grunts low in the back of his throat and digs his nails into your thighs. It steals your breath away. He’s so determined to change the very essence of your being that his tongue and mouth searching where his fingers first were makes you go weak in the knees. You whine.

You press your fingers into the dark, rich mahogany of his desk and try to keep focus. You want to taunt him. You want to tease him, but that wanton desire is almost forgotten entirely by the way Astarion feasts upon your flesh. He parts you with his thumbs and groans against your skin and you almost forget who you are. This is what he wanted. He wanted to pull your desires from you and replace them with his own.

You let him. He works you up as easily as anyone can be worked up, his fingers and his mouth exploring every inch of your skin that’s exposed. He goes to slide a finger in curiously, but you twist your hips away. Astarion is all work and no play. He will tease you relentlessly as it suits him, and he will do what interests him. You interest him more than he’s willing to confess. That’s why he works so hard for your pleasure.

When he’s done with you, he kisses the base of your spine soothingly. Your legs tremble beneath you. Astarion smooths his hand across your hip. You glance at him.

‘Perhaps I can fuck some sense into you now,’ Astarion mumbles.

He has the audacity to sound inquisitive. It’s not like it’s possible, but he seems determined enough to try it out regardless of his intuition. His hands are warm against your skin, and the excitement only builds in the pit of your stomach as you feel Astarion’s skin touch yours. You hear his clothes rustle and his breath catch in his throat. You hide a smile against your arm.

When Astarion slides into your core, it’s like a possession. The breath steals from your lungs. His touch is a familiar constant — you would recognize him anywhere by scent alone. You cry weakly. Your toes crunch from the angle, but there’s nothing you want more at this moment than to learn to be good.

Astarion hums behind you as well, his fingers digging into your hips as he tries to steady himself. The desk crunches uncomfortably against your belly but it’s a welcome pain. It keeps you focused. You still have the energy to wiggle back against him as his cock slowly pushes in until there is no more room left to explore.

‘Be good,’ he whispers, ‘and I will give you what you deserve.’

What do you deserve exactly?

It’s hard to say. You enjoy your life of crime almost as much as you love the way Astarion bends you over his desk. You’re good at stealing, you’re good at killing, but you’re good at being soft and pliant as well, giving in to that sentimentality that keeps you coming back from more.

At first it was an elaborate game. What could you do to ensure that Magistrate Judge Astarion Ancunin looked your way? He was a noble elf, and your hands were covered in fresh dough from the baker you stole from. There was a curious glint in his eyes when he looked over you, yet somehow the gods had deemed the yeast and honey on your fingers was not honest enough to be proof.

You are smitten. You bounce taller on your toes with every aggressive thrust, arms struggling to support your weight. Astarion fists his fingers into your hair and pulls until your throat is exposed. He wants you to sing for him, so you do. You arch your back and moan loudly. The sounds of it bounce around his little office.

‘You wouldn’t shut up before,’ Astarion says breathlessly, a hoarse laugh.

‘Do something — worth talking about — ’

Astarions laughs incredulously, but he does fuck you harder for it. He releases your hair without much flourish and focuses on dragging your hips back onto his cock, punching forward so hard you see stars. It’s wonderful, it’s powerful. If Astarion’s entire goal was to make you forsake the world, he’s done a good job of turning your life around. The cravat rubs against your wrists as you try to seek purchase on the desk. Your fingers drag across the polished wood, and you shudder as you clench down around his cock.

You sound so breathless and silly, groaning while he fucks you against his desk. He fills you full until you’re certain you can take no more. You press a hot cheek against the wood and try to catch your breath. You hook a foot around his ankle for support, twisting on his desk. You tuck your arms beneath your chest. You feel as though you’re coming undone. All your years of villainy, and it comes undone by the consistency of Astarion’s presence.

Your arms are stiff from constantly being up, but you’re almost grateful when Astarion pauses. He helps you turn on top of his desk so you’re on your back instead, and even though the edge digs into your lower back, you prefer that to anything else.

You meet Astarion’s gaze. He tells you he hates you, that he wishes you were out of his hair, that he despises you, but the gentleness of his eyes tells you otherwise. He slides back into you with a small moan, and you wrap your legs around his hips to guide him in further.

‘It’s good,’ you gasp. ‘It’s good, you’re good — ’

Astarion doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. You can see it clear as day in his eyes. Astarion won’t say he loves you, that in his ardent fervor he seeks you out, but he knows that you know. Why else would fate lead you back together? You reach for his face with your hands, and his eyes flutter closed to avoid the wistfulness. He leans into your touch.

You cry softly as Astarion begins to grind into you again. He helps carry you as he does so. And it feels so good, feels so overwhelming that you briefly consider the fact that he has changed you for the better.

A spirit that slides into your very marrow. Astarion is hauntingly beautiful, and if he is a spider then you are a fly tangled in his web. He calls you a pretty thing and you give into the struggle. You press your wrists against your forehead and strain against his cock, unable to hide from the waves of crashing pleasure.

Astarion finishes inside of you with a low moan. He presses a rough hand against your belly to stabilize himself, and shyly, you touch his wrist with your bound hands just to feel his pulse. As soon as he’s caught his breath, he releases you from your bonds.

You almost miss him when he pulls away from you. He uses one of his hanging cassocks to clean himself with and is kind enough to do the same for you. You’re almost certain that your legs won’t work, so you sit up on his desk to rest and damn his paperwork to the hells. You kick off your breeches from around your ankles and sit, legs crossed, while Astarion tries to fix his reflection in the mirror.

‘You are truly an astute teacher,’ you say casually. ‘The art of lockpicking is all but gone from my mind. Thank you, your honor.’

Astarion snorts and shakes his head, torn between ignoring you and giving into your wiles. He curls his hair back into place and then walks back to you, leaning forward until you’re nose to nose.

You think he won’t kiss you, but then he does. His lips taste like summer oranges and you taste him until it’s the only thing you can think of. He hugs you tenderly. It isn’t the same as when he admonishes you. It makes your chest feel warm. You almost feel weaker for it. Your bite is being taken away.

‘I can’t keep protecting you,’ Astarion says softly against your cheek. ‘You torment me day and night. When I lie down in my sheets, I find myself consumed with worry.’

‘You think about me?’ you tease. ‘In your sprawling manse?’

‘Move in with me,’ he murmurs. ‘Then you can be inferior yet vain inside my sprawling manse.’

Astarion is not there that evening. You try to wait as long as you can without seeming suspicious. There are maids, family members, and their admirers who come inside and out throughout the evening — but not Astarion, never Astarion. You wait until the sun sets and fireflies light up the streets of the Upper City but eventually, the malaise of abandonment guides your feet away. You walk the streets aimlessly until a shiver runs down your spine. A chill so violent turns you away from the courthouse.

But in the morning, there’s a fuss. It draws you back into where you left and you can’t help but to lose yourself. Astarion is dead. His mother sobs. The members of the city watch who bear the bad news look equally as morose. Astarin’s father nearly falls to his knees in despair.

When you break into their manse that evening, you look for one thing. You steal a cravat from his wardrobe and tie it around your neck.

Then, you leave Baldur’s Gate.

You aren’t sure where your feet are going to take you.

Part of your yearns for the Underdark. Baldur’s Gate is a cursed city, you decide. You wander back to it after two hundred years of avoiding it like the plague, and not an hour within the city are you spirited away on an adventure you never longed for.

You have changed. You can’t really remember who you were all those years ago, or the hopefulness you might have felt in your chest once. You’re different now. A folk hero. You used to steal from the rich and give to the poor before the mindflayers fed you their parasite and stole that part of you. But you aren’t alone this time. You wander the beach for hours searching for anything that can be of use and pause over a love letter that makes you sob.

It isn’t all bad. You meet a half-elf who scowls as much as she mumbles to herself.

On the other side of the beach, you meet a ghost.

His eyes are different from what you remember. The warmth he once looked upon you with is gone and replaced by unfamiliar sanguine.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x oc #astarion smut #bg3 smut #from ，carcosa .#my fic #hyliandreso #you know i hit the prompt square on & then threw in a plot twist #is it really a carcosa fic if there isn't a plot twist somewhere #* say what you want，even if it's bad

480 notes · View notes

sykosugu · 29 days

Text

♤♢ on the run ♧♡ | one

♤ summary: she's an infamous bank robber, and he's the only detective that's been able to get close to her. he was never apart of her plans. but he's got his clutches in her and she can't let go. a geto suguru au

♢ warnings: this story will contain descriptions of violence, destructive behavior, toxic behavior, illegal activities, sexual content, death. use of weapons. forbidden romance

♧ aw smut, shower sex, p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, both are being manipulative in their own ways, cum play, choking if you squint, I think that's all tbh its all so numb to me at this point. if I missed any pls let me know!

♡ currently: completed

♤ taglist: closed

♢ wc: 3.4k

♧ carlile speaks:chapter one is finally here! I hope you're all as excited as I am. @celestie0 did get a lil sneaky sneaky bc I can’t resist her reactions! but based off of said reactions, I'm thinking you're all going to like this one! enjoy my babies!

♡: previous part | you are here | next part

You often sat back and thought of how you and Suguru came to meet. The infamous meeting outside the bank that nobody ended up knowing about. Then, looking at now, the “home” you’ve created in this hotel room. Suguru, still under the guise of the detective on your case, the hotel room in his name is down the hall; he never actually stayed in there. He’d never let you out of his sight long enough to sleep in a different room. It’d been that way since that very day. You’ve been attached ever since. Over the course of your time together, he’d learned almost everything about you. Or so he’d thought. You told him a plethora of information; but not all of it was your information. Bits and pieces of people’s identities you’d stolen in your time as The Red Queen. Bits and pieces of your truth mixed in with their truths. You’re still not sure if you’d tell him the truth now, for you fear how he’d look at you now after trusting you so much.

Much to your initial dismay.

Being attached to a cop was less than ideal. He didn’t understand your lifestyle. He was details and late night stake outs. You were lavish and luxury.

And a criminal. But semantics.

It took a lot of convincing for him to let you continue your scores; he was not too keen on it. But with the promise of him being able to help, he eased up on the opportunity.

In your mind, everyone usually got their items back. If they met your demands. Usually a large lump sum of money transferred into an untraceable off-shore account that would then be deposited into another untracable account that only you had access to, but was in a fake name.

Suguru was not a part of your plans. Then again, neither was getting caught and taken by him. But then again falling for him was the furthest thing from your plans.

That first night, he’d handcuffed you to the bedpost, and just talked your ear off. Talked about his investigation against you. Talked about the late nights he’d spent thinking over the details he couldn’t get right. He somehow thought you were fake; an idea. He thought you were just a guise someone used because nobody had ever really seen you.

Nearly a week in, you tried to resist his charm. Tried to resist him. He was just so drawn to you. He was undoubtedly gorgeous. But he was quite literally the enemy. He could change his mind any time and take you in. Of course you don’t understand how he really feels for you, but he’s not too keen on showing you how much just yet. He needed to gain your trust first; and you his.

Suguru was a sweet talker. Oh boy was he. “C’mon, pretty,” he’d smirk at you. “Know you want some,” he’d hold out some of the california roll he’d been eating. The sauce sticking to the corner of his lip. The pad of your thumb reaches up absentmindedly and swipes it away, tucking the appendage into your mouth while maintaining eye contact.

His eyes darkened at the sight. He’d ravish you here and now if you’d let him. “Mm, no thank you. I got enough from your mess,” you giggle, gesturing to his face.

He chuckles in response. “Well, you haven’t eaten anything since I brought you here. You have to eat something, Ru.”

“Ru?” you look at him with puzzled eyes. “Where did that even come from?”

“It’s cute and suits you.”

“I’ve never had someone describe anything about me as ‘cute’ you grumble, shifting to tuck your knees underneath you on the bed.

“Mm, and how else would they describe you?” he asks, inching closer to your side of the bed.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, detective,” you giggle, tucking his hair behind his ear. His breath hitches at the ghosting of your fingers over the skin of his face. You smirk. His skin heats up. You full on smile. “What’s wrong, Suguru? Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re making it very difficult to keep my composure,” he’s turning and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, facing away from you. You take the opportunity to lift up on your knees, placing your free hand on his shoulders. “Ruby,” he warns.

“What, detective,” you whisper in his ear. You have him where you want him. He just needed to trust you before you could make your move.

He reaches up, grasping your wrist and pulling you as he shifts his seating on the bed, forcing you to lay across his lap looking up at him. “That’s enough,” he says, eyes somehow a darker shade of brown.

“I was just getting started,” your big doe eyes looking up at him, a sly smile on your face. You reach up, cradling the side of his face. If you can get him to trust you this way, maybe he’ll take the handcuffs off and you can get back to your life. “C’mon, detective. Live a little,” you mirror his words back to him.

“You have no idea what you’re asking for,” he says darkly, tracing the features on your face with his pointer finger.

“Think i can handle it,” you close your eyes as he starts leaning down towards you, eyes locked onto your lips.

Sliding out from underneath you, he dips his knee into the mattress, leaning over you, trailing his hand up your side. His fingertips teasing your hips and ribcage, making your breath catch from the tickle sensation.

“Mm, is she ticklish?” he asks more to himself, leaning down near your ear. “I can work with that” he whispers, taking your lobe into his mouth, the post from your earring colliding with his tongue ring.

“Please,” a strangled moan leaving your spit slicked lips as he attaches his lips to your neck. He chuckles against the skin.

“Please, what?”

“Please, touch me,” you whisper. He suspiciously eyes you from above, not entirely convinced of your change in heart.

“Do you think I’m dumb?” he asks, standing from the bed, making you roll off the side, wrist still bound to the post. You stand to look him in the eye across the bed. You’re fuming at this point.

“No, I think you’re a pain in my ass who threw a giant wrench into my plans, and for what? You’re not turning me in. You have me handcuffed to this bed, which only makes me think even worse things about you,” his eyes soften at that. He doesn’t want you to think he’d ever do something like that. “And you haven't told me anything,” With that, you take your seat back on the bed.

“I’m just trying to keep you safe,” he whispers.

You laugh. I mean full on cackle. Tears start trickling down from all the laughter. “That’s rich, Detective. You don’t even know me.” you’re snapping at him now, He just lets you yell at him. You don’t understand the severity of what he’s doing. “How is kidnapping me and keeping me here with you, keeping me safe? There are people who expect me to get jobs done, Suguru. All you’re doing is putting both of us in danger.”

“Someone’s been trying to kill you,” he says matter of factly, sitting back down on the bed, facing away from you again.

“Y-you’re lying,” leaves your lips in the form of a whisper. No. Who would be trying to kill you? You thought you’d left everything in good standing when you decided to leave and drop the Red Queen title. You’d been trying to make a name for yourself, even though your entire MO is to not be seen or noticed.

“I’m not,” he promises, raising his right hand into the air, “Scouts honor.”

“W-who would want me dead?” you ask, more so to yourself than to him.

“A lot of people,” he quips. Suguru turns and faces you again, sliding closer to you on the bed.

“Okay, well I could have told you that. Who specifically to make you think a complete stranger needed your help,” the tone of your voice growing more and more irritated with each word.

“Toji Fushiguro.” leaves him in the form of a whisper.

Toji? Your Toji? There’s no way. He was your saving grace when you decided to leave and go off by yourself. He was the one who helped you. He was your best friend. Or so you thought. How could Toji betray you this way? Maybe staying here for a while isn’t such a bad idea. But you still need him to trust you. “Now I know you’re lying. Toji would never try to kill me,”

“Would you like to see the file I have?” he asks, motioning over towards his wall of evidence, the table beneath it covered in manilla folders and loose pieces of paper, pictures and crumpled up newspapers.

“Will you take the handcuffs off?” you ask, a flicker of hope flashing in your eyes.

“Well what would be in that for me?” he asks darkly, his hand reaching to caress the side of your face. You lean into his touch. Right where you want him.

“Would you like a continuation of earlier? Perhaps in the shower this time?” you grip his wrist, pulling his touch from your face, nodding your head towards the bathroom.

“Mm, now you’re speaking my language.” he grins at you, sliding to get off the bed again.”How can I trust you though?” he asks, fingers grazing over the handcuffs.

“You just told me you have proof that my best friend is trying to kill me. I don't think I have a good excuse to be alone with that in my head.” You lean down and kiss him. He’s taken aback but kisses you anyways.

“Best friend?” he asks, reattaching your lips. He pulls the key from his pocket, sliding it into the slot and unlocking your wrist. Taking it in his hold, he rubs the red marks left behind.

“How sweet,” you internally roll your eyes.

“Well, former best friend. He’s my ex’s business partner but he was always my friend when I was there,” You roll the two of you over so you’re straddling his hips, keeping your lips connected., sitting up, wrapping his arms around your middle, holding you as close to him as possible. He places his hands under your thighs, standing from the bed as he walks you to the bathroom. Setting you down on the floor, beginning to take your top off.

“Your ex?” he asks, reaching for the button of your jeans.

“Mhm,” you assist him in the removal of his shirt after sliding your jeans down your legs. Suguru leans into the shower, setting the water to a good temperature before returning to you.

“You’re sure about this?” he asks, slipping his fingers under your bra straps to help you pull it from your body.

“So sure,” a sly smile forms on your face. You lean up, attaching your lips again as you reach to unbutton his dress pants, pushing the material down his legs. Right where you want him.

“Which ex?” Suguru breathes out, your lips wrapped around his cock.

“You really wanna ask me that question right now?” He nods down at you. “Mm, detective, hasn’t anyone ever taught you about time and place?” you tease him, licking up the underside of his dick. “I’ll tell you after, if you excite me.”

“Oh, Ruby. You have no idea.”

His hands find a grip in your hair, guiding your mouth up and down his length. His moans fill the air as well as the gurgles falling from your lips. “S-shit, Ru, th-that’s so g-ood,” his voice breaks, the feeling of your throat engulfing his every thrust has his head in the clouds.

“Gonna cum down my throat, Detective?” You ask, pulling yourself off. Offering a stream of spit onto his cock, circling both of your hands up and down as you suckled on the tip.

He nods frantically, “If you don’t want that, better stop now.”

You double down, speeding up the motions of your hands, swirling your tongue over and over the tip. ‘Gimme your cum,” you moan around his cock.

“Oh, f-fuck, Ru,” he’s breathless, “C-cumming!” moans escape him, his hands tightening in your hair. Right where you want him

Running your hands up and down his cock, milking every last drop of his cum onto your tongue.

“D-don't swallow it yet,” he breathes. But you’re one step ahead. You dribble his cum back onto his length, using it as lube to continue jerking him off. “Ohh, you filthy girl.”

“The filthiest,” you moan, taking him into your mouth again.

“J-Jesus, Ru, you’re so good.”

“I know,” you gloat a little, standing from your spot on the floor; keeping your hands on his cock, jerking and jerking and jerking him off, “But now it’s your turn to impress me.”

Suguru pulls you into the shower with him, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip, inviting your tongue into his mouth. He searches every crevice of your mouth, tasting every bit of himself on your tongue.

He sinks to the floor, slinging one of your legs over his shoulder. “I’ll have you reeling in no time, Ru.” Right where you want him. Wasting no time, he dives right in. Tongue slipping between your folds; nose bumping your clit in a delicious rhythm. One of your hands finds the shower wall, while the other anchors in his raven colored hair. Pulling his hair tie off, letting his long hair cascade around his shoulders, and frame that face, He looks angelic. Mouth full, eyes closed; he looks like a dream when he’s quiet. Although you appreciate the vocalness when it’s because of you. “Tastes so sweet,” he groans, reattaching himself to your cunt.

“Might be the sweetest thing i’ve ever had.”

“Hm, now you’re just trying to seduce me,” you tease him, running your fingers through his hair.

“What gave you that idea?” he grins up at you, sliding two of his fingers up your leg, tantalizingly slow, before having them join his tongue; prodding into your depths to make you a mewling mess before him.

“F-uck, suguru, right there.”

“I had a feeling,” he gins against your cunt, sliding his face all around the surface; really getting in there; making your back press against the wall for support. You’re close to losing your footing until his other hand slides up your hip, holding you firmly in place against the wall.

“D-Don’t you dare stop,” leaves you in the form of a moan.

“What’ll happen if I do,” he’s teasing you now. He’s got you right where he wants you.

“I’ll–k-kill you,” both hands are tangled into his now soaking wet hair. Looking down into his eyes, there's a glint of lust in there at your threat.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he winks up at you, “But, I’d like to see you try, Ru.”

“Fuck you–hggn, oh god–Keep, go-oing, so close,”

“I got you, sweetheart. Give it all to me,” he coos, working you up into your release. His hand smooths down the expanse of your tummy before his thumb settles on your bundle, rubbing fast circles to milk every ounce out of you and onto his tongue.

“Oh, Oh g-god, Suguru,” you’re a panting mess above him, he just watches on with lustful eyes; reveling in the fact that he’s got you under his thumb.

Literally.

“Yeah? Gonna give me another?” he asks, diving back in with his tongue, You attempt to push his head away, but he’s got the upper hand since your legs feel like jello.

“C-can’t. Need a minute,” you slump against the wall, fingers gone limp in his hair.

“Oh, but where’s that attitude now? Hm?” He stands from his spot on the floor, hiking your leg over his hip.

“She’s still here, just gotta catch her breath for a second.”

“Mm, no time for that I’m afraid,” he swipes the tip of his cock through your folds, gathering some of the water and arousal left behind. He searches your eyes, asking for silent permission. Nodding your head, he begins to ease his way inside; albeit slowly due to his size and your less than active sex life lately. “S-such a tight squeeze, Ru,” he pants into your mouth, “N-not sure if I’ll fit,”

“M-make it fit, Detective,” with that, he smiles down at you, pulling himself from your cunt and spins you around to face the tile wall. Suguru presses your chest to the wall, commanding you to keep your hands–“Just about, here”--on either side of your head, palms flat against the wall. Pulling your hips back to get that perfect arch for him, hes swiping his cock through your folds once again,

“Make it fit, you say?” he teases from behind you, offering a smack on your right buttcheek, “Don’t mind if i do,” and he’s pressing in. No resistance, just presses inside, holding your hips firmly in place so you can’t escape the sensation. Cries and pleas of ‘oh my god, more,’ leave your lips at every inch that makes its way inside of you. Suguru reaches around you, stimulating your clit once again to help with the sting; stilling his hips against your ass once he’s fully sheathed. “Gimme a kiss,” he moans out, pulling your head back by the nape of your neck to sloppily cover your mouth with his.

“Sugu,” a moan falls from your lips.

“Ooh, that’s a new one. I think I like that,” he teases once again. “Need something, Ru?”

“M-move, p-please.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” he slides his arm across your chest, holding you back against him as he begins a brutal pace with his hips. Over and over, his hips collide with your backside. Every thrust feels harder than the last. He’s got your head spinning. Every nerve ending feels like its been set ablaze; a fiery sensation begins pooling in your gut with the combined feeling of his length pressing every good angle inside your pussy, mixed with the feeling of his fingertips on your clit; plus the fact that your air supply is now getting restricted as the arm that was across your chest reaches up to firmly grasp the front of your throat in a headlock. You topple over the edge, seizing against his body in his hold. “There’s a good girl,” he praises you, “Gonna let me cum inside this sweet pussy? Hm?”

“Uhuh, mhm,” you choke out, “Fill me up.”

“With pleasure, Ru,” and he’s emptying himself deep inside; squeezing every ounce he can into your sensitive depths. Every drag along your plush walls has all of his nerves on fire as he begins to come down.

“Now, which ex were you talking about?” He asks, pulling himself out, watching in awe as his cum spilled out of you.

“Oh my god, you’re still thinking about that after what we just did?” You ask, wrist reattached to the bedpost for an entirely different reason.

“Mhm, wanna know who I have to make you forget,” he smirks down at you, reaching to unlock your wrist for the second time tonight.

“I wish you could, if I’m being honest. I hate him,” your voice quiet.

“Who is he?” His fingers rub circles on your wrist.

“Ryomen Sukuna,” your voice shakes; his face pales. “The Red King.”

That night was almost a year ago though. You and suguru have been secretly ‘seeing each other’, though the other still has no idea of the other's intentions, while you wait out the plan you’ve made against Toji.

But after you’d asked him one question, you’re certain your feelings changed in that moment.

“Why do you always call me Ru?”

“Probably the same reason you call me Sugu,” he smirks at you, swiping a piece of your hair behind your ear as you two lay in bed after a long love making session after another successful score of yours. “Ru is short for Ruby, but it's also the ending of my name. Sugu, Ru. I have a hard time believing it's a coincidence that we met.”

“Well duh, you’d been tracking me for almost a year, remember?”

“Hush,” he kisses the crown of your head as it lays on his chest. You turn to look into his eyes, “I call you Ru because..You complete me. Just like how you complete Suguru,” he places a kiss on your nose, “You were made for me, Y/N.”

♡ tags: @celestie0 @lostfracturess @carlacujo @alwaysfreakingout @shervinss @jaelahh @gojolvrr34 @shesplendl @phoenix-eclipses

(pls make sure ur settings are right to get tagged!

#geto smut #geto suguru #geto x reader #getou suguru x reader #jjk geto #suguru geto smut #jujutsu geto #jjk suguru #geto suguru x you #geto x y/n #suguru geto x you #suguru geto x reader #geto x you #geto suguru x reader #suguru #suguru geto #suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen suguru

239 notes · View notes

kpopfanfictrash · 10 months

Text

Until Death (M)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Creative Contributor:@baebae-goodnight for this unbelievable moodboard truly, like, WHAT

Genre: Green Bone Saga!AU || Organized Crime / Forbidden Romance / Suspense + Action

Author’s Note: This one shot is set in the Green Bone Saga universe, written by Fonda Lee. You do not need to have read this series in order to read this one shot (I explain concepts/terms), but I do HIGHLY encourage you to read this series at some point because it’s absolutely amazing!! Anyways, Yoongi dropped the Haegeum MV and I was like.... did he read Jade City lol. Further disclaimer this is not a retelling of the books, nor does the Kaul family exist in this version of Kekon (although the No Peak clan does)

Pairing: Yoongi / Reader

Synopsis: Jade has always shaped the island of Kekon. Mined from the mountains, it enhances the abilities of Green Bone warriors who wear it and allows them protection from outside harm. No one understands these threats better than you do, second-in-command of the mighty No Peak clan.

When a new danger appears, seeming to come from within, everything you once took for granted is called into question. Including the bonds you’ve made, some more dangerous than the others. None more so than Min Yoongi, head of No Peak and the only one capable of destroying your heart.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: graphic violence, fight scenes and mature content (character dies in the story; not main character)

NSFW Warnings: dirty talk, nipple play, fingering, spanking, oral (female), multiple orgasms, possessiveness, unprotected sex (couple is monogamous), spit, hand job

Word Count: 17,650

[ Cross-posted to Wattpad here ]

“There’s a rat in our midst,” Jungkook growls, slamming his fist to the table.

No one in the room flinches, although several glance fleetingly in the direction of the Pillar. The typically mild-mannered head of No Peak frowns, clearly disturbed by the recent attacks. Only a madman wouldn’t be.

Still, his voice remains calm while answering your second Fist. “That remains to be seen,” Yoongi says. As though the current situation could be perceived as anything but a threat.

Subtle, you flick a glance towards him, then away. In the corner of your eye, you see Yoongi’s lips curve before smoothing to nothing. Lowering his palms to rest on the table, the ends of his sleeves rise to reveal solid jade.

Leaning back, you survey the table before you. As the Horn of No Peak, it’s your job to defend the clan’s territory – by force, if necessary. Several levels of Green Bone warriors report into you, including your Fingers (the lowest of soldiers) and Fists, your direct reports.

Jungkook became Second Fist only a month prior but already, he’s created a name for himself. An impulsive, somewhat violent name for himself.

In this case though, you happen to agree with him. Not one, but two Lantern Men – commercial patrons of No Peak – have turned up dead in the past week, tortured beyond recognition. Over a week has passed since the first murder and still, there’s no suspect. Neither man was wealthy nor wore jade beyond a single piercing. Each was killed in a different part of town with no family in common. For a week, you’ve been racking your brain for motive and coming up empty.

Peeved by the thought, your fingertips dig into your leather jacket. Perceiving the shift to your aura, Yoongi starts to turn – catching himself just in time and facing forward.

An assortment of Lantern Men, Fists and Luckbringers (the money-making side of the clan) sit around a worn table. All watch the Pillar warily, as though uncertain how this meeting will end.

Tilting his head, strands of dark hair fall across Yoongi’s forehead. Studs of green line his ears, a single bolt of jade threaded through his right brow. Since the Academy, Yoongi has preferred to wear his jade as piercings – except for the clusters on fingers and wrists. He flexes these now, a visual display of power.

Jade from the island of Kekon is powerful; toxic to all but the Green Bones trained to wear it. To them, it grants unique power in each of the six disciplines: Strength, Steel, Perception, Lightness, Deflection and Channeling. Being from Kekon is no guarantee a person can wear and use jade, though. Individual tolerance varies, with most not able to withstand more than a few pieces.

No one in No Peak wears more jade than the Pillar – no one but you, that is.

This thought brings little comfort in a room such as this. Most of the sycophants seated around the table would turn on Yoongi – and No Peak – in a heartbeat. If it’d enrich their coffers, they would switch sides, honor be damned. You trust your Fists and Fingers but find it hard to extend the same grace to Namjoon’s side of the clan.

Kim Namjoon, known as the Weather Man, heads No Peak’s monetary ventures. Ranking as highly as you, he reports directly to Yoongi. Turning to face Namjoon, you make no attempt to hide your suspicion.

Although he doesn’t meet your gaze, his annoyance flares. Namjoon’s jade aura is weaker, fueled by one or two jade rings on his fingers. More would be unnecessary in his line of work. Namjoon’s lips tighten, able to Perceive your attention.

Perception is one of the more interesting skills of a Green Bone. Wearing jade creates an aura and through it, other Green Bones can sense emotion and intention. For example, you sense that Namjoon is annoyed, but you don’t know why. You can hazard a guess, based on the context.

Although you both graduated from the Academy at the same time, you barely knew Namjoon in your youth. The Kim family is legendary, having fought alongside Yoongi’s grandfather to dispel the Shotarian occupation of Kekon. You, on the other hand, moved to the city of Janloon when you were ten and joined the Academy as an outsider.

Not only were your social circles different, so were your interests. Even as children, Namjoon preferred brains over brawn, while you – well, you don’t enjoy violence, but you understood its necessity in protecting those you love. Ever since your father’s death, what you love has been No Peak.

You suppose Yoongi could’ve picked a worse person for Weather Man. Namjoon is shrewd, if occasionally withholding. He has the best interests of the clan at heart, even if you often disagree about what those interests are.

“Min-jen,” Namjoon says, the respectful title flowing from him like water. “I share your frustration with the current situation. My men are, of course, at your disposal.”

Your gaze narrows on his profile. Namjoon loves to offer help but when push comes to shove, it’s your side of the clan on the front lines.

“And what will your men do?” you inquire, drawing heads your way. “The entirety of their green couldn’t be seen in a desert.”

Someone down the table coughs, although they swiftly fall silent when Yoongi clears his throat. Disappointment radiates from him, turning his head.

“One’s worth to the clan isn’t measured in jade,” he says levelly. “You’d do well to remember that, in the future.”

Sitting back, you school your expression to nothing. Shame swirls in your stomach though because Yoongi is right. His sister is a stone-eye; someone unable to use or wear jade. Yejun feels nothing of jade’s effects – either positive or negative – but serves the clan in her own way. Kekon is superstitious about such things though and, when Yejun was born, rumors ran rampant it boded ill for Yoongi’s leadership. Rumors the Pillar has done his best to stamp out.

“Yes, Min-jen,” you acquiesce, inclining your head.

“My Luckbringers are reviewing financial statements of the victims,” Namjoon says, as though you haven’t spoken. “If there’s any monetary connection between them, we’ll find it.”

“My Fists are also investigating,” you add. “We’ll keep the clan updated.”

A scoff from the lower end of the table. Turning your head, you find Mr. Hu, a wealthy Lantern Man, watching you with a scowl. Middle-aged, with a portly belly from hoji, the man has never accepted you as his Horn. As the first woman bestowed the honor, you expected there to be some resistance.

Not that it endears him to you. Sweetly, you smile and lean forward. “Did you have something to add, Mr. Hu?”

Briefly, his gaze drops to the jade around your throat. Forcing a swallow, he forces his gaze to lift. You must give him credit; the man continues, despite the visual reminder you could kill him in seconds.

“Investigating what?” he asks, puffing out his chest. “I saw the second victim being brought in. There was… well. There was little to see. Tortured,” he adds, addressing the muttering around the table. “The man was mercilessly tortured before he was killed.”

Perceiving the shift in Yoongi’s emotions – edging towards fury – you hasten your response.

“Mr. Hu,” you say, lightly resting your hand on a Talon knife. “I thank you, for having the foresight to raise such an important issue.”

Frowning, he glances left and right, but his fellow Lantern Men avoid him. Likely, they understand this won’t end well. Indeed, Jungkook is already eyeing the man with barely concealed malice, thumb stroking slowly over the hilt of his sword.

“The fact that both victims were tortured,” you continue, conversational. “Almost as though the killer were looking for something.”

“Or someone,” Namjoon adds.

“Or someone,” you agree, focusing on Mr. Hu. “My men are searching the murder sites for more information now. While they do that though, are there any other details of an active murder investigation you’d like to know? Perhaps whether the victims pissed themselves before death, or left money behind?”

Paling, Mr. Hu seems to realize how this sounds. “N-no,” he says. “Thank you for sharing what you have, Horn-jen.”

Ignoring him, you glance in the direction of Yoongi. “We’ll find the traitor. I swear it.”

His aura flares, full of emotion unrelated to the conversation at hand. “Of that, I have no doubt,” Yoongi says lowly.

Heat floods your face, sensing his intent and swiftly, you look away before others can notice.

“While the Horn and Weather Man conduct their investigations, I ask for everyone to remain on high alert,” Yoongi says, surveying the table. “No Peak will increase Green Bone presence in the border districts. If you see anything of interest, contact the clan.”

Several Lantern Men relax at the mention of Green Bones. You know business has been hard as of late, with so many customers shaken by the violence. Hopefully, this will convince the people No Peak has the situation in hand. Otherwise, why would the Lantern Men continue to pay for your protection?

Glancing at the bloody photographs laid out on the table, you can hardly blame them for their skittishness. Whoever killed these two victims was skilled. Their torture tactics are pristine, better than most graduates from the Academy. A skill you also possess, although you choose not to use it outside of last resorts. Even then –

Your fingers cease tapping against your leather jacket. Straightening, you realize the skill displayed is exactly that of the Academy. The cuts, the angle of the blade and depth of the wounds – all of it, textbook. A Green Bone did this, you’re certain.

Sharply, you glance up and allow your distress to show. Voicing your suspicion aloud would only end badly. Above all, the Pillar must appear in control. If a Green Bone – even a disgraced one – is murdering citizens of No Peak, it would be a disaster. Better to discuss your suspicions in private before airing them to the entire group.

Perceiving the shift in your emotions, Yoongi stiffens. “We’ll update you with any new information,” he says, dismissal clear in his tone. “Thank you for coming.”

Chair legs scrape floorboards, patrons filing out as they murmur to one another. Asha, your First Fist, hovers by the door until you give a discreet shake of your head. Nodding, she slips out and you see Jungkook follow.

To one side, Yoongi converses tersely with his Pillarman, Hoseok, until Hoseok exhales and swiftly exits the room. Kim Namjoon stays, drinking a glass of water at the opposite end of the table. Once you three are alone, Yoongi holds up his hand. He waits, utterly still until the last jade aura fades.

Only then does he turn. “Well, Y/N?” he drawls. “What did you realize?”

Not wasting time, you pluck a photograph from the pile and toss it before him. “These cuts,” you explain. “They were made by a moon blade. So precise – so even. Exactly the length taught at the Academy. Which means–”

“Shit,” Namjoon mutters. He sets down his glass. “We’re fucked.”

You give him a look. “Precisely.”

Yoongi frowns, his distaste palpable. “This is the work of a Green Bone.”

“I think so.”

Pushing his chair back to stand, Namjoon grabs a photo and turns it sideways. “Why would a Green Bone go after a Lantern Man, though?” he wonders out loud. “He wasn’t even wearing jade when he died – it’s against aisho.”

Yoongi’s lips press tightly together.

Aisho refers to the strict code of honor governing all who wear jade. There are many tenets, but first and foremost is that those who wear jade don’t harm the jadeless. Aisho also limits retaliation following honorable duels, ensuring the clan lines remain intact.

A Green Bone who follows aisho would never attack a citizen.

Which forces you to draw an unsavory conclusion. “Unless they didn’t care,” you say, voicing the worst possibility. “The killer could have been trained as a Green Bone and left.” Stiffening slightly, you glance at Yoongi. “You don’t think…”

“I do,” Yoongi mutters. His jaw clenches, then unclenches. “Maro.”

Namjoon swears softly.

Maro – known to most as Toh Marosun – is a traitor to No Peak. He grew up in the same circle as Namjoon, Yoongi, and other high-ranking Green Bones. Maro attended the Academy in the same class as Yoongi, and everyone expected him to become the Horn. Brilliant, swift, and vicious in battle – not to mention one of Yoongi’s closest friends.

Despite this fact, you never liked him. Having grown up the only daughter of an unremarkable Lantern Man, you experienced Maro the way most people did. Toh Marosun was cruel. Saccharine, willing to say whatever people in power wanted to hear. Maro knew exactly what to do, what to say to manipulate followers. From the beginning, you saw Maro for who he was – a bully.

He joined No Peak’s ranks as a Finger, but swiftly rose to prominence. By the time you graduated, Maro was the youngest Fist in No Peak’s history. What he lacked in jade tolerance he made up for in cunning. Maro was always more sensitive to jade, but he was also smart. Talented, with the skills he did have.

In Green Bone society, there are two ways to gain jade – gifted or earned. Green Bones win jade through physical duels, taking the green from those they defeat. Recklessly, Maro began to challenge rival clans and often, he won despite not being able to wear his spoils. He displayed his jade often, which you suppose should’ve been the first warning sign.

Maro cared too much for personal glory. In Kekon, glory is achieved through the clan. Even the Horn and the Weather Man only exist to further No Peak’s prowess. The Pillar themselves is the embodiment of the clan, not their own person.

Even now, you recall the day Maro’s crimes were exposed.

Seven years prior, you were a Finger on routine patrol when Sain, your Fist, was commanded to return to the Min property. He brought you along, stationed by the front gate to ensure no one left.

You guarded with another Finger, one whose name you don’t recall. What you do remember is the utter stillness of the day, the unnatural calm which comes before a storm. The sun was bright overhead, a thick bead of sweat sliding down your neck when the door behind you at the main house banged open.

A man tumbled down the steps, landing in a heap in the billowing dirt. Coughing, he struggled to right himself, but both his hands were bound. From your spot at the gate, you couldn’t see clearly but you scented his blood. Heard the bruised rasp of his breath.

Yoongi prowled down the front steps, his famed Da Tanori steel glinting in his right hand. His gaze never wavered from the man bound before him – Toh Marosun, his former friend.

“Do you deny it?” Yoongi asked, his voice soft but deadly. Despite this, you Perceived conflicting emotions within.

Toh Maro stayed silent. Eventually, he exhaled.

“No,” he said sullenly.

Unable to stop it, you turned and saw Maro staring unflinchingly up at the Pillar. Yoongi stood over him, his lips a thin line of displeasure. You didn’t know what had happened but feared the worst from Yoongi’s expression.

In that moment, you didn’t envy the Pillar. Yoongi had become head of No Peak only a year prior; in many ways, he was as untried as you were. He was a silent, intelligent man and many people thought they could take advantage of him.

They were wrong, of course, but it would take time to prove that.

On that day though, you felt the dull grief to his aura. “Then I am sorry,” Yoongi said quietly. “For you leave me with no choice. Toh Marosun, you stand accused of smuggling jade from No Peak – one of the worst crimes a Green Bone can commit.”

The entirety of your blood drained as you turned around.

Spine steeling, you gripped your knives tighter. There were few crimes so awful they couldn’t be forgiven, but stealing from the clan was one of them. Cutting off Maro’s ear would be too light a punishment, especially with Yoongi so untried a Pillar. Death would be acceptable. Expected, even.

It would be the Pillar’s call – the clans weren’t run as a democracy. Straining Perception, you listened closely behind you. Although you’d interacted little with the Pillar, the man behind the mask couldn’t help but intrigue you.

Broken sobs filled the clearing, and you heard the sudden thud of knees hitting the grass. No jade aura accompanied the sound.

“Yoongi, please,” gasped a voice – feminine, young. “Brother, please spare him. Don’t kill him, he –”

“Silence.” Yoongi’s voice echoed over the courtyard. The newcomer obeyed with a lone, stifled sob. “You’ve been found innocent, sister,” he said, sounding weary. “But that does not make you innocent.”

The threat of his words hung overhead and although Yejun continued to sniffle, the sound of it muffled. When you glanced sideways again, you saw her face in her palms.

Yoongi watched dispassionately, although you sensed his inner turmoil. Rumors had reached your ears by then that Maro was dating Yejun. It seemed to be true, based on the way she pleaded.

Returning to face the gate, the yard remained silent until Yoongi exhaled. “Toh Marosun,” he declared, his sword sheathing. “From this day on, you are banished from Kekon. Return your jade to the clan and go. If you return to Janloon, your life is forfeit. Take him,” he said, speaking to someone you couldn’t see.

You didn’t dare turn, but tugged your knives a half-inch from their sheathes. If Maro decided to fight, you’d be expected to protect the Pillar. For whatever reason – disbelief, or respect – Maro didn’t attack, and no violence took place. He left in the waiting car, but you’ll never forget the look on his face when he passed.

Despite your young age, you recognized the glint in his eye. Fury, tempered by disbelief. He’ll be back, you thought grimly. It was only a matter of time before someone like Maro declared vengeance.

Your gaze slid to Yoongi, wondering if he felt the same. He watched Maro leave, his expression carefully neutral before he turned around and entered the house. Yejun had already disappeared, likely leaving upon Maro’s banishment.

The expression on Yoongi’s face now is similar, staring down at the photograph. Another moment passes before you realize something else.

“They knew each other,” you say, glancing between the victims. Reaching out, your hand lightly touches a photo. “Icho Retubin. He worked for the Weather Man after the Academy. And this man here” – you touch the other – “Niru Roluan. A low-ranking Finger who quit after a year.”

“He was friendly with Marosun,” Namjoon recalls.

“Yes.” Eyes wide, you look up. “After Maro’s scheme was uncovered, both of them quit and began working as Lantern Men.”

“Interesting,” Yoongi muses. “So. Toh Marosun returns. He tortures and kills his former friends – why?” he murmurs, speaking more to himself than either of you.

Brow lowering, you search for the easy answer. “He’s torturing them for something,” you say, glancing at the wounds. “Information, maybe.”

Yoongi tilts his head. “Which begs the question – has Maro found what he wants, or is he still looking?”

“Does it matter?”

Namjoon shrugs at your question. “If Maro hasn’t found what he wants, he’ll strike again. If he did find it – well. We might be out of time.”

Yoongi considers. “He didn’t find it,” he says, turning around to stride for the door. “Call it a gut feeling.”

Your gaze narrows on his backside. “Let’s call it more than that.”

Yoongi turns around, lips twitching in a smile only you see. “I can think of two reasons Maro might return. One – jade.” The Pillar lifts a finger. “Or, two – revenge.” His second lifts.

You and Namjoon exchange a look. “Maro could find jade on the Shotarian black market if he wanted,” you say.

“Exactly.” Yoongi drops his hand. “Which is why I’m inclined to call this revenge.”

“Maro could want revenge on anyone, though,” Namjoon points out. “Most likely whoever sold him out in the first place.”

“Well, that makes this easier.” Casual, Yoongi tucks both hands in his pockets. “I sold him out. I discovered details of his jade smuggling in Yejun’s apartment.”

“Yejun?” Sharply, you look at him. “Your sister knew?”

Yoongi’s gaze hardens. “Yes, she knew,” he says. “I’m sure you understand why I kept that piece of information to myself until now. Yejun wasn’t involved with the smuggling, but she knew it was happening… and didn’t tell me,” he adds, his voice grim.

Mind reeling, you attempt to digest this piece of information. Betrayal lodges deep in your gut, although you do your best to dispel it. It’s pointless to expect Yoongi to tell you everything – especially events which occurred before you became the Horn.

Namjoon also looks troubled. “That’s… but that means–”

“Careful what you say, Namjoon.” Although his tone remains soft, Yoongi’s body tenses. “The matter is done. I punished Yejun as I saw fit, within my right as Pillar. Trust me,” he adds, his façade cracking a little. “Her deception was dealt with.”

Silently, you wonder if this is why Yejun studied in Espenia. As a stone-eye, she can’t serve the clan as a Green Bone, but could have taken other paths. She could have become a Luckbringer on Namjoon’s side or begun a career in government. Instead, Yejun left Janloon for a foreign University. It was only recently she returned to start her residency at Jan Royal University.

Curious, your gaze flicks to Yoongi. If what he says is true, then surely, he knows Maro is coming for him. Yejun might not have betrayed him, but Min Yoongi did. It’s only a matter of time before Maro discovers what happened.

Blood simmering, you do your best to hide your frustration. Your role as Horn would be much easier if the Pillar would be honest about all his enemies. Suppressing your scowl, you ignore the heat of Yoongi’s gaze on the side of your face.

“Namjoon,” he says, turning away. “I want a list of potential targets. People Maro has worked with in the past or knew at the Academy. Assuming he doesn’t have the information he wants, Maro will strike again.”

“On it,” Namjoon says, already heading for the door.

Although faint, you can feel the cool brush of his aura passing. You envy the Weather Man’s ability to ingest information and remove partiality. Even after something like Yejun’s betrayal, he remains unflappable. Namjoon simply absorbs and executes, doing what needs to be done.

Left alone with your thinking, you can’t claim the same. Namjoon’s jade aura fades when he exits, footsteps receding to leave you alone with the Pillar.

You refuse to look at him, casting your Perception outward. A Green Bone with as much jade as you have can Perceive a beetle crawling through the tall grass outside. Feel the rumble of cars on the distant streets. Hear Yoongi’s heart beat from across the room.

Wearing jade results in a dizzying expansion of knowledge. You’re used to it by now – years of training and genetics lessen the risk of being overwhelmed. Without either, it’s all too easy to lose control.

It’s one of the reasons jade-smuggling is a serious crime. The other being that jade is the main source of income funding the clans. Selling jade through non-regulated channels increases the risk of it falling into the wrong hands. Hands which could bring negative consequences to other people or themselves.

Aisho outlines a strict Green Bone code of honor. It states Kekon first, clan first, family first. Occasionally, all three are tied and occasionally, one outstrips the other. Maro disobeyed every rule by selling jade to the Shotarians.

Maro knew all this and chose to continue, blinded by greed. He placed his personal glory above that of the clan, something which must be dealt with. To a lesser degree, Yejun chose Maro over No Peak, as well – which is why you’re surprised Yoongi said nothing.

“Y/N.”

Yoongi speaks your name softly, forgoing your title.

Stiffening, you force yourself not to turn. “Don’t call me that.”

“What?” he asks, his voice moving closer. “Your name?”

Hand brushing your elbow, Yoongi turns you to face him. Against all better judgement, you obey – and find your first mistake. Meeting his gaze, a ripple of familiarity – of home, a voice whispers – goes through you.

Shutting all this down, you lift your chin. “You lied to me.”

Yoongi’s expression flattens. “I couldn’t explain.”

“You could have. You chose not to.”

“I couldn’t,” he insists. “I’m still not sure I didn’t make a mistake. I showed mercy, Y/N.” Yoongi pauses, then swallows. “I exiled my friend and sent my sister away – and now, look what’s happened. Two men have been killed, and it’s my fault. How could I have told you,” he adds, the words desperate, “when I knew it’d result in that look on your face?”

“I’m looking at you like this because you lied. Not because of a decision you made in the past. Mercy isn’t a weakness, Min Yoongi.”

“Some would say that it is,” he murmurs. Fleeting, his gaze drops to your lips.

Yoongi drops all restraint so his emotion, so often concealed, smears through his aura. Longing, anger and fear, mixed with worry.

White-hot electricity jumps over your skin. Seeing the normally reserved Pillar undone in your presence is a heady knowledge. Knowledge that terrifies you, even as everything in you aches to move closer.

“It’s not,” you exhale, meeting his gaze.

Something falters in his expression and Yoongi stares at you, heated. You Perceive his intent – a rough flare to his aura – a moment before Yoongi bends and crushes your mouth to his. His kiss is thorough, intent, his body curving with yours while walking you towards the wall.

You instantly cave, unable to withstand the desperate sweep of his tongue. “Yoongi,” you groan, fingers gripping him tighter. “People will hear.”

“Let them,” he says, his voice undeterred.

Before you can respond, his lips fall upon yours with increasing urgency. Hand slipping beneath your jacket, Yoongi cups your waist to pull you taut against him. Eyes falling shut, you swiftly scan the building for lingering Green Bones. Finding no one, you return your attention to Yoongi and bite down on his lip.

He growls, grip tightening when you tug him towards you. Breaking away, Yoongi lowers his head to suck the curve of your throat. He lingers at your jade, tongue darting out to lick the skin underneath. Your entire body shudders, aroused by the sensation.

Touching another person’s jade is intimate. Most wouldn’t allow their own family the honor, let alone someone they sleep with. Skin contact with jade imbues power, and the swift rise and fall of it can be dangerous. Only Yoongi is brave – or foolish – enough to risk the effects.

Spine on the wall, you inhale at the rush. Yoongi’s length presses against your core, already hard through the confines of his pants. It seems unfathomable that this man, a stranger to you for so long, can inspire such potent emotion.

When you first met him, you were ten, and he was fourteen. You didn’t know who Yoongi was at the time – a fact which now seems unthinkable. Raised in southern Kekon, you came to Janloon after your mother’s death with little understanding of clan politics. Likely, you would have remained so if your high jade tolerance hadn’t pushed your father to enroll you at the Academy.

Walking through the gates that first day, you found nothing but apathy. The best-case scenario was your classmates left you alone. Worst-case, the other children were brutal. You attended school with the sons and daughters of high-ranking clan members. Although your father joined No Peak as a Lantern Man eventually, he could hardly be called successful. The Academy had no patience for a rural girl whose jade tolerance far outstripped their own.

It wore on your classmates’ pride when the teachers praised you. You began to get noticed, and not in a good way. Fed up with your presence, one of the students attacked you at the end of your first year. Even then, you knew how to defend yourself and flipped him on his back. Stunned, he stared up at you before yelling to anyone within earshot that you’d regret this. His father was a powerful Lantern Man of No Peak and he said you’d be banished before graduation.

Fear gripped you, sensing the truth to his words. Based on your own experience, you knew No Peak wouldn’t believe you over one of their own.

Despair filled your thoughts as someone entered the corridor. Your attacker instantly froze, which should have clued you in this was someone important. Still, you refused to look, reticent to turn your back on an opponent.

The newcomer cleared their throat, further stoking your ire. After a moment, you dragged your attention to them.

Min Yoongi stared back, his expression mild. “So,” he said. “Who can tell me what happened?”

Looking him up and down, you chose not to respond. You didn’t trust a stranger – a fourth year at that – to intervene on your behalf. Most likely, Yoongi was a member of No Peak and had only arrived to harass you further.

Seeing your hesitance, your attacker jumped in. He accused you of treachery, saying you jumped him in the corridor and threw him on the ground. Silent, your fingers curled into fists, but you remained quiet, even when Yoongi turned.

“Well?” he asked you. “Is that right?”

Your lips dropped into a scowl. “He deserved what he got.”

Subtle, his brow flicked upward.

To your dismay, you saw people had gathered as whispers broke out. A sinking suspicion occurred to you that something was wrong. Not with your attacker, but whoever this was.

Yoongi stared at you for a long moment before, to your surprise, he chuckled. “I agree.” Turning to face the boy, a dangerous light entered his eye. “I’d suggest not telling your father what happened, Heike. Because then, I might feel honor-bound to confess what I saw. Which was his son ruthlessly attack a first year, lose and then lie about it to his future Pillar.”

Color bled swiftly from Heike’s skin. “Yes, Min-jen,” he whispered, head bowed in shame.

Panic-stricken, you stared as realization sunk in you’d been flippant to the future Pillar. Steeling yourself, you waited for Min Yoongi’s response – likely anger or worse. Based on your experience, most men in power liked this fact to be known.

Instead, Yoongi merely turned and looked you up and down. His gaze traveled you slowly, unreadable in his scrutiny. At last, he glanced up.

“Your father owns the tea shop by the docks, yes?” he said, waiting for you to nod before he continued. “He joined No Peak as a Lantern Man last year.”

“Yes, he did.”

His lips twitched. “Well, then,” Yoongi said as he turned away. “I can’t help but be grateful he chose No Peak to patron. It would’ve been shame to lose you to another clan.”

Stricken, you watched as he strode from the courtyard. Minutes passed, and eventually you realized the crowd had dispersed. Heike skulked off to nurse his wounds and the future Pillar had gone, giving them no reason to stay.

If you weren’t loyal to No Peak before, you certainly were after. Yoongi had that type of effect on people.

After that day though, you rarely interacted. Yoongi was four years your senior and the future Pillar, while you were nobody. Albeit a talented nobody who graduated at the top of their class from the Academy. At your graduation, people whispered you’d make a strong Fist. No one ever imagined you’d rise higher than that.

You joined No Peak as a Finger, starting from the bottom. Yoongi continued to remain out of reach, the newly named Pillar struggling to earn his own title. It didn’t take long though, before you rose in the ranks. You spent two years as a Finger, then two as a Fist – you were twenty-two years old when promoted to Horn. The youngest in history, and a woman to boot.

Yoongi was adamant in the choice, defending you calmly to the entire clan. He said he’d rather have the right person at a young age than the wrong person at the right age. His support was the only reason you didn’t strangle him that first year. It was the beginning of working together and as it turned out, Yoongi drove you mad.

He micromanaged, overseeing all decisions to ensure No Peak ran smoothly. You two bickered often, the fire eventually dissipating to begrudging acceptance. Ultimately, you realized you saw the world the same – No Peak first, followed by everything else.

Back then, Yoongi dated but none of them stuck. No one understood the sacrifice necessary to remain head of No Peak. Couldn’t comprehend the ruthlessness, the dedication it took to lead the clan. Yoongi could never let his guard down, could never relax with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

You understood, though, because you shared this burden. Yoongi could be honest with you in a way he couldn’t be elsewhere. To the rest of the clan, he was the infallible Pillar, but to you, he was only a man.

Proof of said manhood hardens against your thigh, and Yoongi’s lips curve gamely at the base of your throat. Head lifting, his smile is sharp enough to carve the remaining bit of your heart.

“You left early this morning,” he observes, his gaze dimming. “Why?”

Your eyes trace his lips before lifting to his face. “Hian called in sick, so I replaced his watch. My Fists are spread thin, Yoongi.”

A wrinkle forms between his brows. “You should’ve woken me.”

“Why?” you tease, your hand sliding lower to rest above his hip. “To watch me go? You needed your sleep.”

“I needed you more.”

Yoongi’s words still your fingertips, struck by his honesty. Min Yoongi is nothing if not blunt, leaving you often speechless. What began as just sex, mounting frustration between friends, has become something almost too tenuous to name. The idea of having him scares you nearly as much as the prospect of losing him.

“You had me last night,” you murmur.

Yoongi’s fingers drift across your cheek. “And yet,” he says, unwilling to let you off the hook. “I woke up ravenous.”

Multiple meanings layer his words, some of which you purposefully choose not to hear. Instead, you glance past him to search the grounds. Several Green Bones cross the lawn, none of them close enough to overhear. Still, it reminds you of what’s at stake.

Exhaling gently, you pull from his touch. “I should go,” you tell him.

Head tilted, Yoongi’s dark hair conceals the jade in his brow. His brow wrinkles when he Perceives your tumultuous emotions.

“You’re worried,” he says.

“Of course, I am,” you say with a frustrated laugh. “I’m your Horn, Yoongi. It’s my job to protect the clan – to protect you – and right now, it feels like I’m failing.”

His gaze on you sharpens. “First off, I can protect myself. Second – it’s my job as Pillar to protect the clan. How can you protect us from something I can’t see?”

“How many times do I have to say you don’t shoulder that burden alone?”

The lines around his mouth deepen. “In good times, I’m lauded. It only follows that in bad times, I’m the one at fault.”

“Oh, if that’s all,” you say drily. “I, for one, have never lauded you.”

“Oh, really?” Stepping closer, his expression shifts from frustration to carnal. “I seem to recall differently last night.”

Electricity catches each place his gaze lingers, shivering its way down your spine. Refusing to let him notice, you lift your chin higher. “You’d have to remind me. It all blurs together.”

Yoongi bares his teeth, and you can’t help but smile. If there’s one thing the Pillar of No Peak can’t resist, it’s a challenge. The start of your relationship is proof enough of that.

After your promotion to Horn, you spent most waking hours by Yoongi’s side. Working with him was exhausting. Every decision turned into an argument. How many Fists you should have. How many students to admit to the Academy. Whether you should train with the Kekonese military or not.

Yoongi constantly occupied space in your thoughts, and not in a good way. He frustrated you, forcing you to second-guess and slow down your thought process. Maddeningly, he was often correct, which only served to further your irritation.

Eventually, things began to shift. Bickering turned to acceptance and finally, understanding. Yoongi trusted you more often to make the right calls and in turn, you snapped at him less for his input. Your arguments dwindled, then disappeared altogether.

Three years passed as Horn, and soon your frustration gave way to a different kind. You started to notice when Min Yoongi entered the room. At first, you brushed it off as nothing. Yoongi had an undeniable presence, this was true. Soon though, you realized your thoughts breached the border of friendship.

His absence could be felt like a phantom limb. Yoongi’s jade aura comforted you despite its fierceness – so at odds with the calm way he carried himself.

Idly, you wondered what it would take for him to snap. To release his infamous self-control and fully give in. Thoughts of what Yoongi would feel like left your body scorched. On more than one occasion, you awoke with an ache between your legs and a dream of his face slipping away.

Such thoughts though, were dangerous. Yoongi was the Pillar, and you were his Horn – a relationship couldn’t happen and what’s more, he’d shown no interest. You began to withdraw out of self-preservation. Prior, you sparred with Yoongi every morning but soon found yourself making excuses to skip.

What was once daily practice turned into every week and then, once a month. Yoongi was a distraction you could ill-afford, disarming you with his laughter as easily as his sword.

Instead, you forced your attention on training your Fists. Firstday through Fifthday, you met Asha and Jungkook at the gym before dawn. This went on for months, training in secret until one day you exited and saw Yoongi’s car at the curb. Stomach sinking, you watched as he reversed and sped down the street.

Perceiving tumultuous emotion, you knew confrontation was inevitable but hoped Yoongi would give you time to process.

He did not.

Instead, Yoongi pounded on your door the very next morning. When you finally answered, he tossed a practice sword your way and demanded you dress.

Shaking free of your stupor, you glared at Yoongi a moment before slamming the door. Stalking inside, you threw gear in a bag and returned to the hall. Stomping past him, you refused to acknowledge Yoongi, throwing open the door to his Duchesse Priza.

Yoongi sped to his place in silence, tension churning between you like water beneath a ferry. At his gym, you stormed out and ripped the sword from its sheath. Yoongi followed closely behind, barely leashed emotion rolling off him in waves.

You flew at him first, your body Light, and then Strong while swinging towards his head. Moving through the various jade disciplines, you relied on training hammered into your bones. Yoongi caught a blow on his forearm, Steeling his skin to avoid any damage. The two of you entered a familiar rhythm, understanding the other in ways no one else could.

It must’ve been hours before you threw down your sword and declared the match ended. Yoongi simply stared, his chest heaving with a wild spark in his eyes.

You were turning to leave when he dropped his blade, strode across the clearing and crushed your mouth to his.

Five months have passed since. Your relationship has been kept a secret, with you unwilling to place any labels. People would talk if the Horn and Pillar were dating. You don’t want that for yourself. Not when you’ve worked so hard for credibility.

Pressing his thumb to your lower lip, Yoongi drags it lower before he releases. “I’ll have to remind you, then,” he says before stepping away. The heat dissipates from his gaze, leaving you cold. “But you’re right. I should go.”

Somewhat dazed, you feel yourself nod. This is what you wanted, you remind yourself. This is exactly what you asked for, so you have no right to feel abandoned.

“Send me the list Namjoon makes,” you say, forcing lightness to your tone. “I’ll send Green Bones to watch their houses.”

Yoongi opens his mouth, then seems to think better of it and merely nods. He stays silent when you leave, brushing past him to the hall. Outside, you pause on the landing before you continue.

His jade aura fades as you exit, letting you know he remains. You do your best to ignore him, flipping your keys as you stride towards your car – not as nice as Yoongi’s, but serviceable nonetheless. Yanking open the door, you slide onto the sticky-warm gray leather seat.

Exhaling, you stare at the wheel before shifting to drive. Lowering the windows, you allow a slight breeze to drift over your face. As much as you pretend to be happy with the current situation, you’re not. You aren’t stupid – you know your feelings for Yoongi extend beyond those of a Horn to their Pillar.

When you first became Horn, you respected Yoongi. He was a good leader – still is – and you were proud to be the person strengthening No Peak by his side. Now, he’s the closest thing you have to family. Deep down, you understand his pardon of Yejun. If you were in a similar situation, there’s nothing Yoongi could do that you wouldn’t forgive.

Especially now, with your father dead. It happened soon after graduation, a sudden collapse of his heart no one saw coming. Yoongi attended his funeral. It was held on a rain soaked Seventhday after the Autumn Festival. Late in the season for a deluge but fitting for the occasion. It felt like the world was wiped clean, along with your prior life.

For the Pillar to attend was unusual, but not unprecedented. You recall him standing near the back, his Pillarman, Hoseok, at his side. The funeral was short – your father wasn’t garrulous by any means – but rain soaked your dress by the time it had ended. It surprised you when Yoongi came to express his sorrow, even more so when he seemed to mean it. Most people didn’t. Most people came for the spectacle, or to say they were there.

Yoongi though, gripped your hand tightly while meeting your gaze. His calluses were as rough as your own when he said the clan would support you. Oddly enough, you believed him.

With both parents dead, and no siblings, No Peak is the only family you have. Yoongi’s life is similar to yours, apart from Yejun. His father died of cancer when he was twenty-one and his mother soon followed, unable to cope. Yoongi knows what loss means, what it feels like to be alone.

Lips tightening, you imagine what it’d feel like to lose him. Worse than a Horn should feel when they lose a Pillar. Silent, you curse yourself for having poor foresight. There’s a reason the Horn and Pillar don’t date. A reason why such a relationship would be forbidden. It’s your job to protect the clan – not just Yoongi – but if it came down to it, you’d choose him every time.

Weaving through the bustling streets of Janloon, your speed is forced to slow. Janloon, the capital city of Kekon, is full of contractions. The latest car models pass beneath flashing billboards, coupled with street stalls and sprawling temples. Scents of the city mingle with stale AC from your car.

No matter how much time passes, Kekon stubbornly clings to its roots. Portions of the outside world may infiltrate, but they’ll never replace. This is something Green Bones and the clans understand.

Traffic forces you to park a block away from your destination. Striding towards the Twice Lucky, you nod at a few Lantern Men idling outside. Asha and Jungkook wait for you in a private room, lounging in seats around the square table. The second floor of the Twice Lucky has been reserved for Green Bones; a privilege No Peak ensures is well-compensated.

Jungkook sits in his usual spot, arms crossed and feet up. Asha is restless, fingertips drumming against the hilt of her blade. Food and water are laid out, half-eaten as though there were others here before.

Sensing your presence, your first Fist looks up. “Y/N-jen.” Asha straightens. “Any news?”

Crossing the room, you scan the building but Perceive no other Green Bones. Sinking into a chair, you pull a plate closer and pick up red chopsticks.

Jungkook turns towards you. “What’d you discuss with the Pillar? Seemed important.”

Asha gives him a warning look, to which he only shrugs.

Ignoring them both, you stab a dumpling. “We suspect the killings were done by a Green Bone. Do you remember Toh Marosun?”

Asha’s head whips in your direction. Jungkook was at the Academy during Maro’s betrayal, but Asha was there and remembers how it went down. If Maro has returned, it’s only a matter of time before things get worse.

“Of course, we remember.” Her eyes narrow. “So, it’s really him? Maro came back?”

“Maybe.” You hesitate another moment, then finish the dumpling. “It’s only a guess.”

“A pretty good guess, if you’re telling us,” Jungkook muses. “Why come back now, though? Returning to Kekon is a death sentence.”

“Is it?” Asha fights a smirk. “Everyone knew Yejun had a thing for Maro.”

Casual, you retrieve a talon knife from its sheath. You begin cleaning the blade, the weapon a natural extension of your wrist, and feel Asha and Jungkook’s gazes follow.

“I don’t think that’s relevant, do you?” you say calmly. “Not unless you’re questioning the Pillar’s judgement.”

Asha looks away, miffed. “No, jen,” she mutters. “Of course, not.”

“Good.” You pause, allowing your fury to seep into your aura. “The Pillar deserves nothing less than your respect. Which means Jungkook is right – coming back here is a death sentence, begging the question of why.”

Jungkook considers. “Maybe he left something.”

Asha turns back, the moment of tension forgotten. “He could be after his jade,” she offers. “Maro was always thin-blooded, so if it’s jade he wants, this could get bad. He could come down with the Itches.”

Sheathing your knife, you look up. “I agree. Maro might not be in his right mind.”

“What should we do?”

“Nothing for now,” you tell her. “Namjoon is compiling a list of people Maro knew. If he hasn’t found what he’s after by now, he could strike again.”

Asha nods and accepts this. Pushing aside a twinge of regret, you wish you could explain the rest. If Yoongi is a target though, it’s best to keep that fact quiet. And as much as you’d like to blame the Luckbringers, you have no way of knowing who’s helping Maro – either by will or by force.

A phone rings on the lower level, barely audible over the din. The Twice Lucky restaurant doesn’t have the best food in Janloon, but the quality is good, and its owner is loyal. The same can’t be said for other places.

Footsteps pound on the staircase, and Jungkook springs to his feet. Before you can warn him, the door opens and Mr. Une, the proprietor, freezes in place.

“Put that away,” you demand, waving for Jungkook to lower his knife.

Eyes wide, Mr. Une stares while your Second Fist sheaths his weapon. Seating himself at the table, Jungkook kicks both feet up like nothing has happened. The third-highest amount of jade in the clan lies coiled about his neck, polished stones resting against his tan skin.

Mr. Une continues to stare, wary until you pointedly clear your throat. “Uncle,” you say, adopting the deferential. “What can we do for you?”

Somewhat placated, Mr. Une turns his head. “Phone call for you, Horn-jen. The Weather Man said it’s urgent. You can use the phone in my office if you’d like.”

Smile disappearing, you stand. “Lead the way.”

Mr. Une blinks, and you realize you’ve crossed the room in less time than it took Jungkook to draw his knife. Inwardly, you sigh and attempt to appear harmless. The citizens of Janloon are used to living with Green Bones but sometimes, your power is a reminder of what they are not. Of the inherent danger of living amongst latent gods.

Following Mr. Une, you head towards his office. Asha and Jungkook walk close behind, with Jungkook at the rear and Asha by your side. Mr. Une hovers awkwardly at the door before turning around and pushing into the kitchen.

Once he’s gone, you lift the phone. “Hello?” you say.

Namjoon’s voice barks in your ear. “Get back to the Min property. Now.”

Your stomach drops. “What happened?”

“Maro struck again,” he says tightly. “It’s definitely Maro – and the victim is still alive.”

“Who is it?” you ask, expecting the worst.

“Jio Reubin. He managed to escape and made it here, but he’s injured. This is our best chance to get information.”

“On my way,” you say, and hang up.

Taking a deep breath, you allow the reality of Namjoon’s words to wash over you. Jio is hurt, meaning you need to interrogate soon in case he dies. Nausea curdles your stomach, and you try to dispel it.

Guilt wars with relief from knowing Yoongi is safe. You’ve met Jio several times, having attended the Academy with his now-wife, Lula. She never took to the bloodier side of the clan, deciding to enter the medical profession instead. If you remember correctly, she’s in the same resident program as Yejun.

Leaving the office, you nod for Jungkook to follow. He falls into step beside you. “I need you to do something for me,” you say to Asha. “Head to Jio Reubin’s and search the area for Maro. Call me if you find anything.”

She nods and turns, disappearing out the side door.

You and Jungkook exit the front, squinting when you emerge in the golden hour. “Follow me to the Min property,” you say grimly.

Jungkook nods as he turns, aura pulsing with adrenaline while growing fainter. You should warn him to be cautious but know it’d be hypocritical. Your own car’s speed is nearly twice the limit as you rush through the streets of Janloon, returning to the gates of the Min property.

Screeching to a halt, you yank keys from the ignition and sprint across the courtyard. Namjoon’s aura pulses from the main house, so you follow the trail and shove open the door.

Namjoon doesn’t look up when you enter, and you immediately see why. Jio lies splayed on the sofa, right arm dangling listlessly from a red cushion. At first, you think that’s the color before you notice the blood darkening Jio’s chest.

Kneeling at his side, Namjoon’s jaw clenches while attempting to Channel. Usually, Channeling is used to rend the body apart but in certain circumstances, it can be used to hold it together. Namjoon doesn’t wear much jade though and wasn’t trained as a healer.

“Allow me,” Jungkook says from behind you.

Dropping to his knees, he replaces Namjoon to clasp Jio’s hand in his. Closing his eyes, a thick vein pulses in the side of his neck. Despite Jungkook’s wish to enter the bloodier side of the clan, he would’ve made an excellent healer. His ability to Channel is better than anyone else in No Peak.

Jio’s aura, previously guttering, gradually smooths. Namjoon sits back on his heels, clearly spent from the effort. Wiping sweat from his brow, he turns to see you.

“Close the door,” he says faintly.

Reaching out, you obey and cross to stand by his side. Staring at Jio, you take in his bloodied state. Whoever tortured him was thorough, cutting just deep enough to let him slowly bleed out.

It’s a miracle Jio escaped, no matter how slowly his chest rises and falls. When you cross your arms, he coughs and cracks open one eye. Dazedly, Jio registers your presence.

“Horn-jen,” he rasps.

Briskly, you nod. “You’re going to be fine, Jio.”

Straining Perception, you sweep the ground for Yoongi but find him far away. Good. The further he is from this carnage, the better.

Glancing back, you seek Namjoon. “What happened?”

“Maro was waiting when Jio got home from his night shift. His wife had already left for the hospital. Maro knocked out Jio, tied him up and when he came to, started torturing him for intel. Jio managed to escape but hasn’t said how. Couple of Fingers found him in the Temple District.”

Your gaze moves to Jio. “Maro escaped?”

“Yeah,” he responds.

Stomach tight, you consider the options. Either Maro is still searching for whatever he’s after, or he found out from Jio and –

From across the property comes a surge of fury. No one else seems to notice, but that doesn’t surprise you. You’re more attuned to Yoongi’s aura than anyone present. Keeping your expression neutral, you know you don’t have much time until Yoongi arrives.

“What did he want to know?” you demand. “Did he –”

The door to the room flies open and hits the wall. The Pillar strides in, adjusting his cuffs as he goes. Yoongi’s dark hair is slicked, clothing immaculate as always. Heat curls in your lower belly, and you do your best to stamp it out.

His gaze flicks towards you, sensing your need before his expression shutters. Facing forward, Yoongi surveys the scene.

“What happened?” he asks, low and deadly.

His Pillarman steps inside and shuts the door. Hoseok leans to the wall, jacket falling open to reveal the handle of his Sig Sauer. It’s odd for a Green Bone to carry a gun but Hoseok’s job is to protect Yoongi from all threats. Although Green Bone warriors render bullets obsolete through Steeling, there are other threats best deterred by firepower.

On the couch, Jio coughs and attempts to sit up. Grunting, Jungkook grabs his shoulder and forces him down.

“Don’t be an idiot,” you say to Jio. “The doctor is coming, but if you die before they get here, you’ll be no help to anyone.”

“Are you sure it was Maro?” Yoongi asks, tension radiating from every line in his body. Even if you couldn’t Perceive him, you’d know.

Weakly, Jio nods. “It was Maro. Looks different now – leaner and wearing new jade. Scabs up and down his arms. But yeah, it was him.”

You and Namjoon exchange a look. Arm scabs could be a sign of the Itches, an illness caused by jade overexposure. Jade overexposure can happen gradually, or it could be caused by a single instance. For example, if someone were to go without jade for years and then put a lot on.

Green Bones are taught the symptoms from a young age. Severe mood swings, sensory distortion – shaking, sweating, anxiety, paranoia, and heart palpitations. When left untreated, the Itches can lead to madness and eventually, death. Better soldiers than Maro have succumbed to it, the lure of more jade greater than self-control.

The possibility flashes before you – Maro, unable to stomach being cut off from Kekon. He seeks out new jade, expecting to stomach as much as he used to. Instead, Maro breaks, paranoia and fear dragging him under. He starts to blame others, including the clan who took everything from him. A man in such a state might consider revenge his only option.

The hypothesis fits, though it means nothing good for No Peak.

“What did he say?” Yoongi asks. “Tell us, word for word.”

“He…” Jio breaks into a coughing fit. “Knocked me out. When I woke up, I was tied to my kitchen chair. I asked Maro what the fuck he was doing.”

“And?” Namjoon prods. “What did he say?”

“Said he’d been gone for too long. That it was all a mistake – leaving, taking off his jade.”

“Is that why he came back?” you press.

Jio’s head lolls. “He asked who betrayed him. Said he only told a few people about the smuggling, so one of them must’ve done it. I didn’t know,” he rasps, shaking his head. “I wasn’t one of the people Maro told. He didn’t seem to remember – or care.”

Paranoia. Another unmistakable sign of the Itches.

“What else?” Namjoon asks. “How did you escape?”

“I don’t know.” Jio frowns, blood trickling from a cut above his eye. “Maro seemed confused. He kept asking who betrayed him, and then mentioning treasure? He wanted to know where his treasure was. I don’t even know what he meant,” he admits, glancing between you and Namjoon. “His jade? I dunno.”

“It could be,” you say slowly.

“He’d ask about his treasure one minute, then accuse it of betraying him,” Jio says. “He said he went where his treasure was, but it wasn’t there. Or they weren’t there? He kept mixing up tenses. Wasn’t sure he knew where he was, half the time.”

Off to the side, you feel a sudden surge of emotion – there and gone before you can dissect. Startled, you glance in the direction of Yoongi but find him unharmed. Eyes narrowed, you watch a moment longer before you turn back.

“If Maro wants his old jade, maybe he meant his apartment. He could have gone there to search first,” Namjoon offers.

“A waste,” you say with a frown. “Maro forfeited his jade to the clan before leaving.”

Forfeited to the Pillar, more accurately. You glance once more at Yoongi, who doesn’t react. He continues to examine Jio, a slight wrinkle between his brows.

“All roads lead to me, it would seem. How did you escape, Jio?” Yoongi adds, casually changing the subject.

“Didn’t, really.” Jio coughs, the sound wet. “Managed to get an arm free, lunged for Maro and fell on the floor. Maro… didn’t really notice. He swore something fierce, stabbed my fridge with his knife and ran off.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “He stabbed your… fridge?”

“Yeah.”

“That makes no sense.”

“If he has the Itches, it doesn’t have to,” Namjoon murmurs.

“True,” you say.

This feels important though, in a way you can’t pinpoint. Maro didn’t have any trouble killing before – the only reason he’d leave was if he found what he wanted. Frustration gnaws at your thoughts, certain you’re missing something.

Outside, you hear someone enter the driveway. Gravel skitters beneath tires, the car coming to a stop as someone exits.

“That must be the doctor.” Yoongi turns around, seemingly lost in thought. “I’ll go let them in.”

Pulling open the door, he exits with Hoseok. You watch them leave, returning your attention to Jio.

Looking weary, Jungkook sits back on his heels. “I’ve done what I can,” he says. “Stopped most of the internal bleeding. He should live.”

The door behind you opens. “I’ll be the judge of that,” says an unfamiliar woman, striding in. Setting down a black bag, she looks around. “Anyone without medical training should leave. Now.”

Brows raised, you obey and take your leave. In the hallway, Jungkook mutters something about readying the car and disappears. You remain in the house, pacing and waiting for Yoongi’s return.

Namjoon’s eyes follow your tread. “What are you thinking?”

Shaking your head, you stop to examine a portrait of Yoongi’s father. “I don’t know,” you admit. “Something about this feels off. Why would Maro leave so abruptly?”

“He wouldn’t,” Namjoon muses. “Not unless he found what he was looking for.”

“Maybe Jio is lying. Maybe he told Maro it was Yoongi who betrayed him. If that’s so though, why wouldn’t Maro come directly here?”

“Here?” Namjoon scoffs. “It’d be suicide to attack the Pillar in his own compound. No way – Maro is smarter. If I were him, I’d set a trap. Draw the Pillar out.”

A terrible suspicion dawns as you freeze, mid-stride. This is the moment the landline rings and, crossing the hallway, you yank down the phone.

“Hello?” you answer.

Asha’s voice fills your ears. “Y/N? Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me,” you say, turning around. “What’s wrong?”

“I have… well, I don’t know what I have.”

“What do you mean?” you press. “What’s wrong?”

Noticing your expression, Namjoon frowns and pushes himself from the wall.

“I went to Jio’s like you asked. There was no sign of Maro, so I went back to the house and… it’s strange. Maro tied Jio up in his kitchen, and there are signs of a struggle, but…”

“But what, Asha?”

She pauses. “Did Jio tell you what happened?”

“Yeah.” Your gaze flicks to Namjoon, who listens to every word. “He said Maro swore, stabbed a fridge and ran off.”

“Oh. Okay.” Asha exhales. “I was worried you’d think I’m crazy. The thing is, Maro didn’t just stab a fridge – he stabbed a photo. A person, to be exact.”

“… Who was the person he stabbed?”

Namjoon goes still, and your grip on the phone tightens. Pieces of the puzzle slide into place, leaving a picture which turns your stomach. Dread fills you, knowing what Asha will say before she says it.

“Yejun,” she says, and a loud ringing fills your ears. “She works at the same hospital as Jio’s wife, and there’s a photo of them at some ceremony. The knife… it’s straight through Yejun’s head.”

Heart pounding, you close your eyes and frantically sweep the grounds. Deep down though, you already know what you’ll find.

Yoongi is gone.

Fury boiling over, you realize this was the epiphany Yoongi had earlier. It must have something to do with the word treasure – likely a nickname between Yejun and Maro. Maro was looking for Yejun, not his jade or revenge. Or maybe it is revenge – stomach sinking, you realize what this must seem like. Maro told Yejun about his operation and soon after, Yoongi found out.

Maro wants Yejun, which is something you should’ve seen from the beginning. Yoongi realized before you and now, he’s run off to play hero.

“Stay here,” you say, turning to Namjoon. Feverish anger burns your blood. “Get Jio to the hospital once he’s stable. Thanks, Asha,” you say before hanging up.

Namjoon’s eyes narrow. “Yoongi went after Yejun, didn’t he?”

“Maybe,” you say, pushing past. “If he did, I’ll find him.”

You don’t remember reaching your car, only that once you do, you drive faster than you ever have through Janloon. The hospital is a logical starting point since that’s what Maro saw from the photo.

Shutting down your thoughts, you continue to weave through traffic. Thinking begets worry, which can lead to mistakes. Tightening your grip, you push the car faster. Roaring down the next street, you recall Yejun is working early shifts this week. She mentioned it the other day, saying how glad she was to be home in time for dinner.

Glancing at the clock, your jaw tightens. After a moment’s hesitation, you make a sharp turn, car skidding a little on the next street. If Yejun is already home, better to first check that she’s safe.

Yoongi’s sister lives near the hospital, an allowance granted with the understanding that your men keep tabs. While it’s unlikely Maro knows her home address, he could have followed her there from the hospital.

Parking swiftly, you leap from the car and sprint inside. Someone on the street protests, all bravado disappearing when they notice your jade. You skid to a stop in the lobby, zeroing in on the doorman.

“Floor ten,” you say flatly.

Open-mouthed, the man stares. When you start to move forward, he snaps to attention. “Elevator is out,” he blurts. “You’ll have to take the stairs, like the rest.”

The rest.

Teeth gritted, you pivot and take the steps three at a time. The climb upward is steep, and you use a burst of Strength to reach the top. Shoving open the door to floor ten, you come to a sudden halt.

Chaos greets you.

The hall before you is narrow, barely two meters in width. Yoongi and Maro face each other midway, moon blades drawn and locked in combat. Lunging, Maro’s blade slices Yoongi’s shoulder and blood splatters the floor. Hissing, Yoongi doubles his Strength to kick Maro in the chest, sending him flying.

Maro slams into a window, glass raining around him. Rolling Light, Maro jumps to face Yoongi, unscathed. Stomach sinking, you notice the amount of jade Maro carries. More than he ever had while part of the clan. Clearly, Maro is past the point of caring about things like the Itches.

His aura feels wrong where it touches yours, jagged and pulsing. Leaping and whirling with unknown motive, withdrawing to expand in nonsensical patterns.

Face contorted, Maro unleashes a series of blows which nearly has Yoongi buckling. Clearly, Maro has continued training in exile. He looks similar and yet different – his hair longer, beard unkempt to hide the scar on his cheek. His body is lean, that of a wild wolf after winter who fights more desperately because of it.

Steeling himself, you feel Yoongi pull his aura inward, readying for the next blow. Maro slips beneath Yoongi’s blade and slashes – and Yoongi releases, Channeling his energy outward in a deadly wave. The invisible strike hits Maro dead-on, making him stumble.

Gaze bright, Maro’s head whips upward. Sensing murderous intent, a growl slips from your throat as you rush in. Swifter than breath, you wrench knives from your belt, thrusting them upward to catch Maro’s blade.

He shudders to a halt, teeth bared in your face.

Yoongi skids to a stop beside you, disbelief warring with his panic.

“GO!” you yell, glancing at Yejun’s door. “Now!”

Yoongi hesitates before nodding, lowering his sword to dart inside. Maro seethes when he escapes, shoving with all his weight to send you backwards. Dropping into a crouch, you brace yourself with one hand and kick outward. Maro leaps to avoid the blow, landing Light with a fierce glint in his eye.

Bright studs of jade – some red and oozing – dot his chest, clearly done in haste. Maro doesn’t seem to feel pain as he walks towards you.

“You?” he taunts, half-laughing. “You’d barely graduated when I was chosen for Horn. Must be nice,” he muses. “A reward for fucking the boss.”

Biting your lower lip, you hold back your retort. When you do this, Maro smiles, lips pulled from his teeth.

Before he can speak, you lunge forward and Channel. Energy jabs Maro’s chest – enough to stun, but not kill. Grunting, Maro’s smile disappears as he Deflects. Bringing his sword down overhead, he leaves no room to dodge. Swiftly, you Steel and hope for the best.

Maro’s blade slams against skin, though he fails to draw blood. Springing forward, you strike hard enough to rend his shirt’s fabric. Pulling back, Maro seethes.

Your next series of blows are fueled by Strength, fast enough to elude normal vision. You rely on muscle memory and Perception, countering each of Maro’s strokes with your own. He’s not as fast as you are, but his additional jade gives him an edge.

His next Channel is clumsy but strong, enough to leave you winded and miss his next blow. You don’t Steel in time, his blade catching your jacket to cut your torso. Hissing, you stumble and press a hand to the wound.

The cut feels shallow but stings, nonetheless. Fury building, you hone your Perception to a narrow cone. Maro’s aura ebbs and flows, erratically bursting as he walks towards you.

“I don’t know why you’re bothering to fight,” he says, adjusting his grip on his sword. “If anything, you should join me, Y/N – I’m your future.”

Refusing to let him continue, you rush forward and exchange a flurry of blows that end in a stalemate.

Panting, Maro withdraws. “You have to understand I loved her,” he hisses. “I loved her, and she betrayed me. She deserves to die.”

“Who did?” you ask, although you already know.

Behind Maro, you see Yoongi rush from Yejun’s apartment. He holds her, unconscious, Yejun’s aura silent without jade ability. Fervent, you wish you could gauge her vitality. As it is, all you can do is buy them time to get help.

Sinking into a crouch, you draw Maro’s gaze.

“Yejun?” you prod.

“Yes,” Maro breathes, his gaze bright. “I trusted her, and she turned me in. Do you know what I thought about every day while in Shotar? Her. Do you know what she thought about? The clan,” he spits. “He’ll betray you, too, in the end – you’ll see. Killing them both now would be a mercy.”

“Yejun didn’t betray you,” you say to buy time. “She wasn’t the one who told Yoongi – he found out on his own.”

Maro blinks, his surprise evident for a moment before vanishing under fury. “That’s just as bad,” he snaps, his voice rising. “Yoongi and I were like brothers. Under aisho, doesn’t family come first?”

“Even family is bound by honor,” you say grimly. “Should I ever be disloyal to my brother, may I die by the blade,” you add, reciting the Green Bone oaths. “I won’t join you, Toh Marosun. Take me by force if you must.”

His nostrils flare but before he can act, you rush in. Dimly, you register Yoongi’s retreating aura and hope he’s managed to escape the building. Lightness and Strength blur as you move, Maro’s Deflection flung hastily forward.

You keep your blows unpredictable, swift enough that Maro struggles. Rage cloaks your intention as you whirl and slice in erratic patterns. Sweat beads on Maro’s forehead, Steeling wrongly for your knives to draw blood.

Sensing victory, you push harder. Gathering his energy inward, Maro lashes out suddenly in a Channel you barely Deflect. Energy rips through you, searing your bones in a silent attack. Wincing, you leap back and Channel a blow. Maro stumbles, barely shielding and you recognize a flaw.

There are few Green Bones in Shotar, which must make it difficult for him to practice Deflection. Pressing the advantage, you move forward in a quick flurry of blows. Although Maro’s sword is larger, your knives gain the advantage in the small space. He can’t move when you duck underneath, stabbing upward to pierce his soft underarm.

Howling, Maro whirls and swings at you rashly. Leaning backwards, you Steel and catch the blow on your forearm. Vibrations clang through you, rattling the teeth in your skull. The two of you lock together, Maro’s energy clashing with yours. When he doubles his Strength, you feel your Steel buckle.

Lips split in a grin, Maro keeps his sword steady. Further increasing his Strength, he’s focused on winning he doesn’t notice the shift in your aura.

Dropping your Steel, you draw everything inward and let his sword slice your arm. Maro’s laugh is manic – until you Channel outward. The last of your energy shatters his Deflection, piercing inner organs with deadly precision. You feel the moment Maro’s heart stops, his arteries rupturing from the inside out.

Forgoing any mercy, your knife slashes his throat in a clean line.

Blood mists from the wound, coating the wall behind you in red. With a gurgled gasp, Maro lifts a hand – only to go limp and fall, face-first on the floor.

Silence descends, broken only by your ragged breathing. Not far off, sirens wail, and you sense Green Bone auras closing in on the building. Eyes closed, you force yourself to breathe in and out.

No matter how often you do it, killing another person never gets easier. Even when necessary. Even when said person threatens your life and others. You fortify yourself with the knowledge that Yoongi is safe, and Yejun will live – she has to.

The cost to your soul is too high for anything else.

“Is he dead?” asks someone behind you.

Swiftly, you turn as you open your eyes. You were so focused inward, you failed to notice Yoongi’s aura approach. The Pillar’s gaze snags, stopping on the man before you.

“Yes,” you say, bending to clean your knives. Heart hammering, you wonder what Yoongi feels at seeing his former friend dead. Wonder if he’ll blame you, as Maro said.

Setting your jaw, you sheath both your knives before standing. Immediately, you see you needn’t have worried. Yoongi isn’t looking at Maro, but at you. A lone muscle tics in his jaw, observing the crimson blood staining your clothes.

“The police are on their way. They’ll clean up the scene. You’re hurt,” Yoongi adds, his voice thick.

You glance down at your arm. “It’s nothing.”

Bending again, you begin to gather Maro’s jade. You’ll be expected to wear it the next time you’re in public, but right now, the touch of it is nearly overwhelming. Minor wounds and injuries pulse with each movement, already healing from your current jade.

“I’ll take it.” Yoongi suddenly is beside you, right hand extended. “Let me help.”

Relinquishing some of the jade piercings, you slide the rest in your pockets and push yourself to stand. Turning to face him, you stride down the hall. A roiling ball of emotion settles deep in your gut.

Worry about Yejun. Fury at Yoongi’s lies. Relief, that he’s here and unharmed.

Entering the stairwell, the door hits the wall with a satisfying thud. Yoongi follows closely, wisely choosing to remain silent. Two stories lower, you find the words to speak.

“Is Yejun okay?” you ask.

You feel Yoongi’s gaze on the back of your neck. “She’ll live,” he says, sounding weary. “I left her at the hospital with Namjoon and Jiro. She has a concussion. Maro got here a few minutes before I did and had already roughed her up.”

Something about this snaps the hold on your fragile self-control. Picturing what might have happened had you arrived a few seconds later, you whirl around and grasp Yoongi by his suit jacket.

“Never,” you blurt, yanking him closer. “Never do that to me again.”

Gaze burning, you stare him down and Yoongi watches warily. He doesn’t move an inch, allowing you to manhandle him. “I know that you’re angry,” he says carefully.

With a harsh laugh, you release him. “Of course, I am! You shouldn’t have come here alone.”

“I know that.”

“Well?” you demand after a long moment passes. “Aren’t you going to apologize?”

Yoongi lifts a brow. “I’d do it again.”

You stare at him, aghast. “Well, then.” You pause. Shake your head. “If that’s all you have to say, I think this night is over.”

Wiping your palms on your pants, you turn away. You only make it one flight before Yoongi’s hand finds your elbow.

Spinning you towards him, Yoongi pulls you closer. You manage to avoid eye contact until his fingers slip beneath your chin, making you face him.

“I know you want me to apologize, but I won’t,” he says lowly. “I refuse to apologize for trying to keep you from danger.”

Most people would swoon, hearing this from their lover but you aren’t most people. You’re the Horn of No Peak, sworn to protect the clan – and Yoongi – from any threats.

Your gaze narrows on his. “That’s a problem, then. I’m your Horn, Yoongi. It’s my duty to protect No Peak – to protect you. The Pillar is the spine of this clan and, once severed, No Peak can’t survive. It can survive without me, though.”

Yoongi’s nostrils flare. “And what about me?” he asks. “If you don’t survive, how do you expect me to continue?”

You go still. “Yoongi… I…”

“And for that matter,” he adds, his hand on your chin sliding to the back of your neck. “If you’re so intent on following the rules, who are you to give me orders? I’ll fight to protect the clan if I want to, Y/N.”

Fury expands from the spark in your chest. “You didn’t make me your Horn to follow you blindly,” you seethe.

“No.” His gaze softens. “I did not.”

You stare at each other for a long moment, each passing second draining some of your fire. You’re left with smoke on your tongue, a heaviness in your heart and the ever-growing certainty the time for rule-following has passed.

“You… can’t think like that,” you say eventually.

Yoongi’s brow sketches upward. “Like what?”

“Like I’m worth more than the clan. More than you, as it’s Pillar. That’s dangerous precedent.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, I do,” you say, frustrated by his nonchalance. “The clan is my blood, and the Pillar is its master,” you add, reciting your oaths again. “You are the Pillar. Your life is that of the clan.”

Yoongi’s lips twist with displeasure. “It seems we’re at an impasse, since I refuse to place my life before yours.”

“Yoongi,” you snap, exasperated. “You can’t just… just –”

“Just what?” His eyes blaze. “Love you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, voice breaking.

Something in his face gentles. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”

Perceiving this truth, the last bit of fight drains from your body. Sensing it, Yoongi draws you closer and pulls you against him. Eyes shutting, you lean into his chest. Yoongi’s aura swallows you whole, an oasis of calm against the onslaught of night.

His breath warms your ear. “It was my problem to fix,” Yoongi murmurs, sounding reticent. “She… Yejun didn’t betray Maro, but she was going to – that’s how I found out. She was writing a letter to me on her kitchen table. I walked in and saw it.”

Lifting your head, you regard him. “You don’t have to explain to me why you spared your sister. I understand.”

“Thank you. You should know, though,” he adds, his voice fierce, “I will do anything to keep those I love from harm.”

You can’t help but smile, though it quickly fades. “I know you would, Yoongi. That’s a burden you can’t carry alone, though. It makes you weaker, not stronger.”

“This was my fault, though,” he says. “Not yours – nor anyone else from the clan. It was my decision to let Maro go free.”

“You aren’t responsible for Maro’s actions. And it’s not weakness to show mercy.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw.

“It’s not,” you press on. “Who’s to say what the right choice was? If you’d killed Maro back then, maybe something worse would’ve happened. Yejun might not have forgiven you. It’s impossible to rewrite the past, and you’ll go mad if you try.”

Yoongi looks away, unconvinced. “What type of Pillar does that make me, though?”

“One who hesitates before killing their friends.”

“One who balks at making tough decisions.”

“Min Yoongi.” Steel layers your voice and you reach up, turning his face to yours. “I would never swear oaths to someone who killed without question. Who made decisions in anger, then regretted them later. You question me when you question yourself.”

His gaze roams your face. “And what if others betray me?” Yoongi murmurs, voice lower. “Would you continue to support me if I was forced to kill Asha? Or Jungkook?”

“I’d trust you did what had to be done.”

“And what if I become corrupt?” he murmurs, his gaze flicking lower. “What if I’m the one being selfish, betraying the clan?”

“Well, that’s easy.” Reaching lower, you wrap a hand around the hilt of his blade. “I’ll kill you myself.”

Not looking away, Yoongi’s hand covers yours. “You could try,” he murmurs, some of his tension dissipated.

“Oh, I think I’d succeed.”

Releasing your hand, Yoongi finds your knee and hitches your leg against him. “If it came to that,” he murmurs, nose skimming your throat, “I’d let you.”

Inhaling softly, you close your eyes. “Promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

Perceiving the truth to his words, you open your eyes. Yoongi stares back, letting you see the starkness in his gaze. It’s no small thing for the most powerful man in Kekon to promise you anything.

Similarly, it’s no small thing to admit he holds your heart in both hands. Which is why you need to say what you do next. Without Yoongi’s next promise, this can’t go any further.

“Don’t make these decisions without me,” you whisper. “Let me decide for myself when a job is too dangerous.”

Yoongi’s lips flatten. “You give me an impossible choice, since nothing is too dangerous for my lovely Horn.”

“Trust that I love you, then,” you say, your hand trembling as you rise to cup his face. “And that I’ll do what it takes to come back.”

Yoongi goes still at your declaration. His pupils dilate so far, they seem to swallow the light. Four years, you’ve spent fighting together. Five months of knowing him this way, and never have you uttered those words to his face.

The transformation is quick, his expression shifting to desire in barely a breath. Bending, Yoongi drags your mouth to his. “Say it again,” he growls against your lips. “Tell me you love me.”

“You’ll become greedy,” you say, breathless.

“I’m the Pillar of No Peak.” He gives a half-laugh. “I will always want more.”

“Then, take it.”

Opening your mouth, Yoongi walks you backwards until your spine hits the wall. You lose yourself in his touch, his taste, the fatal heat of his body. Fingers tangling in hair, you’re rewarded by the basest of groans from his lips. Yoongi’s hands find your body, grasping and searching to pull you against him.

Far below, the faint pulse of jade auras brush yours. “Yoongi,” you moan, nipping his lower lip. “We should go.”

Pulling away, his thumbs indent your hips. “Go where?”

“Your place. My place. I don’t care.”

“I do,” he says with a grin. “Want to wake up with you in my bed.”

You can’t help but laugh. “You’re so needy.”

“I am.” His lips curve. “I need many things, Y/N. You in my bed. Eventually, in my house. Your vows exchanged for mine. But first” – his brow lifts – “I need to fuck you. Need to bury myself inside you.”

Lips parting, you attempt to digest this information. Everything Min Yoongi has laid on the line. The last sentence catches your attention though, heat curling in your belly and replacing all sentient thought. The rest can come later – first, you need him inside you.

“Let’s go,” you declare, pushing yourself from the wall.

He chuckles, low in his throat as he follows your lead. Halfway down, Yoongi’s arm finds your waist to pull you against him. His teeth scrape the skin beneath your ear, pausing to nip the highest jade hoop.

“Where will you put your new jade?” he muses, pressing his erection to you from behind. “You’re running out of places on your body.”

“I’ll think of something,” you murmur, Yoongi’s tongue on your neck proving extremely distracting. “Wrist cuffs might be nice.”

“If you wanted to be cuffed” – his voice dips – “all you had to do was ask.”

“That is not what I was referring to,” you say, although a shiver traces your spine.

“Pity.”

A second before exiting the stairwell, Yoongi releases you and takes a step back. You ignore the disappointment this brings, forcing your expression to neutral. Already, police cars are arriving to hold back the crowds.

From across the lobby, you spot Asha and Hoseok in deep conversation with uniformed officers. Moving towards them, you’re surprised when Yoongi takes you by the elbow.

“I ran into Hoseok in the lobby,” he says, steering you sideways. “He and Asha will clean up and meet us back home.”

Hoseok nods when you pass, his jaw tight in a way that implies displeasure. Swallowing laughter, you push open the door and immediately, your smile vanishes. Many people have gathered, huddled in groups around the yellow caution tape.

Catching sight of your reflection, you stifle a groan. You look terrible – sweat and blood mar your forehead, the rips in your jacket showing your wounds. Before anything between you and Yoongi can happen, you need a hot shower.

“The situation’s been handled,” Yoongi says to the crowd, pulling you towards the car. “Green Bones are searching the area for remaining danger – you should be able to enter the building soon. No Peak will compensate for damages.”

With that, he opens the car door and watches you enter. Expressions shift in the crowd, a wave of relief washing over the people. Yoongi joins you in the backseat, leaning forward to instruct the driver to go.

The car rumbles from the curb, its speed slow to avoid the pedestrians in your path. Grateful for the tinted windows, you lean sideways and rest your head against the cool glass.

In the reflection, you watch Yoongi retrieve his car phone. “Namjoon?” he says after a moment. “It’s done – Maro is dead. How’s Yejun?”

Namjoon’s reply is muffled, and your thoughts wander. Once you return, you should find Jungkook and instruct him to search Maro’s former haunts. There’s a chance he wasn’t working alone and if so, you’ll need to catch his supporters.

Tonight has taken a toll though, no matter how much you’d like to pretend otherwise. Exhaustion settles while you stare out the window, watching the lights of Janloon flick past.

Yoongi hangs up the phone. “Yejun is fine,” he says, and you turn your head. “Namjoon said she lost a lot of blood, but nothing that can’t be fixed. She should be awake in a few hours.”

Relief floods your body. “That’s good.”

His hand rests beside yours on the seat, close enough to feel the heat from his palm. Exhaling softly, Yoongi shifts until his hand covers yours.

Going still, you stare at your entwined hands on the leather. The car slows beneath you, coming to a stop before the Min gates. Another moment passes before the gates open, the car rumbling forward as Yoongi speaks up.

“You can take us to my place, Galo,” he says. “No need to stop at the main house.”

Startled, you glance sideways, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to notice. Never mind the driver’s raised eyebrows, or the fact that Yoongi just told him you’re sleeping together. While it’s true, you’ve slept here before, you’ve never been obvious. It feels as though a bridge has been crossed without discussion of what that means.

The moment the car is in park, you exit the vehicle and slam the door. Striding inside the front door, you unzip your jacket to hang on a hook. If Yoongi thinks he can share your relationship with others, you have every right to act at home in his house.

Technically, the Horn has a house on Min property, but you’ve always preferred to keep a separate residence. Your apartment in the city has served you well – except for the nights you stay here and sneak out the next morning.

Removing your boots, you set these aside. “We just discussed this,” you fume as you turn. “Ask me next time before you decide–”

Your words are cut off by Yoongi’s mouth, pushing you back until your spine hits the wall. “Couldn’t wait,” he rasps, shutting the door with his foot. “Need you. Now.”

Exhaling, you melt and arch upward against him. Grasping your thigh, Yoongi yanks your leg higher to wrap around his waist. The thick length of his cock presses to your center and you nearly whimper. Fiery anger dissolves into need – the need to touch him, feel him and wash away tonight’s fear.

“Yoongi,” you moan, turning your head. “I need to shower.”

Grasping your wrists with one hand, he presses them above your head. “Do you?” he murmurs, kissing down your neck.

“I’m covered in blood,” you protest.

Glancing up, Yoongi smirks. “And?”

Stifling laughter, you push at his chest. Obedient, Yoongi releases your hands to take a step backward. “Not to mention,” you say as you move past, “I’d rather not have Toh Marosun’s blood in your bed.”

Yoongi’s next action is quick, happening in the same breath. Catching your wrist in one hand, he pulls you closer. “The next time you say a man’s name in this house,” he rasps. “It had better be mine.”

“We’ll see,” you say loftily. “Now, let me wash up.”

Releasing you, Yoongi lets you pass, and you don’t turn around. If you did, you know you might cave and fuck him right there on the floor.

Entering his bedroom, you flick on the lights. Soft, muted warmth fills a room of concrete. Bulletproof windows overlook dense vegetation, invoking the feel of a post-apocalyptic city. Pausing in the doorway, you inhale his scent.

Although you’d never tell Yoongi – it’d go to his head – this room has swiftly become one of your favorite places. Watching dawn break in his arms has brought you greater peace than any of the gods.

In his bathroom, you help yourself to his fancy products and step under the spray. Securing your hair, you do your best to avoid the strands getting wet. Cranking up the heat to high, steam fills the room as you scrub blood from your skin. The water beneath your feet turns red, and then pink before finally clear.

Once done, you turn off the spray and wrap yourself in a towel. Straining Perception, you find Yoongi showering across the house. You’re momentarily surprised he didn’t try and join, although grateful he didn’t. After five years of knowing one another, Yoongi understands when you need time alone.

You’re washing your face when the bedroom door creaks. Drying your skin, you cross to the closet and withdraw a robe. Securing the tie, you wipe steam from the mirror before opening the door.

Yoongi sits on the edge of his bed, damp hair curling at the base of his neck. He’s freshly washed and changed into a plain shirt and trousers. In one hand, he holds a crystal glass of hoji, swirling it once before taking a sip.

Leisurely, his gaze drags down your body. When Yoongi looks up, his face brims with unsaid desire. Silent, he sets down his glass and pushes himself to stand. Watching him eagerly, you Perceive his intent when Yoongi prowls closer.

Coming to a stop before you, Yoongi lifts his hand to cup the back of your neck. Tilting your face upward, he strokes your damp skin with his fingers.

Silent, he lowers his face until your lips nearly touch. “What was it you said?” he murmurs. “About the clan being your blood and the Pillar, its master?”

Your breath catches in your throat. “You know the oaths as well as I do.”

“Yes.” Bending, Yoongi uses Strength to lift you against him. Gripping you tightly, he carries you to his dresser and deposits you there. “Well,” he says, lowering himself. “Allow me to show you who I get on my knees for.”

You stare at him, mesmerized when he parts your legs. Pulling your hips to the edge, Yoongi grips your thigh with a veined hand. The sight of him like this is downright sinful. Desire courses through you, setting your skin ablaze.

Yoongi leans forward, gaze meeting yours at the first brush of his tongue. You groan with relief, thighs spreading further. Lifting his other hand, Yoongi tugs at the tie of your robe. You inhale when it opens, fully bared while Yoongi’s tongue curls against your dripping sex.

He pulls away, eyes dark and casually spreads your folds. Muttering something that sounds like a swear, he stares at your cunt before lowering his head and sucking your clit. A dark moan escapes, weight shifting to get him even closer. Forcing your thighs open, Yoongi begins to flick his tongue against your swollen mound.

He doesn’t rush this, taking his time while eating you out. Yoongi flicks, and then swirls before sucking your clit. His tongue drags to your cunt, already dripping with arousal. Humming in satisfaction, Yoongi shifts on the floor and slips his tongue inside. Gasping his name, your fingers curl in the dark strands of his hair.

His tongue slowly fucks you, barely a taste of what’s to come. “Yoongi,” you groan, moving against him. “I need more.”

“Anything,” he says, pulling back to spread you with his fingers. Yoongi’s thumb finds your clit, casually stroking until your body quivers. “Take off the robe,” he demands, looking up. “I want to see you.”

Wordless, you push the supple silk from your shoulders.

“Fuck,” Yoongi breathes, staring at rounded breasts and hard nipples. Lowering his head, he sucks your clit again. Sliding a hand under your ass, he drags you close to the edge.

Gasping out loud, your hand fists his hair to anchor your body. In the mirror behind him, you watch your chest heave, hips undulating while he licks your pussy. Head tipping back, you lose yourself in sensation, each stroke of his tongue further coiling your tension. Yoongi is patient; he knows what you need and takes his time getting there.

Cupping his head, you move your hips while starting to ride his tongue. When Yoongi strokes your entrance and slips a finger inside, you nearly convulse.

“Yoongi,” you gasp, legs shaking.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, lifting his head. Curling that finger, he strokes a dangerous place. “Come for me.”

When his tongue resumes motion, you feel your walls convulse. Tighter and tighter until – everything snaps, a wave of pleasure cresting through you. Thighs trembling, you hold Yoongi’s hair while you cry out his name.

The pleasure slowly subsides, leaving you slumped on the dresser. Yoongi pushes himself upward, cock straining eagerly against the seams of his pants. Cupping the back of your neck, he kisses you deeply, allowing you to taste yourself. Parting your lips with his tongue, he dives into you eagerly, one hand slipping to slide into your pussy.

Groaning his name, you fumble with the buttons holding his shirt together. “This,” you demand. “Off.”

Using Strength, you send the buttons flying. Yoongi smirks, withdrawing and pushing his shirt to the ground. Touching his chest, you stare at him, unabashed. The lean lines of his torso, the indent of his v, the jade lining his fingers where he grips you tightly.

His moon blade is absent, likely the first thing he cleaned upon entry. Still, the hum of Yoongi’s jade is a potent weapon – nearly as much as the need in his eyes.

Lowering your hand, you palm the bulge in his pants. Jaw flexing, Yoongi lifts your leg to wrap around him. The roughness of his pants against your sex makes you hiss.

“Yoongi,” you moan. “Want to touch you.”

“I want that, too,” he murmurs, hair falling into his gaze. “More than that, I want to be inside you.”

Breath catching, you remove your hand as he presses forward. You feel his cock through his pants, rock-hard and straining against your needy pussy. Swallowing thickly, you managed to undo the last button and shove his pants down. Stepping free of their confines, Yoongi palms his own cock.

Replacing his hand, you give him a squeeze. Yoongi lowers his head to close his lips around a waiting nipple. A whimper rises when he tugs, switching to the other breast and repeating the motion. Arching upward, you lazily drag your thumb over the tip of his cock.

Eventually, Yoongi looks up and hisses, “Enough.”

Reaching lower, he guides his cock to your entrance. Leaning back on your palms, you lift one knee to allow him better access. Yoongi pauses, gaze traveling your face to your chest, landing on your cunt. Exhaling softly, your head tips back as you widen your legs.

“You’re perfect,” Yoongi rasps, flicking his thumb over your hooded clit.

Inhaling, you tremble from oversensitivity. Bending, Yoongi slowly spits to land moisture on your cunt. It drips down your sex, mixing with arousal while Yoongi pushes the tip of his cock inside. He pauses, watching your face, then adds another inch.

You arch upward, trying and failing to take him in deeper. “Is that all you have?” you challenge, goading.

Yoongi merely smirks. “Do you think,” he murmurs, refusing to move, “you can make me give you what you want?”

When he starts to withdraw, you tilt your hips, and he slides in a bit deeper. Yoongi groans as he fills you, hand tightening on your waist.

“Yes,” you gloat, brushing your breasts to his chest. “I do.”

Yoongi’s gaze flares, and he pushes in a bit more. “I know you, Y/N,” he murmurs, moving one hand to your neck. Thumb brushing your collarbone, he hauls you upright and keeps your thighs spread. “I know you want this pussy filled nice and slow. I know you want me to tease you. I know you want to feel in control but have someone else do the work. And I want – no, need,” Yoongi corrects, aura flaring, “to be the one giving it to you.”

Before you can respond, he thrusts forward and fills you with his cock. A cry leaves you, unable to do anything but take it. With your legs spread, hips tilted, the thickness of his length presses to your g-spot. And when Yoongi withdraws and leaves your body empty, you think you might cry. Think you might beg to have more of his cock.

Luckily, Yoongi doesn’t want this. Thrusting into you fully, he starts to move. Filling you up with his thickness, he goes harder and harder until you can barely think straight. His hips pound yours, filling you to the brim, making you take it. Fingers brushing the jade on your throat, he spikes your arousal and drenches his cock.

“Fuck,” Yoongi breathes, staring at the place he disappears inside you. “You’re amazing.”

“Yoongi,” you groan. “I need… need…”

“Yeah?” His gaze lifts. “Tell me what you need.”

“Deeper,” you plead.

His aura flares briefly before he pulls out. Before you can speak, his hands find your waist, setting you on the floor to turn you around. Spreading your legs, he presses a hand to your back to push you lower.

Gripping his dresser, you look over your shoulder while he positions himself from behind. “What about now?” Yoongi asks, slipping inside with one thrust.

Lips parting, you bend further and stick out your ass. Yoongi starts to move when you spread your legs, fucking you harder. His thrusts become rougher, hips slapping your ass while your breasts bounce.

“That’s it,” he says, leaning forward to lace one hand with yours. His other slides between your thighs, flicking over your clit. “So wet and tight for me. Taking my cock like you own it.”

“Don’t I?” you groan.

“Mm,” he agrees, rubbing circles on your clit. “It’s yours – I’m yours.”

Before you can respond, he pulls out again. Draping you over one shoulder, Yoongi carries you, Light, to his bed. You scowl, hitting his thigh but Yoongi responds with a firm smack to your ass. His fingers slip briefly between your cheeks, wetting himself with your slick. Before you can moan, he deposits you on the bed.

Kneeling between your legs, Yoongi repositions himself at your entrance and pushes in.

“Oh,” you groan, heading tilting back.

You love sex with Yoongi in every position, but this is your favorite. Feeling his callouses slide over our skin, his weight heavy while filling you with his cock. Yoongi’s length slides inside, rocking into you slowly while his hair brushes your forehead.

Reaching up, you push this from his face when he starts to move. If there’s one thing you’ve learned from tonight, it’s that these moments are precious. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you hold him tighter.

“Marry me,” Yoongi says.

You go still underneath him. “I… what?”

Sliding his hand under your hips, Yoongi tilts them to get deeper. “Marry me,” he repeats. “I’m tired of pretending. Tired of waking up without you. Living my life without you.”

“You have me,” you say, unsure whether he’s serious.

Slowly, he thrusts in and out of your body. “Not the way I want.” His eyes flash. “As not only my Horn, but my wife. I want to be your husband. I want the entire world to know I belong to you.”

Taking your other hand, Yoongi moves this to the bed while continuing to thrust. You arch against him, chasing his hips and words with your own.

“People will talk,” you say, breathless.

His gaze sparks. “Do you think I care?”

“Maybe I care,” you say. “They’ll call me a distraction. And don’t give me that bullshit about my life being worth more than yours.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Yoongi chuckles, teeth scraping your neck. “What I will say is that I’m better with you. And if I’m better, the clan is better. Not that you should marry me because of that,” he adds, almost an afterthought.

You lose your breath when he circles his hips, driving into you deeper. Thighs parting, you lose yourself in the feel of him in you. His body moves as his soul does, completing you fully. In truth, you’ve avoided this conversation because you know how it ends.

It ends with Yoongi. He’s it for you. From the first time you kissed, you knew it would end up here – it was only a matter of when. Your remaining barriers crumble as you meet his gaze.

“Yes,” you exhale, your hips chasing his.

Yoongi’s aura sharpens. “Yes?” he repeats. “Is that… agreement or acceptance?”

“Yes – as in yes, Yoongi, I’ll marry you.”

Yoongi goes completely still, ignoring your protest. A second later, he’s consumed by a wave of emotion. Need – fiery and stark – sweeps through him as he bends, crushing your lips to his. Yoongi’s kiss burns, searing and marking you for one another.

Slipping an arm beneath your knee, Yoongi pushes upward to get even deeper. You gasp with pleasure, his cock hitting a spot that makes you incoherent.

“Soon,” he adds, adding Strength to his thrusts.

Breathless, your fingertips dig into his skin. “Don’t be greedy,” you chide, losing some credibility when a moan leaves your lips.

His upper lip curls. “I am, though,” Yoongi grunts, pushing you close to the edge. “I’ll never have enough of you, Y/N.”

“Good,” you say, holding him tightly. “I’m yours, Yoongi.”

A groan escapes him, burying his face in your neck. The muscles in Yoongi’s shoulders strain, fucking you harder. “I could die hearing those words.”

“Don’t. That’s an order.”

Yoongi looks up to lock gazes. “Whatever you want. I need it, Y/N. Need this – want to feel you come on my cock.”

Already close to the edge, his words leave you trembling. Clutching him harder, you widen your thighs and feel your walls shatter when you come undone. Pleasure consumes you, vision going dark as you throw back your head. Yoongi’s lips brush your throat, continuing to thrust through your orgasm.

Swearing when you tighten, Yoongi goes harder to chase his release. On his last thrust, he breaks, your name on his tongue as hot cum fills your body. Slowly, he lowers himself to the bed beside you. Yoongi slips partway out, your bodies still intertwined.

Lifting a hand, you drag this down his side. Yoongi smiles at you before pulling out, reaching to grab a tissue from his nightstand. He cleans you with care, then rises from bed to throw it away. Slipping beneath the covers, you wait for his return.

Yoongi does so quietly, dimming the light before he joins you in bed. Slowly, your eyes adjust until Yoongi’s moon-limned face becomes visible.

“Did you mean it?” you say, barely more than a whisper.

“I’ve never meant anything more in my life,” he says roughly. “And you? Did you also mean what you said?”

Slowly, you nod.

Joy floods his aura, sharp and bright. “Anything you want,” Yoongi says, determined. “You have only to ask. Cities burnt. Villains vanquished. My own name, forsaken – ask, and it’s yours.”

You can’t help but laugh, your whole body shaking. “Villains vanquished?” you tease, pressing closer. “There are some who might call you the villain of this story.”

His lip twitches. “Then, I’ll defeat myself.”

“Seems like an easy fight.”

Mock growling, he rolls to pin you underneath him. You laugh louder, the sound muffled when Yoongi bends to kiss you. By the time his head lifts, the two of you are breathless.

“I apologize,” you murmur, cupping his face. “Most fearsome Pillar.”

Baring his teeth, he nips your thumb. “That’s better.”

“Truly, though,” you tell him. “There’s no need to get me anything. Whatever I want, I can get for myself.”

Somewhat amused, Yoongi settles beside you. “Oh, I’m aware. My heart, for instance,” he says, placing your hand on his chest.

“That, I’ll accept,” you say softly, staring at your hand on his skin. Your gaze lifts. “As long as mine belongs to you, in turn.”

“A heart for a heart,” Yoongi agrees, moving closer.

Skin pressed to skin, you feel your hearts settle. No Green Bone magic ties two souls together. Instead, that magic lies within the bounds of normal humans. And yet, as you breathe and listen to the blood in his veins, you can’t help but feel something greater is at work.

Something even death could not part – although you’d dare it to try.

Author’s Note: thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Go read Jade City by Fonda Lee. LOL

#bangtanarmynet #yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #bts fanfic #bts smut #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfiction #bts fanfiction #bts fic #yoongi organized crime #bts organized crime

1K notes · View notes

navstuffs · 7 months

Text

Secret Admirer

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x GNLibrarian!Reader

Summary: It is fall, and Leon Kennedy has a secret admirer.

Warning tags: ROOTH TOOTING FLUFF, college au, leon wears glasses, shy!reader&leon, leon self depreciates a bit

Author's Notes: hiii. though where i live fall doesn’t exist (i swear, we are all being cooked alive at this point), im happy to write something to welcome fall! dedicated to @sarahs-secrets2 whose birthday is tomorrow! happy birthday, my friend!! thank you for being such an amazing friend to me, you are the best!! also i won't lie, i might be working on a small drabble for a smutty second part (flannel shirts, all im saying). dividers by @firefly-graphics. images found on pinterest and edited on faceapp.

leon's masterlist

It all starts right at the beginning of fall.

Leon Kennedy never considered himself the type of guy someone could deeply fall in love with. In his own opinion, he has always been an average kind of guy. A little shy, with a pair of black glasses in front of his eyes since he couldn't see long or short distances.

Since entering college and breaking up with his first (and only) girlfriend, romance wasn't clearly in his plans. He had to focus on his studies to become a lawyer and pass the bar exam. Unlike his colleagues, who partied every Friday, Leon was busy with his head inside books—most of the time.

There is also another weighting factor: Leon had a merit-based scholarship. It is not something he would tell someone, but it meant he had worked his ass off to get there, prove himself to stay there every semester. He couldn't waste his time with anything, especially with romance.

Leon enters the already chilly Friday, his scarf close to his face. For some reason, fall had arrived earlier, and he couldn't be more grateful. The library is almost empty, except for a few students here and there. He goes to his usual spot, between two tall bookshelves, a seat at the very end, hidden from the rest of the world. Before he can get there, a smiling familiar face carrying a few books in their arms appears in his path: you, who worked in the library and was always ready to help students whenever needed.

"Back already?" You joke, whispering. Leon feels his blush spread, smiling back.

"You know me, can't stay away too long."

You giggle, seeming equally flustered. There is a moment of silence where you two stare at each other, saying nothing else. Then, you handle Leon one of the books from your arms.

"Here. This just arrived today. I hope it can be helpful."

Before Leon can answer, you leave, waving, without looking directly at his face. Leon walks to his usual spot, removes his jacket, and hangs on the chair before placing the book on the table. He sits, opens the first page, and finds a yellow post-it with something written on it. Leon then takes his glass case out of his backpack, changing his distance ones to the reading ones. Yeah, he was one of those blessed ones who couldn't see far away or close. There it was, written in blue ink:

"Hi! I hope I don't scare you by writing this, but I just wanted to let you know you are adorable!"

Leon's eyebrows raise as he looks around. Most students in there have their heads on their books. You had given this book to him earlier, so maybe? No, Leon realizes. So many other students have probably read it before. Wait, but didn't you say the book just arrived today? Well, it could have been a donation, and someone left it there.

Without making much noise, Leon gets up to look for you behind your front desk. You seem focused but promptly raise your head when you see Leon coming.

"Hey. Something wrong?" Your face is blurred, and Leon suddenly realizes he didn't change into his long-distance glasses.

"Yeah. Someone left this note in the book. Just wanted to give you a heads up."

"Oh." Leon handles the book for you, and he can't quite figure out your expression due to the lack of proper glasses. "I guess it came with the donation."

"Yeah. Probably." You whisper back in a strange tone. Leon gives you a slight nod before returning to his usual spot. Well, that was odd, but he didn't have time to think much about it. He needed to remain focused anyway.

Next Friday comes, and the temperatures slowly start dropping, which comes with a relief to Leon. He hates the heat, despises how the Earth is warming up, and nobody seems to give a damn about it. The view to the campus Library looks so pretty now: straight out from a book, orange leaves on the floor, crunching as Leon walks over them. It was one of his favorite Autumn activities when he was a kid—that and carving pumpkins. The only problem with the sudden chilly weather was his glasses getting fogged, but hey, it seemed like a fair trade.

He arrives near the library's building, finding you outside. You are wearing a deep green sweater with some trees drawn on it. On the top of your head, a cute black hat protects your ears. Leon can't help but smile when he notices you rub your hands and arms.

"It is not even that cold yet." Leon teases as he gets close. You look back at him, startled but happy to see him.

"Says the one with the heavy jacket and a scarf!"

"Hey!" Leon complains, pretending to be insulted. "At least this is better than the heat we had before, right?"

"Yeah."

Before Leon can walk in and leave you alone, he asks, his curiosity peaking.

"Hey, so what about that note from last week? Discovered where it was from?"

"Oh." You seem taken aback by his question before shrugging, "I don't know. I threw it away anyway. Nothing important."

Leon nods before waving and walking into the warmth of the library. It is as empty as last week, which Leon prefers. He goes to his usual spot, noticing the yellow post-it on top of his table. Leon rushes to grab it and read. It is written in the same blue ink as before.

"Just wanted to wish you a good week. I admire you from afar, hoping you achieve all your goals!"

Leon's first reaction is to look for you, show you the new note, and believe again this is a mistake. But then he ponders, his curiosity speaking louder. No, he isn't interested in romance, nor does he have time for it. But, if those notes are really, really meant for him, why? He isn't that special or someone who should have secret admirers. Leon has always been curious, so he places the note in his pocket.

In the weeks following, he ends up receiving more and more notes. They are on top of his desk, under the desk, near the wall, always visible so he can find them. And since the first two ones, they have started to come signed with "Your Secret Admirer." It can't just be a coincidence at this point.

"You are doing amazing, and I hope you continue to do so! - Your secret admirer."

"I wish I could say how much I admire you to your adorable face! - Your secret admirer."

"It makes me so happy to see you pursuing your dream; it gives me the courage to pursue mine! - Your secret admirer."

"One of these days, I will gather the courage to invite you out, but until then, I keep thinking about you as I look at the stars."

Leon's suspicions are towards someone inside the library, of course. His first thought is you, but it simply can't be. You are too bright, too cute, too funny for him. Deep down, Leon wishes it was you; he might have harbored a tiny crush on you since the first time you helped him, but he knows it can't be. His other suspicions are the other people in the library, but he barely knows them, except for an eventual nod or "hello" here and there.

It is finally time for the first week of exams, and the library is getting crowded. Leon arrives earlier that Friday and, for a miracle, can find his spot empty and, sadly, no note this time. He tries not to concentrate on his disappointment, focusing on his studies when, in the corner of his eyes, he comes into the corridor. You look dressed for a freezing winter, rushing toward Leon with something in your hands. When you see him, you stop in your tracks, your eyes slightly going wide. Then you turn around, leaving in the other direction.

Much later that night, Leon walks to the front desk. You look busy but still manage to give him a tired smile.

"Getting crazy over here, huh."

"Yeah. It is time for the tests, so people can go a little crazy." You explain, shrugging. You look anxious, but Leon presumes it relates to the agitated week. "Hey, do you mhm like pumpkin chocolate brownies?"

"Sure?" Leon's stomach grumbles as you pull out something from your drawer. He hadn't had something to eat since he came to the library three hours ago. Two small pumpkin chocolate brownies, probably from the candy shop near the campus. "Thanks, I haven't eaten anything today."

"Just don't eat here, okay?" You wink, smiling.

Leon holds them, staring at your table as you return your attention to your work. A pile of books is nearby and more on the other side of the table. His attention is drawn to a small yellow paper folded so many times. He gathers his courage and opens his mouth to finally ask you what he has been dying to ask you this whole time.

"Hey, is it you my—?"

"Excuse me, can you help me find this book?" A female student calls your attention, interrupting Leon. You didn't seem to have heard anything, Leon asked, excusing yourself to help the stressed lady.

Leon watches his surroundings. He shouldn't think about that, but his body works faster than his mind. Leon grabs the yellow folded paper and runs away without looking back, his whole face red. Did he just steal something?

When he is out of the library range, he stops near a street light and frantically opens the post-it, his hands shaking, not due to the cold. Could it be you? Could it be really you? Leon reads it once. Then twice.

"Hey, I know you have been studying so hard. Here, have some pumpkin chocolate brownies to sweeten your night and give you some luck for the tests!- Your Secret Admirer."

So, it is you. Leon re-reads the sentence over and over again, thinking of different possibilities. It could have been an accident, right? Someone else could have brownies for him, some other secret admirer. But so specific like that?

"Stop. You are overreacting." Leon whispers to himself, placing the note in his jacket pocket. He looks back towards the library, half of him demanding for him to go back in there and face you. Wasn't Leon that wanted to have been you this whole time? Keeping all the notes even though they might not be for him? Wasn't he even considering opening an exception for this rule just because of you?

Leon will make a decision. Not tonight, no. Tonight, he will enjoy the feeling of knowing you are his secret admirer.

Two weeks pass, and you don't see Leon. You wonder where he is since the last time he almost caught you placing the brownies and the note on his desk. You should have known he would arrive earlier since Leon has been so responsible about his studies (something you admired about him). Not coming for two weeks? You wonder if he was sick. Or maybe Leon chose to study in his dorm since the library had been so crowded lately.

After helping an agitated first-year who couldn't find a Math book, you walk back to your table and find a Pumpkin bookmark there. You turn it around, finding a sentence in beautiful handwriting: "Some say Autumn isn't the season of love, but I disagree when I have Fallen for you. - Your Not-So-Secret-Admirer?"

You feel your cheeks heating up, immediately thinking about Leon and finding him right before you, his entire face red as a tomato. You open your mouth and close it, unsure what to say.

"Sorry. I hope that didn't scare you."

"N-no! You didn't!" You reply loud enough to get some "sshhh." You shut your mouth, looking apologetic towards Leon, who smiles.

"Would you like to go out with me? There is a harvest fair nearby, and I was wondering if we could..."

"I would love to." You rush to answer, whispering. "If I don't disturb your studies, of course."

"Nope, not a problem."

Some might say nothing grows during Autumn. The leaves fall as the plants prepare for another winter until spring gives them life again, and the cycle repeats. Well, some things can bloom during Autumn, as Leon Kennedy's smile to you is enough proof of that.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fluf #leon s kennedy fanfic #leon s kennedy fluff

483 notes · View notes

babydollmarauders · 7 months

Text

SWEET SWEET BABY — JACK HUGHES

part of the el!hughes au

summary: in which y/n (lovie) gives birth to their baby boy

warnings: reference to porn (?), birth

notes: THIS TAKES PLACE IN APRIL 2024! (2.8k words)

not my gif

“five more days.”

Jack’s voice breaks me out of my reading trance, my eyes tearing away from my book that sits propped up on my overly large bump.

“hmm?” i hum, wincing as the baby pushes against my bladder.

Jack just smiles, he has one hand resting on my lower stomach, and the other holding our two-year-old to his chest as she naps.

“five more days,” he repeats, his sentence broken up by a yawn. “until his due date.”

“if he can stay in here that long.” i joke. it’s an ongoing worry of mine, that our baby boy is gonna come before his due-date like his sister did.

“he’ll do it.” Jack says confidently, looking down at my stomach. “right, little guy?”

our son, as though knowing his father is talking to him, kicks directly at Jack’s hand on my bump, resulting in a wide grin from Jack.

“told ya, Lovie.” he looks back at me, “he’ll wait. he just told us so.”

“go take your nap!” i laugh, pushing at his legs with my foot.

“okay, well i’m taking her with me.” he sticks his tongue out at me as he stands up, clutching Eleanor tightly to his chest with his good arm as he does so.

“that’s fine with me. peace and quiet.” i sigh, “maybe i’ll actually get to finally finish my book.”

“you mean your porn?” Jack teases, bending over to press a kiss to my forehead.

“it’s not porn! it’s romance!”

“porn with a plot!” his words are spoken with a dismissive wave of his hand in his post-surgery sling as he walks toward our bedroom.

“shut up!” Luke’s voice drifts out from his bedroom, and i can only imagine him with his pillow pressed against his ear. “i don’t wanna hear your freaky sex talk! some of us are trying to have a pregame nap!”

Jack throws his head back in laughter, the tips of my ears turning red at Luke’s assumption.

“go to sleep, before you upset my son.” i huff, waving Jack off.

“our son can’t get upset yet.” he reminds me, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“i know. i said my son.” i tell him. “Luke.”

“oh my god.” Jack groans, rolling his eyes before he turns and finally disappears down the hallway.

i hear our bedroom door click shut and let out a sigh of contentment.

Jack hasn’t given me any room to breathe for the past couple days. ever since we hit one week until the due-date, which is how early i had El, Jack has been hovering nonstop, just in case the baby decides he’s ready to make his grand entrance. but finally, it’s the last game of the regular season tonight, and with Jack, Luke, and El all taking naps, i get a couple hours to myself.

just me, my book, and the unborn child in my womb that is currently dancing on my bladder.

i heave out a sigh, bookmarking my page and shutting my book, letting it fall to the couch as i struggle to push myself up.

damnit, i should’ve had Jack help me up to pee before he went to sleep.

i finally, successfully, rise from the couch, waddling over to the bathroom and making it to the toilet just in time.

after washing my hands, i head into the kitchen and grab myself a water bottle and the tupperware of pre-cut fruit that Jack had prepared for me this morning, before making my way back to the couch.

my head is pounding, light pains in my stomach as i sit on the floor, waiting up for Jack and Luke to get home.

the Devils lost to the Islanders 4-1, and i know both the boys are gonna need cheering up. even though Jack sat in a suite the entire game and didn’t play, i know he feels the loss just as hard as the rest of his teammates.

El is wired from her two naps of the day, currently decked out in a princess dress with a lab coat over it as she plays doctor, checking my bump for any ‘boo-boo’s, but i don’t have the energy to fight her on going to bed.

El’s play stethoscope is pressed against my bump, her wild blonde curls falling over her eyes as she looks down.

“mama.” she whispers, standing up straight and cupping my face.

“yes, lovely?” i coo, tucking a curl behind her ear.

“baby heart!” she points to my stomach, bending back down to press her plastic stethoscope against the stretched out fabric of my shirt.

“yeah? are you listening to the babies heart?” she nods enthusiastically, the stethoscope bouncing from its connection in her ears.

she rips it out though when she hears the front door unlock, her head snapping up towards the living room entrance, waiting to see who it is.

as soon as Jack rounds the corner, her little legs take off; her feet slapping against the hardwood floor as she runs over to him.

“daddy!” Jack’s face brightens at the sight of her, a small smile playing on his lips as he bends down, allowing El to wrap her arms around his neck.

“hi, lovely.” Jack presses a kiss to her cheek as she pulls back. “what are you still doing up? how come mommy didn’t put you to bed?”

“mommy, doesn’t have a single ounce of energy left to fight her into bed.” i sigh, letting my head fall back onto the sofa.

“uncle Luke’s got it.” Luke swoops in, pulling El up into his arms. “c’mon munchkin, you wanna wear your Elsa jammie’s tonight?”

“dark vader!” El screams, making Luke wince as he starts toward the hallways to her room.

“what has uncle Quinn done to you?” he shakes his head as they retreat.

Jack sighs, looking down at me on the floor. he huffs out a chuckle and shakes his head at me as i stretch grabby hands out to him, walking over and helping me up off the floor.

“you okay?” i run a hand through his overgrown hair, staring into his ocean blue eyes.

“yeah,” he starts, pausing when he sees me flinch. “are you?”

“mhm.” i nod, gritting my teeth as a sharp pain shoots through my abdomen and back.

“are you sure?” he asks, flattening the back of his hand to my forehead as if checking my temperature. i swat it away. “Lovie, if we need to go to the hospital, just tell me. better safe than sorry.”

“we don’t-” i’m cut off by El storming into the living room in her Darth Vader onesie, Luke chasing behind her with her toothbrush in hand.

“we gotta brush your teeth Ellie-Bug!” Luke catches up to her with his long legs, but not before she can try and scramble up my body, her hands pushing against my stomach and causing me to cringe in pain.

“alright, that’s it, we’re going.” Jack announces, stepping back.

“no.” i stand my ground, crossing my arms across my chest. “i’m fine, Jack. it’s just a few pains. nothing i can’t handle.”

and my words would’ve been believable, if it weren’t for the gush of liquid that begins to trickle down my legs.

“fuck.” i curse, squeezing my eyes shut as Jack retreats to the linen closet to retrieve a towel.

“mommy! potty! go!” El screams, her little index finger pointing towards the bathroom.

“no, lovely, mommy doesn’t need to potty.” i lift a foot as Jack sets a towel down to soak up the liquid, oddly calm given the circumstances.

“hey, sunshine,” Jack’s voice is soft as he squats down in front of our toddler. “you know how mommy and daddy have been telling you baby brother is in mommy’s tummy?”

“baby!” El squeals, making to come and rub my bump like she usually does, but Jack holds her back.

“yeah, a baby!” Jack grins, “well now baby brother is ready to come and meet you, doesn’t that sound fun?”

my eyes water at the calm and gentle approach he has to explaining the situation to our sweet girl, and how excited she seems to get as she nods her head.

“okay, so mommy and daddy are gonna go to the doctor’s, and uncle Luke is gonna stay here with you. is that okay?”

“yuke!” she shouts, her head whipping around to find Luke, who’s currently attending to me as i waddle towards my bedroom to get changed.

“i’m right here, munchkin.” Luke switches places with my husband, probably the better choice, as i’ll need someone to help me peel these leggings off and put new ones on, and i think Luke and i would both rather he not be the one to do it.

Jack makes quick work of helping me sit on our bed, peeling my leggings and underwear off before he helps me into new ones.

“you ready, love?” i question, suspiciously eyeing him and his strangely serene demeanor.

“shouldn’t i be asking you that question?” he smiles, helping me off the bed.

“oh, i know i’m not. but are you?” he guides me back out to the living room, past El’s bedroom, where i can hear Luke reading her a bedtime story, and towards the front door.

“yeah.” he nods as he opens the door. “i’m ready.”

“oh good. then, can you push him out for me?” Jack laughs loudly, helping me into the car.

“unfortunately, i can’t do that.” he reminds me, my lips turning down in a frown. “but i’ll tell you what i can do.”

he pauses to round the car, sliding into the drivers seat. his hand slips into mine, lacing our fingers together as he looks into my eyes.

“i can hold your hand, and remind you that at the end of all that pushing, we’re gonna have our baby boy.” his forehead rests against mine, dipping down to kiss my lips before he pulls away and begins driving to the hospital.

“fuck you and your sweet words.” i sigh, gripping the car door and squeezing his hand as another contraction comes along. “shit!”

sweat drips down my forehead as i push. Jack stands beside me, his hand tightly clutched in mine as he whispers reassuring words in my ear.

“i want my mom!” i sob, tears streaming down my cheeks as i stop pushing, looking towards Jack, who’s eyes are welled up with tears.

“i’m sorry,-” he pushes my hair back from sticking to my forehead.

“i want Ellen!” i clarify, squeezing my eyes shut as another contraction hits and i’m forced to begin pushing again.

“oh lovie,” my husband coos, resting his forehead against the side of my head. “mom is on her way. i promise.”

we were lucky in the sense that Ellen and Jim had already flew into town yesterday to attend the boys game tonight and wait for baby boy to arrive. but my labor happened so fast, that he had just gotten ahold of Ellen before i was told it was time to push.

“okay, take a breath, y/n.” the doctor speaks, “i can see his head crowning so this next push should be it.”

i take three deep breaths before i feel another contraction, pushing one last time before the sound of infant cries fill the room.

Jack squeezes my hand as i fall back on the hospital bed, after labor chills making my body shake.

“good job, mom!” the doctor cheers, “you have a seemingly healthy baby boy!”

the nurse rests him against my chest, handing him over to me, and i let out another sob at the sight of him.

“oh-” i stare down at his sweet face, running a finger along his cheek. “Jacky, he has your nose.”

i glance up at my husband, who looks at our baby with so much love; as if he’s the greatest thing in the world. his tears have finally spilled over, his hand reaching out to hold the back of our son’s head.

“he’s perfect, lovie.” his voice breaks, catching in his throat mid-sentence.

“our perfect baby boy.”

“he’s an angel.” Ellen coos, staring down at the baby in her arms.

“isn’t he perfect?” i smile softly, still waking up from my nap.

its now eight in the morning, and after the four a.m. birth and then first feeding an hour later, i only got three hours of sleep before Jack woke me up and told me his mother was getting restless to see her grandson and he knew i wanted to witness the meeting.

Luke and El should be arriving any moment, so we’re letting Jim and Ellen meet him before they get here.

“absolutely perfect.” Ellen smiles, looking back at Jack and i. my husband lays beside me in the hospital bed, his head resting on my shoulder as he snores.

i can’t imagine how tired he must be. he stayed awake the entire time i napped, just admiring our baby boy and attempting to do some one armed skin-on-skin with the help of a nurse; who advised better of my husband than to use his other arm, which is still in a sling after his shoulder surgery just six days prior.

“he has Jack’s nose.” Jim chuckles as his wife hands the baby off to him.

“that’s what i said.” i grin, turning my head to look down at my sleeping soulmate. i crane my neck, pecking a kiss to his nose, which makes him scrunch it in his sleep.

the room door swings open, Luke stepping through with El clutched in his arms, and i carefully shake Jack awake.

“hmm?” he groans, his eyes fluttering open before he sits up.

“El is here.” i whisper, just before our daughter squeals.

“mommy! daddy!” Luke sets her on the hospital bed and she clambers up our legs, gingerly settling down on Jack’s lap and wrapping her arms around his neck.

“hi, lovely. did you have a good night with uncle Luke?” Jack asks, huffing out a laugh at the sight of her messily done ponytail. she nods, her curls bouncing on top of her head.

“her hair is wild, don’t blame me.” Luke huffs, taking the baby from his father’s arms.

“oh my god, he’s precious.” Luke smiles softly at the baby in his arms as he walks toward the bed.

“you see your baby brother, El?” i question, and her eyes widen as Luke hands my son back to me.

my daughter’s lips part, her hand reaching out to touch the babies foot.

“baby?” she whispers, looking up at Jack and he nods.

“yeah, lovely. that’s the baby that was in mommy’s tummy.” her eyes flicker between the baby and my stomach at his words, and i giggle.

“yeah, there’s nothing in there anymore, lovebug.” i tell her.

“baby.” she repeats, her touch raising to his tiny hands.

“hey, mom?” Jack calls out, Ellen looking over at him with raised brows. “you mind facetiming Quinny?”

“yeah, of course.” she nods, digging her phone out of her purse.

i feel a slight twinge of guilt as i hear the facetime ring, feeling a little bad to be waking Quinn up at five in the morning on a game day, but i know he’ll be excited to see the baby.

“mom? what’s up?” Quinn’s voice is groggy when the call connects, and instead of answering, Ellen just hands the phone to Jack.

“hey, Quinny.” my husband grins, letting El wave hello to her uncle.

“hey Jacky, hi El-Bell.” Quinn rubs his eyes, sitting up in his bed. “what’s going on? i have a game tonight, bro.”

“i know. but, i thought you might wanna meet someone.” Jack flips the phone around, pointing it to me and i hold the baby up better so that Quinn can see.

“oh my god.” Quinn’s seemingly more awake now, bringing the phone closer to his face. “you had him.”

tears well in my eyes, an overwhelming sense of longing for my big brother figure’s presence creeping up on me as i nod.

“i had him.” i confirm.

“he’s beautiful, guys.” Quinn smiles as Jack slots himself and El into the frame, showing off all four of us. “what’s his name?”

i share a glance with Jack and he nods, giving me permission.

“Elio Quintin Hughes.” i smile softly, my tears spilling over my waterline as Quinn gapes.

i hear Ellen let out a little sob, and i glance over to find Jim pulling her in for a hug.

“you named him after… me?” Quinn asks, and even through the phone screen, i can see tears glistening in his eyes.

Jack nods.

“it only seemed right.” i explain. “if it weren’t for you, Jack and i wouldn’t have met. you guys are the family that i desperately wished for growing up, and if it weren’t for you, i wouldn’t have it now either.”

tears stain Quinn’s cheeks, “i love you, y/n. and you too, i guess, Jack.”

Jack laughs, huffing out a “we love you too.”

we stay on the call for another hour, letting El talk to her uncle, and us telling him how the birth went, before he excuses himself, telling us he should probably get a bit more sleep before morning skate.

Jack hands the phone back to Ellen, who snaps a picture of the four of us squished together in the hospital bed.

my little family.

#el!hughes au #jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes fic #jack hughes blurb #nj devils #nhl fic #nhl imagine #faithlynn’s writings <3

828 notes · View notes

blog-name-idk · 2 months

Text

The Plot Twist | 04

Written by @blog-name-idk and @eserethriddle

Summary: Once upon a time you would have jumped at the chance to live the idol girlfriend life. The cameras, the action, the whirlwind romance. But what was once a dream has now become your worst nightmare, and you fully intend to fight the universe as it repeatedly conspires to set you up with your seven perfectly good soulmates from Bangtan Sonyeondan.

In which we punt Y/N into all the fanfiction tropes and you do your feral best to subvert the love story.

Because nani the fuck, you are The Plot Twist.

Pairing: OT7 X Fem!Reader

Genre: Soulmate!AU, crack, humor, idol!AU, light angst, slow burn, romantic comedy, just a fun silly old time

Rating: 18+

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Chapter 4: "You like Pac-man, right?"

"How dare you!"

You’ve just finished entering the final character to G0d$l@yeR_69 when you look up from the post-game leaderboard screen.

"Pardon?" you ask in confusion, slightly alarmed by the speed in which a masked man is walking towards you and the Pac-man machine. Even with the mask, the exaggerated furrow marring the man’s forehead is more than enough for you to discern that he is less than pleased. You square your shoulders, in case you need to defend the precious apparatus. Well, that and protect Lee-ssi, but mostly the Pac-man game.

"You're G0d$l@yeR_69?" the man squawks, voice irate. He gives you a once over and bristles further. You can almost imagine his fluffy hair rising like the feathers of an offended bird, and he… kind of sounds like one, too. You struggle to stifle your snicker when he gestures broadly to your grown stature, incredulous even as he finally discerns to himself, “You’re not some pint-sized punk!”

“And yet here you are, humbled all the same.” you respond haughtily, dusting off the imaginary lint off your burgundy dress. “Based on your reaction, I take it you’re ‘Jin the PacMan God’?”

You pause.

Wait.

Jin?

In fact, this offended cockatoo of a man actually looks… familiar. Broad shoulders, nice eyebrows, and –

Your blood pressure skyrockets as you realize exactly who is yelling at you. Unfortunately, your temper rises faster than your self-preservation.

"I'm sorry, BTS Jin is the same stupid kid who calls himself 'Jin the PacMan God?'" you blurt before you can stop yourself. "What self-respecting adult wastes so much time on an arcade game?"

He raises an eyebrow at you with a pointed stare, and you shrug. You don't fit into that category. You certainly don't respect yourself.

"A grown woman calls herself G0d$l@yeR_69?" Kim Seokjin jabs in return, crossing his arms, now looking more sulky than angry.

"Well, it's accurate to lore," you retort with an uncaring flip of your hair, doing your best to look bored rather than reflect the panic beginning to clog your throat. His genuinely offended gasp would have made you laugh if you weren't currently running through the possible exit routes in your head.

And then Jin says, "Well, you must be cheating!"

The egregious accusation dispels all thoughts of escape from your head. Your pride and integrity as a gamer have been insulted, and you narrow your eyes at the self-proclaimed pro-gamer before you.

You’re fully prepared to defend your honor.

It's on.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Jimin doesn't get it.

How could he be unlucky enough to get sidelined a second time in a row? He wasn't even late this time! But because there had been more men than women (a bit heteronormative for his tastes, but that's the current state of most official speed-dating events), he and a few others had to wait aside for a rotation. And then somehow, everyone had already decided to pair up before he even got to meet anyone!

Perhaps it's karma and he's being punished for telling his Jin-hyung that he sort of kind of definitely looked like a certain pink Moluccan bird species when he was all riled up and red-eared.

With a sigh, he leaves the building, shoulders slumped. He can't quite bring himself to call Jin yet, and so he decides to walk aimlessly for a while. Perhaps some fresh air will cheer him up.

It's a bustling street, and he nervously brings his mask up higher on his face lest he be recognized. No one seems to be paying attention however, and the people going about their daily lives remind him that despite his woes, life goes on.

An arcade catches his eye, and he shrugs to himself. A few rounds of killing zombies or racing fake cars will take his mind off things. It's a school day, so it's unlikely the place will be packed.

When he walks in, he hears a familiar screech, accompanied by the sound of a boot stomping on the ground.

"Yahhh! How did you do that?! That's not fair!"

What is Jin-hyung doing here? And what is he yelling about?

Curious, he follows the voice past the shopkeeper who looks torn between concern and amusement, to where Jin is ranting at someone obscured by his frame.

A p(r)etty sigh.

"I'm sorry this is so difficult for you to get through that coconut haircut of yours, but has it occurred to you that I'm just better?"

Huh, that voice is also familiar.

"That’s just prepos–"

"...Hyung?"

The voices cease as the two arguers turn to look at Jimin, and he feels his breath catch in his throat.

You look particularly lovely today, with a form-fitting burgundy dress that shows off much more soft-looking skin than the business or lounge attire you wear on the rare occasion he actually sees you.

And his Jin-hyung, next to you, all rose-colored cockatoo.

It's more than enough to set Jimin off-balance.

"Oh! Hi, LN-ssi!" he hurriedly squeaks, cursing his voice for cracking. What are all his voice lessons even for?

At least you can't tell his palms are suddenly sweating. Your eyebrows rise and Jimin realizes you never did tell him your name, that he just saw it on your mailbox and it stuck in his brain. Oh no, do you think he's a stalker now?

"You know this phony?" Jin cries, oblivious to the internal crisis his dongsaeng is currently experiencing.

Jimin's brows crinkle. Phony?

Your head whips to his hyung at his words, your eyes narrowing.

"I believe you saw proof with your own two eyes," you say icily, though your gaze has a fire that makes Jimin gulp. "Maybe you should get them checked? Sometimes they can fail with old age."

Jin's jaw drops, and as a constipated sound of outrage leaves him, you take the opportunity to brush past and march to the exit. Jimin, still confused, steps aside automatically to let you pass and you give him a reluctant nod.

"Jimin-ssi."

As you leave, Jin turns to Jimin to demand answers, but he barely hears it over the fluttering in his tummy.

It's the first time you've ever addressed him by name.

"You like Pac-man, right?" he asks, smiling brighter than the sun.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

The twelve-year-old boy opens his hand, revealing hard candy wrapped in shiny, yellow paper.

You accept his offering, sure your own face is radiant enough to power all of Gwangju. You can't say you have strong feelings for the buttery treat, but you do for the little boy who fills your days with laughter and sweet memories. You could spend forever playing with him at the park by your houses…

Except your parents get the brilliant idea of starting their own restaurant in Seoul. You are heartbroken when the decision to move is made, but you do your best to support their dreams, even if it comes at the expense of your only friend.

Out of sentimentality and denial, you save the shiny candy wrapper, holding it when you're sad, as if it's a talisman that can ward off the lonely ache in your chest. It's hard being the new kid in a big-city school, and though you present your mother's strong facade when your new classmates tease you about your satoori, it hurts. You have to be strong.

After one particularly bad day, you decide to drop into the local arcade, because all it will take is one smile from your appa to disintegrate your cracking veneer. You're a big girl, basically an adult at a whopping eleven years old! You're not a baby anymore, you just need some extra time to set yourself right.

You weave through the attractions, passing racing games and claw machines when something catches your eye. A familiar yellow character smiles at you from a game cabinet, and for a moment you feel like he is still there with you.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

You walk up to the Pac-man arcade machine with newfound resolve and a sunny smile to match.

“Sometimes I wanna drop by Gwangju,” Jung Hoseok begins, taking his seat at the dining table next to Taehyung, “But then I remember they already demolished the playplace from my childhood and think, huh, maybe not. Thing is, they sold really good tteok there.”

“Pan-fried tteok?” Taehyung leans back, remembering the taste of his own favorite rice cake flavors from Daegu. “My hometown had that, too.”

“Sometimes the cart owner-ahjussi would give us candy with our orders. I miss it a lot.”

Hobi's eyes take on a wistful look, and Taehyung pats his shoulder.

It must have been some really good candy.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

"Honey! I'm home!" you call, setting your briefcase on the floor as your husband rushes up to you wearing a cute apron that has nothing on his sweet face and sweeter smile.

"I just finished dinner," he says, greeting you with a kiss on the cheek that makes your chest fill with the glow of a million fireflies.

"What, mudcakes again?" you ask fondly. You thread your fingers with his, uncaring of the dirt on his palms, giggling at the pout on his face.

"You said they're your favorite!" he complains petulantly, though he doesn't pull away.

"They are," you agree, squeezing his hand in yours reassuringly. You beam at him, and his cheeks turn pink. "If it's something you made, it's my favorite."

You're suddenly tugged towards him and you squeak in surprise as wiry arms crush the air out of your lungs.

It's great to be back in Gwangju, away from all the insanity happening in Seoul. You can finally relax and live life rather than constantly look over your shoulder in the fear of running into another member of BTS.

"You're my favorite," he mumbles into your hair, and it's the happiest you've felt in your entire nine years of existence.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Fuck you, fate! You're taking a break.

You knock on the old, familiar door, and it opens to reveal a kind, lightly lined face that breaks into a huge smile at the sight of you.

"Halmeoni!" you announce happily, stepping into your grandmother's arms and hugging her fiercely. She hugs you back just as hard, squeezing you with her deceptively spindly limbs as you melt into a hold that feels like childhood.

"We've been waiting!" she replies cheerfully before ushering you to the living room and calling your grandpa to come greet you. The house is the same as you remember, a comforting echo of days past.

"Oh! We ran into that boy you used to play with at the store earlier!" your grandma says just as you pick up your cup of tea. "The one you used to play house with!"

You laugh, thinking fondly of your childhood friend. Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad if he had been your soulmate, rather than a group of the seven biggest idols in Korea. Or perhaps not – the things that are so simple to children don't always translate to adulthood, and those memories hold an untainted innocence that you wouldn't trade for the world.

You bring the cup of homebrewed tea to your lips, only to choke at your grandmother's next words.

"I invited him over for dinner!"

You stare at the twinkle in your suddenly menacing grandmother's eyes. In just one simple sentence, she has transformed from the kindly, loving fixture of your youth to yet another cruel, scheming matchmaker. Truly your mother’s maker. Leaving Seoul might have saved you from idol-related phenomena, but clearly not from your family's attempts at grand (and great-grand) children.

Instinct drives you to your feet and you grab your purse, tripping over the rug as you rush to the door.

"I have to go," you call over your shoulder, uncaring of the baffled expression on your grandma's face.

"But you just got here?" she says in distressed confusion, and your stomach fills with guilt at the sadness in her voice. "We haven't seen you in so long, dear."

You still, hand on the doorknob and so, so close to freedom and safety. Eventually, you sigh, shoulders slumping as the resolve trickles out of your body.

"Never mind, I'm going to take my stuff upstairs," you say in resignation, grabbing the carry-on still by the door and carting it to the guest room. The wallet feels extra heavy in your purse, and when you're safely within the confines of your room you sit on the bed and pull it out.

You reach behind the ID card in the plastic slot of your wallet and feel the soft, crinkly edges of a fond childhood memory.

You like Pac-man, right?

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Hoseok still remembers the smile on your face whenever he gave you the extra candy he would get with his tteok in the park. As well as the thinly hidden devastation on your face the last time he saw you, and you told him your family was leaving for Seoul.

Despite him being older, he had always admired your courage and tenacity, the way you would charge head-first at the things you wanted. Your unwavering support whenever he was feeling down or uncertain. During hard times as a trainee, he would sometimes picture your determined expression and feel an extra spark of energy.

He really isn't sure what to expect, or even if he's in his right mind, coming to dinner to see his long lost… friend? Play-spouse?

Would you even remember him?

The door opens, and Hoseok's heart jumps at the sight of you. The tentative smile on your face fades into an expression of utter shock, and he belatedly remembers exactly who he is.

"Wh–what the–I–" you stammer, looking just as mortified as Hoseok feels. In his ruminations of childhood, he had completely forgotten his present state of being and how it might impact new encounters. "Can I help you?"

"Y-Y/N?" he asks tentatively. To his bafflement, you flinch as if he had screamed at you.

"How do you know my name?" you ask, stepping back with your hand on the door. You look five seconds away from slamming it in his face, and despite his misgivings, Hoseok's heart sinks. For some reason this cold reception feels worse than if you were a saesang.

"I'm… I'm here for dinner?" he says tentatively, proffering the seonmul he brought. The expression on your face is so reluctant that for a moment he takes a whiff of the bag in case the pastries from the most expensive bakery in the area have somehow gone bad.

With a spark of panic, Hoseok wonders if he accidentally went to the wrong address. The house is familiar, and you look similar to the little girl he remembers, but perhaps he's just let his hopes affect his memories. Why else would you look so shaken, other than a strange man showing up out of nowhere?

"But you're… you're not–"

"Y/N, what's taking so long?"

Relief fills him momentarily as your grandmother comes behind you, though it's tempered by the way you haven't relaxed.

"But this is… this isn't…" you stammer, face pale as you look between Hoseok and your grandmother. It hits him that you probably don't remember his real name, as you had been too young to pronounce it correctly when you had first met.

"You used to call me Hoba," he says with a smile, realizing that this is why you must be so confused – you've recognized him as Jung Hoseok of BTS, and thus not your playmate from so many years ago. "It's nice to see you again."

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

This cannot be happening.

Not only is the smiling boy from your fondest memories Jung Hoseok of BTS, but he just somehow had a break in his schedule the same weekend you're in Gwangju, and he ran into your grandmother at the supermarket? You left Seoul to get a break from these ridiculous situations and not to end up having dinner with one of your soulmates!

What kind of contrived, unimaginative bullshit is this?

"These are for you," Hoseok tells your grandmother with a formal bow, offering the pretty, pastel pastry box you had refused to accept earlier. She beams approvingly while you pinch yourself. Hard.

Through the pain in your arm, Jung Hoseok is still standing in your entryway, a sunny nightmare you can't wake up from. The old wrapper, once a magical talisman to ward off gloom, is lead weight in your pocket.

"Um," he begins awkwardly, looking bashful. It is not cute. He is not cute. "And this is for you."

He holds out a fuzzy yellow ball you immediately recognize, and you stare at it in shock. Your chest is doing something very funny, like tachycardic arrythmia. Yes. Hilarious.

Hoseok evidently takes your silence as disapproval, and wilts like a flower deprived of light. "Uh, sorry, you probably don't like Pacman anymore…"

"I do," you reply faintly, reaching forward to take his gift. Only to be polite. That's it. Certainly not because his dejection makes your insides roil with guilt. "Thank you."

"Of course," he replies, looking only marginally relieved by your lukewarm response. "Oh! You dropped something."

He dips low to grab something, and to your horror, your wallet is open –

"Wait, is this–"

"I JUST LIKE THE CANDY!" you blurt in a near scream, feeling your entire body light on fire. This would be humiliating in the best of situations, and Jung Hoseok discovering you kept the wrapper from an old candy he had given you, like a sentimental loser, is decidedly NOT the best of situations.

His resulting smile almost blasts you off your feet, and you wonder if overexposure to sunlight can lead to cardiac arrest.

“Y/N-ah,” Jung Hoseok says, tentatively, but with soft affection. It is more devastating than you could have ever imagined. “I missed you too. Have you been well?”

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Masterlist | Next

#bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts ot7 x reader #ot7 x reader #bts soulmate au #soulmate au #eserethriddle #reveri #fruit party 🥭🍒

198 notes · View notes

volitioncheck · 8 months

Text

does near every single post-canon DE fic out there need to be tagged ‘Sober Harry Du Bois’? i’m getting so tired of it.

do i expect every single piece of fan content to have to fully delve into the often-depressing always-complex topic of addiction? not really. sometimes you just want to write/read a silly fluffy romance one-shot, whatever. i get it. but i think my issue is specifically with the fact that for nearly every sillyfluffy au out there, there almost must be a ‘sober harry du bois’ tag. and it does feel very slapped-on more often than not.

i think to me it is an unconscious statement that nothing *good* can ever happen to harry du bois until he is completely and permanently sober. before solving the next big case, he has to be sober. before quitting the force, he has to be sober. before falling in love with kim, he has to be sober. before accomplishing anything, starting any sort of recovery, making any life improvement, he must first be sober.

sobriety as a goal, as a journey, and honestly as a concept in of itself is not as cut and dry as so many people think it is. and i think it would serve a lot of people well if they did some introspection on the implications of how nearly every single post-canon fic that isn’t dealing directly with harry’s addiction have him as completely sober instead.

if the plot of the fic isn’t going to touch directly on harry’s substance use (and again, i’m not demanding that every single fic should), why does that mean that sober!harry must be the default?

i think i am just tired of reading a casefic, a smutty one-shot, a fantasy au, whatever, where it almost seems that before getting on with the plot, the author feels obligated to first assure us that the harry we’re reading about is a Sober Harry. it’s established with a couple lines in the exposition, probably about his improved appearance, a tag up top, and then never brought up again; a checkmarked box. like the societal image of An Addict has completely prevented people from being able to imagine a person just, continuing to live life, while still struggling with addiction.

life happens, with all of its backslides and achievements, mundanity and changes, to people with drug addictions just as much as people who don’t. is a post-canon harry who isn’t sober not worth writing about?

i think so. i think the game we all played thinks so too. in fact i think that sentiment is woven into the game’s very core. i just wish i saw that reflected in our fan content more.

#i really hope my point is understandable in that it isn’t that i think that stories where harry *does* become sober aren’t also valuable.#or that i want every post-canon harry to *not* be sober.#but rather questioning why there seems to be a subconcious necessity for harry to be sober to have kind things happen to him.#disco elysium #harry du bois #also obligatory because i am putting this in the main tag:#this isn’t a callout or vague on any one person/creator/group of people in particular #it’s more of a prompt to discussion on a very broad trend #one informed by insidious biases that live in all of us because we live in a society etc #that none of us are immune to but all of us have a responsibility to acknowledge #if there is goal to this post it’s to provoke introspection. not individual attacks #anyways i love quietly consuming fan content until something annoys me enough to make my own post about it #i do wish i Participated in fan communities more tbh especially this one i’m just shy lol #most of the time.#me talking

473 notes · View notes

coralinnii · 11 months

Text

❋ If you are a villain, then let me be your accomplice ❋

feat: Lilia genre: mild hurt/comfort, slow burn romance note: sequel to reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy AU Lilia ver, no pronouns used, Lilia is depicted as his older appearance with long hair, human!reader, mentions of minor injuries unintentionally inflicted on reader, 1.6k word count

I liivvveee! For now, anyway. I still have my job projects and finals are upon me but I finally found some time to myself so I hope you enjoy another addition to the Villain/ess!series. I might end up failing a class but I know it’s not the end of the world for me and I really enjoyed the class so I wouldn’t mind retaking the class.

Yeaa...this did not end up as domestic fluff

WARNING: This part has kinda hard-to-read topics regarding children and childrearing. Sometimes parents, guardians, caretakers and/or other children accidentally get injured by a child and the child doesn’t know how to get over that. We never want to blame the child for these mistakes but we want to make sure they can learn to avoid such mistakes again. This is an odd case since these are fictional non-human characters and some people can view Lilia as too harsh or see MC/reader as too lenient. I’ve seen parents approach this concern differently and honestly to me, the next course of action is never easy to figure out without truly discussing with the child and those involved. I'm not saying whose method is right or wrong, I just wrote what would be the best course of action in this scenario. You might have your own opinions or approaches. Read at your own risk

A lot has happened since your first visit to the Vanrouge household. Lilia surprised you by taking both of you into his home, protecting you while helping to raise the young Yung. He offered a room to the small dragon and one for yourself (though Yung still prefers to sleep in your bed with you).

Speaking of Yung, he was still wary of Lilia and his servants, choosing to hide himself in your embrace or behind your legs. He refused to speak to anyone and if he needed something, he would whisper into your ears and being the pampering type, you would oblige.

“Dear me, he seems to have really imprinted himself on you” Lilia chuckled casually but then he quickly hardened his gaze and the conversation turned more serious. “However, if he does not grow out from this phase, he may end up unable to control his dragon side and hurt himself or you”

This worries you as you know due your knowledge from your previous life that Yung will grow to be very powerful but he fell victim to his own strength and destroyed himself with his power.

Distressed, you begged Lilia to give his guidance as the former guardian of the Dragon King and with a playful smile, he gave an offer to you.

“Very well, I will be his guide. But as a fair trade of service, why don’t you become my attendant? This would occupy your time and perhaps young Yung could use this to be a little more independent?”

And thus began Yung’s days of torture as your new job constantly took precious time from him by Lilia. Yung can no longer ask for walks with you because you’re needed to look over some paperwork with the duke. Nights where you would lull him to sleep were getting less and less as Lilia requested your assistance in looking over some schedule details before the new day. And even when Yung gets to hang out with you, Lilia would almost always be there to monopolize your attention.

At first, you decided to trust the young(?) duke and his tactics since you did come to him for his guidance anyway. Despite the rather playful demeanor he seems to have, Lilia seemed so confident to you and assured you time and time again that this is a rite of passage of sorts for fae like him and Yung since powerful beings like them must learn self-control before anything else.

But self-control continues to elude Yung and it wasn’t long before the cute little dragon decided enough was enough.

“Wuv is mine! Mister duke go away!”

To the best of his ability, Yung wrapped his short arms around your waist as he screamed at the duke. If Yung was any normal child, his growth would have been unprecedented as he was already walking (to chase after you and Lilia) and speaking fairly comprehensible sentences (to yell at Lilia). But as a fae, this was a typical growth spurt, quickly growing stronger and bigger than a typical human to ensure his survival. His physical strength was more obvious to you right now as the young child was unintentionally tightening his grip on you which started to hurt.

“Yung, l-love” you tried to speak but it came out as a short gasp as the small fae ignored your call. His hands, while small, kept digging through your clothes and into your skin which made you wince slightly. You tried other means of grabbing the young one’s attention but all was moot as all of Yung’s focus zeroed in on Lilia alone, his eyes glowing a slightly menacing color and a glare reminiscent of a dragon ready to defend his territory.

“Sigh…you are still a foolish child”

In an instant, the pain in your sides lessened as you found yourself in the arms of the duke instead of Yung’s hold. Both you and Yung were shocked by this sudden change of the situation. How did neither of you notice Lilia as he somehow managed to rip you out from the young dragon’s grip without his notice or harming you in the process?

“Are these the skills of an experienced fae?”

After looking over you for any major injuries, Lilia sighed again with slight disappointment, reminiscent of a father figure upset with a child that nearly broke something precious. “How can you protect your treasure when you can’t even protect them from yourself?”

Following Lilia’s previous line of sight, Yung’s heart sank when he saw the torn fabric of your outfit. With his extraordinary senses, he caught glimpses of red lines across your skin through the ripped clothing. He instinctively reached out his small hand to you but saw his nails were longer and sharper, like talons of a dragon.

He hurt you. He hurt you. He hurt you.

Yung broke into tears as those words cycled in his head, haunting him for his crime. You were instinctively pushing yourself from Lilia by the sound of his cries, running to enclose your arms around the poor fae child, holding him while softly giving words of comfort.

“Love, I’m alright. It was an accident, I know that”

But Yung continued to sob and he apologized profusely, his voice getting sore from his cries. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

Lilia stood still behind you, watching silently as you continued to console your child, wiping Yung’s tears and holding his small, shaking hands.

Night came and Lilia visited you in your room once the family doctor was done tending to your scratches. The head of the manor immediately called for the doctor but you refused to show your injuries while Yung was still panicking over the incident. It was only when Yung calmed down and stayed with him until he fell asleep in his room. You kept your smile as you downplayed your wounds, not letting Yung blame himself.

When Lilia entered your room with your permission, he shocked you as he said something unexpected.

“I’m sorry.” He even bowed his head to you, showing the sincerity of his words.

You replied with confusion in your voice. “Pardon? What for?”

“I expected that Yung was getting possessive of you but I didn’t think that you would get this hurt in my attempt to distance you two. I should have intervened sooner”

Lilia held this guilt throughout the day, ashamed that he roped you into his little test for the dragon fae. He knew raising a powerful fae will be a rough journey, taking his experience from caring for Malleus. But if Lilia were the one to get hurt, it would be but a scratch that would heal in an instant. Whatever Yung would do, Lilia can handle it with ease.

But you weren’t fae. You were a human that bleed at the lightest touch from his kind, that break much too easily, and perish much too soon.

“You should leave this manor” Lilia stated with an uncharacteristically serious tone. “I will find a comfortable inn for you to stay in and provide other essentials until you can find another living situation to your liking”

“Wait a minute!” You jumped from your seat, your mind thrown for a loop. “I can’t just leave, what will happen to Yung? It'll break his heart! I didn’t mean to inconvenience your grace and your plans but I’ll be care-“

“Do you not understand the dangers of your situation?” Lilia’s tone was ice cold. “You nearly bled from what Yung thought was a childish hug. What if he were to get angry one day and suddenly knock you unconscious? He is not a mere human child but a fae, and a strong one as well. You are a human that may die by his own hands”

Silence filled your room as the weight of Lilia's words sink in.

You won’t lie, Yung’s nails were painful and your wounds still sting even after treatment. In the story from your past memories, Yung’s power will be on par with the current Dragon King, with the power to move mountains and call upon flames that would leave nothing in its path. Yung will continue to grow stronger and nothing you, a powerless human, can do that will be able to stop him.

But still…

“I stayed silent because I didn't know what would be good for Yung. But damn it, I love that child! As long as he needs me, I’ll be there for him” you locked eyes with the long-haired fae with determination. “He’ll become stronger, but he wouldn't hurt others. He is a happy, kind child"

"And how will you ensure that?"

"I will be there to make sure he stays that way” you made a bold choice, but you're confident in this. You were confident in your little Yung that he will go against his ending in that story nonsense of your previous world.

Crossing your arms, you made another bold comment.

“Besides…you still agreed to guide him. So, this will be a team effort” You were testing your luck but you assumed that should anything like today happen again, then you could always hide behind the great general Vanrouge. That's a team, right? Being able to depend on them during tough patches?

But Lilia stayed quiet and chose to simply match your stare with his. It was intimidating to have such an attractive man look at you with such intensity but you held your ground. You puffed out your chest and refused to look away from Lilia’s admittedly beautiful ruby-coloured eyes.

Then…Lilia giggled.

“Lilia, the renowned general…giggled….and it was so cute?!”

You were taken aback when you saw a soft smile crept onto Lilia’s lips, so different from his mischievous grin whenever he scares you from behind during work or the confident smirk when he wins a round of a card game that you introduced to him from your original world. You were upset, offended even that he would giggle at your proud proclamation to care for Yung. But wow, he was really attractive doing so.

Not noticing your conflicted expression (or choosing to ignore it), Lilia placed a hand on your head, closer to your forehead, then moved slowly to caress your head. His touch was so gentle, careful not to scratch you or add unnecessary pressure.

“He’s good at holding back his strength” you thought, only having heard the stories of the unbeatable general. Lilia is a playful man but his power is impressive even among other fae so this gentle side of him was a pleasant surprise to you.

“Goodness gracious, I wonder if this is where Yung gets his audaciousness from?” Lilia had a shine in his eyes as he kept his gaze on you, almost as though he was captivated by what he saw. “I look forward to your cooperation then, teammate”

#twst x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst imagines #disney twisted wonderland #villainess au #twisted wonderland imagines #twst scenarios #lilia vanrouge #lilia x yuu

938 notes · View notes

fayes-fics · 9 months

Text

Mrs Bridgerton, Again

Mrs Bridgerton Masterpost

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: Modern AU, sequel to Mrs Bridgerton. This is what happened in those fateful 8 months.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, vaginal fingering, oral sex (m to f, f to m), cunnilingus, blowjobs, vaginal sex. Mentions of marriage, divorce, pregnancy and parenting. Lovers reunited, healing from heartbreak, second-chance love, emotions.

Word Count: 7.1 k

Summary: Requested sequel to Mrs Bridgerton from Anon, HERE, that fills in some of the time jumps of the original story, including the smut scene when they first reunite. Best to read that fic first before diving in, as this starts up immediately as she arrives in his bedroom (before the prologue). Yes, we are starting with total filth and ending with romance, lol. Thanks to @colettebronte for betaing and @eleanor-bradstreet for the gif. Oh, and by the way, in case you are not familiar, this is Eton Mess. Enjoy <3

“Don't…,” he pants wildly, removing the hand from his cock and holding it up in a stop gesture.

You freeze, and suddenly, a wave of doubt hits you. Have you misjudged this?

“Don’t touch me, or I’ll come,” he warns. “Stay right there, and just let me look at you.”

The relief and the desire are potent.

“Fuck, how do you look even better now?!” he sounds almost pained as he drinks in the sight of you in bra and knickers; his hands grasp the fitted bedsheet, his cock pulsing.

“Ben, I…” you stutter to begin an explanation for why you are here, mostly dumbfounded by the sight before you. Somehow, you had made yourself forget how much you love him naked. A coping mechanism, probably. Right now, you have no earthly idea why you walked away from the beautiful man before you.

“Talk later,” he intuits. “ I am so fucking glad I kept the same security code,” he rasps, and you smile.

“Same,” you whisper.

“Turn around,” he pleads. So you do, pushing up onto the balls of your feet and spinning until you face away. He groans at the view of lace straining over your bottom in just the right way. “Oh god, I need to have sex with you, but I’m so close,” he groans, and even though your back is turned, you can tell it’s through clenched teeth.

You twist to give a wicked smile over your shoulder, then unclip your bra strap as he makes a hungry noise. Pulling the straps from your shoulders and flinging the item aside, your back still turned. You hook your fingers into the sides of your knickers to pull them down but stop when he climbs off the bed, falling to his knees behind you.

“Allow me,” it's velvety and dark, and you want to bathe in that voice.

For the first time in years, he touches your skin, and you have to lock your knees to stop swaying. Expert hands map up the outside of your legs from your ankle to your hips, long fingers hooking into the lace and tugging down. You can feel his breath warm on your cheeks as the material relents and gathers around your feet. Then he pitches forward, his nose landing on the small of your back as he takes a loud, almost obscene inhale.

“I have missed your smell,” he asserts, “not just… you know, but your skin. You.” His nose trails up slightly; warm, soft lips kiss your lumbar spine, causing goosebumps to break out over your thighs.

“Ben…” you whisper his name, almost scared to look behind as if it’s somehow not real.

You groan as he sinks lower and runs the edge of his teeth over the globe of your left cheek. Somehow, again, you realise you'd made yourself forget how things could be between you when it was good. Feral, passionate, addictive. The best you've ever had. He has barely touched you, and your inner thighs are damp, that thronging feeling around your pelvis that needs relief.

“Mrs Bridgerton.”

He says it. Just as you asked—wanton, thick, and sweet. And it's too much.

“I don't care if you last ten seconds; I need you inside me… please,” you plead, unashamed, grabbing your breasts as he kisses your cheek. You know how much he always loved it when you would vocalise your needs, desires, wants.

That’s when two fingers slide between your legs and, without warning, plunge into your cunt, making you cry out loudly, the sensation exhilarating, his knuckles pushing you open just the right amount, that same intoxicating feeling as before.

“Fuckkk,” he stutters against your skin. “I forgot how you cling to my fingers like this, good god.”

You have to shoot out a hand diagonally to grab the wall, locking your elbow, as he keeps teasing with deep but slow rocking moves. You mutter his name, a shudder running through you as he hooks his fingers and hits that spot that makes you almost buckle. Sensing the weakness in your stance, his fingers withdraw, and you whimper, missing them so much.

“Go and lie on the bed,” he orders softly, squeezing your bottom, painting your dampness onto your skin as he does so.

You do as he asks, taking an arcing path, keeping your back mostly towards him so he does not see your front—an extra tease. Then you deliberately mount the bed on all fours, goading him, throwing a sinful look over your shoulder as you widen your stance, tilting your pelvis, knowing your damp thighs are shining in the late afternoon sun that floods the bed from the skylight above.

“You fucking tease,” he snarls, again sounding breathless. The sense of victory that races around your body is enthralling. “I said lay down,” he adds, the bed dipping as he climbs on behind you and spanks your cheek, making you moan.

“Well, I say you can eat me out from behind, just like this, Mr Bridgerton,” you riposte, drawing your knees higher and lowering your forehead to the mattress, the fluttering in your belly hard, the thrill of the chase so exhilarating. “Until you are ready to fuck me, that is.”

“Why the hell did we ever divorce?!” he rails.

“I have absolutely no bloody idea,” you exhale shakily, morphing into a lusty cry as his hands part your cheeks and his tongue swipes deep into your folds.

As he swirls your clit, greedily, mouth hot, you are not surprised that he has not even so much as kissed your lips before he makes you scream. Somehow, you know this is the only way a reunion would ever transpire. Primal, filthy, impossible to resist. A need to fuck before anything else.

And it's just as good as you now remember, it all flooding back to you. You grab the bedsheet, knuckles in bony relief as you moan a litany of his name and filth you would never admit to as he growls encouraging noises. That needy, tugging deep inside as his hands band around your hips and haul you back onto his whole face, the slight stubble on his cheeks catching your labia as he does so.

It only feels like moments until he has you dancing on the edge. It's been so, so long since anyone touched you; indeed, he was the last, and you're shocked at how little it takes. An explosive build-up of unmet needs bursting from within, like ripened fruit awaiting devourment. And that is what he is doing, devouring your body without remorse or concerns for propriety. There's an extra tinge of desperation to his movements, too, as if he needs your release as much as you do.

Then he sucks your clit hard into his mouth and uses an edge of teeth to bite down where you ache the most. And you are gone. Muffling your screams into his mattress, biting the sheet, your pussy flutters around nothing, wanting, leaking, the static racing across your scalp and down your body, making you shudder, and your fingers and toes flex hard.

He is vocal, so vocal, in his praise. Asking for more, pulling upright and plunging those two fingers back inside as you scream again, your body rippling in waves, fighting to expel them as he growls and pushes deeper, dragging against the place that sends you stratospheric. Your mind shuts down, your mouth snarling at him not to fucking stop in a throaty register that is all lust and instinct. He doesn’t; he strings you out until you shake and leak over his hand, eyes almost watering, deep, ragged breaths as your lungs burn.

You collapse down, your shaking legs unable to stay up on your knees anymore; his fingers withdrawing slowly as he emits a triumphant chuckle, lightly spanking your cheek for good measure as you lay face down, panting, attempting to recover.

“Fuck Ben,” you exhale raggedly. “Was it always this fucking good? Or did we just get better?”

“Honestly?” he opines as you feel him crawling over your body, covering your dewy skin with all of him as he kisses the back of your neck. “I have no idea, but I swear we must be better now.”

“No kidding… I think I almost left my body then.”

Your giggle becomes a moan as he rocks his cock against your cleft. It's like you had forgotten that, too, which seems criminally negligent—again, probably a coping mechanism. It's sizeable, and you liquefy at the thought of taking him inside you once again.

“I’m still on the Pill,” you babble quickly, lifting your head off the pillow, “and I haven’t been with anyone since we split.” It’s your shorthand to tell him you want him to fuck you without protection.

He stills. “What?!” the tone is skeptical. “No one?!?”

You twist to look at him over your shoulder. “No. I was just thinking of dating again,” you answer abashedly as he looks bewildered.

“Wow… I thought you would have them lining up,” he exhales with a head shake. “Have you seen you?!” he adds incredulously as he shifts his stance, placing his knees wider on either side of your legs.

“Hah! Not at all,” you deflect the compliment. “You?” you inquire as he drops stubbly kisses onto the sensitive skin of your upper back.

“Once. I was very drunk. We used a condom. It was so terrible I’m sort of pretending it never happened. I, umm, called your name,” he winces, pulling up from your body.

You roll over under him so you face him. “You did what?!”

“I… I called your name, when I came. I was thinking of you the whole time.” The matter-of-fact way he shrugs as he says so makes your chest ache.

Words fail as you realise how stubborn you have both been. If only you had talked to each other, things might have been different. On instinct, you push up and kiss him. On the mouth. A real kiss. The first in many years. And his response is instant and break-taking. He lowers you back onto the mattress as you wrap around each other, tongue entwining, breathing each other's air, hands running over each other, relearning the contours you used to know so well.

“I didn't like the idea of fucking anyone else,” you confess quietly over his lips. “I was probably just going to be a celibate single mum.”

“You deserve better than that,” he states fiercely, shuffling so he can cradle your face with one hand and kiss your cheeks, tender and loving.

“As do you,” you answer, eyes fluttering closed under his soft kisses and caresses.

After the utter carnality it began with, the dynamic has shifted to this slower pace—almost romantic, nostalgia swirling with a trace of trepidation of what all this could mean. So you take the initiative, needing to be rooted back in your body, in physical pleasure.

“I don't want to think anymore,” you mumble, recognising the telltale signs that he is wandering the same path. “I want to lose myself in your body.”

That handsome smile that hooked you in the first place all those years ago spreads over his face, a touch more character-filled now with the intervening couple of years but no less devastating.

“I want that too,” he concurs, moving his knees so he parts your legs, the back of your thighs sliding over the fuzzy meatiness of his quad muscles as he does so, hovering over you, engulfing you. This is what you have missed as much as anything. That feeling of being so wholly with someone else, a warm human body moving with, over, under, around you, skin and sweat, muscle and bone.

His lips are hot and wet on your neck when he nudges your entrance and slides in with one well-angled thrust, his sense memory of how your bodies fit together. Your inhale is sharp, and your fingers grip tight around his bicep as you feel that wondrous, heartstopping moment of being invaded viscerally, pushed open, your walls clinging to him.

“Oh my god….” It’s an unintended, uncensored, gasping response that tumbles from his lips. “You are on fire,” he hisses as he bottoms out.

“You did this to me,” you avow, wanting to fan the flames, to make him burn white-hot. A clawing need to make it unforgettable.

Your lips meet as he begins to move, and you are slightly overwhelmed. Not just by the physicality as you find a wonderful rhythm moving in unison, but as if you are floating between the world of the past and the very real present. A coming home, a full circle, a reunion. You don't vocalise it, but you swear you can see it in his eyes, too, as he moves over you. His gaze holds yours as he surges into your body and withdraws again, a tidal motion that makes you cling harder, chasing the moment you break together.

It seems strange this is happening during daylight hours. It feels more like the type of illicit, smouldering passion that can only come out after dark.

Your whole being rolls with the force of his thrusts, pleasure humming over you, so you push back, chasing sensations. Mapping the muscles of his back under your fingertips, his mouth rediscovering that weak spot on your neck that makes you shudder under him. His lips curl into a victorious smile as he surges harder, hissing as you dig your nails into his shoulder blades.

Sliding your feet higher on his luxurious soft sheets, you wrap your legs around his thighs, your heels nudging his shapely rear, letting your body plead for more. His movements become quicker as you grab one of his hands and suckle his fingers, his mouth open and gusting hot on your neck, watching you run your tongue over his fingernails. He groans as you suddenly suck them deep into your mouth, tasting the tang of your own juices and an undercurrent that is all him. When thoroughly soaked, you slowly pull those fingers from your mouth, little strings of saliva webbing between you.

“Touch me, Ben,” you plead, pushing that hand down towards the junction of your thighs, between your bodies.

With a devastating smirk, he does just that. Fingers sliding over your engorged throbbing pearl, just the right amount of pressure to make your cunt clench around him, a vice-like grip that has his hips and fingers stuttering to a halt.

“Fuck, do that again,” he begs.

With a smirk, you oblige, squeezing your internal muscles tight in a slow pulsing motion. His cock feels huge, hard, and heavy as you do so.

His eyes close, and a shudder you can feel runs through him, buried to the root, feeling his cock pulse heavily.

Then his eyes fly open, and the intensity there takes you aback as his fingers start to swirl at a dizzying pace, restarting his thrusts, urgent now, hunched over you, enveloping you, the air between your bodies hot and clammy as he pushes intently, pleading with you to come for him.

Your lips meet in an artless but deep kiss, tongues dancing, desperate hot breaths into each other's mouths. His fingers circling your clit pushes you towards your peak, the catalyst you need. The telltale ripples deep inside, clamping your body to his, his cries at the intensity fading as you are swept away, your vision whiting out. Ripples fan out to every fibre, that addictive mind-numbing bliss like nothing else.

You clenching on him is what pulls him over the edge, too. His grip on you is rough; his mouth slack on your cheek, curling his whole body into you as he cums, the warmth of it blooming deep.

No words are spoken as he collapses onto you, panting hard. As he recovers, you bury your fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp until he is almost purring into your skin.

“Why the hell did we divorce?” you echo his line from earlier, and his responding laughter shakes your whole being.

Ravenous, after your exertions, he orders food delivery, insisting you both stay naked as you eat on the living room rug. Dusk slips to nighttime as you watch mindless, entertaining shows, chatting easily about everything and nothing, wrapped around each other like a vine, drinking excellent wine, and feeding each other.

He reaches for dessert, Eton Mess, and with a cheeky eyebrow raise, smears it over your naked breasts, using his tongue to thoroughly clean you up and tease you beyond distraction. Before you know it, he is covered, too, and you blow him right there, licking whipped cream from his leaking cock as his thighs tremble under your hands in that endearing way you remember. Before he comes, he begs you to stop, to ride him, and so you do - messy, sticky, giggling - right there on his living room floor, the rug abraiding your kneecaps, his large hands a vice around your hips.

“We definitely need to shower,” he opines as he watches you extract a shard of strawberry from his belly button as his cock slips from your body. You laugh in agreement as he reaches up and pulls a fleck of meringue from your hair.

Collapsing into bed with shower-warm skin, half an hour later, you fall asleep in an embrace.

The following morning

You awaken to his lips on your cheek, pulling you back into the curve of his body.

“Spend the day with me,” he implores, his voice rough with sleep.

“I want to,” you hum drowsily, reaching back to run your fingers through his luscious head of hair.

“Go on, be daring,” he goads into your skin. “Mrs Bridgerton,” he adds coquettishly, knowing those are now the magic words to make you do as he wants.

“Stop weaponising that,” you scold lazily, with zero vehemence.

“Not a chance,” he chuckles, rolling you onto your back and crawling over you, arms bracketing your shoulders, his mouth a lazy, lopsided grin. He looks positively angelic, his riot of hair backlit like a halo in the morning light leaking through the skylight. Even as he does the sinful thing of rocking his rigid cock against the apex of your thighs teasingly. Just as you push your legs out wider, welcoming him, he stills and instead reaches over and grabs your phone from the bedside table, handing it to you with a pointed look.

So you call in sick to work.

As a reward, he slips under the covers as you are apologising to your boss with a fake croaky voice and slides his tongue deep into you; you have to fake a coughing fit to disguise your groan. You grab a fist of his hair in silent reprimand, but it just seems to spur him on.

“If you had to call work today, I would have you in my mouth as revenge for that,” you slur as he works his magic, knowing he has gone freelance in the intervening years.

“I’ll happily put in a call to myself later,” he jokes unseen under the sheet, “and you can do as you wish while I tell myself I'm taking the day off.”

“Self-employment must be fun,” you comment wistfully, then cry out as he sucks so hard on your clit that you knock your phone off the bed, your leg kicking out so strong that he grabs it and pins you down.

“It has its perks,” his voice muffled into your body, “like I can spend all day right here… well, at least until you need some breakfast.”

You can't even form a response to that as his tongue spears into you; all you can do is hiss in agreement.

—

A little while later, Benedict is pulling ingredients out of the fridge to make brunch when your phone vibrates on his kitchen island.

“Oh god, it’s El,” you fret, putting down the cafetière you had just poured from.

“Why is she calling you?” he frowns.

“I was supposed to go on a date last night that she arranged,” you wince. “My very first one. But someone completely derailed that plan, didn't they?” you pout comically.

He chuckles. “Put it on speaker; this should be fun.”

“You had better have a damn good excuse for standing Dan up last night,” Eloise complains in lieu of a greeting.

“Well, good morning to you too, El,” you reply lightheartedly, taking a sip of coffee.

“Why does it sound so echoey?”

“You're on speaker while I make brunch.” It’s a slight lie; he’s the one making it; you are simply enjoying the view. Seeing as he is doing so in black boxer briefs and nothing more, your eyes mapping his torso with a covetous stare.

“Well, I'm waiting…” she points out.

“For what?” You giggle as Benedict pulls up behind you, crowding into your body, wrapping his arms around your waist, and planting a kiss on your temple. You sway slightly with his movement.

“For your excuse, and it better be a good one. That you are in a hospital somewhere, or you met the love of your life yesterday,” she warns, “and seeing as you are making brunch when you should be at work, I doubt it’s the former.”

“Maybe it’s the latter,” you breathe, her not realising how true that suggestion is, twisting your head to look at him, and he shoots you a molten look before your lips meet.

“Really? You met someone else?” her tone suddenly excited, forgetting her annoyance.

“It took me completely by surprise.” You exhale over his lips, and he smiles that crooked smile that makes your stomach flip.

“So… wait, are you at home?” she asks, suddenly very invested.

“Nope,” you pop the p in the word, and Benedict shakes with silent laughter, tilting his head to kiss down your neck, your hand sliding into his hair as you lean into his movements. God, he is good at this.

“Are you at his place?” she hisses, impressed.

“Maybe” you singsong.

“Take me off speaker, you nutter!”

“Why? Maybe he is enjoying hearing this,” you tease.

“He’s right there?” Eloise spits, disbelieving.

“Hello, El,” Benedict pipes up, between kisses of your skin, his warm fingers tugging on the knot of the borrowed silk dressing gown you wear. It's dark blue and swamps you, seeing as it's his.

“Ben?!?!” she splutters. “What the…? How the…? Whattttt?!?!”

“I'm hanging up the phone now, sister,” he rumbles as he opens your robe and slides it off your shoulders so you are naked. “Unless you want to listen to us making love over this kitchen island?”

“Oh fuck no,” she positively shudders and makes a retching sound. “Wait… you guys….what the…?”

“Don’t tell anyone yet, please,” your request squeaks, his erection pressing into the naked valley of your buttocks as he reaches in front of you to end the call.

“Goodbye, El,” Benedict laughs.

“You have a fuck tonne of explaining to d….,” her warning is cut off by him hanging up.

“She's going to be insufferable when she gets over the shock,” you point out and then sigh as his hands land on your hips and his warm, damp mouth is on your shoulder.

“A problem for another time,” he assures you as you feel him release you briefly to push down his underwear. He's now as naked as you.

“You meant it about the kitchen island then?” you simper over your shoulder and groan as he surges his cock between your thighs from behind.

“What do you think?” he teases, his voice pitched so low it echoes around his whole body and into yours.

“I think I could get used to this,” you whisper as he leans you forward over the cooling quartz surface and pushes aside your hair to suck insistently on your neck.

“Good,” he rumbles, “because I am going to fuck you right here every morning before breakfast.”

“Every morning?” Your breath hitching at the idea this might be something more than a one-time moment of madness.

“Oh yes,” he murmurs into your skin, “I want to spend every moment I can with you, beside you, inside you,” his tone smoky, and with that last word, he slips inside you, your responding moan so loud he huffs amused. “The noises you make, it's the same as years ago, so exquisite,” he smiles into your hair, the heated stretch as he opens you up, always so breathtaking.

“Feels so good,” you pant lightly as he bottoms out inside you—a solid weight pressing in all the right places.

“Yes, you do, my love,” the term of endearment slipping from his lips so casually, sounding so perfectly natural to your ears, you reach back and grab his left hand in yours, missing the sound your wedding rings used to make when you did so in days of old.

But then he starts to move inside you, and there are no more coherent thoughts in your head—just his name tumbling from your lips and his hands moulded to your body.

Nine weeks later

The hardest person to explain it all to is your daughter.

Everything snowballed so fast after that fateful day, you and Benedict spending every spare moment you could together—even sneaking into each other's homes after Emilia’s bedtime. It was no longer just sex; it was something much, much more. It's when she awakes one night and almost catches sight of him working in your home office while you sleep that you both realise the time has come.

Benedict turns up at your place as agreed. You open the door to him and place a lingering kiss on his cheek as he sweeps in, holding a bunch of your favourite flowers and a gift bag for Emilia containing all her favourite sweets.

“Bribery, what a genius idea,” you laugh quietly into his ear, knowing Emilia can see you both from her vantage point at the dining table, doing some colouring in.

“Daddy!” she calls out effusively when she looks up, jumping out of her chair and running over.

Benedict hands you the flowers and gift to pick up Emilia, swinging her up into his arms as her little hands wrap around his neck.

“What are you doing here?” her ask is one of happy confusion. “It's not one of your days.”

“Indeed it's not,” he smiles indulgently as you reach over and tuck a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. “Mummy and I here have some important news,” he adds, looking at you askance with an almost bashful smile.

“Let’s all go and sit,” you suggest, gesturing towards the living room as you place the flowers and gift bag on the kitchen island. Emilia won't release her grip, so Benedict walks with her in his arms. She only lets go when he reaches the sofa, snuggling against him as soon as he sits, grabbing one of her favourite cuddly toys from the sectional arm as she does so.

“I'm so happy you are here, Daddy,” she beams, and you already feel misty-eyed as he subconsciously places a hand over his heart and agrees with her sentiment.

You initially take a seat on the chaise at an angle from them, but Benedict shoots you a puzzled puppy dog look and pats the cushion next to him. So, with slight apprehension, you swing around to sit next to him, and he slides a hand onto your knee, which doesn't go unnoticed by your eagle-eyed daughter on his other side.

“Why are you touching Mummy like that?” she frowns. A tiny part of your heart cracking at the realisation that she has never known the love you once shared—the one you are rebuilding slowly, piece by piece, day by day.

“Remember I said that Mummy and I have some news?” Benedict begins softly, his long fingers wrapping all the way around to caress the crease at the back of your knee, a nervous tick of his you recall like a ghost from the past.

“Yes...” she responds warily, tugging on the ears of her toy, instinctively concerned.

“Well… Mummy and I have been spending time together as we used to when you were a baby,” he explains slowly, “and we really like each other again.” His lips twitch a beguiling smile as he turns briefly to look at you, his earnest face melting the anxious lump burning behind your ribs. “That means we touch each other and hug and kiss.”

“Emilia,” you join in, your voice a little tremulant. “How would you feel if Mummy and Daddy started spending time with you together rather than apart?”

She perks up, and she stops her fidgeting. “Really?” the hopeful tone makes your emotions bubble up again.

“Yes, really,” he replies.

“Every evening?” her hands clapping together with glee, climbing wholly into Benedict's lap. “Please, mummy?” she begs, the eyes she inherited from him pleading with you insistently as if the decision rests purely with you.

“If that is what you both want, then yes,” you offer tentatively, your look drifting from her to him.

“I want nothing more in the whole world,” he states sincerely, his gaze never leaving yours, his Adam's apple bobbing with a thick swallow as he does so. You can’t look away from those soulful eyes, wanting nothing more than to kiss him.

“Do you love Mummy, Daddy?” Emilia cuts in, breaking the hypnotic trance, looking at him expectantly.

“I never stopped,” he confesses truthfully, the hand on your knee feeling weightier somehow, the lump in your chest appearing again, but this time it's the furthest thing from anxiety. “We just lost our way for a little while, that’s all,” he says as much for you as your daughter. “Everything is working out as it always should have,” he ends, his tone wavering with emotion.

“Will we all live together?” she enthuses.

“Yes,” you breathe, barely believing it yourself. It's something you had discussed just a few days ago, the realisation this was very real coming to you both. “We will. Soon. We just have some things to sort out first.”

“Where would you prefer to live, Emilia?” Benedict queries. “We will keep both houses for now. So you can decide for Mummy and Daddy.”

“Is this where you lived when I was a baby?” she asks, pointing at the ground.

“No darling, Daddy and I sold that when we split up as part of the agreement we signed.” You see him wince at the memory, his fingers gripping your knee tighter reflexively. “But that is okay; that is the past. We want somewhere better for our future together anyway,” you assure, feeling the weight of his doting stare as you speak but keeping your attention fixed on Emilia.

She nods sagely, her little brain absorbing everything you say with the fearsome intellect she possesses. Then she swings over the arm Benedict has looped around your knee and clambers limbfully into your lap. You accept her embrace, grateful and relieved, Benedict's arm releasing your knee to slide behind your head, grabbing your shoulder, and pulling you both into his arms.

“I think we should all live here,” she nods decisively. “I like my room here better than at Daddy's; it's bigger,” she explicates, a touch sheepishly.

Benedict and you laugh together at her flawless reasoning, your heart melting as he nuzzles into your hair.

“I do believe the lady has spoken,” he chuckles, his lips grazing your ear.

And thus, it is decided.

Two weeks later

You ask Emilia to keep the news under wraps until her sixth birthday party two weeks later. Agreeing that if she does, she could be the one to break the news to your families—a bribe, indeed, but an effective one. Eloise is the only person with any inkling and has seemingly kept it secret, so this will likely be shocking news to many.

The night before the party, after Emilia is safely tucked up in bed, you are sharing a bath in your oversized tub.

“Is there anything else we need for tomorrow?” his question lazy as you lean back against him, his hands rubbing soothing circles over your tummy under the water.

“Hmmm, the cake and balloons should be delivered in the morning; I think everything is in hand,” you hum, closing your eyes and resting on his shoulder.

“I was thinking…” he begins.

“Uh oh…” You interject cheekily, popping your eyes open as he tickles your diaphragm in playful retaliation.

“Yes, yes, I know, brains are your thing…” he grumbles good-naturedly, “but I was thinking long-term; perhaps we should start to look for a new place? If we sell both of ours, we could get something nice right around here, with a big garden for Emilia, perhaps a home office and art studio space for me. And you know…. more bedrooms,” the last two words uttered in a throatier register, those fingers spidering lower under the water into the patch of hair at the apex of your thighs.

“More kids?” your breath catching.

“Yes, didn't we always say we would have three?” he murmurs, his lips on your earlobe, sucking gently. Weirdly, the discussion of it all - buying a place together, having more kids - seems entirely natural, not jarring, even though you are less than three months into your new dynamic.

“That was when we were in our twenties, Ben,” you point out, but it fades into a hitching, needy sound in the back of your throat as his lips map the cord of your neck and his fingertips slide over your clit.

“And are you saying at the ripe old age of thirty-four, we are past it?” he checks, bemused.

“Thirty-three for me, thirsty five for you, old man,” you point out, attempting a dry tone but mostly just breathy as he teases you expertly.

“I was averaging,” he states, pressing harder so you moan loudly.

“You are never average,” you flatter, rapidly losing the ability to converse.

“I love how I can just shut off that brain of yours doing this,” he exhales gustily into your ear, his fingers circling insistently.

“Shut up and fuck me,” you groan.

“With pleasure,” he simpers, suddenly looping his arms around your knees to pull you open so he can slip inside you.

The following day

Emilia can barely contain the secret as the various members of the frankly enormous Bridgerton clan arrive. Your family, consisting of your parents and just one sister, is tiny in comparison, even as she strolls in with her boisterous boys and harried-looking husband in tow.

“What is with Emilia today?” she queries, ever the sharp observer, as she hands you a cheese board she has brought.

“Birthday excitement?” you shrug, finding a space for her contribution on the snack table as you attempt to sound non-committal.

“Hmm,” her mien thoughtful, “it seems more than that. I wished her a happy birthday, and her response was, ‘Oh, thank you, auntie, I almost forgot.’”

“I'm sure she was joking,” you placate. “Help me plate up the sausage rolls?” An intentional distraction. “Colin just turned up; I'm not sure the hundred I have baked are enough.”

A couple of hours later, food has been consumed, the birthday song has been sung loudly, and the cake cut and eaten. Music plays in the garden, and an alarmingly large gaggle of kids are all bouncing over-zealously in the small bouncy castle you have rented as Benedict materialises at your side. It seems strange that his hands do not slide around your waist, but the announcement has yet to be public, so he maintains a respectful distance.

“You think there is a child capacity on that thing?” You nod at the colourful inflatable taking up a good third of your compact garden.

“Simon claims to have it in hand,” he breezes.

“And you believe him?” you skew your mouth into a slant.

“He’s rich enough; he can pay everyone off if there are injuries,” Benedict smirks, and you can't help but giggle into your wine glass.

Just then, Emilia comes running towards you, out of breath from bouncing. “Is it time, Mummy, Daddy?” she effuses.

Sharing a glance, you nod, and Benedict fishes his phone out of his pocket to turn down the music, then borrows your wine glass, tapping a knife against it to draw everyone's attention.

“Everyone,” he calls, “our beautiful birthday girl has a different but very special announcement.”

All the adults turn their attention, even as the excited childish squeals from the bouncy castle continue in the background.

“Mummy and Daddy have some news they want me to share,” she begins as your eyes drift over to Eloise.

“What could it possibly be, Emilia?” Eloise goads, her face so smug you almost want to shake her. You settle for a pointed stare instead.

“Mummy and Daddy… are in love again!!!!” Emilia yells. “We are moving in as a family!” She then bows deeply for her assembled audience, no doubt expecting rapturous applause.

The assembled, shocked, and quiet faces confuse her, and she twists to look at you both for reassurance. “Did I do it wrong?” she asks, her little face screwing up in confusion.

“No, no darling, it was perfect,” you reassure, stroking her hair.

Benedict reaches down and hauls her into his arms, giving her the comfort she needs, and she buries her face in his neck, her translucent costume fairy wings slightly obscuring his face from everyone.

“Are you serious?” Kate pipes up cautiously as if a spokesperson for all those gathered, Anthony shooting her an incredulous sideways look that she, of course, completely ignores.

“Yes,” Benedict confirms, shuffling Emilia sideways to his hip and wrapping the arm not holding her around your back. “About three months ago, we were reunited by accident.” Gratefully, he fogs over the details. You are not sure a misdialed masturbation call should be the start of any anecdote at a family gathering. “And… things progressed rather rapidly,” he admits, giving you a quick sideways smile and a squeeze of your waist, “and here we are…”

“You’re in love again?” Violet checks, her hands clenched hopefully over her heart.

“Yes,” you nod to her, turning back to look at Benedict, “very, very much so.”

She starts the applause, which soon ripples out to everyone as they absorb the news. From over by the bouncy castle, there is a supportive whistle from Simon as he effortlessly frees one of his offspring wedged in an upside-down position before giving the thumbs up.

Benedict nuzzles your temple, and you know you are blushing as he echoes a gentle “very, very much so” in your ear before the assembled masses move in to offer you their congratulations in turn.

Twelve weeks later

You are idly clicking through houses on Rightmove on a Tuesday evening when a wave of nausea hits you so violently that you barely make it to the downstairs cloakroom toilet in time. Same as the previous day.

“I’m never letting you convince me that tacos from a food truck are a good idea, ever again,” you grouse as you re-emerge into the hallway after splashing your face and rinsing your mouth.

“We ate the same thing on Sunday, and I’m perfectly fine,” he points out as he reaches the bottom step of the staircase, having finished reading Emilia's bedtime story.

“Well, I'm sick as a parrot,” you lament, dabbing your forehead with a damp flannel you snagged. “And I'm so hot. I've been feeling off for two days on the trot. Mornings and evenings. I swear I've been poisoned…”

He suddenly goes very still, and your brow knits.

“What?” Your confusion grows as he appears to be doing mental arithmetic, touching his fingers.

“Aren’t you late?” he says quietly, looking up from his hands with the oddest but sweetest expression.

“What do you… Oh…” you trail off, and suddenly, your whole body runs even hotter.

OH.

“Are you?” his whisper so hopeful but reticent.

“I… I could be…” You stutter, a little blindsided. It's the best you can offer.

He pulls you into him, surrounding you, cupping your jaw, his eyes always so expressive. “We should find out,” he murmurs.

“The big Sainsbury's should still be open,” you blurt, unsure of what else to say.

He tilts his forehead against yours with an amused huff at your eminent practicality. “You stay here with Emilia; I’ll go,” he smiles, kissing your lips tenderly before backing away and grabbing his wallet and car keys from the hallway table.

Within the hour, you are staring at a white and blue stick again. Dumbfounded by the news, just as you were almost seven years ago.

“Fuck me…” You sigh under your breath, belatedly realising you really shouldn't have been as cavalier with your Pill taking; now you are having sex regularly again.

“I think that's the probable cause, yes,” he jests softly, charmingly treading on eggshells until he can fully gauge your reaction.

You break into giggles, rolling your eyes but collapsing into his arms, and his relief is palpable.

“I know it's so soon, and we only talked about it in theory… but…. God, I’m so happy,” he admits into your hair, pulling back to look in your eyes. “Are you?”

“I'm feeling a million different things,” you answer honestly, then reach up to hold his face, “but yes, I'm happy, Ben. A little shocked, considering I thought it was just bad tacos, but happy.”

His responding smile is sunlight and pure devotion.

“I love you,” he declares, heartfelt, simple, genuine. It's not remotely the first time he has done so since you reunited, but it feels particularly appropriate.

“I love you too.”

Two weeks later

Benedict takes you to dinner in Covent Garden after a house viewing. You both know it’s the one you will buy. A handsome Victorian detached with dual bay windows that felt like home the minute you walked in, even before you laid eyes on the expansive mature gardens and the all-glass extension that would be the perfect art studio for him.

Only when you stroll past a fancy bank after dinner do you clock the date on a glowing display; it's the anniversary of the fateful day you met at a party seven years ago.

But, fifteen minutes later, it's still a complete surprise when he gets down on one knee, Thamesside, the city twinkling around you.

“Marry me once more, y/n? Please? Be Mrs Bridgerton, again?”

There was only ever going to be one answer.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton smut #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton fluff #bridgerton fluff

519 notes · View notes