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boundinparchment · 6 months

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Blasphemous Rumors - VI

“Marry me.” He said it with such blasé that you weren’t sure you heard him correctly. Silence surrounded the two of you and he leaned down and tilted his head, watching you like a specimen under a microscope. “Just for a year. A marriage of convenience. Consider it nothing more than a harmless experiment for the sake of curiosity.” Il Dottore/Female reader with established personality. Slow-ish burn. Semi-enemies to lovers. RATING MATURE, TO CHANGE; MINORS DNI. On AO3 here. Likes, reblog, and comments appreciated.

It apparently already had, judging by the silence that dominated the carriage ride the following morning.

A maid had seen to the heavy drapes just as you were sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing your eyes. For a moment, you forgot about your attire (or lack thereof) and your face grew hot at the servant’s giggle when she reconvened with her coworker, who was setting up breakfast in the other room.

You caught an exchange about a rumpled bed and briefly, you turned your head to note that last night gave the proper appearance of a wedding night well-spent. At least your brief encounter had been useful in some regard.

And now, several hours later, you were still en route to who knew where. The snow had given way to lush highlands some hours prior, the hills green and teeming with wildlife. Lord Dottore never told you where you would be spending the next few weeks, just that he made arrangements based on a selection of the Tsaritsa’s holdings. Your boss gave you a wide smile of unfortunate reassurance; Lord Dottore had done something correctly.

The only thing keeping your mind at ease was the knowledge that, even this far away from the Palace, it would be silly to attempt to kill you. For this agreement between you to work, you had to be seen and known. Therefore, it was beneficial to him to keep you alive.

You passed through a town, the people lively and the houses painted bright. The air here felt a little warmer and flowers crawled up trellises, spilled out of window boxes. It almost passed for Mondstadt, what you recalled of it. No one here seemed as carefree as they were in the nation of Anemo but the Tsaritsa’s gaze did not travel here; the instant their eyes caught sight of the carriage, backs straightened and heads lowered but it was not the same deference afforded in the main city.

Lord Dottore had spoken little other than a compulsory morning greeting. He had one ankle settled over a knee and a book open, the pages worn and the spine cracked. Most of the ride consisted of regular intervals of page-turning and muttering. But now, you could sense his hidden gaze was on you as you looked out the carriage window.

“You look as though you’ve never left the Palace,” he quipped.

“Usually such travel is by ship,” you replied, eyes glued to the window. “I only saw photographs of this region but they don’t do it justice.”

If you looked at him, you knew you would recall last night in startingly detail again. You were acutely aware of a distinct sensation between your legs and while that had not been the driving force behind why you straddled him, it was a consequence that lingered longer than preferred. He hit the nail on the head about being needy and the second he knew, a good chunk of leverage was gone.

But to not make eye contact would be rude. Make the entire thing more awkward. You never avoided his gaze before and you couldn’t start now.

You tore your gaze away from the passing buildings and looked across the carriage at your husband. He was dressed more casually than you initially thought, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his cravat gone, and the first two buttons of his shirt undone. In your several years of working with him and every Segment, you never once saw bare skin from him that was not just a portion of his face. Fleetingly, you wondered what it would feel like to press your lips against his collarbone and you wished you had been brave enough last night to try.

“It’s far greener than anyone gives it credit for,” you said.

The extra second that lingered sent a jolting throb through you. You schooled your features and returned your attention to the window when you received nothing more than a hum of acknowledgement.

Maybe he should kill you after all, you mused. At least then you wouldn’t have lingering thoughts about his lips and how warm he had been beneath you.

Thankfully, the carriage stopped just on the outskirts of the town, just past a checkpoint with Fatui presence. Your destination was just far enough away on foot that it was possible to walk into town, if one wished or had need to.

Lord Dottore climbed out first (he couldn’t get out quickly enough) and helped you out of the carriage. As soon as your feet touched the ground, his hand was gone from yours, as if touching you was tantamount to setting himself on fire.

Your heart gave a little squeeze as your eyes settled on, not a large manor as would have been fitting, but a stone cottage a little further down the hill, close to the beach. Still larger than the convention, the building looked as if it had been there for centuries. It was made of the same rounded, uneven stones as the wall surrounding the property, with a gable roof and several chimneys. Cozy. And if the arrangements were made by anyone else, romantic might have come to mind.

You tried not to think about how the aquamarine of your ring matched almost perfectly to the shutters flanking every window.

Lord Dottore stood next to you, neck craned back, seemingly examining the sky. You swallowed as your eyes traced his Adam’s apple. He looked every part relaxed and casual, a Harbinger without most of his trappings finally on vacation to anyone with an untrained eye.

Just before his attention was stolen by the driver and the house’s caretaker, he said, “You may want to stop gawking and head inside, my dear, before it rains. Unless you wish to be drenched.”

You hadn’t missed the way the corner of his lips quirked as you turned and made your way down to the house, gravel crunching underfoot.

The rest of the house was as expected and contained all the additional amenities expected of a property owned by an Archon. It retained its charm in the exposed trestles and plaster walls, in the stonework fireplaces and wooden floors. When it wasn’t raining, you could imagine the cool breeze passing through open windows, a reprieve from the icy chill of the western capitol and its mountains.

A pang ran through you as you felt the familiar sensation of wood grain against bare feet and heard the crack of a lot in the fireplace. For a moment, you swore you smelled your mother’s cooking.

Were they okay, you wondered. Had the money arrived on time? Were they properly prepared for the rest of the winter?

You smiled and greeted the housekeeper when she spotted you, your mind split between making sure you said the right thing and filing away important thoughts for when you were alone.

Or as alone as one could be as a Harbinger’s wife.

She showed you around the house and introduced you to the cook. The staff lived outside of the main house, she said, but were connected to the network of bells that ran through the property; if anything was required, they would be notified.

“Your Lord Husband has offered to replace the system for Her Majesty many times but the Tsaritsa prefers the less intrusive system of pullies and bells,” the housekeeper remarked. “Nothing can fail if the power grid is offline.”

Out here, the lights were dimmer and many things still relied on burning wood for the oven or heating. There was a charm to it, a reminder of the world outside of Sneznhaya’s great technological achievements.

The first floor contained the usual spaces of a dining room and sitting room. A secluded sandy alcove was accessible only through the set of glass double doors tucked into a far wall, out of the way. The house seemed to have been built with the cliffside in mind, the side of the building meeting the cliff to provide shelter from the rain. It afforded a private pathway into the house from the shore or even a small hideaway. Supposedly, the best sun rises could be seen only from there.

You were shown two smaller bedrooms on the second floor, tidy and spartan. The owner suite and its attached washroom and study were last; your things were already neatly arranged at the foot of the bed.

“I’ll leave you to unpack, my lady.”

The floors creaked gently underfoot as the housekeeper bowed and left you to your own devices in the larger bedroom. Rain pelted the windows and absorbed the remaining silence as you took in the exposed dark beams and furniture.

And the bed. Intended for two.

Your eyes drifted to the couch in the study. While the maids had found you properly disheveled this morning, this house was smaller and the staff much more loyal, that much was clear. You would at least have to truly sleep next to one another to make this convincing.

A frown tugged at your lips and you pushed it away quickly as you brought your attention back to your awaiting belongings.

Unpacking took far less time than you expected it to (although you weren’t sure why). It wasn’t as if you owned all that many clothes. In hindsight, you wished Lord Dottore told you about the climate of where you were going. At least you had enough dresses to cycle through, you supposed.

Lord Dottore’s things, as sparse as yours, glared at you in the dim light of the room. Were you expected to unpack for him? Did he do that himself? Or did a servant? You ran your fingers over the latches and found a hidden lock.

That answered that, then. So much for snooping.

When you returned downstairs, you heard a distinct timber mixing with the cook’s voice. You rounded the corner and went down the hall to find Lord Dottore kneeling on the floor, his entire upper half stuck into the open oven. He retreated and stood in one smooth motion before he turned a knob in the oven’s control panel. The distinct smell of fuel hit your senses and you heard a soft woosh.

“That one should last longer, at the very least,” Lord Dottore drawled as he stepped back. “The ignitor is easy enough to replace but it would be more efficient and befitting of Her Majesty if—”

From your vantage point in the doorway, the cook smiled and waved a hand; such a gesture anywhere in the Palace would be inexcusable and yet neither of them flinched.

As they walked over to the storage rooms, they said, “Yes, Lord Harbinger, but the food would taste different and no one would be thankful for that!”

Your husband’s striking profile was broken only by the ghost of a smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth. When he turned, you hated how your heart tugged at the sight of his upturned lips; the moment was stolen when lightning cracked and took the lights with a distinctive pop, the house going dark.

“Never a dull moment?” you whispered, unable to hide the single huff of laughter that escaped you.

“Out here, I certainly can never complain of being bored,” Lord Dottore replied.

He moved instinctively and closed the distance between you, his mask’s beak grazing your nose in the darkness. His breath was hot on your lips when he spoke.

“Between your antics and the house, dorogáya moya, I think I’ll be quite occupied.”

You didn’t miss his low chuckle when he stepped around you and left the kitchen, lips grazing your cheek.

Dinner was late but truly made you question the skills of the Palace’s kitchen staff. Or perhaps it was just the fact that you’d eaten so little throughout the day. Either way, the food was delicious.

And the bed was soft, warm. Too warm.

Or maybe you just weren’t used to sleeping next to someone.

“We’re adults, are we not?” your husband had said. “Unless you intend to accost me again.”

“Who was the one who cut my cheek with a letter opener?”

“Oh, please. You can hardly see the scar.”

Words came so easily when you were alone, just like they did when you were in your office bickering over line items. But you shouldn’t, couldn’t, push your luck. You still needed to be able to gather information and if you weren’t careful, you’d be doing this all for nothing. Or rather, strictly for his benefit.

And the last thing you wanted was to help a Fatui Harbinger.

If you moved the wrong way, your foot brushed his. He was so tall that, when he curled up, his knees or feet encroached on your half. Heat radiated from his side and you did everything you could to resist the urge to draw closer. Nights in Snezhnaya were cold, no matter where one was on a map, and with the onslaught of rain, a chill lingered that never seemed to die.

His feet, perfectly warm and with proper circulation clearly, found your frigid ones by accident as you drifted off. You heard the displeased grunt from the other side of the bed but he didn’t pull away; he arranged his feet around yours with a huff before he muttered something in a language you didn’t know. The words tickled your neck.

You swallowed and tried to push away that disastrous ache from the carriage ride. Ridiculous. You were not this needy, not in the weeks leading up to the wedding, and certainly not when the Harbinger walked into your office.

Somehow, despite the trepidation and arousal that danced through your veins, you fell asleep.

And you woke to a dark gray pall of overcast, squeezing your thighs in hopes of taking the edge off the now brutal-throbbing.

The bed felt colder and you sat up and reached out a hand. The other side of the bed was empty, a ghost of the presence lingering in the sheets. He hadn’t been away long. But when he left the bedroom the night of the wedding, he hadn’t returned and Lord Dottore didn’t seem one for much sleep.

When you didn’t hear the floorboards creak for a minute or two, nor see any faint light, you carefully delved and you let your fingers trace your sex. You went rigid when you felt how wet you were. Of all times and circumstances…nothing was appealing about this situation in the slightest, you needed to keep a clear head, and yet your body craved release? Seriously?

It was nothing you couldn’t give yourself, of course. One of the joys of a private room in the Palace dorms had been no one overhearing or accidentally catching eye contact with you.

Your eyes locked with the bedroom door. Ajar.

But this never took long…

You bit your lip to keep a gasp at bay when you got your knees and pushed in a single finger, and then another, hot velvet wrapping around your digits. Your other hand joined, middle finger finding your clit with practiced ease as you pumped, finding a familiar rhythm. Soft pants mingled with the wet slick sounds that only made you buck your hips, demanding more of yourself.

A flash of the previous night flitted across your vision when you closed your eyes. For a moment, the memory tore itself apart and became something else, Lord Dottore’s body hard and hot atop yours, and instead of pulling away, he lifted your legs and—

Your mouth ripped open in a silent scream as you stroked the perfect spot, shuddering and clenching hard around your fingers. That only seemed to make the ache worse and you pushed yourself over the edge twice more for good measure.

You stiffened at a sound in the hallway just as the third orgasm washed away. One of the stairs, you surmised. Another followed and you darted out of bed and towards the washroom.

Good thing, too, you thought, as your eyes met your reflection.

Messy hair was one thing but your face bore every tell-tale sign of what you had been doing. Flushed cheeks, wide eyes, inability to catch your breath. There was no mistaking this for waking from a nightmare, that was certain.

The shower was a better place for future refuge, you realized, your gaze drifting to the glass and tile. Or the bath…that tub looked perfect for a long soak…

You washed up and tried to press a cold washcloth to your face. After your wedding night, one of the last things you wanted was to be seen with an afterglow; it would prove Lord Dottore right and likely insult him, even if he said that he was not interested in a perfect stranger. It was the polite thing to do, wasn’t it?

Not that his opinion mattered but you couldn’t blatantly display how little you truly cared for the whole façade. Not when you’d only begun.

Satisfied that you looked sufficiently normal, you returned to the bedroom to find a steaming cup of coffee on your bedside, along with a note.

Don’t take too long. Unless, of course, you enjoy breakfast cold.

Several days into the stay, you rounded a corner one afternoon only to bump straight into Dottore himself. Instead of colliding, he turned slightly and your back met the cool plaster wall, a hair’s width between the two of you as his hands rested on your hips. Enough space for him to officially say he wasn’t touching you anywhere else but, at a glance, would fool anyone.

“Are you always this careless, dorogáya moya? Do you bump into Palace walls on a regular basis?”

The tip of his mask scratched your nose and you scrunched your face at the sensation.

“Do you, my lord?” you threw back, angling your head in an obnoxious attempt to see beneath the face covering. “After all, I’m not the one with my eyes covered.”

“I see perfectly fine, thank you.”

Dottore pulled up to his full height and looked down at you, your vantage point gone. You’d caught a glimpse of his nose, aquiline in shape, but nothing else. For a moment, you imagined the lower portion of his mask gone and wondered why, of all things, he hid that along with his eyes. His profile was probably quite striking…

Perfect for striking fear into people’s hearts, you dolt. Get a grip!

You didn’t reply but he didn’t pull away either. The heat emanating from him was overwhelming, a sharp contrast to the cool wall behind you. For a man so calculated, who spent most of his time in freezing temperatures down in his laboratories, he ran warm. Too warm. Was he sick?

What did you care, you asked yourself. The man deserved to be a little under the weather once in a while after all of the headaches he caused you. In fact, considering he was so crucial to several of your own employer’s plans, you hoped he was sick.

Before you could get another word out of your mouth, Dottore tilted his head and captured your lips with his in one swift motion. His hands moved from your hips to your waist, and one reached for your neck to keep your head angled up at him. Without prompting, his tongue grazed your lips and as soon as you gasped at the sensation, all you could taste was him.

This was nothing like the kiss on your wedding day. That had been gentle, efficient, chaste.

Your head spun as your hands reached for something, anything, as Dottore’s tongue brushed yours in exploratory hunger. Breathless, your fingers found purchase in the fabric of his shirt and he pinned you against the wall, hips pressing into you.

That infernal aching need seared through you, your body betraying you. No, not again.

When you pulled away, gasping for air, he had the gall to laugh. It was a low rumble that sat in his chest and vibrated against you. He drank in your expression, his tongue pressed against his teeth as he gave a sharp-toothed grin.

Absolute bastard.

“Do be more careful next time,” he teased before he stole another kiss, teeth dragging against your bottom lip.

His hand let go of your neck and you stepped around him, aware of every nerve ending now screaming for more.

You didn’t look back as you continued the way you were going and returned upstairs.

In the privacy of a cold shower, you finished what both of you started.

Anyone else would have given in, you were certain; or at least anyone else would not have taken as long as you did beneath the water, scrubbing your skin until it was almost raw. He shouldn’t have touched you, shouldn’t have kissed you, shouldn’t have grinned like a victor over the spoils of a long day’s work.

And you shouldn’t have whispered his title as you came, wishing it was his fingers deep inside you instead.

You wished it got easier. You really did.

When the sun finally peered out from behind the clouds, you settled into the sand and spent an entire afternoon basking in the warmth. It was difficult if not impossible to ever get this up at the capitol and you were eager to soak in every ray you could.

Lord Dottore joined you one morning, his pants rolled up painstakingly, silently holding out a cup of coffee to you. You did a double-take but took the mug. It was too early for the cook to be awake; you knew the schedules by now. The sun was barely over the horizon, still pink with morning glow.

“Did you make this?” you asked softly, looking down into the scalding liquid.

Lord Dottore clicked his tongue as he shifted his weight and remained standing. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught his colors of choice for the day and was surprised to find he only wore a white shirt, gray waistcoat, and gray pants. Like what one of his younger Segments typically dressed in.

“You sound surprised that I’m capable of such a feat,” he replied, and you weren’t entirely certain that the bitterness of his words was entirely playful. “I was planning on going into town today. A change of pace. You can mail those letters that have been piling up; no doubt your parents want to hear from you.”

He made it sound as if you had an obnoxious stack of letters; in reality, it was only three. Two for your parents and one for the Tsaritsa, full of thank you’s and kind regards for allowing you the use of one of her summer homes, no matter how humble.

As planned, you had nothing else to send, nothing else written. You could not risk a paper trail, not here when the two of you were expected to be together most of the time, and where most of the staff were loyal to the Tsaritsa Herself.

There was not much information to send anyway. Dottore took his Harbinger meetings or any important missives at the guard house, away from you and away from staff who might eavesdrop. If you were going to gather any intel, it would not be on your honeymoon.

The view of the town when you first arrived had been beautiful and now that the weather was favorable, you had no doubt that the flowers would be brighter and the hills more vibrant.

“That sounds like a great idea. I wouldn’t mind looking around if you can spare the time. I rarely get to do much else when I travel other than stare at spreadsheets,” you replied. “Unless you think—”

“It is time I allotted, and therefore it is not expensive,” Dottore deadpanned. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

You took a thoughtful sip of coffee before you looked back up at him.

“Not in this lifetime and probably not the next.”

He sighed dramatically and his head lolled back. “Married for all of two weeks and already haunting me. What a dutiful spouse you’re turning out to be.”

You masked a laugh with the rim of your cup and you swore you caught his head turn to you, watching you. When you glanced towards him, Dottore was looking out towards the ocean again, one hand in his pocket.

“We’ll leave after breakfast,” he said, and turned away, trudging carefully through the sand back to the house.

Once you ate, the two of you made your way off the property, gravel crunching under your boots as you walked to the guardhouse where a carriage stood. The ride itself was uneventful, quiet, except for the occasional interjection about local landscape. You drew closer to town and the air changed, suddenly filled with the familiar scents of baked bread and spun sugar along with damp hay.

Back home, you would have smelled charcoal and roasting meats, along with the distinct tang of fish.

Once you left the carriage, you took Lord Dottore’s hand in your left and interlaced your fingers with his. Your rings glinted in the morning sun. His breath caught for the slightest moment when your palm pressed against his. When you cast a look up at him, he appeared no different than he usually did.

Everywhere you looked was in bloom, flowerboxes overflowing with blossoms. Cobble-paved roads made for easy traversal and, bundle of letters clutched in your other hand, you tried to keep the excitement from bubbling over.

Not even an artist’s rendition could capture the hum of people flitting in and out of shops, pausing at stalls, children running through the streets. There was an energy here that did not exist in the capitol, where eternal winter ruled over all, and one’s duty never thawed.

You were pulled harshly at the last minute and you corrected your footing just as you almost rolled your ankle.

“Keep your wits about you while you admire the scenery, Accountant,” Dottore muttered. “I’m not carrying you if you break a leg.”

“I’ll be sure to make my fall look like an accident, then. Less paperwork for you.”

He let out a breath through his nose as you continued. Without much effort, you located a postal office and dropped off your letters.

“Did you have anything in particular you needed to do?” you asked. “After all, this was originally your plan.”

Dottore’s obscured gaze took in your surroundings and you wished you ripped off the mask the other day. You were always able to read him before when there was a desk between you. But now, it was like even his mouth expressions were foreign to you, indecipherable.

“There’s a bookstore nearby that might have something of interest to a recent project along with a bakery that serves a wide variety of international treats I would prefer to visit last. Other than those, I had no other intentions.”

“Bookstore first, then,” you held out your other hand in a gesture, silently asking him to lead the way.

He found what he was looking for and then some, the bookseller startled when they looked up at the counter to find one of their first customers of the day to be a Fatui Harbinger. You grabbed a recently published novel on a whim, written by an individual you’d never heard of before but bearing a Fontainian publisher seal. Without so much as asking, Dottore plucked the book from your hand and placed it atop the pile.

“I wasn’t certain if I—”

“You’ve been reading the same book twice lately. Don’t be ridiculous, my dear.”

You weren’t even certain you would like the novel but to protest any further was poor manners and drew unnecessary attention to an otherwise kind action, you reminded yourself. So instead, you stepped closer and took his arm, resting your head against his bicep.

As you wove your way through the streets, you stopped in a clothing boutique. There were plenty of nice garments, soft scarves, fur-lined hats, and you tried to be demure when the shopkeeper spotted Lord Dottore and put two and two together. Everything was of fine quality and more than once, you reached out a hand to stop him from reaching for his wallet every so often.

“I will pay for what I want,” you whispered.

“It’s hardly trouble when Pantalone will give me grief for me not spending mora on this trip.”

“Please.”

You did not want to be indebted to him, not when you had your own money, and not when you hardly had need of anything new to begin with. The idea of working for the very man responsible for draining your parents’ coffers was abysmal enough; you tried not to openly balk at the idea of Dottore spending his mora on you and having to be reminded of the fact every time you wore something.

His jaw clenched but he relented nonetheless.

The thing about living the way you did was that you knew where and how to spend your leftover mora when you had it. If you saved up, you could afford a pair of boots that would last for years or a lined coat that was pre-waxed for extra warmth. Money on clothes was never ill-spent unless it was something poorly made.

And while you didn’t have much to your name, you had enough to splurge on a few new items. Maybe even a gift for your parents. They could always use extra blankets…

Your senses were discerning; you ran fabrics between your fingers and asked about the materials. At the perfumer, you asked to compare the raw materials to the finished product (but not without including Dottore in the decision, given he would have to be around you if you wore it).

Overall, you came away with a new dress, a few skirts and blouses for work, a perfume, and a down blanket for your parents.

More than once, you felt eyes on you that didn’t belong to any shopkeeper or fellow guest.

As requested, you stopped by the bakery last, although you questioned your husband’s logic when the line was to the door. Pastries and baked goods lined the displays and you smiled at the overwhelming smell of cinnamon and butter. Sfogliatelle, fresh from the cooling rack and dusted with powdered sugar and rugelach caught your eye and your stomach grumbled.

No, in hindsight, Dottore’s logic made perfect sense. It was impossible to enter this place and not be hungry.

You didn’t catch what your husband ordered but when he turned to you, you couldn’t help but ask for your favorites.

As the server went to assemble your order, you caught Dottore looking at you, lips pursed. Of all the expressions from that day, you knew this one quite well: you puzzled him and he was keen to understand more.

“What did you order?” you asked.

“Didn’t I say to keep your wits about you, dorogáya moya?”His lips tugged into a smug smile. “You’ll have to wait until after dinner to find out.”

It wasn’t until after dinner, when both of you were settled into the sitting room over a chess board, that the box from the bakery made its reappearance with evening drinks of choice.

Chess was often another way the two of you spent time together, especially when the weather turned tumultuous every so often. He beat you every time, with a sole exception; it would be the only exception, he said with a smile that made the scar on your cheek burn.

Tonight would be no different. The board was prepared and just like every other night, the opposing Queen seemed to wink at you as if it knew your secrets.

“Close your eyes,” Dottore said as he pulled at the red and white strings wrapped around the box.

When you didn’t comply and instead raised an eyebrow for explanation, he gave you a thin-lipped smile with a hint of teeth.

“Humor me, dear wife. And remember I gain little from poisoning you.”

“Fine,” you said, closing your eyes.

You heard the box open and the rustle of wax paper as something was pulled out. The smell of sugar and nuts danced in the air but you couldn’t quite place where you knew it from. Against your lips, you felt something sticky.

“Open.”

When you did, you tasted flaky dough and fresh honey; everything exploded in your mouth when you took a bite and rolled around the layer of nuts against your tongue. You knew this, grew up with this.

“Baklava?” you asked, cracking open an eye after you swallowed.

“Specifically Sumerian baklava,” Dottore clarified. “Ajilenakh Nut rather than the usual pistachio and layered instead of rolled. Your version is too close to so many other desserts visually. Messier, too.”

By your version, you assumed he meant the Sneznhayan method of occasionally rolling servings of baklava, as some regions were wont to do.

“The honey is different,” you replied. “Less floral. I like it. Is there no other bakery in the capitol that makes it that way?”

“Some try but they never get the right balance. It’s too oily, more often than not.”

You watched as your husband finished off the piece he gave you, meticulous with crumbs as well as his now-sticky hand. He jerked his head in the direction of the box off to the side, nestled near your evening tea.

“I ordered enough for both of us in the event you liked it.”

“Thank you.”

No one needed two hands to play chess but you found it amusing to watch as Dottore worked the board with a single hand, his other hovering over the box, unwilling to get crumbs everywhere.

“I find it quite interesting that you take awfully long showers as of late,” he noted absently.

Both of you stepped away to wash away the lingering sticky sugar and only just returned. You schooled your face. Where was this going? Was he going to subject you to another round of embarrassing realization that your drive was pointless?

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to intrude on another’s bathing habits?” you shot back as you settled back into your seat.

“Simply an observation.”

“It’s an odd observation,” you volleyed. “What do you want to hear, that I waste hot water while I style my hair and pretend to be a Fontainian rockstar?”

You disliked how your heart skipped when you caught the corner of his mouth tug ever so slightly. If he didn’t find it amusing, he wouldn’t have reacted at all.

Why was he keeping track of your habits like that? Thankfully, the rest of the conversation veered towards work and you relaxed considerably.

“So what exactly is it you do when you aren’t balancing my budgets?”

He positioned a rook in perfect alignment without even thinking twice. You assessed the board. Your bishop had a few options, none of them consequential…the queen was a possibility…

“Auditing, mostly. Especially when it comes to tracking the nation’s cashflow. Multiple people rotate through every quarter but we look for logical patterns, find abnormalities, high thresholds, the like.”

“What kind of patterns, exactly? Outliers exist, after all. How do you identify a one-off instance versus a larger pattern with a story?”

The question felt as if he was holding a knife to your gut, prepared to not only stab but twist for good measure. He was a scientist. Wouldn’t he know exactly how statistics and numbers worked, how to identify trends?

If this was a meeting with Lord Pantalone, you would dance around the question. He knew the industry, knew how the workflow was meant to be; he invented it, after all. But you were stuck with Dottore and such things were…well…how daft would it look if someone asked him about your job and he shrugged?

You were taking too long, weren’t you? Too much hesitation and…

Your hand plucked your bishop from its safe place and positioned it near Dottore’s rook.

“There seems to be an increase in the amount of money leaving Snezhnaya,” you said at last. “Specifically from older families in the noble class but also…rich merchants without titles. And not moving it from one branch of Northland to the other, either. Just…withdrawals. And that’s strange because it’s been happening for the better part of a year but no single branch is reporting any shortages.”

Dottore titled his head up and say back in his chair the way he did after you pointed out the cashflow issues when he asked for advances on his budgets. He pondered on your words the way a dog chewed a bone and you realized, stomach stinking, something about this was off.

Because if that was true, if Pantalone knew, he would have taken action and made the others aware.

But your husband looked as if this was the first time he was hearing it. A cat with a ball of yarn.

“It would seem we’re returning to interesting circumstances, then, dorogáya moya."

It’s a shame to waste all of this on a mere bet. She outdid herself in all her planning, from the colors chosen to her dress, to the careful seating arrangements. If no one else was convinced prior, a good portion of people would be swayed by this display alone.

Everything reflected what it was intended to.

Dramatic flairs without the striking terror.

All things considered, that she did this willingly is commendable; it would only be fair to make this entire arrangement as painless as possible.

After all, one usually only gets a single wedding over the course of their life.

She was stunning, the exact image expected of her when she walked down the aisle or flitted around the party, practically floating despite the weight of her dress. And precisely because of that, I was under no impression that she would attempt anything beyond her public duty.

Even now, I am uncertain where, precisely, she obtained those garments.

To say she isn’t attractive would be like denying the sky’s color but I never once understood the point of hiding such matters. But when she strode into the bedroom and took it upon herself to sit atop me, my eyes could not remove themselves from the way the fabric clung to her skin, how the silk and lace hid the perfect parts of her that made me all the more curious…

Such base impulses had no place in this matter. I only needed her long enough to secure my win against Pantalone; to hold other expectations would be to create a bias that would ruin anything tangible that might be possible.

Besides, there was no fun in sleeping with a stranger. I never quite understood that one, despite numerous experiments on the matter. It was far more rewarding and insightful to couple with another you knew, at least in some capacity. One could argue that I do know her but never before I did want to shove away everything on her desk and—

Well, I certainly didn’t deserve that opportunity; I didn’t deserve anyone, especially someone willingly hovering over my body as if they understood what I wanted.

Who in their right mind would want me, after all?

Perhaps that hadn’t been the kindest choice but it was the best one. Even if it meant seeing her struggle with herself on the entire ride out of the city.

Would she like it, being this far out? Near the sea? It was far more private, easier to defend, and the townspeople generally loved the Tsaritsa when she visited. Instead of a large, imposing estate, I considered that perhaps something smaller and more remote might be the better alternative.

She fit right in, with the staff and the environment, like a puzzle piece missing for too long. The same can be said about her hand in mine. I am unaccustomed to being touched in any capacity and yet I find myself craving more every time we break apart…

Ridiculous. How am I meant to quantify these experiences?

She is needy, or perhaps I have been amongst myself for too long to understand the baseline existence of others. I woke that first night, unable to get back to sleep, and slipped out of the bedroom with every intention of making coffee and sitting with some of the formulas one of the Segments slipped into my luggage. It wasn’t as if we needed to wake up together and the staff wouldn’t be awake for a while.

But two mugs had been set out in preparation.

And she was an early riser.

It was the polite thing to do.

When I treaded back upstairs, careful to avoid the weakest spots in the wooden floor, I caught a glimpse of her head tossed back and the distinct sound and smell of arousal. There was no mistaking the slick, wet sound and the quiet gasps escaping her.

It should not have elicited the reaction from me that it did, my pants uncomfortably tight as the rhythmic sounds continued, uninterrupted. I stepped back, mindful of the floor, but it was impossible to ignore how soaked she was.

Would it have been abnormal for me to push the door open a little more, watch how she pleasures herself? Learn so that one day, if she ever begged, I could replace her fingers with mine? Or fill her to the brim and watch her eyes tear up with pleasure?

Her mouth was beautiful in that shape. I counted three times, cock twitching, before she became aware of herself again and left for the washroom.

Without thinking twice, I left the mug and a hastily scrawled note, and returned downstairs before she could be any wiser.

Lest she think her husband is a monster and a lecher. W hat she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt but she should have closed the door.

Sand is dreadful and, just as that morning’s sight was burned into my memories and seemed to be everywhere I looked, I could not escape the grains of sand in this gods-forsaken house.

In my notebooks. In my shoes. Everywhere. Anywhere.

But it was impossible to observe her when we’re apart. And so I must endure. Here I thought I’d have escaped the feeling of grains of sand in everything once I moved to this frozen tundra.

I disliked the beach but she never seemed to have trouble sitting for hours, reading, basking in the sun. She smelled of the sea when she came in.

Kissing her had been…nothing short of an impulsive opportunity. We didn’t make an effort to avoid one another but when she dared to look up at me, no traces of fear, words as sharp as daggers dancing on her tongue?

I would never silence her but she passed on her pointless need to me and it was distracting. If I did not want to see other results, other possibilities, I might have hiked up her skirts and goaded her into admitting her own desire. But there is more at stake here and I do not wish to see her begin to shrink at the sight of me.

Love is…hardly a matter of an equation and I do not believe it to be possible, not in this situation. Lust is expected, inevitable. Easy enough to fend off.

After all, there’s few reasons she would take that long in the shower. I’m just as culpable in that regard.

She is exacting, frugal to a fault. If she enjoys something, would it not be prudent to simply buy the thing, rather than spend fifteen minutes feeling fabrics to discern the make and quality? Others in her position would not make a choice and simply take everything.

Just like the book she clutched but protested against. Clearly something about it struck her mind and she was considering it. Why not just purchase the book and read it, then? So many people held back. But there is little point in doing so. What grand day is awaiting that one cannot use the special dishes? The fine pen and smooth parchment? There is a need for patience and a need for enjoyment and no one seems to have ever found a balance between the two.

Including my own wife, it seems.

But it made her happy, didn’t it?

To make the choices of what she enjoyed the most. She never felt like she made a terrible choice and she always wore a smile during the transaction, a smile that I don’t believe I’ve ever seen on her face. Certainly not before I impulsively asked for her hand.

And to include me in the choices? What did I matter when she would be the one wearing such things? Using them? I didn’t care.

Sharing the baklava might have, in hindsight, given the opposite impression. But it would be wrong to not offer something in return when she included me. Did one’s eyes always twinkle like that when they were taken with something? Did hers?

Awful, this feeling. Like my chest wants to explode.

She’s terrible at chess. Most are. Pierro is one of the few who actually provides any kind of challenge. The Accountant only managed to beat me once but in my defense, I was still recovering from that morning and could not bear looking at her lips too long.

What blasted absurdity. Couldn’t this have waited until a year into our marriage? There’s no making sense of any of this and it’s…

Oh, but that was quite something, that game.

Most would never hesitate to share their findings with a superior; Pantalone is almost as ruthless as I am when it comes to menials and important information. She hesitated over such a simple question that should have been quick to answer.

But instead she provided a specific example, made no mention of whether or not Regrator knew.

Did she assume it was a given? Or did she truly not report that finding? If so, why? Was it not hers to report?

Money leaving the country and circulating elsewhere was a normal occurrence and ensured the entirety of Teyvat’s economy didn’t collapse. But if too much was leaving the local economy and being used elsewhere…perhaps there was a distrust in Northland…in the Tsaritsa.

Less money circulating natively meant less money for Pantalone to draw from for my own funding. Nevermind the rest of the nation.

To hell with the rest of the nation, really. There’s little that cannot be done without the assistance of other nations anyway. Wherever the money is going, the Fatui has no shortage of enemies.

Perhaps Regrator’s embezzlement was becoming too obvious. His greed knows little bounds, a sentiment I can certainly understand under the lens of knowledge. Accumulating knowledge is as addicting as greed, perhaps could be argued to be a form of it.

And so if she brings it to Pantalone’s attention, she might, in fact, end up on the chopping block for it.

Precarious indeed.

Not just anyone gets to be in her position, however; background checks and certifications and several examinations are required. And she cannot afford to lose it, clearly, given what’s mentioned about her parents.

Keeping anything a secret was a larger liability than simply showing her supervisor her findings…

How did I miss that? Truly? How could I have lacked that much foresight?

It wasn’t as if she was hiding it very well.

I’ll send an order for a proper background check in the morning. Of all people, I should know better than to take sources at face-value.

#dottore x reader #il dottore #dottore #il dottore x reader #dottore x female reader #il dottore x female reader #fic: blasphemous rumors #arranged marriage #marriage of convenience #minors dni

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ay0nha · 10 months

Note

hello xx

Are you plannnig on doing a part two to ode to ruination? It is so good! you are fantastic

An Ode to Temptation | T.S.

PAIRING: Tommy Shelby x f!reader

WORD COUNT: 1.3K

WARNINGS: canon-typical things, talk of food/eating, Angst, smooches, guns being pointed, angst, drinking/being drunk, etc.

A/N: Hello!! I actually received A LOT of requests for this, which thank you all so much for the love!! I thought about it and Tried to write something, but I just wasn't feeling it AT ALL or as an ~ official ~ part II. BUT, I'll post the Rough Draft here.

Be kind; she's all over the place with rushed ideas/unedited/unfinished parts. Comments are always welcomed. Enjoy.

You were a master of speaking silently—you've spoken silently all your life, and you’ve had to live through entire tragedies because of it. However, once the yelling and failed attempts to leave wore out, it had become weeks of the same; the days held a repetitive blandness.

Your mornings were spent isolated, the overwhelming echo of the estate’s silence guiding you. The loneliness didn’t seep in until the afternoon when the rain forbade you from stepping past the door frame. However, the nights were unbearable. Even if you didn’t see or hear when Tommy came home, you could feel how the walls groaned at his presence.

You knew the maids whispered; you would, too, in their position. Nothing explained your sudden presence or what felt like your lack thereof. If anything, you were the ghost that haunted the house.

For your own good, you were told.

Tommy had fooled you that night. The party was performative, a distraction while he sent someone for your things. If Ada had known, you don’t doubt she would have tried to stop him. Or at least bought you some time. However, if she had realized your life was in danger, she would have already bought your ticket to skip town. Regardless, your destiny was determined.

You comforted yourself by the fire when your thoughts became overwhelming. It warmed your feet while the gin resting precariously on the chair’s arm soothed the pit in your chest. At some point, you stopped portioning yourself a glass. Holding the bottle by the neck, you lulled yourself further into the cushion with every slug.

“Not eating now, eh?” Tommy threw down his jacket in habit, marking his entrance. The sigh that followed conveyed his annoyance.

You looked up from the fire at the intrusion. You couldn’t decide if he was earlier than usual or if the grandfather clock was lying to you. Either way, you tipped your head against the side of the chair for solace.

“You want my attention, that it? Well, you ’ave it. ” The strike of his match was motivated by agitation. On the first exhale of his newly-lit cigarette, he said, “Don’t waste it.”

Tommy’s eyes bore into yours blankly. There were other things on his mind that even you thought were more pressing. You knew he found it easier to treat you like business than anything else. Tenderness was reserved for the nights the tunnels became too claustrophobic.

“Your cook’s shite.” You mocked drunkenly.

Hailed all the way from Italy, the chef you insulted was anything but. Nor was he at fault for your lack of appetite. It was childish behavior, but everything had become tit for tat. Tommy knew what you were doing, able to lure him in with such superficial words.

The call received was passed through his secretary only to be brushed off—another complaint of your behavior. They always reflected stubbornness, the same determination as the tales of the boy who cried wolf. And yet, Tommy struggled to ignore it as it frequented.

“Right…” Tommy ceded to himself. His frustrations were in vain, and he reminded himself he could be fair. “Let’s get something in you.”

“Offering to cook, hmm?” Your eyebrows raised in genuine amusement. He knew you well enough that you craved company. “Or is that below the Thomas Shelby?”

Something swirled in his chest, but Tommy brought the cigarette to his lips to suffocate it. Yet, with his free hand, he held it out to you.

When you were children, you barely knew Tommy. To you, he was just one of the Shelbys. You often confused him for his brothers, but he became definite when you finally spoke to him. Overlapped memories crowded the logistics of the conversation, but you could never forget your appreciation for someone like him.

The memory should have been bleak; the funeral brought lightening that highlighted every tear that streamed down your mother’s face. She was an unmoveable force, and for some reason seeing your mother break changed your own grief.

Neither of you nor Tommy had the capacity to understand death the way you knew it now, but Tommy guided that grief with knowledge beyond his years. You learned to grieve someone you didn’t know you could love.

The simplicity of the action entwined your lives, but it was lost after France. Everyone, including yourself, had changed. But for the moment, eyes closed, the memory made the thought fade.

You slid onto the kitchen counter, catching how Tommy rolled his sleeve until it met his forearm.

The actuality of the situation hadn’t hit you yet until you filled the humming silence. “I barely recognize you…”

Tommy seemed content entertaining you. It was the first time you’d offered him your undivided attention. “’m all heart tonight.”

“That it?” You mused, head cocking to take him in. Your tone was deceiving, posing genuine curiosity over your inner dissent.

Tommy was attentive, though, listening even as you trailed off into mumbling. However, he remained dexterous, concocting something simple. He knew the things you held dear, the comfort you found in your childhood food.

He had even memorized the particularities of their preparation; jam spread with a spoon from left to right; sandwiches cut diagonally, warmed to be able to feel its nourishment travel down; tea so hot that the heaping amount of sugar disappeared with one stir.

Tommy slid the plate to you, a mix of what he could find that hadn’t spoiled by the end of the day. He leaned back, arms tight across his chest as he waited for you to indulge. However, you slid it back to him first.

“Didn’t poison it…” He said, picking at the plate to prove his point. You rarely witnessed his appetite outside of cigarettes and booze.

You nudged him as you extended your dangling leg. There was no thought behind the action, but the attention pulled him closer to hear your words. “And I should trust your word?”

With a sigh of your name, the food was forgotten—Tommy took the bait.

“I can’t do this anymore.” You shook your head softly, the action dizzying. Without his jacket, the skeleton of Tommy’s gun holster highlighted his frame. It made it easy to place him between your legs.

He just wanted, needed, you safe. “It’s only until things settle in—

“London.” You finished the repeated lie. “Why is that, Tommy?”

You wanted to hear his confession. You knew why people were after you; you were leverage against such an unbreakable man. However, they seemed to understand Tommy’s feelings better than you. He never said it aloud. It had been years, decades, of a mutual lure that purposefully avoided the judgment you held for Tommy’s decisions or actions, ones you never compromised with.

For him, you were it.

“Tom?” You prompted again. You could see his struggle to form an admission even in your state.

Tommy broke.

He caved into you, your lips meeting his hesitantly but meeting with a longed-for firmness. Each time he pulled away, he only returned with more tenderness—the breaks between lessened, and so did the distance between your chests.

You almost got lost in something you spent years yearning for. However, you moved slowly in the way you knew would distract him. With the first layer of his guard down, the leather straps of his gun holster caught on your fingertips as you trailed along his shoulders. His body was yours; his shudder proved so.

Yet, once you hit metal, Tommy’s laugh mocked your insincerity.

You expected your hands to tremble. You hoped they would see if you had any trace of regret in the action. However, it felt freeing to rest Tommy's gun just below his chin. In your hands, it grew warm, a transferable heat of anticipation waiting for its purpose only you could provide.

Tommy's grip on you remained firm at the hips, lips still ghosting your own as he turned your threat into his own. “Go on, then. I taught you well."

#q #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x f!reader #tommy shelby angst #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fluff #tommy shelby smut #thomas shelby #thomas shelby fic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #personal #ask #anon #cillian murphy x reader

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sgiandubh · 26 days

Note

Hello, good afternoon! Yesterday I read your post about James Morrison and I was thinking about the other fragments of himself that Sam eventually shows - a few hints here and there that he collects something, etc. Then I remembered the parts we've already seen of his house (the new one and the previous one) and I was wondering where these things are? There doesn't seem to be anything as delicate or sophisticated as these paintings. Could it be, just could it be, that those portions of his houses that he shows us are some kind of staged set?

Dear (returning) Greeting Anon,

I am very glad to see you back, always a pleasure, but just so you know: my James Morrison post is a shameful flop, because I was wrong and had to edit & explain. But you know, it's ultimately fine, because: a) it sparked comments & debate and b) I do hope it somehow helped to show that it could happen to anyone. And when it does, I think it's way worse (and toxic!) to play the ostrich game, than to step forward and openly own it (you'd need balls for it, though). One thing I am very sorry for: all those readers who never peruse the comments and take it as is from the people who share it first just took it for granted. Edits happen and they are sometimes (like yesterday) drastic.

That being said, along with my deepest apologies, onwards to your question. Yes, he showed us one of his James Morrison paintings and, unlike my idiotic speculation, that is a documented fact:

The painting very probably being Bergs, Otto Fiord (1992), from Morrison's Arctic cycle:

... and we even have a very personal, BTS photograph of it - fascinating, eh?

[Source: Apollo Magazine, March 2021: https://www.apollo-magazine.com/james-morrison-scottish-painter-film-review-anthony-baxter-bbc-iplayer/ - gracias a ti, siempre, ❤️]

We all know that his house is rather a big, sprawling affair. I don't think we ever saw anything he was not ready to show us with a very specific and calculated purpose in mind. And that purpose might just be to promote the idea of a rather dull non descript bachelor pad, filled with meh, neutral furniture, naive memorabilia and a haphazard assortment of books on a shelf, that tell us strictly nothing about the real S.

If anything, C's recording cupboard didn't seem to fare better. Same flair & inspiration, or rather lack thereof, that made all those rooms look like storage spaces for luxury nomads. That Mordor ass-kissing fan art and the church sketch seem way too much in your face to be credible, especially when compared with her Queen of the Arctic public, uxorial appearances. But what do I know, Greeting Anon? And perhaps not knowing is exactly what These Two really want. Her bookshelves were way more talkative - but then the idiots across the street immediately screeched it 'was staged' (as if there was an urgent need to stage a corridor!).

Life is always elsewhere and more interesting than on social media. And it is quite alright, Anon. Trust me - this story is not for us and not ours to tell.

#anon #fandom #shitshow

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intplayboy · 1 year

Text

TOUCH - MAFIA! BTS OT7 X F! READER [ THREE ]

if you want to be part of the tag list, complete the form.

summary: jin, with the assistance of 007 (you), performs a quick operation on the maknae as a result of his injury. jungkook tries to thank you, while jin spends some time to learn more about you better. yoongi gets frustrated with his members and takes it out on you.

pairings: mafia bts ot7 x experimented human female reader

warnings: implied drugging, mentions torture (no gore tho), medical extraction, gunshot wound, blood, violence, swearing. more fluff in this chapter! but also unfortunately yoongi being more of an asshole a little bit.

word count: 12,722 *prewritten & new chap but written longer, as an apology for the lateness :')*

also sorry i didn't post on the last two fridays, i had family from the philippines and then new year plans. anyways, better later than never, am i right? heheh... enjoy <3

ps. the second half of this isn't proofread 😭

masterpost | two | four

tag list: @juju-227592, @drunkzseok, @yourgirlcin, @babybunli, @xanny91, @bibetsa, @borahae-reads, @lalavione1309, @luvsbngtn, @tetehearts, @singukieee, @serendididy, @quixoticbittersweet, @iriaachan, @jksisbunntboy, @missseoulite, @xjiminsthighsx, @just-vaaalll, @chim-possible, @passionandsuga, @deadrose287, @kalala22, @bangtanxberm, @scuzmunkie, @sunoosult, @germ2001, @lovelgirl22, @thvkives, @kourtney-fairy-blog, @linlinlily, @getinthetardissammy-sh, @prakriti-j, @paramedicnerd004, @cuteipat, @iamkookiesforyou, @queen-in-the-shadows, @shadowyjellyfishfest, @fakedanger, @reallysparklychaos, @ghostlyworld, @whipwhoops, @knjsbae, @peebsvic, @bfxnmcgjc, @ghostkat23, @mpc1324, @yoongissmalltoe, @prettyling, @luna-astro, @hannahdinse8, @twentyninetyseven, @cryingpages, @ut-dixisti (the tags that are strikethrough could not be tagged)

copyright © 2022 by kumiko. all rights reserved. my works or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without express written permission from me except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

The maknae lies on his bed, as the others surround him with worried expressions. Their butler and Jin tend to him. "How's he hyung?"

"He didn't lose too much blood since the bullet is lodged in him. But we'll have to extract it or else it'll become infected and he won't heal properly." Jin explained.

The eldest brother casts a glance at his younger brother's pale face. "Jungkook, the bullet is stuck; we'll have to get it out. And it will hurt... a lot."

He blinks open his eyes, faintly nodding. "O-okay."

Hoseok enters the room with a metal cart and approaches Jin and Sun-woo from behind. "I brought the tools."

"Thanks."

Then a tiny figure emerged from the doorway. "I heard, hurt bad."

All eight pairs of eyes turned to gaze at you, but you avoided eye contact. "I want to help him."

"C-can I help him?" You asked softly.

Jin redirects his attention to Jungkook, who meets his stare and nods. "L-let her."

"Okay, come here. " Jin directs you, prompting you to move your feet toward the three men. "Get on the bed on the opposite side of him."

You climb onto the bed and sit next to the injured boy. You chew on your lip as you look at him, the sense of his injury being much stronger to you.

Jin then pressed the silvery blade against Jungkook's wound and gently slid it across, while you wrap your hands around Jungkook, and your eyes and the veins on your hands begin to illuminate purple.

When Sun-woo turns around to deliver Jin the next tool, his attention is drawn to you and your glowing appearance, causing him to yelp and drop the tool in surprise. "Oh goodness! That startled me."

"Yeah, that'll be with us for god knows how long, so get used to it." Yoongi scowls and Sun-woo nods slowly.

As Jin drags the blade against Jungkook, the younger groans and stiffens in pain, but thanks to your abilities, Jungkook gradually relaxes and falls quiet.

Jin continues to cut him open until eventually lifting the blade, causing you to let out a short, relieved gasp.

Jin sneaks a glimpse at you before checking on his injured dongsaeng. "How do you feel Kookie?"

"I-I'm fine. It doesn't hurt anymore, I don't feel anything. You can continue." He affirms.

"Okay, well, the bleeding is stable, and I will now extract the bullet, alright?" Jin makes an announcement, to which Jungkook nods.

Jin extended his other free hand behind him, signaling their butler to give out the next tool, a forceps. He quickly adjusted the metal tool in his hand and hovered it over the bullet wound once he could feel it in his hand.

He looks into the wound again, properly locating the bullet before inserting the tool into the open wound. He fishes for the bullet steadily but effectively, and once he clamps on to it, he expertly wiggles it upwards to remove it.

The soft audible whimpers coming from your petite form, however, do not go unnoticed by Jin and Jungkook, undoubtedly because they are the closest to you.

Still, Jin focused on extracting the bullet diligently, and once it emerges from the open wound, he instantly places it in the surgical metal basin beside him.

"All done." He begins removing his bloody gloves. "You can heal him now."

You flash Jin a brief glance before gently placing both of your hands above the wound. And, once again, not only do the veins on your hands glow but so do the veins around Jungkook's wound.

Meanwhile, Sun-woo marvels as you miraculously heal his youngest boss. "Amazing..."

You quickly retracted your hands while looking at Jungkook after the wound healed. "A-are you okay?"

The corners of the maknae's lips curved up slightly, keeping his gaze fixed on you. "Yes, thanks."

For what seemed like hours in their eyes, a sudden loud sigh interrupts their trance. "How come you didn't say anything, Jungkook?"

The addressed man swiveled his head, his eyes settled on his concerned leader. "I didn't want to worry you guys, and I figured I could treat it myself."

"If only the bullet wasn't stuck in there." He mutters quietly, but the oldest manages to hear him.

"You really think you could properly treat that wound yourself, are you crazy?" Jin exclaimed.

He puts his hands up defensively. "Okay! Okay, I'm sorry, I will make sure to tell you guys next time. Happy?"

While the boys cleaned up, you returned to your room as told and awaited further instructions.

Your head sprang up when you heard a knock at the door a little while later. You watch as a figure enters the room; it was the same broad-shouldered man who had tended to their youngest member and politely conversed with you the day before.

As he approaches you, he gives a faint smile. "Hi, I just wanted to come in here and thank you for helping Jungkook."

"Y-you welcome." You answer with your small voice.

He chuckles softly when the memory of your whimpering came to him. "By the way, I meant to ask you, why were you whimpering earlier?"

You give him a quizzical look, urging Jin to continue with his explanation. "You were making these sounds with your mouth while taking Jungkook's pain and healing him. It sounded like whimpering."

You pause for a few seconds. "Oh, y-your pain—" As you try to explain, you motion to him and then to yourself. "My pain."

The lens spectacle-wearing man scrunches his brows. "Huh? What do you mean by that?"

"I thought you already feel when someone is—" A voice disrupted him before he could complete his sentence. "Hyung! Are you making dinner tonight?"

Jin lets out an exasperated groan. "Of course!"

He sighed heavily, knowing he'd have to put that subject of discussion on hold for the time being. He then returns his attention to you."I know you've been cooped up in this boring room for hours, so would you like to join me in making dinner for everyone?"

"Y-you asking me?"

He nods. "Yeah, it'll be fun... I think?"

"Fun? What's fun?" You sway your head.

He rubs the back of his head, he did not expect that. "It's like— something you find enjoyable, yes. Something you'll like doing."

"Do you understand?"

"Enjoyable... Oh! Enjoyable, yes." You grin with your lips, exposing your adorable bread cheeks and deep dimples akin to Namjoon's.

That's cute. Wait what? What are you saying Jin? "Well, then, shall we go down?"

He offers his hand to you, which you immediately wrap your own around. He takes your hand in his and gently tugs you out of your bedroom.

When the two of you eventually made it into the kitchen, Jin automatically headed to where the apron with the white and blue stripes hung on a cabinet door. You, on the other hand, stayed still as the expert hacker moved about the kitchen retrieving all of the ingredients.

He didn't see you still awkwardly standing in the center of the kitchen until all the veggies and spices were spread out on the large island table. "O-oh sorry, I didn't realize..."

"I plan to make japchae and kimchi quesadillas. You can help by pouring all these contents for the quesadillas into the bowl like this." He demonstrates with empty dishes, making sure you pay attention. "Then mix it with the ground beef— Does this look easy enough?"

You hum and position yourself in front of the contents you were presented with. Jin attentively monitors you for a moment, ensuring you perform your job correctly. When he's satisfied, he turns around and starts chopping the veggies for the japchae.

He skillfully cuts and slices all of the peppers, mushrooms, spinach, and carrot. The same small voice rang out just as he was about to put a pot on the burner. "I-I finished."

He turns his head, and he finds the sight amusing. Splattered stains on his dongsaeng's sweatshirt and your hands drenched in the mixed spices and oil from the sauce that drips down your arms, staining the cuffs of her sleeves.

He chuckles lightly at your disarray. "Ah you're so clueless, but you're a cute kind of clueless."

As he approaches you with a smile, you pucker your lips in bewilderment. "Let me help you here."

He pulls a clean rag from the oven handle and drags her hands towards him. You squeak quietly at his abrupt actions, remembering Yoongi cleaning the food crumbs off your hands before. So you let him do what he did.

He adds as Jin keeps wiping your hands. "You should've rolled up your sleeves before mixing the ingredients together."

"It's okay, you didn't even know. Next time." He finally finishes drying your hands and lifts his eyes to meet your innocent, questioning gaze.

They exchanged stares for who knows how long until Jin noticed a smear of soy sauce on your cheek. His eyes narrowed on the spot, and his hand moved to your cheek without thinking as he came closer to your face. "You have something on your cheek."

You remained still, the close proximity quickening your heartbeat. Were you feeling fear, like your had with the angry man on the road? No. Then what was so different about how you felt when Jin is just inches from your face? That, you did not entirely understand.

This feeling of a new sort of pulse beating, the people, and even the environment itself were all foreign to you. Being outside the concrete walls that had imprisoned you had been a dream in the past, but it was now your new reality. You were finally experiencing it. Perhaps in an extremely bizarre way, as most people would put it, but anything had to be better than looking at those concrete walls and feeling trapped by your own father, right?

Jin came to a stop so near to your face that you could feel his breath tickling your nose. With his fingers hovering over your cheek, he wiped the sauce off your smooth skin with his thumb.

As he withdraws, a smirk appears on his face. "There you go, all done."

"Your hands could be sticky as well, so go wash your hands and we'll continue from here." You nod once again and do what you’re directed.

And for the remainder of the cooking time, you lingered behind Jin, a curious expression on your face, watching him work earnestly.

Jin eventually finishes their food after only an hour and a half. "Ya! I need one of you to help me in bringing out the food!"

Several footsteps can be heard before one individual enters from the kitchen entryway. "I'll help you hyung."

Jungkook walks over to the large island table and carries the other dish that his hyung had cooked. The meal is brought to their dining table by the two men. "Hey, erm, 007...?"

You glance up at Jin when you hear your name and wait for him to continue. "Could you please bring some plates and chopsticks?"

"Okay." You squeaked.

You looked inside the cupboards Jin had been rummaging through while cooking, searching for those white ceramic round circle plates. As you scanned the cupboard, you spotted the stacked plates. You stretched, nearly reaching for the plates with her fingertips.

As you ostensibly struggles to get the plates yourself, she huffs. After a prolonged strain, you felt your fingertips slightly contact the ceramics and instinctively sought to lean to get a proper grip. You were so focused on retrieving those dishes that you didn't notice the tall figure who walked back into the kitchen. "Ya, what are you doing?"

You flinch at his unexpected presence, startling you, and the plate you barely clutched slips from your loosened hands and smashes on the floor with a loud clatter. You released a small gasp, clearly alarmed by the abrupt predicament.

The said person scrambles forward instantly. "Ya, are you okay?!"

And as soon as you saw him, you identified the familiar face of the man you met in the alleyway who protected you without hesitation. "That was so sudden, I'm sorry."

He says tearing you out of you short daze, gazing at him a little stunned. "It's okay, it's my fault, I clean."

You then lowered your eyes, eventually frowning at the mess you had created. You crouched above the shattered fragments of the once-round porcelain dish without thinking. Upon seeing this, Jungkook scurried to your aid, shaking his head. "No- It's alright. I came up behind you without warning."

"I'll clean it up, you'll only hurt yourself—" The sound of glass thudding and a small yelp alerted him, and he noticed blood seeping out of your palm. "See, I told you. Let me do it."

"Let's wrap this up first." He grabs you injured hand, but you pull it back, shaking your head.

"I heal, remember?" Your eyes then turned purple, and the cut on your palm gradually closed, reverting your hand to normal.

Jungkook watches you as you heal yourself in front of him. That's right, I suppose that'll be the new normal now that she's here. Still, he will always remain awestruck by your abilities, although he doesn't look like he is. "Well, even if you can self-heal, that doesn't mean you put yourself in harm's way all the time."

"Let's get you off the floor for now." He wraps his arms around your slender frame and effortlessly scoops you up, eliciting a subtle squeal of surprise from you.

He then places you on the long island table and sweeps the broken ceramic off the floor. When he's finished, he approaches you again. "You know, there's no shame in asking for help. Especially if it keeps you away from harm's way."

You nod slowly, and Jungkook smirks. "Normally, I wouldn't be so courteous to a stranger I'd only met two days before. But you're different, which I like."

"You also helped me, so I guess my behavior right now is a way of expressing thank you for me." He explains himself sheepishly.

Why was he explaining so sheepishly? It wasn't like he was attempting to declare his love to his crush or ask a girl to a school dance. So why does the cute clueless stranger he encountered on the road who can magically heal people make him feel that way when he speaks to her? It seems like such a complicated question to answer.

When you returned his stare, you both fell quiet, unsure what to say next. After what seemed like many minutes of silence, Jungkook couldn't stand it any longer and cleared his throat. "I'll just grab the plates and you can grab the chopsticks."

"Does that sound good?"

You nod and look down from the counter as if you’re uncertain how you’ll get down from there. This does not go missed by him, and he almost laughs at the sight of your innocent concentrated face trying to figure out how to get off.

Without warning, he puts his hands around your waist, lifts you, and lowers you to the floor. "There you go."

"Let's join the rest for dinner, I'm sure we had them waiting quite long enough."

For the following days, Namjoon summoned the gang for another brief meeting, this time to discuss future plans regarding the allegedly stolen medical equipment and the gang that was transporting it. Everyone agreed that it was necessary to begin investigating the truth behind the smuggling business that had been operating under their noses for nearly two decades.

So, since then, some members have kept holed up in the house, going through recent and archived files and phoning contacts, while others have gone in and out meeting other different 'acquaintances' who prefer the traditional way of discreet information dissemination. However, as the days turned into weeks, the group failed to find even a single lead. File after file, contact after contact, it seems that the so-called "smuggling firm" didn't exist.

No one had the slightest knowledge about it not even the whereabouts of that unidentified gang. And this increased Bangtan's suspicions. They all inherently congregated in the living room at the end of the day and sat drained along the couches.

Yoongi rubs his eyes, almost laughing. "This is like chasing after a ghost."

"What are we even doing?"

"Whoever put in this much effort to keep this thing running in such secrecy for so long must be in a higher status. So the real question is, what are they doing with all of these packages of supplies that would force them to conceal it so desperately?" Jin's brows furrows.

Jungkook cocks his brow while staring down. "Something illegal— extremely illegal."

"But we do illegal shit almost everyday." Taehyung responds bluntly.

The others threw him a deadpan expression. "What? It's true!"

Namjoon sighs. "But, Jungkook and Jin are right." He thinks for a moment. "Jin, do you think you could analyze the supplies within the cargo? Maybe we can start speculating from there once we understand exactly what's in there."

The eldest nods. "Yeah, I can do that. But as I said before with the whole military mainframe hacking, this will also take time."

"And, as I have mentioned, it's fine; what matters is that we get to the bottom of this."

"Should we ask our wonderful guest again?" Jimin advises as he cracks his knuckles.

Taehyung sighs. "That little shit refuses to speak. We've gone at him for hours on end."

"And at this point, he's pissed me."

Yoongi scoffs. "Maybe you need to try a different tactic—"

"What kind of tactic?" Taehyung huffs.

"The Oranyan tactic." He replies.

Jimin rolls his eyes. "Yeah, sure, good luck trying to get something out of him."

"Watch me." He flashes a sly grin.

With that, Yoongi heads to the basement himself, walking into the dim gray room. There, the surviving member of the cargo delivery they interfered in is now bound to a chair, blood trickling down his nose and purple bruising on his right eye and cheekbones. His head hangs as he was rendered unconscious by the constant pain from yesterday afternoon.

Yoongi approaches the poor man, kicking his foot, awakening him. "Ya, wake up dipshit."

The man groans, groggily lifting his head up. His swollen eyes fluttered open, finally landing on the master manipulator himself. He visibly gulps, this doesn't go missed by Yoongi, making him smirk cockily.

"Good, you already know who I am. No introductions needed, I like that." He tilts his head teasingly.

"Jesus fuck- how many there are of you guys?"

"Enough." Yoongi states bluntly.

"W-what do you want? Your friends already talked to me, and I ain't telling you shit."

Oranyan chuckles humorlessly. "Well good news for you, I don't need you to be talking for while—" The man's face twitches, making him continue. "Bad news, you're going to wish you had."

Two hours later...

The beaten man is no longer restricted to the chair but is suspended from the ceiling by his wrists. Yoongi's knuckles are red from the repeated strikes, but his patience is wearing thin. That's it, he tried to be kind.

He then opens a metal drawer and pulls out a syringe. He moves back up to the man, noticing his wary eye on the needle he's holding. "Oh, you must be wondering what this is?"

"Have you heard of opioids? The drug that supposes to relieve pain... Well, with the proper hazardous amount of an extra component, like fluoroquinolone, it will have the complete opposite effect."

"What does that mean for you? This means that the pain will intensify ten times worse than the minor pain you think you can handle. And well—" His lip rolls up. "You better hope your pain tolerance is immeasurable."

Yoongi had fulfilled his goal, the terror had settled in his eyes, and he was only going to touch the tip of the iceberg for the man. This satisfies him and simply pushes him to inject the drug, forcing the unfortunate man to scream. "NO! No, please!"

Yoongi removes the syringe and replaces it in the drawer. The tormented gang member cries out and squirms in his confinement. "Don't do this please!"

The second-oldest bangtan member ignores his screams by grabbing an empty bucket, placing it in a sink, and filling it with water. When the bucket is roughly one-third full, he takes it out and returns to his subject, drenching him with water.

"What are you doing?!"

Yoongi snaps his eyes up at him. "Can't a man have his fun?"

He then takes another gadget from the metal drawer. "Did I not warn you? Now you're pleading with me to stop, and I haven't even begun."

"Let me ask you a question. Do you want me to stop?"

He reluctantly nods. "Then tell me who that shipment was for."

Silence.

"All right, you asked for it." He sighs. The electric buzzing sounds as he switches on the gadget, and he immediately pins it on the lowly gang member, causing him to scream in agony. Thank goodness for Jungkook's idea to soundproof the room.

He lowers the electric device, allowing the man to breathe deeply... "Gonna talk now?"

He simply shakes his head, causing Yoongi to sigh in disappointment, before repeating his actions.

An hour later...

Shit, he looks like he might... No, he won't, he still needs to give some information. Yoongi groans, knowing what he needs to do now, but dreads it.

But he has to do it for the sake of his family. "You're lucky, you get a break. Because I'm not done with you yet."

As a response, he receives a pained moan, which causes his eyes to roll. He finally departs the basement, passing by the living room, where Hoseok and the maknae line were sitting with instant ramen bowls in their hands.

Jimin pauses in his chewing, making eye contact with his hyung. "So, did he talk?"

Jungkook giggles, attracting Yoongi's attention. "Something funny, Jeon?"

"No, no— uh, nothing." He coughs, continuing eating his noodles.

"Well, why are you here if you're getting close?" Jimin inquired.

"Because that fucker has a low toleration, he looks like his heart is ready to quit beating if I keep going."

Hoseok's pupils dilated. "What, why? What have you been doing?"

"Didn't you hear him earlier, he say his 'oranyan tactics'?" Taehyung nudges him.

"Seriously, Yoongi what did you do?"

"I might've given him the drug." He answers haphazardly.

All four of their faces drops. "You what?!"

"But Jin hyung said-"

"I know what Jin said. But it was the only thing that triggered that prick, okay? And if it works, it works, and I will continue to do so." He cuts off Hoseok. "Now tell me where that weird chick is."

"Where she's always been... Her room." Taehyung sighs.

Yoongi left the living room and proceeded to your room without saying any more.

Before leaving your room, Jimin and Jungkook assisted in keeping you entertained by setting up your television. You were so engrossed by the moving images and characters on the TV that you hadn't noticed Yoongi enter your room after two knocks that you ignored.

He came to a stop when he saw you were too absorbed in a... children's cartoon? His brow furrows at the scene, and he clears his throat loudly, capturing your attention.

Your head swings around at him, little startled by his presence. Your doe eyes reciprocate his gaze. When your eyes connect, he can't help but look away, trying to hide the sudden warmth that has crept up on his cheeks. "H-hey."

You cock your head. "Hi..."

"I need uh- I need you to do something for me." He starts. "There is someone here who is being questioned by me. But it looks like he might pass out from all blows he got."

"I also don't want to risk him dying before I have any information from him."

You keep staring at him, urging him to continue. "What I'm trying to say is, you need to heal this guy, or whatever."

At his remarks, your brows raise. "Okay."

"He hurt really bad?"

"I guess?" He shrugs.

You then hop off the bed and stand on your own two feet. "I will heal then."

Yoongi nods, mildly stunned by your instant obedience. "G-good, follow me."

He then walks you out of your room and down the stairs, passing through the living room, where the three youngest and Hoseok still stay. "Hey cutie~! Whatcha doing out?"

Taehyung greets you with the same boxy smile he had the first time you two met.

"Following him..." While glancing at Taehyung, you point at Yoongi. "He said someone hurt really bad, so I heal."

"Oh..." His lips curled slightly downward as he turned to look at his hyung.

"You're seriously going to bring her down there?"

"Yeah, so?" The latter replies dismissively.

"Hey, this is your problem, don't drag her into this. It's your fault for using that drug on him. I'm guessing you gave him more than the proper dose." Hoseok quickly intervenes.

Yoongi huffs. "Would you all stop ganging up on me. I'm trying all I can to acquire some sort of lead and help us all."

"May I remind you all that we've been running in circles with these detective games for weeks and haven't gotten far."

Hoseok's shoulders slump, Yoongi isn't wrong. If they had any suspicions about anybody or anything, they could usually track down the person's whereabouts, associates, background, and whole past in a matter of days. But not this time; the pending investigation has been prolonged for far too long already, and it's quite eerie for them to go this far without knowing who or what is involved in this whole quandary.

"Well, just know that if Jin finds the extent of your 'interrogation,' you will bear the consequences." Jungkook breaks the tension.

One thing about Jungkook is that, despite being the youngest, the maknae of the gang, he can be pretty mature and frequently plays the part of the elder one or even the group leader when the circumstance calls for it. Perhaps it is because he tries his best to be the most level-headed member of the gang whenever there is a problem amongst the members, and the others are tremendously thankful to him for it, either indirectly or directly.

"I understand." He cuts the talk short, then turns to you, who is already staring at him, oh so innocently... "L-let's go."

You nod and continue to follow him, silently, to the interrogation basement.

When you both enter the room, your sight is drawn to the battered form of the guy that hangs from the ceiling. When you return your gaze, Yoongi turns to face you. "He's hurt really bad."

"Yep."

"Heal him, so I can question him more."

You again merely nod as you walk up to the gang member. When you come near to him, he opens his eyes and fixes them on you. You meet his glance with a blank face. "Hello."

He grimaces at you. "What do you want, bitch."

"Bitch?" Your brow furrows in perplexity.

"Yeah, you stupid bitch." He says it again, leaving you even more perplexed. "Did you come here to do your little boyfriend's dirty work?"

"Me heal you." You innocently gesture to him.

He chuckles dryly, then spits in your face. "I ain't falling for your tricks."

You take a step back from him, flinching and closing your eyes at the fluid contact. Yoongi's laughter interrupts the silence, surprising the guy who had missed Yoongi's presence. Oh, how he wishes he had noticed.

"I think you're the stupid one here." Yoongi then approaches you and hands you a white handkerchief while causing you to gaze up at him while still having the man's spit on your face. "Wipe your face with this."

"I was actually generous enough to bring her here to relieve you of your misery. But it seems that you desire to do more." He looks across at the battered prisoner.

"I-I'm sorry, I t-take it back." He splutters.

Yoongi picks up the water-filled bucket once more. "No, no, not again."

He splashes him with water before grabbing the stun baton. "I advise you turn away, kitten if you can't handle this part."

You tilt your head in confusion as he pushes the stun baton on the gang member, eliciting another agonizing cry from him. As the wailing continues, you cringe, shielding your ears.

Yoongi takes away the baton. "Who was the cargo intended for?"

"I-I can't t-tell you. T-they'll kill m-me." The man replies.

Yoongi exhales exasperatedly. "You'll die anyways if you don't tell me who that cargo was for."

The man clamps his lips together, terrified, he looks at the second-oldest member of the bangtan mafia group. "I-I c-can't."

"Then I'll continue." He then applies the stun baton to the prisoner's abdominal region.

The shrieks lasted for a bit longer, till Yoongi removed it again as the man struggled to take deep breaths. Yoongi was about to push the gadget against him again when the gang member stopped him. "Wait, wait!"

"I-I can't tell you w-who the shipment was for, b-because I don't know who it is."

"How can you negotiate a cargo agreement with someone you don't even know?" Yoongi asks, judgingly. "Are you telling me you don't know who this man is?"

He shows the image that was contained in the evidence package from their anonymous tip a few weeks ago. "Isn't this your little gang meeting up with a man who runs a medical facility?"

"Y-yes, but that wasn't who that supplies were for."

"B-but I don't make the deals, s-so I wouldn't know—" He explains.

"You're the one who does the dirty work, I know." Yoongi sighs and sets the photo down after finishing his sentence.

"But if you don't make the deals, surely you know who does." Yoongi arches his brow in expectancy.

The guy nods, gulping. "I-I do..."

"Tell me now."

Jin was on his way to find Yoongi and remind him that it was his turn to make dinner. He enters his dongsaeng's bedroom, only to be met by the void of his presence. He furrows his brows and begins searching for him throughout the mansion until he comes upon their vast gym room, which Jungkook is occupying.

He walks in, quickly drawing the maknae's attention. "Hey, hyung."

"Hey, Jungkook, I'm looking for Yoongi. It's his turn to prepare dinner. Do you know where he is?"

With the white rag in his hand, the younger pats his forehead. "Yeah, he's in the interrogation room."

Jin's brow furrows in surprise. "He's still there?" He glances at his silver wristwatch. "It's almost six, that means he's been in there for hours."

"Yeah, he claimed he was close to getting the guy to talk." He nods.

"Okay, thank you. Remember to wash up before you come for dinner." The elder pivots, about to return to the entrance.

"Yes mom." Jungkook rolls his eyes. "By the way, that girl is with Yoongi as well."

Jin comes to a halt before grabbing the door handle and turning to face him. "The girl? She's in the interrogation room with Yoongi?"

"Yeah, he said he needed her before the guy passed out on him." Jungkook answers without making eye contact as he resumes his workout on the bench.

Jin pauses for a moment. "Why would— Oh, my god, that little... I'll go, see you later, Kook."

The latter simply grunts in response, as Jin walked out of the gym to the basement interrogation room.

As he descends the stairs, he strains his ears to hear something, anything, despite knowing that the room had been soundproofed courtesy of Jungkook's big brain.

He approaches the door and swings it open. "Min Yoongi, what do you think you—"

Jin stop mid-sentence as he registered the scene in front of him. Yoongi is stuck, staring at you with uncertainty as to what to do about the state you're in.

Earlier, before Jin arrived, the gang member finally told Yoongi what he needed to know, and everything he did know. Yoongi then ordered you to heal him in order to torture him again as retribution for the man's delay in providing the information and send a message to that gang. One that tells them explicitly that Bangtan always gets what they want and that no one can or will stop them from achieving their objective; if they do so, they should count themselves unlucky.

Of course, he didn't tell you that. You knew and were trained not to question commands, only to obey them. So you complied with his demands, but both of you didn't anticipate how severe the healing process would be on you, until now.

Like the previous times, your veins from your fingers to your elbow glow purple and match the veins of the man you are holding as your hands are gently squeezing his sides.

The pain was first somewhat more than you could handle, but the more you lingered with the man, the worse it became. You did your best to prevent the cries and whimpers that threatened to spill from your mouth. No, you can't take your hands off him just yet; he's not completely healed, and his pain hasn't gone away, you thought.

Back at the facility where you escaped, if the healing procedure wasn't fully completed and the subject's pain wasn't properly drained out, you were met with consequences. Consequences that ensured you never made the same mistake twice. You want to take your hands off the man, but if you do, you could suffer the same repercussions as before, which you don't want more than anything.

You don't notice it at first, but as the pain transferring grows increasingly intense, your veins and eyes begin to shine brighter and your head rolls back. You whimper softly as you take more, not only feeling the scorching pain in your abdomen but also in your head. You're not sure what's going on, maybe because you've never reduced pain like this before, causing your senses to surge into overdrive.

Blood begins to seep from your nostrils as your face glows brightly and your head lolls back. And it wasn't until you let out an audible whine that Jin breaks out of his trance on you and rushes up to you.

He grabs your shoulders and jerks you away from the man, interfering with the healing process. And as soon as you lost contact, the agonizing sensation subsided, but the aftereffects almost immediately caused you to become limp in Jin's arms.

Jin drops to the floor with you, softly cradling you. He attempts to wake you, but you don't respond. "Ya! Wake up!"

The elder shifts his gaze from you to Yoongi. "What did you do, Oranyan?"

Yoongi meets his gaze. "I didn't do anything. All I asked her was to heal him."

"And from there, I don't know what was happening. I thought she was just healing him."

Jin's lips pinched as he returned his attention to you, his gaze drawn to the blood gushing down your nose. "I-I think it was too much for her."

"Too much?" Yoongi questions.

"After all, she is still a human being, just like me, you, and that punk over there." Jin replies. "Everyone has a limit, I know you know that, otherwise you wouldn't have asked her for help."

Yoongi turns away as Jin rises up and lifts you in bridal style. "I'll have one of the maknaes take care of whatever happened here."

"I came to tell you that you need to make dinner. And you'd best be prepared to explain everything later." He exits the interrogation room, leaving his dongsaeng behind.

Jin walks across the living room to the front entrance as he emerges from the basement. Their medical clinic is separate from their mansion, but still on their property, so they would have to walk a short distance to the modest housing unit.

On the way to the clinic, he comes across Namjoon, who is reading a book on one of the white benches on their magnificent front yard. Jin's footsteps on the gravel draw the leader's attention away from his book.

When he sees your unconscious body in the arms of his hyung, his brow furrows. He stands from the bench and walks over to you both. "What happened?"

Jin sighs. "I'm not sure, I found her with Yoongi in the interrogation room."

"I guess he needed her to heal the guy since he went too far again." He elaborates. "I think she passed out because it was too much for her."

When the three of you arrive at the clinic, Namjoon goes ahead and holds the door open for Jin. Jin lays you on the automatic medical fowler bed before scurrying into the clinic's supply room to retrieve some tools to help you.

"She's bleeding." Namjoon points out, as the other moves about.

"Oh really Namjoon, I hadn't realized that. Thanks for pointing it out." Jin reacts sarcastically.

Namjoon pouts. "Geez, I didn't notice it until now, okay."

Jin finally returns to you with the appropriate equipments. He needs to check sure you're still alive, so he attaches the fingertip pulse oximeter to your index finger and connects it to the machine.

The machine then detects your heartbeat, allowing the elder to exhale a relieved sigh. "Well, she's alive—"

"What are you doing?" Namjoon observes Jin as he drags a machine close to your head.

"I'm going to scan for her brain activity and see what's going on in that little head of hers when this happens." Jin answers. "I had some suspicion when she helped Jungkook."

"And that is?"

"I'll try to explain it simply, you know when she takes away the pain—" Namjoon nods, encouraging him to go on. "I believe she achieves this by transferring the pain we feel to herself, which means she will experience all of our pain at the moment."

Namjoon's pupils constrict. "That's… That's pretty sensible."

"But, we'll conduct a test to further confirm it." Jin tells him. "You asked me to do some research on the girl, so here it is."

"Shouldn't we first wake her up?" Namjoon inquires.

He shook his head. "No, at least not yet. I'd want to compare the results. Right now, her brain activity should be fairly stable, but we'll see."

Jin surrounds your head with the swoop portable mri scanner. He types on the machine's screen, and the machine whirrs away, leaving the two men waiting for the results of the scan.

It isn't long until the device completes the process and emits an electronic beep. Jin moves to the display computer beside them and types briefly on the keyboard before the scan results appear. Namjoon approaches him from behind, peering over his shoulder.

"What do the results indicate?" Namjoon asks, his eyes never leaving the screen.

"These yellow-red patches in her frontal and parietal lobes are likely the stress-related aftereffects of the physical pain she suffered." Jin explains.

"It's almost mostly red on her parietal lobe, is that worse?" Namjoon inquires.

The master hacker nods. "Yes, the parietal lobe is in charge of sensory perception, such as taste, hearing, sight, smell, and… touch."

"You're right, then…" The leader concludes.

Jin snorts. "I'm always right."

Namjoon rolls his eyes. "Whatever."

Suddenly, the two men hear fabric ruffling, signifying that you are waking up.

They pivot, seeing your eyelids flutter open with a scrunch between your brows. When you fully wake, your face softens into a muddled look. You sat up hastily, swiveling your head in the strange room until you noticed the two familiar men alongside you.

Your wide doe-like eyes lock onto them. "W-where am I?"

"You're in our clinic house." The lens-spectacle man responds.

"A c-clinic ho-use…?" You stutter.

"Yeah, it's like going to a doctor's office to be healed and whatnot." Namjoon simply explains for you. "

"Healed…?" You tilt your head. "But I heal me."

"Well, it's also a place to find out whether there's something wrong with you." Jin adds.

Your eyes widen with a trace of panic, which the two men pick up on, only raising more questions about you in their minds. "I-Is something wrong in me?"

The oldest member shakes his head. "I wouldn't say bad, we're just doing tests to see what you do."

They test you; you must do well, you reason, thus you almost instantly sat up straight. "What do I do?"

"Huh?" Jin lifts his brows.

"You said, test me…" You started making that cute gesture you make when you're trying to explain yourself. Wait, cute? What on earth are they thinking?

"So 0-0-7, do what you say."

"Oh well, it's not much. It's a quick thing." Jin begins, then pats Namjoon on the shoulder. "Namjoon here is going to hurt himself, and you're going to heal him again."

Namjoon looks at Jin. "Excuse me? Since when have I-"

"Since now. Now go hurt yourself with something." Jin smiles tightly.

"With what exactly?" He narrows his eyes at his hyung.

The latter merely shrugs. "I don't know. You're the clumsy one."

"Fuck you. I'm NOT that clumsy." The younger scowls.

Jin's brow furrows. "No… You're quite clumsy at times, it's ridiculous."

"Am not." Namjoon groans.

"Remind me who packed the wrong explosive on the helicopter?" The broad-shouldered man crosses his arms and stares expectantly at the other.

"Hey-! It's not my fault they look the same to me!" Namjoon accusingly points at him.

"And neither is it my fault, you were too over-confident."

"Look, if you're not going to hurt yourself, I will." Jin says.

"Oh, really? And how are you—ah!" When Jin jabs a scalpel into his hand and swiftly retracts it, the tactical genius yelps loudly.

"YA! Are you crazy?!" Namjoon exclaims with disbelief.

"I did strap a missile to a tiny helicopter in order to blow up a moving truck… So, perhaps a little?" He replies condescendingly.

"Again, fuck you, that hurt."

"Well, of course, it hurts you pabo, I stabbed your hand."

Jin claps his hands. "Okay, now that he sustained an injury—" He turns to look at you, only to catch you looking at both of them, frightened. Jin's unexpected action may have scared you. The way he didn't think twice about hurting the mafia leader reminded you so much of your father, who didn't hesitate about punishing his scientists and workers if the drugs and experiments on you didn't work or went wrong, along with you, of course.

"Oh, I- um, it's for the test." Jin approaches, but you simply shrink back.

And Jin dislikes it. You and he may have just spent a short time together, but he preferred it when you didn't back away from him. "H-hey, I'm not going to hurt you like that... that, was just for the test."

You reluctantly nodded, then shifted your gaze to the leader, feeling a clear sensation in you that he's hurt. Namjoon meets your eyes, knowing exactly what you're about to ask him. He chuckles to himself, you're like an open book, so simple to read.

He approaches you and extends his hand to you. But Jin stops you before you can display your glowing visage again. "Wait, let me first put this on you."

He grabs a piece of the contraption and places it on your head, puzzling Namjoon. "What is that?"

"It's a neuro headset. It will read her brain activity and transmit it to us in real-time while she heals you." He answers.

As Jin finishes setting the headset on you, Namjoon's lips make an 'o' of understanding. "Okay, you're all set."

Then, he locks eye contact with you, with no animosity. "Don't worry, whether you heal him or not, you'll do well."

Your lips curl into a little grin at his remarks, now nodding with more confidence, which causes him to smile as well. You cover Namjoon's bleeding wound with your feathery touch. Your purple glow comes to life, illuminating your veins, around the wound, and your eyes.

You begin to close the cut on Namjoon's hand while also relieving his pain. And this time, Namjoon truly focusses on your face, attentively watching even the smallest twitches in your face as Jin keeps his attention, analyzing your brain waves. When you transfer the pain into yourself, you close your eyes and your face starts to contort in discomfort.

Jin is right; when you're healing someone, you experience all they feel. He leans back in shock, watching as the wavelengths on the screen bounce higher, indicating the severity of your discomfort. You slowly open your eyes again a few seconds later, and your purple light fades, indicating that the process was complete.

You let go of the dimpled man's hand, revealing it to be perfectly flawless, as if the injury had never occurred. He then pivots, waiting to hear from the master hacker about your brain activity.

Jin just nods his head, confirming Namjoon's thoughts. You're a true enigma to figure out. “How do you feel?”

Namjoon's question makes you blink. “Me?”

“Yes, how do you feel?”

“I feel… okay?” You say.

"007, what did you mean when I asked you how you take away our pain?" Jin asks.

You hum. “Your pain, my pain.”

"I should've known then, but now I know. This changes things a bit."

Namjoon nods. “It does. So we can’t entirely rely on her when it comes to the more severe injuries.”

“We have to tell the others about it.”

“Indeed, we do. We have a lot to talk about anyways, I assume Yoongi got the man to talk.”

Jin rolls his eyes. “Yeah.”

By dinnertime, the seven members had gathered in the dining room, where the delicious food had been prepared by the scar-faced man.

The table was unusually quiet, which generally meant that something bad or novel would be spoken. In any case, the maknae line never enjoyed the tense atmosphere, at least not at the dinner table.

Jungkook uttered a whine. “Okay, what’s going on?”

“I have something to say…”

“I have some information…”

Yoongi and Jin spoke at the same time, causing the others to raise their brows and the two men to exchange glances.

“Well, since I’m the older one, you go first.” Jin crosses his arms.

Yoongi only huffs. “Sure… I got a name and location for the gang. The birdie informed me that their gang's leader conducts business in private. But he uses an alias. So it's pointless to try to check his background."

“And the location?” Namjoon inquires.

“Daegu. They had plans if they were compromised they’d lay low there.”

"It seems that their leader loves Golden Dragons. And, that he’s a person we don’t come to and demand of, he comes to you, or so he says.” He rolls his eyes.

“Then we’ll go to Daegu.” Namjoon declares.

Taehyung’s eyes widened. “Deagu?! That’s hours away. That’ll be—”

"Yes, it will be a full work day for us, maybe a couple of work days." Namjoon confirms.

"When are we leaving?" Hoseok questions, unfazed by the sudden plans.

"The sooner the better, therefore we'll leave tomorrow." The leader answers.

The maknae groans. “Aw man, that means we’re going to have to pack tonight.” Jimin scolds him quietly by pinching his leg.

“Then it’s settled, we’re going to Daegu tomorrow.”

Jimin looks at Jin. “Now, what was it you were going to share hyung?”

He exhales, his shoulders dropping. “It’s about the girl, 007.”

“What about her? Is she okay?” His face is filled with concern. “Actually, now that I think about it, I haven’t seen her since she went into the interrogation room with Yoongi.”

“Well, she’s alright now. But it’s about her… abilities, we could say…” He begins.

"We all know that one of her abilities is to heal wounds and relieve pain for all of us, or anybody, really—"

"You're rambling again, Jin hyung." Jimin puffs his cheeks.

He exhales forcefully. "Remember when she came to help you when I extracted the bullet from you, Jungkook?" Jungkook nods, and Jin resumes. "What she did when she numbed the pain was transfer the pain to herself."

"Meaning, she felt all the pain you were feeling at that moment—that's how she does that thing." He explains.

The table falls silent once more as everyone processes the new information.

"See, I had a feeling bringing her down there wasn't a smart idea." Taehyung frowns at Yoongi.

"Ya, none of us knew that until now. Don't blame me." The older glares back.

"How did you find out about this?" Asked Jungkook.

"Well, Namjoon and I went to the clinic to run some brief tests on her after she passed out in the interrogation room. Her brain scans reveal it all." Jin replies.

"Ah… I see…"

"Wait- Did you say she collapsed?!" Jimin's eyes widened as he turned to face the person who had prepared dinner.

"What do you want me to say— I didn't think that would happen." Yoongi shrugs.

"Alright, well, we all know now. We can't rely fully on her if one of us suffers a more severe injury." Namjoon breaks up the members' glares and looks.

"But she was fine when she was healing Jungkook," Jimin muses.

"The only difference is that he didn't have the drug put into him." Jin sneers.

Oranyan slams the table with his fist. "Can't you all be thankful that I got something from him to help us all?"

"Seriously, all I've been hearing at this table is how badly I screwed up. It's annoying." He clenches his teeth.

"You know what, whatever, I'm not hungry anymore." He abruptly rises from his seat, and all six of the remaining eyes follow him.

"Where are you going Yoongi?" Jin sighs.

"Room." He walks away without looking back.

They all looked at each other for a moment before Taehyung broke the quiet. "Shouldn't we—"

"No, just leave him alone for the time being. He needs his time to cool off." Namjoon replies.

"And speaking of the girl, since were going on our little business trip, we just can't leave her here the entire time."

"What do you suggest we do?" Hoseok cocks his head.

"We'll enroll her in school." Namjoon responds while slicing his steak.

"A school… You want to put her in school?" Hoseok repeats.

"Yes."

"I think she'll be alright with Sun-woo here." Jungkook insists.

"Yeah, but for a more than a day, busy with what? A children's cartoon?" Namjoon counteracts.

Jungkook raises his hands in surrender. "I'm simply looking at it logically. I mean, she has no social skills, rarely speaks, and doesn't even recognize half of the items in this house. You think she'll survive a day at a school?"

"While I understand your point of view, Jungkook, I think Namjoon's idea is good. How else could she learn those things—certainly not from us." Jin sips from his glass of wine. "And I believe that is also a logical viewpoint. She wouldn't gain from being cooped up in this mansion. And if she's going to stay with us, she might as well learn a thing or two."

"Are we even going to be able to have her registered so quickly? We leave tomorrow." Taehyung questions.

Jin smirks. "Look who you're talking to; what you're asking me is child's play."

"I mean, she's the one forced into a new environment after all." Jimin proposed.

Namjoon nods. "We will and we'll get her registered first thing tomorrow, and then leave later in the evening. Does that sound good?"

Everyone hums or nods in accordance to their leader's instructions.

"So… I think it's very clear we can't register with the number she gave us. She needs a name." Jungkook stuffs his mouth with food, ravenous after all that talking.

"Hmm, you're right… Maybe we can discuss that with her."

Yoongi exits the dining area and ascends the stairs, walking idly along the corridor until he glances up and finds himself in front of your bedroom door.

Over the course of a few weeks, it appears that him bringing your food for dinner has become such a habit that even his body knows where to go and for what without even realizing it. He throws your door open, making you flinch at the door slamming as he strides in, still agitated by the dinner conversation.

“Your food.” He spits, roughly placing it on the bedside table in front of you.

With a little furrow between your brows, you gaze up at him silently. “Y-you… feel not good.”

“Yeah, and I wonder whose fault is that?” He sneers.

"Who?" Curiosity filled your eyes.

He scowls and mentally breathes, cool it Yoongi, one less thing for them to nag you about if you blow up in front of her. "It's none of your business."

You avert your eyes, now staring at the meal. You have a sense that if you make any abrupt moves, you'll set him off. But your inaction seemed to irritate him even more.

You can feel his frustration waves making you tense as he clicks his tongue. “Ya-! Are you gonna eat or what?”

You swallow, unsure where to look, but nod anyway. “I-I will.”

“Well, then…” He narrows his eyes at you.

You perceive this as a cue to start eating on your own. You assume he won't feed you tonight, so you'll have to help feed yourself. And, of course, you're still not sure how to use the utensils.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you reach for the food on the white porcelain plate, scooping up the rice and spicy red vegetable known as Kimichi, which you learned you really liked. Your other hand goes to rip a piece of meat jun that you also found you really liked the flavor of.

So you started stuffing the food into your mouth wordlessly, completely disregarding the silvery utensils on either side of the tray, just like the first time he served you dinner.

He catches your attention with an impatient sigh. "Weeks have passed, and you still can't manage something as basic as a spoon or chopsticks?"

"You see these things—" He motions with the spoon and chopsticks, causing you to nod while starring at him. "Use them. Now."

"O-okay." You squeak, clutching the spoon with your food-strewn hands, knowing that it was easier for you to use.

When you picked up the spoon, you tried to mimic what the man in front of you used to do when he fed you, scooping the rice and ready to rip a piece of meat jun again when Yoongi stopped you. "No, use the chopsticks. You've spent enough time watching to understand how to use it."

You hesitantly nod once more before taking the two silver sticks. However, you struggle to grasp it properly when you try to take a piece of the meat jun with the chopstick, holding the utensil awkwardly. You were able to rip a little bit, but as soon as you got a grip of it between the metal sticks, it fell instantly.

You puff softly, attempting it again—once… twice… three times—but it falls pitifully at each attempt. And this simply adds to the master manipulator's aggravation. "YA! Are you that helpless, or should I say useless?"

Your lips quiver faintly as you recoil at his outburst. You disliked it when people yelled at you. With the pathetic ratio of successes and failures you accumulated during your 'training' and testing, it always reminded you how much of a failure you are.

"Can't even use a simple object. I won't understand how any of them think any good of you when you can't even do this." He rants angrily, pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed.

And you hadn't realized that when you finally looked up at him again, your eyes blazed purple, indicating that you were scared of him. He exhales deeply before opening his eyes and returning your gaze, noticing your vivid violet eyes.

He's quite taken aback by it, but he doesn't show it. This happened the last time he saw you for the first time. Why are your eyes so bright when you're just with him? He steps back. "I don't have time to deal with this; I'll have someone fetch the platter when you're done."

He quickly pivots, shrewdly speed-walking back to your door, leaving you in the tense atmosphere.

The next day, the group convened once more to have you registered at one of the nearby schools, as planned. After dinner, Jin proceeded to forge various documents to formally enroll you, such as a paper proof of residency and emergency contact information, as well as fill out a general application form to prevent any suspicions and questioning.

To be totally honest, it'll still raise quite a few eyebrows for one of the country's most infamous mafia gangs to suddenly enroll a girl who hasn't seemed to exist for the previous nineteen years.

The final thing they needed to do was to create a birth certificate for you, but first they had to come up with a name for you. So, with the seven men in your room, they start to discuss the ideal name for you.

"Good morning 007." Jimin grins politely and joins the rest of you in the room, holding a platter of steaming tea in his hands.

With a little wave, you falteringly smile. "Hi…"

You gaze with curiosity as he sets the tray on your nightstand. "Is that my medicine?"

Jimin pauses, puzzledly glancing at you. "Medicine-? This? Oh, no, it's tea. Green tea."

"Tea? Will it make me caa-lm?" You queried.

"I guess…? It's healthy for you." Jimin responds hesitantly.

"007, did they give you something like this back where you're from?" Taehyung questions.

You nod truthfully. "They make me take to caa-lm me."

"And do you know what kind of medicine they give you?"

"Mister said P-pavulon… I t-take when they fix me." You stumble through your reply, trying your hardest to get the words out.

Jin's eyes widened in shock, but Hoseok, being the astute observer that he is, notices it. "I take it, it sounds familiar to you hyung?"

Everyone looks at Jin as he nods in affirmation. "Pavulon- or more precisely, pancuronium it's a neuromuscular blocker used as an adjunct to general anesthesia to facilitate tracheal intubation and to provide skeletal muscle relaxation for patients that undergoes mechanical ventilation or I assume, in her case, surgery."

"Maybe talk in dumb for people who don't understand science terminology you." Jungkook smiles sarcastically.

"It's a more targeted paralytic medicine used in conjunction with general anesthetic to induce skeletal muscular relaxation in the patient, which will require mechanical ventilation since they'll struggle to breathe on their own." Jin explains again.

"So they're practically paralyzed from the neck down?" Taehyung frowns.

"Yes, and in fact, seventy percent of the time, some people do not regain their sensation, resulting in death." Jin continues. "That's why several laws to ban the drug were almost passed."

"But I assume it's only after a certain number of times they've been drugged with it or how much they've been given in one dose, right?" Jimin's face is covered in worry.

"That is correct, and she is quite lucky to still be able to move or be alive."

"Wait a minute- why would they need to use such a strong drug to get her into that state?" The maknae wonders aloud.

Namjoon rubs his chin. "That's a good question, Jungkook."

"Well, given what we know, one thing is certain: whatever facility 007 came from isn't a regular facility."

"Jin, you were able to get any details on her?" Namjoon looks to the eldest.

The latter shakes his head. "No boss, absolutely no traces of her. When Jimin and Jungkook met her, she seemed to appear out of nowhere."

"Alright, it seems like we'll have to make do with what she can tell us about the institution where she was held."

"But for the time being, let's concentrate on the enrollment—So, 007…" The leader now turns his attention to you. "We talked last night, and we all agreed to send you to school because we'll be away on a… business trip."

Yoongi snorts, stifling a laugh, at the notion of you attending school during their time in Daegu. But the rest of them gave him a look that made him shrug. "What-? I thought it was funny, nothing wrong with that."

"What is school?" You tilt your head.

"Basically prison." Jungkook muttered, but loud enough for everyone to hear, and Hoseok chastised him by nonchalantly smacking the back of his head. "Ow- hey-!"

Your pupils dilated. "Prison? Did 007 do wrong?"

Jimin frantically shakes his head. "No, no, you did nothing wrong. And it's certainly NOT a prison." He then glares at his dongsaeng. "Jungkook has no idea what he's talking about."

"Oh… Then, what is it?" Your face regains its innocent expression.

"It's a place where young people like you go to learn all there is to know about the world." Jimin answers. "It… It can be enjoyable, and you'll meet a lot of other kids like you!"

"Actually, there are no other kids like her. At least a kid who can heal others and herself in seconds and has glowing eyes." Jungkook interrupts.

"Jungkook-! Seriously." Jimin gives him another scowl.

"Okay, I'll stop." He chuckles.

"You'll get used to it, I believe in you." Taehyung smiles at you.

You reciprocate his smile. "Okay, when I go?"

"Today, in a like two hours maybe." Jin checks his watch.

"However, before we can register you, we must first create a birth certificate for you. The only issue is that we need to give you a real name."

"Name…? 0-0-7—" You point to yourself. "Me- my n-name, 007."

Jin shakes his head. "No, that's a number. Those people in your facility didn't give you a name; they just gave you a number. A number makes you a subject, not a person."

"And you're a person, a human, not anything else."

"So, 007, what do you want to be called?" Taehyung lip-smiles.

With confusion, your eyes are blank. "I-I don't know."

"How about, Ae-Ri?" Jungkook suggests.

"Eh, that sounds too girly for her." Taehyung disagrees.

Jimin arches his brow. "Too girly? What makes it 'too girly', Taehyung?"

Taehyung pursed his lips. "Uh… no… Nevermind."

"What about, Eun-Ha?" Hoseok proposed.

"Oh hell no- that's my sister's name. Definitely not." Jin grimaces.

"Okay, not Eun-Ha, what do you suggest then?" The younger said.

"Let's do Min-Ah." He smirks.

Taehyung giggles. "Sounds like the a shorter girl version of Jimin-ah."

Jimin narrows his eyes on the later 95. "Fuck off, Taehyung."

"Hyung!" Jungkook whines as he notices your ears perk up at the swear word from Jimin.

Jimin looks at Jungkook then shifts his eyes to you, where you look at him with wonder. "Fuck?"

He nervously laughs. "Don't repeat that. Especially not in school, okay?"

"Fuck?"

"Yeah, don't say it okay?" And you nod in compliance, to which Jimin sighs in relief.

"Han-Byul, it's classic." Namjoon says.

"No offense Namjoon, but if I were you, I would sit this one out." Jin said.

Namjoon looks at him, completely offended. "What, why? What's wrong with my name idea?"

"It sounds ancient, you're going to make her seem old." Jungkook pats his leader's shoulder.

"Exactly, took the words right out of my mouth." Jin concurs.

"It's not old, it's classic." Namjoon repeats.

"It's old, that's what it is." Taehyung comments.

Jimin then turns to look at you. "007, how do you like the name, Ji-Won?"

"Ji-Won?" You think audibly.

Jungkook snorts. "Are you sure you want to name her after one of your hookups?"

Jimin swivels his head to look at the maknae. "No...? Wait- How do you know her name?"

"You're telling me you didn't know? She's hundred sixty-two centimeters, smaller eyes, black to blonde ombre hair— that girl, does it ring a bell?" Jungkook looks at the older expectantly.

"Ohh- her... Why do you even remember her anyways?" The master seducer squints at him.

"She came crying to me when you broke the 'news' to her one day after your guys 'amazing' night." He answers.

"Oh- well, then I got nothin'." Jimin says.

The room eventually became silent as they all struggled to come up with a nice name for you, as you sat on your knees gazing at them on your bed.

"Y/N." A voice disrupts the silence.

All seven heads turned to look at the source of the voice, and all eyes were drawn to Yoongi. "What did you say?"

"Y/N, it's simple, and it matches her- I guess…" He mumbles, his eyes averted elsewhere, missing the way your eyes gleam at the mention of the name. Hearing it piques your interest.

Another beat goes by, and your sweet voice comes out. "Y/N…"

"I l-like Y/N." You say again.

Jungkook, Namjoon, and Hoseok's expressions gradually shift to one of slight surprise, while Jimin, Jin, and Taehyung's slowly smirk at your response before diverting their attention to the second-oldest member's reaction to your reaction.

Yoongi coughs, attempting to dismiss it; the bitterness from last night is still present. "Goo- Yeah, whatever."

"Alright, if 007 likes it, then we'll go with it." Namjoon claps his hands.

Everyone accepts with a nod, and Taehyung's boxy smile forms on his face. "It's nice to meet finally meet you, Y/N."

You grin, revealing your teeth. "T-thank you, Tae-tae…"

"D-did I say name r-right?"

Hoseok chuckles as he tries to correct you. "It's actually—"

But Taehyung interjects, waving his hand. "Yeah, you can call me Tae-Tae."

You giggle slightly in response to his pleasant remark.

After a fifteen-minute drive, the eight of you arrived at Yonsei University. The chauffeur parks their black Mercedes-Benz Sprinter Luxury van, and shortly after you all exited, eliciting numerous attention from students and a few from the school's bypassing staff.

Your eyes surveyed the magnificent architecture, which was partially covered by what appeared to be green moss. Jimin and Jungkook walked on each side of you, both staring at the structure. "From now on, this is where you'll spend the majority of your time."

You twist your head to look at the tattooed-sleeved man on your left. "I-It looks n-ice."

Jimin hums, looking at you. "I think so too."

"Let's go inside." Namjoon announces.

To say that everyone in the front office was surprised is an understatement. Everyone halted in their tracks to gawk at the mafia gang as they strolled in with you, nearing the front desk where the assistant head administrator stands.

She gulps visibly as you all approach, Namjoon in front. "We want to register a student here. Where is your head administrator?"

"H-quite he's busy at the moment, you might have to wait for about half an hour before he could meet with you." She answers.

"Well, tell him to cancel his plans right now because we're on a tight schedule." Namjoon smiles that didn't reach his eyes.

She timidly nods, reaching for the black phone beside her and dialing the number. "Hello, sir; there are people here who want to enroll a student right now."

"Didn't I say I had work to do? Tell them I decline to meet them, and do your job to set up another time."

"Besides, it's mid-year; they're crazy to register them now."

The assistant anxiously flickers her eyes at Bangtan, which catches Hoseok's attention. "Sir, you don't understand…"

Hoseok's face twitches with amusement as he approaches Namjoon from behind. "Boss, he's most likely refusing."

The woman hears Hoseok and glances at them both with fright. "Ah- no, he'll—"

Namjoon blinks, his face expressionless yet menacing to everyone else. "I'll talk to him."

She hands the phone to Bangtan's leader immediately. He then presses the phone against his ear. "Morning, Pang Chunso-ssi—"

"Who am I speaking to? Are you the one who wants to enroll a student in the middle of the school year? Are you insane?"

Namjoon chuckles dryly. "This is Black Mamba speaking, I'm sure you've heard of me."

The phone went silent.

"Good, you have. Then you should know that I wasn't asking when I said I wanted to register a student here."

The man suddenly clears his throat. "I apologize! O-of course, I'll have my schedule c-cleared out r-right now."

"Excellent. And one more thing Pang Chunso-ssi..."

"Yes... Sir?"

"Am I crazy?" He grinned evilly.

"N-No, o-of course n-not, sir."

"Right, because I'm not that crazy to know about the secret second family you've been hiding from your wife and two kids for the past three years." He replies.

"H-how…"

"Ah, ah, no questions, we'll be at your office in two minutes, and if you're not ready by then, all of those pictures will be sent in two minutes, understood?"

"Y-yes."

"See you soon, Chunso-ssi." He hangs up the phone and returns it to the woman. "Lead us to his office."

They entered the chief administrator's office two minutes later, exactly as Namjoon had stated, with the documents in Jin's hands. As Bangtan comes in, the man straightens up.

He greets Namjoon and the others with a 90-degree bow. "Please take a seat."

"To begin, I'll need the application form, birth certificate, past school records, and emergency contact documents." He begins.

Jin passes over the packet with all of the necessary documentation. "There aren't any school records."

"Pardon?" He raises his eyes to Jin.

"She's never been to school before; this is her first time." Jin responds.

The head administrator's face contorts in befuddlement. "And it's for…" He then takes a look at the application form and the birth certificate. "…Kim Y/N."

"Y/N, me." You smile as you talk, pulling the man's attention to yourself.

He smiles professionally. "That's the new student, I see. I see- well, unfortunately, without any school records, we won't be able to—"

"Perhaps I didn't make myself clear Pang Chunso-ssi... Should we find out how your wife and kids will react when they realize you—"

"Okay, okay!" He coughs, trying to keep his composure. "I'll get her registered, she'll start attending tomorrow."

"Today." Namjoon cuts in.

"I- Today..." Chunso glances at his assistant, calling her over. "Tell them to prepare her transcripts and class schedule."

The woman nods, taking the documents and hurriedly leaving the office. Chunso then claps his hands. "Well, you may wait outside, her papers will be ready in a few short minutes."

They all rise from their chairs, and the man bows ninety degrees again. You cock your head. "What are you doing?"

Everyone then looks at you. "I-I'm showing respect."

"Oh." You blankly look at him up and down then mirror his actions, bowing ninety degrees, making the old man's eyes widen. "Huh-?!"

Before you could say anything else, you're grabbed by the shoulder and led out of the office, leaving the headmaster stunned.

"Y/N, you don't have to do that." Jin tells you.

"Why?"

"You're with us, or at least closely associated with us now. And a thing about Bangtan, they don't bow down to anyone, so neither should you." Namjoon explains.

"So... no bow?"

"Yes."

Once your papers were printed, indicating that you were an official student at the school, the assistant informed you that you would be given a tour of the school by another student, which meant that the seven men who accompanied you were no longer required to be present.

So they're back at the entryway, near their parked luxury vehicle, wishing you goodbye.

"I feel like a mother dropping her child off at college." Jin says this while smiling at you. "But aside from that, behave well and have fun, okay?"

He carefully extends his hand and softly pets your head, making you grin slightly as you hum in response.

Jin steps back, allowing the others their turn. Everyone except Yoongi, who is already grimacing in the van as his members say their goodbyes.

Hoseok and Namjoon finished their turn next, followed by Jimin, Jungkook, and Taehyung.

"Ya, don't do anything I wouldn't, alright?" Jungkook says, causing Taehyung and Jimin to nudge him roughly. "What-? I didn't say anything bad."

"Yeah but she doesn't understand that. And besides, the things you wouldn't do is socialize and be nice to others." Taehyung rolls his eyes.

"That's exactly my point." Jungkook responds, which makes the elder less amused.

He then looks at you. "Hope you have fun my cutie. We'll be back before you know it."

The two youngest then climbed in the vehicle with the others, leaving Jimin alone. "Also if anyone bothers you, tell us okay?"

You nod. "O-okay."

He ruffles your hair lightly. "Bye Y/N. We'll arrange for Sun-woo to pick you up after school."

"Just look for a car like this one, understood?"

"Yes."

Finally, all seven members piled into the vehicle and drove away.

"Y/N-ssi." Someone beckons to you, prompting you to turn around.

"Hello." You greet. "My name, Y/N."

"I know, I called you that." He rolls his eyes. "Anyway, I'm Young-Jae, I'm assigned to show you around the school, so keep up."

"Keep up?" You furrow your brows at the phrase.

"Yeah, it means don't be slow." He scoffs. "What are you five?"

"No, my name, Y/N." You gesture to yourself.

He irritably clicks his tongue. "Yeah, you said that twice, now come on."

After about a half-hour tour of the school, Young-Jae had bite his tongue every few seconds in answer to your absurd questions. Seriously, how do you not know any of the stuff here, like a water fountain. Were you born under a rock, or are you just dumb?

Then a bright bulb went out in his head, yeah, it will undoubtedly be a memorable first day of school for you. He comes to a halt in the middle of his stroll, which causes you to come to a halt as well. "Hey, wanna see a cool spot that no one else knows about?"

"Cool…?" Your brow furrows with interest.

"Yeah, you'll enjoy this." He lies.

"O-okay." You blithely agree. Too easy, he thought.

He snatches your wrist and drags you over campus, your small legs struggling to keep up with his speed. He then comes to a halt in the middle of the corridor, in front of an old, worn-out door. "We've arrived."

You peer around behind him, your gaze scanning the door. "What is it?"

"Oh, there are so many great things you could play with." He responds in a phony happy tone that you miss.

If there was anything nice that came out of the facility, it was the unlimited quantity of toys you were given to keep you entertained in the ten-by-ten-foot box room.

"I-I can g-o in-sside?" You questioned.

"Sure you can!" He opens the door and then shoves you inside. "Have fun!"

Then he shuts the door and doesn't bother to switch on the lights for you. You stare about in the darkness until you hear a click that causes your head to jerk up. "H-hello?"

But all you're met with is silence.

And suddenly, the darkness merely brings back the unpleasant memories you're trying to erase. You start grabbing your chest and squeezing it repeatedly, striving to keep your whimpers silent. Your eyes are closed as you strive to remain quiet; otherwise, someone could discover you and scold you for being so… weak…

"Hello, 007." An artificial voice interrupted your thoughts, forcing you to startle and open your eyes.

Your wide eyes landed on a purple three-dimensional holographic lady, and your eyes began to glow violet again as you stared at the unknown woman in front of you.

"Do not be afraid 007, I am only here to assist you." The woman speaks robotically.

"My name is Genesis, and I am a three-dimensional artificial intelligence. Dr. Hyon Kwan created me. Also known as for you, Mister."

masterpost | two | four

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luna-andra · 23 days

Text

The Shadows Return | Simon 'Ghost' Riley x OC Retired AU | Chapter 8: Compromise

Summary: Andra wants answers, and Ghost has to choose

Word Count: 6.5k

If this is the first time you're seeing this, Chapter 1 is here. You can find the rest on my masterlist!

Content: slow burn, eventual smut, 18+, fluff, mentions of mental health, mild violence

The clouds on the way home were overcast across the afternoon sky. Johnny left Andra with several things to think over, bringing her back to a familiar train of thought from five years ago.

He gave her the same look that stirred shame in her belly. She didn’t like being on a different level of rationality – or lack thereof – with the people once close to her.

It was declared by the officer that showed up there was no indication of foul play. The possibility of an incompetent and inconvenienced officer being sent to her call was in the forefront of her mind, and also the possibility of any traces of someone’s presence could have been washed away from the thunderstorm by the time they came out to investigate. The whole process of filing the report gave her no peace of mind, but she took the advice of setting up surveillance seriously.

A precautionary that she should have done ages ago.

The quiet, quaint life out on the farm had soothed her troubled worries all of these years, making her forget for a moment what it was like to live looking over her shoulder every moment. She wasn’t naïve, no, she knew how to take care of herself when the seldom case of harassment arose. Andra should have never gotten so comfortable the way she did.

Her foot pressed down heavily on the brake pedal as she waited at a stop light to rub the exhaustion from her eyes. She was just a few more turns from home, she reminded herself. The caffeine she had ingested all throughout the morning was threatening a big crash.

Andra drove slowly down Middleton Lane as she spotted the first right turn to the private dirt road of Ghost’s property. Then her truck came to a full stop. You know what-

Her hand turned the wheel right as her tires skid around the corner.

Andra didn’t know what she was doing, or what she would exactly say to him, but she needed to know what was going through his head.

Andra parked behind his truck and turned the key out of the ignition. She paused for a few seconds to take a breath and gather at least the first sentence that would come out of her mouth.

Her phone vibrated.

I’m in the garage.

Of course Ghost knew Andra had arrived, another sign that she definitely needed to do the same thing to her property. Cameras and motion sensors.

She shut the door behind her as she made her way to the garage off to the right of his house. One of the metal double doors was left cracked open, and she could hear the metal clink of a tool being put down.

The garage was Ghost’s own personal auto shop, with an incomplete classic-looking car taking up majority of the left. The wall was lined with tool boxes, yard tools, and almost a pallet’s worth of army green ammo cans. To the right, a rudimentary gym setup took up another portion of space, with a bench press, a high pull-up bar, seemingly crafted and welded together amateurly, and a rack of assorting dumbbells and plates to complete it all.

Ghost was hunched over the open hood of the car, one hand on the lip of the hood as he kept his attention on whatever he had been working on before Andra’s unannounced arrival.

“Is this your way of letting me know that you’re pushing me away again?” Andra sharply said to the backside of Ghost.

Ghost tossed a tool onto the toolbox on his left side and retrieved a rag, wiping grease from his stained hands. His muscles tensed in his back as he turned to Andra’s direction. “Today has been a really tense day. I wanted to give you some space to come down from last night.”

Andra clenched her jaw. “I don’t need space, I need answers. I feel like I’ve been kept in the dark about something I have no control over.”

“That’s because you don’t.”

She could feel her blood simmering already. Not how she wanted this to go. “I don’t because you never gave me the choice to take control.” Andra couldn’t recognize the person she was talking to. His stare was cold and dark. If his goal was to anger her into cutting her losses with him, it wasn’t going to work. “You didn’t tell me anything because we lost touch the first time, fine, I get it. But you went ahead and told Johnny? That’s what I can’t get passed.”

Ghost trudged out of the garage with Andra following behind him. “He and I had an eye on things. We had it under our thumbs.”

Andra tossed her hands up. “Had what exactly?” Her voice echoed all around them. “What the hell is going on with you?”

He turned back to her, stopping her in her tracks before bumping right into him. Ghost peered down to her, his eyes burning the same heat. “What do you want from me? You want me to take back what I did?”

Her fists clenched hard enough for her nails to dig into her palm. “No, I just want you to stop being such a hard ass and talk to me.” Her carotid artery strained against the muscles in her neck. “Tell me what you think is going on and we’ll deal with it together.”

He flinched as if her hand flew across his face.

“You keep acting like you’re looking for an excuse to push me away, for an excuse to leave.” Andra’s chest rose and fell with a heavy rhythm. “You act as if one morning I’ll wake up and you won’t be here, and you’ll just be a memory for me.”

His eyes squeezed shut as his own breath left him.

“You’ve thought about it, haven’t you? Leaving without another word, taking your shadows with you.” There was a shiver in her voice.

“I have.” Ghost finally answered. “I could leave in a moment’s notice. I’ve done it before.”

Andra didn’t doubt him. She had done it herself, she knew how easy it was to pack a couple of bags and leave. “What’s stopping you this time?”

Ghost opened his eyes to meet hers.

She scoffed and turned away from his silent response. The wind picked up and wisps of her hair flew around her face. She had to squint her eyes at the unbearable overcast sunlight. “I was able to forgive you for cutting me off the first time. I shook it off because there was no expectation for you to keep in contact after fixing my truck. Then you came back, and I thought you wanted me in your life, and maybe we even had something. Cool. Great, even.

“But when you brought up the transpiring events, the person driving up our street and telling me there have been people on my property?” She shook her head. “You think you’re handling this on your own but you’re not. I won’t let you. Either you let me know what’s going on, or you’ve lost my trust.”

His eyes were unreadable when she saw him once more.

Andra reached into her pocket and flipped her keys into her palm, the key ring sitting on her index finger as she clenched them tight. “I’ll see you around, Ghost. If you figure out what you want to do, you know where to find me.”

The screen door smacked the side of the house harder than it should. Andra wasn’t paying attention. Her face still felt hot with anger. Sammy darted outside for her chance to do what she does, leaving her alone in the house.

The air felt thick, charged with energy that wasn’t there when she woke up the morning before. Or maybe it was her mind messing with her. Either way, her house felt compromised.

The tears collected in her eyes out of nowhere, and she quickly wiped them away. This is stupid. She felt ridiculous for letting it get to her. For letting a shattered window re-surface the fear that drove her away to another country.

This was all going to blow over. The tracks in the woods were a random coincidence, the car meant nothing. And the rock flying into her window was just a freakish feat of nature. She’s witnessed some heavy storms in the countryside in her years of living here. It wouldn’t be the first time something has sustained damage on her property, and it was bound to happen again.

“Be kind to yourself.” Andra whispered to herself as she kicked her shoes off, remembering what she was taught in therapy and from self-help reading. However, being kind to herself was proving difficult with the lingering anger from talking to Ghost.

The nerve of him.

But also, the nerve of her. She felt the weight of her corrosive past. An affliction, threatening to dismantle the life she had built. It had to be irrational, she was no one. She wasn’t worth being tracked down, right? That’s the rhetoric she kept force feeding herself. They had succeeded in getting rid of her, she made sure of it. At this point, if anyone wanted to pursue in finishing the job, she would end up burning a hole in their dirty wallets.

And if Ghost was going to play the need-to-know card, two can play that game.

She stopped in her tracks as she walked into the kitchen, catching a glimpse of the black trash bag covering her window. It crinkled and swayed inward and outward with the passing wind. The ever-growing chasm in her chest was making itself comfortable, and she couldn’t stand it.

-----

Ghost knew Johnny would stop calling after the second time he reached his voicemail. The third call in a row told him that he better answer the phone. His heavy hand reached out to the nightstand for his phone, swiped his thumb across the screen and pressed it against his ear, eyes closed. “Yes, sir.”

“You broken, Simon?”

Price’s gravelly voice came through the speaker on his phone, and it was like a splash of cold water on him. It was a question he was familiar with Price asking, except he’s no longer checking for missing limbs or hemorrhaging blood loss. Ghost sat up on the edge of his mattress and rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes. “M’solid.”

“When’s the last time you got a full eight hours of sleep?” Price asked.

Ghost took a quick glance at the time on his phone before returning the receiver to his ear. “I was getting’ rest before you woke me up.” He was only asleep for two hours, and his pounding head reminded him that it had been a restless 72 hours.

Price doesn’t reach out very often. The captain – along with the other lads – will dedicate an amount of time out of the year to catch up with the former task force in person. It was an annual event of spending the holidays doing anything but celebrating Christmas and New Years. When he hears from Price before November, it’s because he’s been tipped off on Ghost’s concerning behavior.

“Soap tells me you’re acting barmy, you think you’re being followed, son?”

There it was.

Ghost didn’t respond for a few beats, his feet felt like lead against the cold wooden floor. “A couple of events transpired, would put you on edge, too.”

He could hear a deep sigh come from the other end of the line, and it had Ghost clench his jaw. “Get yourself to an appointment or a meeting, or I’ll bring the meeting to you.”

Price’s demand sent a wave of guilt and shame through Ghost. The memories of being pulled up off the living room floor and thrown into his tub flashed behind his heavy eyelids. Price, Johnny and Gaz showed up. Ghost reeked of alcohol and piss. They had him hauling bags of sand back and forth from his backyard to the range on his property for several hours, making him sweat and puke the remains of alcohol in his system.

“I’m still sober.” Ghost gritted his teeth. He made Ghost sound like an addict.

Price clipped his words, “See your doctor, and get out of bed for a sweat.”

Ghost opened his eyes to the void of his darkened room and sighed. “I’ll set up an appointment today.”

“Good lad.” Beep-beep-beep went the line as Price disconnected the call.

Sleep had eluded Ghost once more. He sat there at the edge of his bed and rolled his neck, failing to relax the knotted muscles at the base of his neck. His eyes burned, and his headache pressed down on every surface of his skull. He felt an irritation for Price waking him up, but rationality told him it wasn’t his fault.

Since sleep was out of the question, Ghost stood up and peered out the bedroom window. The sun wasn’t due to come up for another couple of hours, but he insisted to listen to Price’s advice. Get a workout in, then when the office opened, call doc to get that appointment.

His feet were heavy as he shuffled to the bathroom. Ghost always looked down to the basin of the sink before turning on the lights, avoiding the reflection staring back at him. He watched as his hands gripped the edge of the counter. Scars littered his knuckles, the skin over bone splitting open too many times for him to count.

It was when he was sick of looking at the reminders of his violence when he slipped and the person he hated stared back with cold, dead eyes.

You’ve tried killing me so many times, but fail every single time. You need me. You need the mask. You need it to hide so there’s never a chance to hurt again. You don’t deserve her. You try and pretend to be someone worthy of a teaspoon of affection, but you’re not what she needs. You’re filthy. You’re-

The glass shattered against his fist as he struck as quick as an asp. He hissed between clenched teeth, cursing as the reached for a towel and covered his bleeding knuckles.

If one thing was for certain, his reflection was right.

He didn’t deserve her.

-----

Andra flipped closed the back end of the book and placed it on her blanket covered lap to rub her tired eyes. Every night she would read The Operators when it was evident she wouldn’t be getting peaceful rest, or when something had her jolting awake. She had no clue how many hours she had slept in the past couple of days; definitely not enough to keep her from loading up on caffeine and making her debate breaking her years of being nicotine-free.

She could hear the roosting of her birds out in the coop. Andra leaned her head back against the headboard and sighed. There wouldn’t be time to try and fall asleep. Her day had to start.

After the morning chores, Andra headed inside for another cup of coffee. She stared out of her newly replaced window, out into the distance. It was hard not to; it was as if something – or someone – was going to come storming out from the brush and trees. All remained quiescent in those groves, as logic would have it.

The rattling sound of her plastic phone case vibrating against the countertop broke her focus. She swiped her finger across the screen and pressed the speaker button. “What’s up, Johnny?”

“I need to ask a favor.”

His voice was hushed and the words were muddled like he had the phone pressed against his mouth, and she could hear the workings of the auto shop in the background.

“I need you to go check on Ghost for me, he called out of work this morning.”

Andra felt her chest and throat tighten all at the same time. Johnny wasn’t aware of the fallout between her and Ghost from the sound of it. Or if he did, he must be extremely concerned for Ghost’s silence. I figured he would be used to it by now… she thought bitterly. “You need me to go immediately?”

“Take yer time, a mate of ours reached him this mornin’. Just pop over there when you get a chance. Gotta go, text me.”

The line went dead before Andra could say bye. She released a heavy sigh after taking her first sip, her fingers tapped against the countertop as apprehension churned in her gut.

Maybe Ghost took their last conversation as motivation for him to actually leave.

Tears pricked in the corner of her eyes, and she rubbed them away with her thumb and index finger, pushing her fingers together to pinch the bridge of her nose. She didn’t want their relationship – friendship – whatever they had, to end on that note. Fuck, I messed up.

She took a deep breath to regain composure. You don’t know if he’s gone. Andra decided she would go by after her run to the post office to pick up her package. With a quick rinse of her empty coffee mug, she headed to the front door to collect her keys and purse.

The sound of gravel crunching and a vehicle engine made her pause in her tracks. Her heart raced, she could feel her adrenaline dump. Her shaky hand moved aside the curtain to look out the window beside the door, and the sight of Ghost’s truck had her releasing a heavy breath.

It took everything in her not to throw the door open and run to him. She took another grounding breath and unlocked the door, opening it to Ghost preparing to knock.

Andra swore her heart was going to burst. The look in his eyes mirrored the same surprise she displayed. The discernible presence of a bandage wrapped around Ghost’s hand caught her attention in the corner of her eye.

He noticed where her eyes fell to, and shoved it in the pocket of his jacket. “You got a minute to speak?”

His voice sounded like sandpaper. He looked just as sleep deprived as she felt. Andra couldn’t say anything, so she just nodded. She closed the door behind her and opted to sit on the wooden bench, leaving a space for Ghost to sit beside her. He never did, instead he decided to lean against the railing, his ankle crossed over the other.

Seconds passed before anything was said. “I’m not good with words, you’ll have to bear with me.”

Andra folded her legs beneath her and clasped her hands together. Her eyes remained on him as she waited to hear him out.

His head tilted down. “I gave a lot of thought to what you said, about losing your trust.” He rolled his neck, rolling the nerves and giving him a chance to think. “And I realized, taking a bullet is far less painful than that.”

Andra could see his adam’s apple bob in his throat underneath the fabric of his mask as he tilted his head back with closed eyes. She felt her throat tightening, and had to swallow to relieve the ache.

“So, I’ve come to terms with if I want to mend what I had with you, I’m going to have to find a way to tell you what you need to know.” Ghost’s eyes found hers, searching for a response.

She gave him a subtle nod, letting the words sink in. “How are you going to do that?”

Ghost uncrossed his ankles and took the two steps to sit beside her. It was a struggling few seconds for him to begin speaking. “Did you ever pick that book back up?”

Andra was confused by the approach he was taking, but went with it. “Yeah, I finished it actually.”

"Did the author talk about some of his assignments?" Ghost asked patiently.

She recalled what the author was able to talk about and reveal. "Not specifics, but he went in detail with Selection, and then the training thereafter and some events that happened in the 80s in Northern Ireland."

He nodded as he listened. "What did the training entail?"

"Physical training, a lot of sleep deprivation, weapons and vehicle tactics, photography, interrogation..." Andra's words drifted as she continued her recollection. She wouldn't say this out loud, but it was a dry read.

Ghost cut in at the mention of the last topic. "Interrogation, okay." His shoulders rose and fell as he let out a deep breath, and his hands flexed over and over. "I've been on both ends of being interrogated. Not just in training, but out on the field." His red-rimmed eyes aged several decades, and her chest grew heavy. "And there were times the bars and stars – officers that outranked me and my team – had ordered us to let go of the person we had just roughed up.

"They were dangerous people, Andra, do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

Andra was piecing together why Ghost had given her that book to read. It was more than just what was on the surface. The selection process, the training, the assignments, the images in the book illustrating the teams with black lines redacting their eyes. It occurred to her then when she was reading it all, Ghost was another one of the SAS operatives that had an alias, he had paperwork with his name on it that contained redacted information on what he and his team had accomplished, but now discussing it all solidified it for her.

Not only him, but Johnny as well, and Johnny had brought up a few other names. People that were also special forces.

It was sobering. She never took the time to sit with all of this information and come to terms that these men had enemies that went deeper than just being from differing nations. Enemies that may or may not still be alive out there, preying on the downfall of the men she had come to know.

“Has anyone ever found you or Johnny?” Andra asked with a tremble in her throat.

“No.” He answered definitively. “And I would like to keep it that way.”

Andra nodded, as she fully agreed with him.

Ghost leaned back against the bench. “I truly never intended to alarm you and bring you to endless conclusions. I wish I could take it back, my foolishness, everything.”

“You can’t help that, though.” Andra defended. “It was a really messed up chain of events.”

There was a pregnant pause. “I have moments like these when there are too many coincidences happening at once. I’ve been working on how I handle it.”

Andra turned to him. “Do you… talk to someone about it?” She felt hesitant to ask.

Ghost’s eyes slid back to her. “Does that bother you?”

She shook her head swiftly. “No, oh Gods, no I didn’t mean it that way.” Her hands covered her face for a moment. “That was wrong of me to ask.”

Ghost reached for one of her hands. “You have every right to know, doll.” The calloused pad of his thumb brushed the top of her hand. She could feel a tremor in his touch.

It would have warmed her heart had it not been for the churning contrite souring her stomach. He had every right to know, too, but how would she even begin to tell him?

His injured hand was holding hers. She took this opportunity to distract herself from the guilt eating at her. “What happened to your hand?”

“Ridiculous accident with some glass.” He answered too quickly. Andra could feel him wanting to recoil, but he continued to let her hold his hand. Her peripheral vision gave her a peak of Ghost studying her face. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look exhausted.”

Andra let go of his hand and rubbed her eyes. “I really haven’t been sleeping. Every little noise wakes me up, and I lay there for hours.”

Ghost’s eyes turned serious. “What can I do to remedy that?” Andra started to shake her head. “No, I’m responsible for this. Name it, I’ll do what I can.”

“I was actually on my way to go pick up a security system I ordered from the post office.” Andra raised her hand with her set of keys jingling.

Ghost stood from the bench, Andra followed in suit. “That I can do.”

Her smile returned. If it was one thing Andra was certain about Ghost, acts of service was how he communicated his apologies. It was easier to demonstrate with his hands than words.

After picking up the hefty box of camera and motion sensor equipment, Andra worked around the farm after her and Ghost discussed where the best places to set up the cameras would be. He got it done in less than a few hours, giving them time to pick up food together.

As they traveled, she remembered Johnny was waiting for an update from her.

Ghost is fine, we’re picking up food.

“So, you read the book in the past three days?” Ghost asked to start up chatter. Look who’s talking more now.

She hummed. “I read when I can’t sleep, and found it sitting there on the table before I locked up for bed.” Andra glanced at him. “What do you do when you can’t sleep?” Her phone vibrated with a response.

Thank you.

Ghost shrugged. “I lay there hoping I fall asleep.”

“I would get so bored.” Andra confessed, tapping her hands on her thighs. “You don’t even scroll through Netflix or something to try and turn your brain off?”

“I don’t have Netflix.” He responded.

Andra shook her head and blinked. “Remind me to give you my login.”

“I don’t watch TV or movies.”

Now she was looking at him like he was crazy. “You’re lying. You’re a liar.”

He rolled his eyes. “I do watch movies, but they’re all old war movies or westerns on DVD.”

Andra narrowed her eyes. “What are you, fifty?”

Ghost chortled. “I have a while before I hit fifty, thank you for that.”

“How long is a while?” Andra smirked. “Five years or six months?” His mouth opened, but she kept going. “Wait, I bet you have M.A.S.H. all on DVD, don’t you?”

“There’s nothing wrong with M.A.S.H.” Ghost defended.

“Yeah, when you’re as old as my dad and watching it on your days off as you doze on the living room couch at eleven in the morning.”

“You’re pushing your luck, doll.” Ghost warned with a grin in his voice. “Let me put it this way, I joined the Royal Air Force after the events of 9/11.”

Andra’s face went slack and her eyes were as wide as saucers. She turned to the passenger window with a hand pretending to scratch the side of her head and wondered if he would be weirded out if she told him she was in grade school during 9/11.

Her silence was loud in the cabin. “We’re not that far apart in age if you know M.A.S.H.” Ghost resumed.

Andra raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you saying I look old?”

“No.” His accent thickened as his voice dropped. “I didn’t say that.”

She was having too much fun busting his chops. “We have a tad bit of an age gap,” she demonstrated with her thumb and index finger with a small gap, “I’m a ninety’s baby.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Three years is a tad of an age gap, not a whole decade.”

Andra rolled her eyes. “Is this what I have to look forward to in my thirties?” She laughed at the flash of astonishment as he panned a look at her. “I’m kidding! Well, kind of, but I’ll be thirty next summer.”

Ghost smoothed his hand over his covered mouth. “You’re killing me, woman.”

“Best stay on top of those heart meds then – ooh!” Andra shot forward and was caught by her seatbelt from Ghost slamming the breaks harder than normal. “You’re gonna cause an accident, sir.”

After a few beats of silence, Ghost changed the subject. “I hope the camera system will give you some peace of mind.”

“I’m sure it will.” She nodded with a hopeful smile.

Ghost ran inside the chip shop they ordered from while Andra sat in the truck to keep it running. Her head tilted back onto the head rest as she stared up at the roof of the truck. The lack of sleep was catching up to her, and now that there was less of a problem with surveillance around the farm, she felt the muscles in her shoulders relaxing.

The sudden sound of the driver door opening had her jerking back awake. She attempted to cover up the fact that she had dozed off in his truck with a little stretch of her legs.

Ghost handed her the bag of food without noticing her brief second of sleep and drove back to her house.

-----

“I get why you go to this place.” Andra spoke in between eating in the living room with him. “It’s not bad.”

“It’s also because Johnny has been getting us discounts from his little girlfriend.” Ghost wiped his mouth with a crumpled napkin.

Andra looked over the app on her phone that connected her to all of the cameras on her property. The feed looked really good, giving her confidence that she could point out important details if she ever had to. She switched to the camera that aimed at the dirt driveway with both trucks sitting outside. Her thumb and index finger spread across the screen to utilize the zoom feature; she was able to read off the license plate numbers from each truck.

“Thank you again for setting up the cameras.” Andra locked her phone and placed it down on the coffee table.

Ghost covered the lower half of his face back up with the balaclava as he finished his own meal. “Thank you for letting me.”

Her heart fluttered at the sudden drop in his voice. His eyes were set on her when she turned to look at him. Despite not being able to see his expression, she could feel a softness in his brown eyes.

“Let me get these out of the way.” Ghost insisted as he began to collect the takeout containers. Andra sucked down the last of her drink in her Styrofoam cup and tossed it into the bag Ghost was using.

Andra slipped a hand in the back pocket of her jeans. “You staying for a little while?”

“I can.”

She felt some relief for having to spend less time by herself for the evening.

While Ghost did his thing, Andra browsed her bookshelf in search of a new read.

“Anything interesting?” Ghost asked as he returned.

Andra chose Dune from the shelf. “Maybe.” She returned to her designated reading lounge chair and curled her legs up. “How far did you get with The Outsiders?”

Ghost scratched the back of his head. “Maybe the first fifty pages.” Then, he tilted his head. “How did you know I had it?”

Andra smirked. “It was gone the following morning after you left.”

Did she have him flustered? The indecisive glance to the couch and back to the front door then back to the kitchen was amusing enough to have her grinning.

“I have it in the truck, actually. Be right back.” Ghost made his way outside, letting in a kissing, chilly breeze.

It must have been the book she chose, or the way she receded back into the cushions, but she felt the wave of sleepiness return back. Or maybe it was Ghost’s presence, knowing he was only a few feet away on the couch with Sammy next to him. He emitted an aura that Andra could only classify as comfort. Safety.

She knew he was safe to fall asleep around, she knew he would keep her safe.

Andra flinched out of the sleep she was slipping into and let out a disappointed sigh. Her book was still in her hand, but the pages were damp from the warmth of her fingers holding them in place. She closed the book, not worried about where she left off because she wasn’t paying attention anyway and softened her movements as she looked to her right.

Ghost’s head lulled to one side from the upright position he fell asleep in, his arms crossed over his chest and his own book sitting on the table with Sammy resting in her own bed by the window. The heavy breath he suck in and released told her he was deeper in that sleep than she was.

How is he sleeping with the mask on? Andra wondered.

With light movement, Andra rose from her chair and padded quietly to the hallway closet to retrieve a blanket. He looked as tired as she felt halfway through the day, and she wasn’t about to wake him up and send him home. She unraveled the blanket and moved to lay it over Ghost just above his arms and below his collarbone.

But his awareness was more keen than Andra had anticipated. Ghost reached out, throwing the blanket off and swiped her wrists single-handed. The room went spinning, and she let out a small yelp as her back met the bottom cushions of the couch, his grasp securing her wrists above her head.

Ghost’s eyes were wild with alert, then widened as he realized who he just wrestled down. It startled her at first, but out of nervousness a chortle escaped. Then a chuckle, and confusion wrinkled Ghost’s eyebrows.

She probably looked insane to him. She was supposed to be frightened, but all she was was dizzy. And too aware of how his body hovered over her. The grip on her wrists eased up but remained there. Her giggles dissipated, along with whatever she was about to say. She was too absorbed by Ghost’s eyes darting all over her face, and she wasn’t too sure, but she was almost certain he kept looking to her mouth.

Before Andra could register what she was doing, she pressed her lips against the teeth of the skull pattern on his mask, hitting her mark as she felt his lips beneath. Ghost pulled away like she had put his hand in an open flame, his eyes widened. Oh shit, what have I done –

His empty hand shoved up the fabric of his balaclava and he smashed his mouth against hers. Heat blazed through her face, molten liquid flooding her core as she took in every sensation overwhelming her. The fierce hunger of his kiss. The friction of their bodies pressed against each other. The solid grip Ghost had on her wrists.

She couldn’t get close enough to him. Her leg attempted to hook around his waist, but only succeeded in wrapping around a thigh that nestled its way between her legs.

He couldn’t pull himself away, and instead fed the part telling him to nudge his knee where she wanted it. Ghost freed her hands to grip the thigh pulling him in, giving her free reign to cradle his stubbled jaw. His fingertips worked divots into the fabric of her jeans, earning a small sound from her tightening throat.

Andra hoped there would be marks later left where he was squeezing.

Her tongue slipped out between her lips and playfully swiped across his mouth. Oh fuck, the sound that just came from him… Andra had never heard arousal so delicious before.

All of Ghost was crashing through her like a freight train. His taste, his heat, his sounds. Her head felt like it’s been shoved underwater, and she has no intentions surfacing for air. Not when drowning in all of him felt this good.

Ghost reciprocated her invitation and found his tongue pushing through the slit of her lips. She felt her own arousal winding tightly in her warmth. Anything more was likely going to set her off. There’s no way I’m coming just from this, she cursed herself.

Ghost pulled away, hit hot breath fanning over her face. He moved his free hand to his mask, but it remained there. One second, two seconds. His mouth slackened into a frown, lips parted with labored breathing. The trance had been broken between the two. He retreated from where he had Andra pressed into the couch, his hands ran down his face and stayed there as he battled with himself.

Andra adjusted her shirt as she sat up and gave him a nudge of space. “Hey,” she softly said as she brought his hands down, cradling them in her own. “You don’t need to.”

“I want to.” He rasped, breathless from their kiss. “I don’t know why, but I can’t.”

“It’s okay.” She took his hand away from his face and stroked his knuckles with her thumb.

Ghost blinked a few times like he was waking up from a dream. “I shoved my tongue in your mouth.” He stated, a little too forward. His words had heat rushing to her face. “The least I can do I show you who is beneath this.” He gestured to the mask covering half of his face, a bitterness in his words directed to his disguise.

Andra slowly raised her hands to the bottom half of his revealed face. He flinched away from the contact, but settled as she let her thumbs brush against the stubble on his jaw. She made no subtle movements; just exploring the craters and slits across his skin.

Ghost watched her silently, attentively, his eyes flickering back and forth. She can feel the intensity, a man questioning the intentions of the woman touching him, holding the privacy and secrecy he clings to. He sucked in a breath as she took hold of the balaclava and didn’t exhale until Andra had pulled it back down over his face.

“If you’re not ready, then you’re not ready.” She affirmed.

His bandaged hand brushed Andra’s disheveled hair behind her ear. Ghost leaned in and pressed his covered mouth against her forehead. Andra gave him a meek grin as he pulled away.

Andra felt this moment building up to a goodbye, but she took his hand again. “You can stay here for the night. I don’t want you driving back even if it’s just down the street.”

He reached down on the floor and picked up the blanket. “If that’s alright with you, I’ll take up the couch-”

“Sleep on a bed, for gods’ sake.” Andra nodded her head to the stairs. “I have an extra room upstairs.”

Thankfully, Ghost didn’t argue. Heavy feet dragged themselves up the stairs, Sammy following them both. They took pause as both turned to each other from across the hall. There was so much she wanted to say, but the brief, drowsy goodnight that was exchanged had them retreating into their respective rooms. Andra leaned against the closed door, clouds in her head and lips swollen with the phantom sensation of their catalyst.

I've started up a taglist! comment if you want to get tagged for this story 🖤 likes & reblogs are wholeheartedly appreciated, your engagement helps new readers find me ✨

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minecraftbookshelf · 10 months

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Honey and Beekeeping

This post is primarily about Pixandria and Helianthia, as they are the two empires with the largest honey sources/trade, but it does also have a nod to Rivendell and The Overgrown.

Beekeeping is a a major cultural thing in Pixandria, and is most notable for being based out of the oasis city, rather than The Anthill. Pixandrian bees primarily feed off of desert wildflowers, supplemented by cactus blossoms and the vegetation of the oasis. (There are so many bees and their honey production is important enough culturally and economically that there are regulations about what foreign plants people can and cannot plant in the oasis city, because you can't just tell bees, "no not that one" bees do what they want.) Bees are also revered culturally, and Pixandrians take great pains to avoid injuring them as they go about their business, they are referred to in Pixandrian as "the little people/citizens."

The honeycomb is harvested in its raw form and is usually separated into honey and the comb itself, as the wax is as much of a desired and required commodity in Pixandria as the honey itself. The wax is often purified and shaped into its final use in Pixandria. It is used to treat copper and prevent it from aging, but candlemaking is also an art there, and wax is often used to aid in sealing and/or waterproofing (or sand proofing) seams in waterskins, clothing, lids, and many other things.

Pixandrian honey is known internationally for its light, floral flavor and light color. It is distinct but not heavy. It is one of their major trades and it is not unusual to find a dish of Pixandrian honey on the table or in the kitchen of any house among their allied empires. Crystallized honey is a very common candy in Pixandria and very popular with the children (and also certain semi-immortal emperors)

(Their mead production is also notable)

The main difference between the way Helianthia and Pixandria store and sell their honey is that Helianthians usually leave theirs on the comb and it is sold and served that way, as they do not have the high wax demand that Pixandria has. They do process some wax and honey separately, but its much less common.

Beekeeping is also less culturally central in Helianthia, though equally as common. The honey has more variety as well, throughout the regions of the empire, depending on the local flora. Helianthian honey is the easiest to obtain, even outside the WRA. Helianthian honey butter is widely hailed as their greatest accomplishment of all time.

Rivendell does have bees, but fewer hives and the majority of them live in an apiary/greenhouse combo specifically designed and maintained to protect them from the harsh weather conditions of the Southern Mountains. Rivendell honey has a very distinct flavor, due to their restricted diet, and its a stronger, almost nutty flavor and its color is usually on the darker side.

They don't really trade their honey internationally, due to the lower quantities of it they have, but it is not uncommon as a gift between royalty and there will definitely be some in Scott's dowry.

A significant portion of their honey is also turned into mead. Rivendell mead is both famous and infamous(ly strong).

The Overgrown has bees and honey but their honey is Not Safe for mortal consumption. The magic of the Spring is too concentrated in the flowers that grow there and it gives the products thereof something of a...kick.

AU Masterpost

#pixlriffs #pearlescentmoon #empires smp #empires s1 #the rivendell siblings #rain rambles #smajor1995 #marriage of state au #katherineelizabeth #mos: worldbuilding #mos: pixandria #mos: helianthia #mos: rivendell #mos: the overgrown

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rubynationwins · 2 years

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Sleeping With A Friend (18+)

Soft!Dark!Bucky x PlusSize!Reader

Summary: When Bucky sees what you’re wearing for pajamas–or lack thereof–he can’t help how his body reacts. You’re a heavy sleeper anyway.

Main Masterlist

Warnings: Soft!Dark!Bucky, smut, non-con via somnophilia, intercrural sex(thigh sex), oral/fingering-f receiving, nude pics taken w/o consent, drunk & horny bucky, Bucky POV so a whole lot of dirty thoughts, pining, wet dreams, basically pwp, fluff, angst, poor self-esteem/body image issues. 18+ Minors DNI. DNR if you do not like or are triggered by such topics. Read at your own risk.

Word Count: 3,515

A/N: I’ve been working on this one for awhile, but I’m still calling it a “celebration” fic for Seb’s 40th b-day (ha!) I feel like it’s been forever since I wrote for one of his characters so this was the perfect motivation to finally finish this one up. Hopefully y’all are into this absolute filth I’ve written😘 Like, comment, reblog, I always appreciate feedback so plz let me know what u think!

This story should not be posted anywhere else without my express permission.

Thanks for reading!

-Ruby

Bucky stumbled through the front door of your flat, trying (and failing) to keep quiet in his semi-drunken state. He knew you’d be asleep at this hour and didn’t want to wake you. His night out hadn’t gone quite as planned, but if he couldn’t go home with someone from the bar, the next best thing was crashing at your place and hanging out in the morning. It also helped that he had a spare key, and that you lived 10 minutes away from the bar he’d been at, which may or may not have been planned in advance.

His original plan had been to crash on your couch, but when he laid down on it and barely fit, he knew he’d have to find a different option. He’d forgotten that your “couch” was more of a loveseat. A good portion of his legs hung off the armrest and only half of his body could fit on the cushions. Suffice to say, not an optimal choice for getting a good night’s rest.

It made sense you didn’t have a giant couch, though. You lived alone and whenever Bucky came over he just curled up next to you, normally with your legs slung over his nap. He wasn’t big on personal boundaries anyways. It’s a good thing you’d gotten used to that part of him. Because, in his opinion, when in his presence you should always be within arms reach and preferably already within his arms. He had never found someone so perfect for cuddling. You were just so soft, plus your scent made him dizzy. He really was lucky to have you as his best friend, and especially to have you as his cuddle buddy.

With the thought of your hugs in mind, Bucky rolled off the sorry excuse for a couch and tiptoed to your room. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d bunked with you, so it was fine, right? Bucky cracked open the door, and peered inside. He could just make out your covered, slumbering form in the middle of your queen-sized bed that was pressed into the far corner of the room.

He pulled off his jacket as he walked towards the bed, leaving himself in just his short-sleeved shirt and black joggers. They’d have to do for the night since he didn’t think you would appreciate waking up to his naked ass curled up next to you in the morning. He wished he’d left some pjs at your place, though, since your room was unusually hot. There must have been something wrong with your AC, because he knew you hated sleeping in the heat.

When he got to the side of your bed, he grabbed the thin sheet covering you and pulled it back. He stopped dead in his tracks.

You were curled up on your side, one leg lifted over the other, your arms wrapped around the wolf plushie he had bought you for your birthday this year.

That was not what gave him pause though. What made him still his movements and all the blood in his body drain to his crotch was what you were wearing.

More like what you weren’t wearing.

Only a thin crop top covered your torso. It stopped just above your navel. The only other thing on your body was a pair of pink panties that rode up your backside, covering a strip of your belly too. They weren’t fancy, looked like the simple cotton kind that was worn for comfort, not seduction. It didn’t matter what mainstream purpose they served, Bucky had never been more aroused by the sight of underwear in his life.

He gulped and his hand instinctively moved to his cock, palming it over his pants. A low groan emitted from his lips. You shifted at the sound and turned over on your back, exposing more of your front. Bucky felt close to bursting. Your shirt had ridden up and he could just make out the underside of your breasts. He gripped his cock tighter, this time holding in his groan.

Normally, around him, you wore comfy clothes: sweatpants, oversized shirts, leggings-he loved the leggings-but you never showed much skin. Sometimes you would wear shorts, but those stopped at your mid-thigh, denying Bucky any glimpse of the treasure that lay above. This sudden exposure of your soft skin unencumbered by fabric was too much for Bucky’s brain. His eyes couldn’t take in all your enchanting curves, gentle rolls, and adorable dimples fast enough.

The synopses in his brain were short-circuiting. He was running on pure adrenaline and primal instinct, so he couldn’t have possibly stopped his hand from plunging beneath his underwear. He gripped his throbbing cock and started hastily pumping his throbbing length, his steady breaths morphing into uncontrollable pants. The pressure of his tight fist felt so good but he soon needed more. How could he be satisfied by just looking at you when the temptation of your voluptuous body was right within reach?

He pulled down his pants with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around his dick before he tentatively brought up a knee to rest on the bed. When you didn’t react to the weight shift, he brought up his other one. He was now kneeling just a foot away from you, still hesitating to cross that last line between you two.

When you shifted in your sleep again and opened up your legs to reveal your clothed core, he threw all caution to the wind. Fuck it. You were a heavy sleeper.

He placed his metal hand on your knee to test the waters and see if you reacted at all to the slight touch. You didn’t move. He slid it down to your hip and gave a gentle squeeze followed by a little shake. You dozed on. Sucking in a deep breath, he brushed his fingertips over the thin fabric covering your center. When you still didn’t react, he rubbed them over your folds, cock pulsing with want when he felt the warmth radiating from beneath your underwear. He brought his fingers back up and breathed in. Your intoxicating scent rolled over him like waves.

He had to taste you.

He hooked a finger on the side of your panties and pulled it over to reveal your naked pussy. Bucky could have passed out. You were perfect.

He leaned forward and slid his tongue between your folds, lapping at your damp core. When he flicked his tongue over your clit you let out a soft moan he stilled, his heart beating a mile a minute. He waited with bated breath, but the only thing that happened was a sudden increase in your arousal. Your juices coated his tongue and he lapped them up, savoring every last drop.

So your body was reacting to what he was doing… Bucky smiled at that revelation and focused his tongue on your clit again. He rolled the sweet bud, playing with it tenderly. His teeth grazed it and your thighs suddenly clenched around his head, caging him in. You were still asleep though. The pressure on the sides of his head didn’t bother him at all—he was a super soldier for god’s sake.

He continued lathering your bundle of nerves with attention as he slid his hand between your thighs and stroked over your dripping entrance. Slowly, he dipped his middle finger in, moaning into your cunt when he felt your pussy clench around the intruding digit. He imagined the feeling of your tight walls squeezing around his cock and he felt pre-cum leaking from the straining member. All of his focus stayed on you, though. He was fixated on your pleasure, needing you to come on his face and fingers.

He added another finger, but made sure to keep his movements languid, not wanting to jar you awake with a harsh, roaring orgasm. Instead, he rolled and sucked your clit gently, keeping the rhythm of his fingers slow as they curled up. A soft moan left your lips and he knew he’d hit the spot that would do you in.

He ground his fingers against your g-spot, and when he felt your walls clench around him, he sucked just a little harder on your throbbing clit. Your thighs trembled around his head and you gave a breathy gasp as a gush of your arousal spilled onto his fingers. He pulled them out and moved his mouth to drink up the heavenly liquid. After that, he popped his fingers into his mouth, sucking your sweetness off of them one by one.

Bucky glowed in the ecstasy of what he’d just accomplished. He had drawn a slow, deep orgasm from his best friend without you waking a wink. It was actually pretty impressive that you were such a heavy sleeper.

Your murmured sounds of pleasure as you floated down from your high made his dick throb with need. If you had slept through that, maybe Bucky could push the boundaries even further.

He pressed your thighs apart, gazing at the way your cunt beckoned him for more; to take as much pleasure as he had just given you. He furrowed his brow in thought. As much as he wanted to bury his pulsing cock deep in your tight heat, he knew if you woke up with an aching pussy you would know what happened. Because he knew you’d feel it in the morning if he stretched your little hole around his thick cock. Bucky didn’t want that. He needed to move slowly with you, tonight was just a little blip that arose from an opportunity he couldn’t have possibly denied.

Still, jerking off while looking at you wasn’t good enough. He squeezed your thighs as he contemplated his options and his heart skipped a beat as he came up with a perfect compromise. His eyes flew to the plush appendages. He pushed them together and dipped his hand between the apex of your thighs. He sucked in a breath when he felt just how warm and soft it was. This had to be the next best thing behind actually fucking you.

He reached down to your pussy and scooped up some of your fluids and rubbed them on your inner thighs to get them nice and wet. The pre-cum leaking out of his dick would help too. Still on his knees, he scooted closer, his metal arm wrapped around your legs holding them over his shoulder.

He looked down at your wanting body. The afterglow of your orgasm shone across your entire being. Your shirt had ridden up even more and your breasts were now on full display. He leaned forward and blew on one of your nipples, grinning when it stiffened. He plucked it gently with his fingers before returning to the main event.

With your thighs held together, he slid his cock right in between them, directly over your mound; he was barely able to hold back an animalistic growl at the vivid sensation. He pushed his dick further, and watched as it was engulfed by your velvety thighs. When his pelvis finally rested flush against them, and the tip of his dick stuck out the other side, he let out the breath he had been holding in.

He slid his hips back and started to slowly, but steadily, fuck your thighs.

The thighs he had spent countless hours fantasizing about. The thighs he would get secret pleasure from touching whenever he could. The thighs that were now swallowing his dick so perfectly it was a miracle he hadn’t cum yet. As he methodically thrusted, heady with the incredible feeling, he reached his hand out and plucked at your nipple. He couldn’t resist. You let out another faint moan and he rolled the little nub with his thumb before pinching it lightly.

“Bucky-”

He stilled when the sound of his mumbled name came from your lips. You had woken up. He’d been found him out. What was he going to do? You were going to kick him out and he’d never see you again.

After a few seconds of waiting for your to wrench away from him in disgust, he finally peered down at your tender face. Your eyes were still closed and your breathing hadn’t changed. Maybe he had misheard you.

“Bucky-fuck yes, please. Bucky-”

Your back arched slightly, pushing your breast further into his palm. You purred in your sleep, and he felt your thighs rub together-which felt like heaven. Your head flipped to the side and you let out more moans, your volume gradually increasing. His very name was uttered every few words. You slightly bucked your hips and your arms tussled in the covers.

Oh god. You were having a wet dream. About him. Bucky could have jumped for joy. He would, if his dick wasn’t shoved between your thighs and he wasn’t as hard as he’d ever been in his entire life. Instead, he let out little pleasure-filled murmurs of his own, whispering your name like a prayer that was finally being answered. He splayed his hand out on your chest feeling the rapid beat of your heart. When he felt the rumble in your chest as you, in your sleep, begged for him to fuck you, he went feral.

It was a sign, if he was in your dreams and your body was this turned on, it wouldn’t be long until you were actually his. Just the thought of you awake, staring up at him with lust filled eyes as you opened your legs, ready for him to slide into your dripping cunt, set him on fire. His hand left your tits and he wrapped both arms around your thick thighs as he pistoned his cock back and forth. With every quick stroke, it brushed over your needy clit, making you buck your hips slightly.

Bucky could tell you were right up there with his own mounting orgasm. He angled his hips down slightly to give you more pressure and he must have hit something just right because your whole body spasmed and you let out a curdled groan, practically shouting his name.

“Buckyyy!”

Your cry pushed him over the edge and he came too, coating your stomach in his seed. All he could do as his cum spurted out of his aching dick was chant endless words of praise for how good you felt, how he couldn’t wait to one day fill your pussy with his cum too. He wanted to dominate every part of you, claim what had been his. When he had spent every last drop, he pulled away and gently set your legs down. He slid a finger through the mess he’d made on your belly and a shudder ran down his back. He’d finally done it. Bucky had marked you with his seed.

Panting, he jumped out of the bed and headed to the bathroom to grab something to wipe up his cum. He came back, but paused before he cleaned you up. He bent down and swiped up his phone from his jacket pocket.

He flipped to his camera app. The open window and clear sky cast just enough light for him to capture your mostly naked state without using the flash. You were a picture of pure beauty, skin glistening with sweat and covered in his cum. He reached forward and pulled your shirt up further, getting a snapshot of your incredible tits, your nipples were still stiff peaks.

He felt his dick stirring again, but took in a deep breath to calm himself. The next time he came with you in the room, it was going to be inside of you while you screamed his name and clawed at his back. These photos were just a memento to mark such a special occasion. And to help him wade through the tide as he waited for you to open your legs willingly, or at least knowingly, to him.

With his new treasures saved to his camera roll, he tossed his phone back on the pile of clothes. He cleaned his cum from your stomach, making sure he got all of the sticky fluid. He walked back to the bathroom and tossed the now sodden rag in the trash under the sink, hidden from sight. Tomorrow, he’d be a dear and take the garbage to the dumpster for you.

He walked back into your room and pulled on his pants before hopping back into bed beside you. He fixed your shirt and underwear so that they were back in place. He ran his hands over the wet spot blooming on your panties, but there was nothing he could do about that. Oh well. He pulled you into his chest and quickly dosed off into the best sleep of his life, dreaming of delectable curves and the sound of his name on your lips.

________________________________________

You were having the best dream. Cool, metal fingers were moving between your thighs as heated lips melted into yours, taking your breath away. The sensations felt so good. So right. You were about to whisper the words you’d been wanting to say for years, but a beeping pinged through the lusty fog. Just like that, the lips and hand were gone, though a warm presence still lingered.

You kept your eyes screwed shut, heeding the images to return, but they were gone. You were not happy that your, now silent, alarm had chosen that exact moment to wake you up. Though that wasn’t the only dream you’d had with a certain dark haired super soldier that night. It had been filled with your beautiful best friend; the two of you intertwined in lecherous passion.

Finally, you squinted your eyes open and soon realized that the heated presence from your vanished dream wasn’t just imagined. You blinked, surprised to find Bucky sleeping right next to you. You would have wondered why he was in your bed when he definitely hadn’t been there when you’d gone to sleep, but you were too distracted by his slumbering face.

His long, black eyelashes dusted cast faint shadows across his slightly pinkened cheeks, and a dark strand of hair had fallen out of place. You brushed it back behind his ear and smiled at how soft he looked like this. The fact that he could relax and be so open and vulnerable around you made your heart swell. You felt the same way around him; safe and secure. You trusted him with your whole being, he truly was your best friend.

A part of you saddened at that last thought. Deep down, you yearned to be so much more, but you were too scared to make a move. You knew Bucky loved you, but you didn’t know if he could love all of you. If he could want all of you. It was hard to look at his sculpted body and chiseled features, and believe that a person so attractive could possibly be interested in you.

You sighed, trying to shake the unnecessary thoughts from your head as you sat up, gently lifting his arm from where it rested across your waist. As you shifted, you felt a dampness between your thighs, and the realization that you had been dreaming about him all night shot through you like a flame. Oh god, what if you’d said anything in your sleep? What if he’d heard you? You didn’t know how long he’d been there.

Another realization sprung in your head and you looked down. You actually gave an audible gasp. You were practically naked from the waist down. He had seen you wearing your ugly granny panties and your old t-shirt from college that you’d cropped a just little too short.

The fact that he had seen you in such a state brought tears to your eyes. There was no way he was going to be even slightly interested in you romantically now that he knew what you looked like underneath all the modest clothes you normally sported around him.

You leaped out of bed, not caring if you disturbed him, and scuttled to the bathroom; grabbing a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved t-shirt from your closet on your way. You didn’t care that your AC was broken.

You rushed into the bathroom and shut the door, springing into the shower. Thoughts spun through your head, but you just kept telling yourself that it had been too dark for him to see anything. That he had been too tired when he got there to take notice of all your imperfections on display. That you really didn’t need to worry. When it felt like you could breathe again, you stepped out of the shower. You grabbed a towel, but caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror as you dried off. You frowned and quickly looked away from the glaring image.

Bucky was way too good for you.

________________________________________

In your room, Bucky was sitting on the edge of your bed, waiting for you to finish your shower. He was smiling from ear to ear as he swiped through the photos he’d taken last night.

God, you were perfect for him.

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king-paimon · 8 months

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Houseki no Kuni Chapter 104 Thoughts: "My Way" By Frank Sinatra

Hello everyone! I hope your month had gone by well. Mine had been...eventful, to say the least, though I suppose things could have turned out much worse.

Anyways, that's not what this is about. I just finished going through the latest chapter and... wow. That last image. Many fans have pointed out the signs, and I think it's safe to say that those last few pages confirm how this long saga is finally going to end...

BUT before I get into that, as always, I'll share some of my thoughts in this post. This will be long and ramble-y as usual (I truly meant to keep it short this time, I swear! It just kept getting longer and longer...) and I may come back to update some things. And as always, please feel free to share your own thoughts!

BTW: After reading this chapter a few more times and struggling with a title for the post, "My Way" by Frank Sinatra kept popping up in my head. It's honestly pretty fitting. That's why it's my title now. Please look up the song and lyrics when you get the chance and you'll hopefully see what I mean.

View of Humanity Through Untainted Eyes (Or lack thereof...)

Like the last couple of chapters, this chapter was dialogue heavy and it was admittedly hard to pick which parts I liked the most. Eyeball's (Or should I address him as "Brother"?... I'm sticking with "Eyeball") dramatic performance at the beginning was very funny and informative. It really showed how much he not only hated humanity and yet valued the professor during her final moments. And his talk with Phos at the end of the chapter was engrossing. But for this section, I'll mostly focus on Phos's interactions with the pebbles; I'll focus more on the first pebble in the following section.

Phos has truly become a teacher/mentor-like figure ( and dare I say even parental figure) for these pebbles, especially because of how they spoke to them. Phos literally reminded me of a thoughtful pre-school teacher with how patient they are with each of the pebbles and giving them the chance to express their differing opinions and giving what I think were appropriate responses. In some ways, Phos's mannerisms in this chapter reminded me of Adamant, though Phos's approach with these pebbles seems more gently, at least to me.

Hmm...You know what's funny? As I was writing this portion, a little thought popped into my head claiming that Phos may have inadvertently adopted more of Adamant's habits than I first realized. I'll try to explain more on this in the next portion.

But let me first go back to another thing that I liked about Phos's interaction with the pebbles: their individual responses. It could have been so easy to have the pebbles all be likeminded after hearing the history of humans, but that's not what we got. Each pebble had their own opinion; some were curious, some were scared, some were right in the middle, and a few seemingly blasé. I don't know why but I like how these varying responses further emphasize that the pebbles individuality goes deeper than their varying appearances and mannerisms. And I'm also thankful that Phos and Eyeball weren't seemingly perturbed by their responses... at least Eyeball wasn't.

"I want everyone to be happy": Naivety or Profound Point of View?

Now let's focus on the main pebble, because of course, out of all the responses, their response to Phos and Eyeball had the most weight despite how simple it sounds on the surface.

You can argue that the pebble's response was due to their naiveté, but I think this pebble has repeatedly shown that their nuanced view of the world around them is sophisticated and mindful. After being told by Phos and Eyeball about how fascinating and yet awful humans were and even acknowledging humanities good and bad qualities, the pebble still believed that everyone deserves happiness, even those considered "bad".

I couldn't agree more with Eyeball and Phos on this page:

At first, I thought that these innocent and yet wise responses reminded me of old Phos, but the more I thought about it, this couldn't be further from the truth. While Phos was also very naïve at the beginning of the story, I think they were to lost in their own heads to truly think outside of their own unrealized desires, even when they claim their actions were to help everyone. So if you were to tell old Phos the stories of humanity and ask them the same questions, I don't think we would have gotten the same answers the pebble gave. And the more I think about, I doubt Phos would have ever made the same conclusion at any point in their story. There's nothing wrong with that, but that just has me thinking... It's interesting how this small pebbles seem more empathy for others than the previous human descendants, from the Lunarians, Admirabilis, and the even the Lustrous, even though they looked more human.

Tell me what you think! This was weird character analysis tangent and I'm curious to know if anyone has feels similarly or differently. But speaking of Phos's character... Onto the next section!

Friend to Closed Off Guardian: The barrier between Phos and the pebbles

While I was typing the paragraph that focused on Phos's mentor-like persona, I made a small realization. Is it just me or doesn't Phos's interactions with the pebbles feel different now? Yes, I pointed out that Phos is acting like a kind teacher in this chapter and I could be overanalyzing this, but while this interaction is cute on the surface, I can't help but feel there is more to this interaction. This is why I brought up Adamant, for Phos's interactions with the pebbles in this chapter reminded me of a certain aspect of Adamant's old relationship with the Lustrous.

As you may recall, Adamant assumed a leader/guardian role with the Lustrous over time. He had many reasons of doing so, including for their protection, but assuming this role came at a price; Adamant ended up keeping the Lustrous at an emotion distance. With the exception of Antarctictite and eventually Phos and Euclase, Adamant closed himself off from forming true close relationships to the gems, for their sake and his, effectively creating a barrier between them. This barrier only became obsolete after Adamant finally relented and opened up to the Earth gems after Phos's first attack on them, and even if it were just for a short time, Adamant and the Lustrous interacted on a somewhat equal footing.

Now lets go back to how Phos initially interacted with the pebbles. Not long after Phos found the first pebble, they didn't interact like how Adamant used to with the Lustrous. The two talked freely and sang together without a care in the world. Though Phos and this pebble are vastly different in many ways, it was clear that Phos saw them as a friend. An equal. And Phos was happy.

But now look at how Phos interacts with the pebbles now. I don't see Phos's interaction with the first pebble or any of the pebbles the same way anymore. Yes, Phos encourages the pebbles to speak freely, but to me, it feels like the same can't be said about Phos now. Phos isn't speaking as freely as they did before. They are selective in how they address the pebbles, kind of like Adamant. Phos is acting more like their guardian rather than their friend... like Adamant used to. Phos is fully embodying Adamants old role now and it's a little sad the more I think about.

After being alone for so long in more ways than one, Phos had finally found beings who treated them like a real friend. But because something in them changed, Phos is now slowly but surely assuming their role as the pebbles guardian and in doing so, that friendship connection is being replaced by a similar barrier that Adamant once donned.

Like I said, I'm probably overthinking this and giving Haruko Ichikawa more credit than what's due, but I just can't help but think about the parallels here. What do you think?

Acceptance: The End is Near

The last thing I'll touch on are the last few pages because...wow.

If I remember correctly from posts made by some keen eyed fans, the story had been hinting that the main sun is about to die. And one of the final stages of a star's death is that it would expand into either a red giant or a red super-giant, which was being depicted in that last image.

And if I'm interpreting those last few pages correctly, it seems that both Phos and Eyeball are aware that the sun will eventually consume the Earth. It will take a couple more thousand of years, but as we've seen here and in the previous chapters, time doesn't matter. The real end of everything is coming and those two are accepting it.

Yup. It looks like we have true confirmation for how this saga is going to finally end. And just like those two, I'm ready for it. Not out hatred or anything truly negative towards this series... I just feel like I'm ready for that final curtain call for this unique, thought provoking, and strenuous story.

I just hope the end will be a worthy end.

WHEW. This post ended up being even longer than I originally intended! Sorry about that. Regardless, I hope you liked it. Please don't hesitate to share your thoughts, even if you don't agree with me!

Until next time!

#houseki no kuni #land of the lustrous #hnk #hnk spoilers #hnk thoughts #hnk chapter 104 #hnk phos #hnk spoiler #hnk phosphophyllite #hnk meta #hnk manga spoilers #haruko ichikawa #hnk manga #lotl #hnk adamant

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funkylilomen · 11 months

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Forgive me if none of this makes sense, or if it just seems like I'm rambling (because I probably am), but I had some thoughts about Mind specifically and wanted to write them down in a semicoherent fashion.

I feel like, while Heart and Soul (mainly Soul) are deliberate in their weird shit and/or trying to pester the others, Mind... isn't. Mind will do weird shit and not realize that it's weird.

Staring is a big thing. Just intense staring at something or someone for extended amounts of time before one of them has to ask if he's okay because they think he's upset or something like that. But nope. Eight times out of ten, he was just observing. The other two times, he got lost in his head and subconsciously focused his sight on something.

Where the other two can find a sort of middle ground (with Heart's ever changing and complex emotions that can balance each other out at times, or Soul's just general theme of balance and being said middle ground), Mind does things with intensity, or a severe lack thereof. There's no in between, so it confuses the hell out of everyone else, especially when he abruptly switches between the two.

Also, expressing and partaking in interests weirds them out as well. Whether it be a lack of understanding (through lacking the emotional portion that comes with enjoying certain activities) or feeling the need to hide his interests to keep up a cold persona, when Mind does partake in hobbies, he does it so... blankly. With a lack of enthusiasm. I.e., standing outside in the middle of a thunderstorm like an NPC. And then when the others are promptly confused and trying to ask him what the fuck he's doing, he's just like, "I like the rain." Which does not help with their confusion, by the way. (hello cte followers!)

Does any of this make sense? Are any of these points connected enough? No clue. Anyways, that's my spiel, do with it what you will. :]

#bet you can't guess who my favorite is /j #funky lil thoughts #chonny jash #chonnys charming chaos compendium #chonny's charming chaos compendium #cccc #cj heart #cj mind #cj soul #cccc heart #cccc mind #cccc soul

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lemedstudent2021 · 23 days

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Where should Jews live? Where do they belong? Where do you consider their native land to be? Honest question.

an honest question deserves an honest answer so here ya go:

Anywhere and everywhere. Jews- the followers of the Abrahamic religion Judaism- along with Muslims, Christians, Atheists, Sikhs, Vegans, and literally any human being under the sun have the right to live wherever they please (given certain criteria are met like visas and that it isnt a military station/ off limits area etc).

Yes my dear reader(s) you read that right; ones faith or lack thereof shouldnt be an obstacle in any aspect of ones life, be it medical services, education, job opportunities, so on and so forth. How novel.

That answers where they 'should' live (although I dont by any means impose anything on anyone; y'all do whatever as long as its legal and harms no one including yourself. God bless). Could is more accurate.

As for where they 'belong', this in my opinion is one of the beauties of religion: people from all walks of life can belong to a religion. Diversity lies at the heart of our existence as human beings and denying it is like denying the existence of the sun. Tolerance is a must if we are ever going to get along with each other. And this belonging isn't irrevocabley tied to geography. But I digress :)

Quick aside just so we're all on the same page: converting to a religion renders you just as valid and equal as someone born into a religion. Most if not all religions preach equality between their followers regardless of background, so i wont hear anything of 'oh theyre not real xyz' or 'they dont count' or any of that bs.

By this logic (religious demographics are, generally speaking, very diverse), there is no 'this set of people belong here, and those over there' ...and proof of that in a sense would be atheists/ agnostics; where would they 'belong'? Antarctica? Outer space? alright ill stop XD

If that were the case, most of the planet would be crammed in the Middle East lol [Syria, Jordan, and Lebanon alone are home to 34M (as of 2023), and the followers of the 3 main Abrahamic religions are an estimated 3.4B (as of 2020) globally. We wouldnt fit even if we used one of these]. Yeah nationality/ race/ ethnicity/ background influence and maybe even dictate one's religious identity, but it isn't the all or nothing we may think it to be.

Which brings us nicely to the next point, and here if you'll allow me i'd like to correct it to native land of Judaism (where it originated/ flourished/ spread whatever) as opposed to native land of Jews because as i mentioned above, a religion doesnt (or shouldnt) differentiate nor discriminate between its followers. By restricting them to one geographical location (and for some using it as an indicator of their authenticity) we do them great disservice as well as contradict the teachings themselves. A demonstration:

Im Jordanian right, (dad's maternal side are from bilad al sham; Syria) and im a born Muslim alhamdulillah. My dads Malaysian roommates from his uni days are also born Muslims (and have the best food lol, my all time favourite is lemak cili padi) and seperating us on the basis of them not being Arab or Middle Eastern is unislamic, intolerant, xenophobic, and wrong on every level. Alternatively, im just as Muslim as someone from Mecca or Medina. We're all Muslim. we are the world...

Circling back, Judaism the religion is native to the Holy land (I guess you can say it started in Egypt till it moved there but idk. Regardless), and Jews (adherants of the faith) can't in my humble opinion be fairly categorised as one monolithic unit... just like any and every other faith out there.

Another quick aside; this is merely a tumblr post that cant do the history and culture and intricacies and so much more of this matter a portion of the justice it deserves. I am but a tired medical student answering to the best of my abilities a question I was asked with my limited knowledge in theology and perspective in general, so do me a favour and keep that in mind. And to anyone reading this if you have questions or corrections or resources or anything you want to mention be my guest :)

If you're still here, I'm both grateful and amused. Here's what you probably came for, the piece de resistance if you will: 🍉israel🍉

Disclaimer: thanks for reading this far, but if you disagree in any way shape or form with any of the 30 human rights articles, you may as well stop reading and put your device through the shredder. Bigots, racists, fascists, anti vaxxers etc. dni

So far ive seen this idea, call it what you will, two times (which isnt a lot but its weird that it happened to me twice consecutively), that claims the freedom of Palestine equals a genocide of the Jews.

Er, no? No ma'am. One does not solve a genocide by comitting another genocide. What part of 'never again' are we missing here?

Before we get into politcal nominations and factions and other territories i dont plan on invading (pun intended) but might accidentally cross anyway (I forgot where i was going with this) i want to remind everyone that Judaism is not synonymous with Israel nor zionism (if u disagree with this go ahead and shred ur device too).

A refresher: Judaism is a religion, Israel is an illegal-occupying-apartheid-state, and Zionism is a movement/ ideology

So 'genocide of the Jews' is both wrong (diction) and more wrong (factually incorrect) in that the liberation of Palestine means freedom from oppression, discrimination, settler colonialism... the whole nine yards. Enough bloodshed already its been nearly 76 years.

When Netenyahu is eventually drop kicked out of office (and hopefully hung, drawn, and quartered for his plentiful warcrimes) what happens to the (illegal) citizens of Israel? Well first off, return the stolen homes and land to their rightful owners who have the keys (and documents if they werent tampered with or erased) to prove it.

As for the illegal-under-international-law settlements and new also illegal establishments; I have no idea what international laws will decree (not that I have that much faith in the judiciary system), but I assume they will be seized and evicted of the illegal tenants (how you like me now?) and given to those who have been displaced or homes ruined etc. because its theirs and theirs alone and it was unlawfully and cruelly taken away from them and not because the (remaining lol) former Israeli citizens can't or shouldn't live in palestine. they can go live somewhere where its legal. the priority is Palestinians tho.

What about the indigenous everyone else? As long as their houses aren't stolen or illegal they can should stay because its legal and its theirs and thats that. you cannot kick someone out of their home to give it to another (which was the basis of the creation of Israel.) because its ✨i l l e g a l✨

And the people who dont belong so to speak? I think this one's case by case; like I said at the very, very beginning; people have the right to live wherever as long as its legal and ok to do so regardless of faith or background, and no one should be denied their right to live in Palestine as a country like any other, but they certainly must be denied living in homes stolen and given to them because thats, say it with me now, illegal <3

#pls excuse any grammatical/ spelling errors; i had a big exam yesterday and lectures resumed today and im still recovering lol #no joke this has taken me more than 5 hours to write #i have a raging headache and overdue lectures to study #and i dont regret it #if anyone reading this learnt anything or widened their perspective if only a bit it will have been more than worth it #im a sucker for any sort of knowledge and insight and i know my effort wont be lost :)#to anon thank you for the question. i hope i answered you well #if not #ah well #(if there is something specific tho id be interested to hear)#...unless this was satire or something and it flew right over my head. can you smell the overthinking?#i tried to keep this as real to life as possible because lots of things get lost over the internet communication-wise #hence the bad jokes and puns and references #not to make light of the situation on the ground #but to seem yk human and not robotic and unfeeling #idk i tried #do with that what you will #tag me tho #im so tired #but alhamdulillah #yall i reread everyhting to use capital letters and apostrophes wheres my nobel prize in literature? (mostly)#free palestine #free gaza #free rafah #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #fuck israel #its illegal xxx #ask #answered #anon ask

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eldritch-spouse · 10 months

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Do sloth demons need to eat dreams to feed? Or is it just a pleasant bonus snack.

[I'm going to need to explain some things first.]

Recall that some of Hell's denizens don't exactly have the most standard anatomies. While a good portion of them have at least one eye and one mouth -Or at least something that allows ingestion/digestion- There are often cases wherein a demon's body just doesn't... Correspond to those needs.

Like Rinx, for example. He doesn't eat. He may collect food, but that is only the fruit of his instincts. Rinx sustains himself through the ritual of acquiring items, or taking in general. It's why his hands are never still wherever he goes. When belongings are taken from him, power is taken, he grows "hungry".

The same can be said for other types of demons who can't ingest food. Sloth demons who have that physical trait (or lack thereof), for example, absorb dreams and the energy they drain off their victims.

This isn't to say that the ones who feature conventional mouths can't feast on dreams, they sure can, it powers them just as well. In fact, a demon's health is less tied to what they physically eat than it is to what they inflict/take from others. This is why many can go great spans of time without eating standard foods if they're more predatorial in nature.

It's worth noting that a demon can't rely fully on standard food, they do have to satisfy their instinctual type-based needs some way or another or they'll start getting sick.

Concubi are special in the sense that food does zero in terms of actual nourishment. And gluttons are also special in the sense that food does provide them the most energy compared to other types.

#general tce #confusing I know #vaya-mernda

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todaysdocument · 6 months

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Memorial of the inhabitants of Nauvoo in Illinois, praying redress for injuries to the persons and property by lawless proceedings of citizens of Missouri (Joseph Smith, et al)

Record Group 46: Records of the U.S. SenateSeries: Committee Papers of the Committee on the JudiciaryFile Unit: Petitions and Memorials Referred to the Judiciary Commiteee Relating to Various Subjects in the 28th Congress

To the Honorable the Senate and House of Representatives [large and bolded] of the United States in Congress assembled The Memorial of the undersigned inhabitants of Hancock County in the State of Illinois respectfully sheweth: That they belong to the Society of Latter Day Saints, commonly called Mormons, that a portion of our people commenced settling in Jackson County Missouri in the Summer of 1831, where they purchased lands and settled upon them with the intention and expectation of becoming permanent citizens in Common with others. From a very early period after the Settlement began, a very unfriendly feeling was manifested by the neighboring people; and as the Society increased, this unfriendly Spirit also increased until it--- degenerated into a cruel and unrelenting persecution and the Society was at last compelled to leave the county. An account of these unprovoked persecutions has been published to the world, yet we deem it not improper to embody a few of the most prominent items in this memorial and lay them before your honorable body. On the 20th of July 1833, a mob collected at Independence, a deputation or Committee from which, called upon a few members of our Church there, and stated to them that the Store, Printing Office, and all Mechanic Shops belonging to our people must be closed forthwith, and the Society leave the county immediately. These conditions were so unexpected and so hard, that a short time was asked for to consider on the subject before an answer could be given, which was refused, and when some of our men answered that they could not consent to comply with such propositions, the work of destruction--- commenced. The Printing Office, a valuable two story brick building was destroyed by the mob and with it much valuable property; they next went to the Store for the same purpose, but one of the owners thereof, agreeing to close it, they abandoned their design. A series of outrages was then commenced by the mob upon individual numbers of our Society; Bishop Partridge was dragged from his house and family where he was first partially stripped of his clothes and then tarred and feathered from head to foot. A man by the name of Allan was also tarred at the same time. Three days afterwards the Mob assembled in great numbers, bearing a red flag, and proclaiming that, unless the Society would leave "en masse" [underlined], every man of them should be killed. Being in a defenceless situation, to avoid a general massacre, a treaty was entered into and ratified, by which it was agreed that one half of the Society should leave the county by the first of January, and the remainder by the first of April following. In October, while our people were gathering their crops and otherwise preparing to fulfill their part of the treaty, the mob again collected without any provocation, shot at some of our people, whipped others, threw down their houses, and committed many other depredations; the members of the Society were for some time harassed, both day and night, their houses assailed and broken open, and their women and children insulted and abused. [Full transcription at link]

#archivesgov #November 28 #1843 #LDS #Nauvoo #mormons #mormonism #latter day saints #19th century

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hxneyhxrts · 1 year

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Rain Soaked || Jake “Hangman” Seresin (part 7-final)

Part 6

note: sorry for holding this part hostage, life has finally settled down and i have stopped rewriting this over and over again. i didn’t want to break this up into multiple pets like i had originally planned, i wanted to just leave it as is. thank you if you still care about this almost a year (oh my GOD) later. love yew xx

warning: brief mention of sex, explicit language, angst

The Exit

Feels like we had matching wounds

But mine’s still black and bruised

And yours is perfectly fine

Gwyn couldn’t bring herself to tell Alec much about what happened at the bar. At least not that night. She knew telling him about James’ behavior and the total disaster that was dinner would only piss him off, and telling him about Jake’s sudden appearance and wandering hands would infuriate him.

She wanted to keep the peace between her coworkers after all.

So when she rolled back home that night, very much alone and confused, she waved off her best friend’s parade of questions, only giving him a “yeah it was fine” and shutting herself into a restless slumber.

Gwyn dreamt of Jake that night, of the way his fingers felt against her waist and stomach and how badly it ached to have him so close and the thought that maybe he only got that close because he had had a few drinks. Had Gwyn become nothing more than the thing he sought out when he was tipsy? Was he even tipsy when he approached her? It wasn’t like Jake Seresin to skip out on drinks when he found himself at a bar, but Gwyn’s traitorous heart sang that she would’ve known if he had been intoxicated.

She awoke with a start when images of his lips pressing against her flushed skin pushed at the edges of her brain and practically electrocuted her. Gwyn dutifully ignored the flash of a notification on her phone telling her that James was messaging her, opting to shower herself into a somewhat presentable state.

When she finally slumped down into one of the stools lining the kitchen bar, Alec had finished plating up some breakfast and pushed it towards her with a knowing smirk. “You gonna tell me about it, or am I gonna have to just assume the worst?”

The food tasted like ash on her tongue, a testament to Alec’s cooking skills (or lack thereof), but the words she choked out tasted even worse. “It was awful.”

Her friend nodded, as if he already knew as much, had guessed just by looking at her. And maybe he had. “Tell me about it,” he prodded gently, while pouring himself a cup of coffee.

Gwyn sighed. “It was like he was competing for the worst first date ever,” she groaned, grimacing at Alec’s laugh. “I’m serious! He was such an ass.”

It felt good to know that if she hated the date, it wasn’t because of her lingering feelings. At the very least, she wasn’t the root of it, she just genuinely did not enjoy herself and wouldn’t have even if the circumstance was different.

Even if she hadn’t still been atrociously in love with Jake Seresin, she would’ve hated it all the same.

Alec, just as she predicted, rolled his eyes through her entire story, offering the occasional scoff when necessary. By the time she had finished (pointedly leaving out the Jake portion of her little tale), her friend’s ears had gone red.

“You’re too pretty for him anyway,” he insisted, and went on his way to wash up their breakfast dishes.

Gwyn wanted to be upset, at least more upset than she was, but all she could conjure was mild disappointment at best. She’d had worse dates, and this one at least brought Jake’s wandering hands along with it.

Pathetic.

Her sad and silly attempt at getting back into dating with someone she figured could maybe do away with her funk had only driven her further into the seemingly never-ending Hangman pit. She wondered how many girls before her had found themselves in the same place, head over heels for the blonde pilot, only to find themselves clawing at clay and mud to pull themselves out of the gaping hole his presence left when he ditched them.

She wondered how many girls would join her in the pit, how many he intended to add to the roster once they went their separate ways. She wondered how large this sad excuse of a sisterhood would grow before Jake decided he was done.

And through it all, the hatred for him and the desperation to have him close, Gwyn could still feel the exact place his fingers had bruised her hips.

—------------------

The weekend passed blissfully slow, as if Gwyn had commanded it to and it was submissive to her will. Days crawled by at a snail’s pace until they dragged her straight into Monday morning, but she was ready. She knew what had happened, and knew Jake was somewhat on the sober side (at least enough to remember the way he had touched her, she hoped), and she had control of the situation.

Saturday was spent going over every single second of the night. When he must have crawled in for her to not notice, how he sounded when he spoke, what he smelled like, how close he had gotten, the feeling of his breath against her ear, everything that made her feel nauseous if she sat on it for too long.

Sunday was for planning.

Sunday morning spurred something in her, a new sense of change and command. After all, she wasn’t the one who had thrown herself all over her ex at a bar while he was on a date with someone else. She hadn’t been the one to make a fool of herself. Jake had acted out of turn, and she would confront him about it. Ask him what his deal was, and cut him loose before she dug that awful pit any deeper.

Well, maybe not the last part, but she’d certainly try.

Gwyn wasn’t sure exactly what she was going to say or do, but she knew something needed to be said. Jake wouldn’t outright apologize for anything or even acknowledge it, but he knew what he did and she needed to hear him say that he knew what happened and that she hadn’t imagined the heat between their bodies.

Or something.

God.

One step at a time.

First, she needed to track him down and ask to speak in private. That much, she could handle, and she wouldn’t think about the conversation to follow until she absolutely had to.

So Gwyn wound her way through the never ending gray corridors of their unit base, occasionally peeking through open doors off to the side to scan the rooms for a tuft of blonde.

“Canadee!”

The booming timbre rang through the hall, and Gwyn felt ice settle in her veins.

Admiral Holt.

She turned reluctantly to find him approaching her with purposeful strides that screamed his rank to anyone who looked at him. “Sir,” she greeted, cursing how small her voice sounded.

“Walk with me.” And he breezed right past her.

Gwyn’s feet struggled to match his bounding strides, taking two steps for each of his, and by the time they swung into an office she assumed was his, she was near panting.

“Sit,” Holt ordered.

The chair felt stiff and worn beneath her, but she would have sat on a bed of nails at that moment if it meant avoiding whatever discussion was about to unfold.

Holt leveled her with a hard stare before breaking the uncomfortable silence. “I was wrong about you.”

Christ.

Okay, then.

Holt barrelled on past her confused look, talking without leaving room for pause. “I’ll admit, I was a little hesitant having you on this mission, considering your experience or lack thereof, but you’ve been nothing but impressive lately. And I’m man enough to know when I was wrong. Just thought I’d share that with you and maybe apologize if I haven’t been as welcoming as you may have deserved.”

Gwyn’s breath felt solid in her throat.

Was Holt complimenting her?

Oh my God, he was complimenting her.

“Oh,” she started dumbly. “Thank you. Sir.”

Holt smiled thinly, as if he didn’t do it often enough to be comfortable. He dropped his head in a curt nod that told her she was dismissed, and Gwyn scrambled for the door.

“You know,” Holt cut her off just as her fingers brushed against the cool brass doorknob. “I thought Seresin was crazy when he brought your name up and pushed for your spot. But I’ll admit, he made a good call.”

His dry chuckle raked against her ears even as they filled with cotton. He had clearly meant it as a passing comment, something to quell the awkward air pushing in at her from all sides, but the words sank her.

Jake.

Jake had picked her for this.

Jake picked her.

“Jake suggested me for this?”

A stupid question to ask considering Holt wasn’t a man who enjoyed repeating himself, but Gwyn had to know. Had to know she hadn’t misheard him.

Holt’s brow furrowed slightly. “Well yes, Seresin was given three spots to fill on his own recommendation, and you were one of those spots,” he trailed off, eyeing her fingers that shook by her sides. “I figured you knew.”

“Right,” Gwyn cleared her throat and plastered on a smile. “Right, sorry, must’ve just slipped my mind. One of those days, you know?”

It was a lousy cover, but Holt accepted it with a nod all the same. She tried to pace her steps to look even and calm, but her nerves were on fire and her skin felt clammy.

Her feet moved without authority or reason, and it was several turns through winding halls before she realized she was stomping.

Jake.

Jake had picked her for this.

Jake had yanked her right out of Top Gun to bring her out here without even telling her it was him who made that call. Hell, had even outright lied about his knowing she would be here.

Heavy footfalls rang out like gunfire through the corridor as her legs worked their way to Jake’s office. And before she could talk herself down on the mountain of hysteria she had dragged herself up the edge of, she was pushing through the heavy metal door.

“You son of a bitch,” she snarled.

Gwyn hadn’t been sure what she was going to say once she saw Jake, but her anger had made the decision for her, nasty words spewing from her lips without her consent.

Good. Maybe she wanted to say these things. Maybe Jake deserved to hear these things.

Jake’s eyes snapped to hers, as did Rooster’s from his place perched on a desk chair across from the sole target of her malice. Bradshaw sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, and practically scrambled to stand.

“I’m gonna go,” he stuttered out to the captain, but Jake’s gaze was trained on her, hard and unflinching. The blonde was nearly yelling before Bradley had even fully closed the door behind him.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” he hissed, rising to his full height, but keeping a safe distance away and leaving his desk to separate them. “You are under no authority to stomp into my office like some petulant brat and start with this again.”

Memories of cornering him in a crowded locker room flooded her, as well as the hushed confession that followed her screaming, and Gwyn hated the way her cheeks warmed for something other than anger then. She wouldn’t allow him that, wouldn’t give him any of her softness.

Not now.

“You gave Holt my name. You enlisted me for this detachment.” The words sounded angry and wild in the way she tossed them at him like an accusation, and she saw the way his eyes wavered, unsteady and unsure. Good. She wanted him as unnerved as her.

Jake’s shoulders were tense, and a rogue muscle in his jaw ticked in time with her pounding heartbeat. His next word was casual and careful in a way that told her he was trying to stay calm. “And?”

“And?!” Gwyn felt hot tears pooling at her waterline, a dam pushing until it found a crack to burst through. “You break up with me for your career, and then have the nerve to drag me away from mine?”

And there it was. That malice that had been festering in her broke and she took long heaving breaths to keep from screaming or crying or both maybe. Jake looked crestfallen, a stupid sort of expression that did nothing for her fury. She felt that horrible nausea that burned creep up along with her rage. He didn’t deserve her kindness, and she would not waste it on him.

“Gwyn,” he started, “I wasn’t trying to-”

“I liked my job,” she insisted, but it didn’t sound convincing even to her own ears. It didn’t do much to convince Jake, either.

With a scoff and an eye roll, he cut back at her in the way that only he ever could. “Like you were ever going to be content just teaching.”

“It wasn’t for you to decide whether I was content or not!” she roared, blood pounding in her ears now. But onwards she pushed. “I was fine! Fine and a lot less angry than I am right now.”

Her hands were shaking, and she watched Jake’s eyes dart to her trembling fingers. She didn’t want him to see them, see how vulnerable she was, so she raised her voice. “Did you think I would drag you away from your precious fucking promotion? That I wouldn’t be happy for you and celebrate it? That I would keep you from it or bring you down? Well you got it! And now you plan on dragging me along behind you at every turn just to prove you can? Just to prove you have authority over me now?” And just because she could, she added, “Or was that your idea of a honeymoon?”

The blonde stilled, eyes widening a fraction and Gwyn dug in ten times harder. Her anger was a cruel and foul thing that had buried itself in her heart and ripped at its walls, pushing her to hurt him the way she hurt.

“I saw the ring. On your phone.” A part of her whispered to stop, let him be and walk away, but the larger, angrier part kept lunging at him while he was wounded. “It’s amazing that you can go from searching for wedding rings to bowing out as soon as a pay raise comes along, huh captain?”

The title was harsh and bitter as it sat in the air between them.

And then Jake snapped.

“See, that’s the fucking problem with you Gwyn. You always think you know everything,” he roared.

Gwyn cowered against the volume and opened her mouth to shout back, but Jake was still going.

“You think I broke up with the only person I’ve ever loved like that for a fucking job? Are you fucking serious? Or are you just that fucking stupid?”

He was stalking towards her now, footsteps calculated and slow, a predator approaching its prey. Gwyn hated how uneasy the motion made her, and nearly bared her teeth.

She had never seen him quite this angry, even at their worst when he was just some jackass coworker who nipped at her heels whenever she got too close. Something had shifted between them, something that wouldn’t be done away now.

“Then what was it, captain? Tell me,” she bit out.

There was a fire in Jake’s eyes, rage like she had never seen in him. “I know you’re new to this field, but when you get a big boy job like the detachment I got called away on, things are a little bigger than the stupid fucking defense missions you’ve been on, let alone playing teacher at Top Gun.”

She bristled at the insult, ready to tear him down, but he barged on as if she were nothing more than an inconvenience at best.

“I lost two men in that mission, both under my direction when they were shot down. Do you have any idea what that’s like?” She didn’t, and he knew that. He was pushing back at her now, blow for blow. “And the sickest part was, all I could think about throughout it all was you. You. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I thought about what I would have done if it had been you out there with me. Or what you would have done if it had been me. And how fucking miserable it would be to be shot down and never have had the privilege of marrying you. Or worse yet, Marrying you, only to leave you lonely when I didn’t make it home. It’s fucking sick, to sit in a hospital waiting room with the family of two men I was supposed to look out for, and only think of you.”

He scrubbed an anxious hand across his face, while Gwyn’s head reeled.

His next blow was so much worse than anything she could have imagined.

“I bought the ring.”

And for reasons she couldn’t fully understand, a small sad part of her quieted as tears pushed at her eyelids harder.

Jake barrelled on, oblivious to the weight he was crushing her under, panting almost as he tore her apart piece by piece. “I bought it almost as soon as I saw it. I knew there was no conceivable future in which I didn’t propose, so I bought it. And I came so close to asking you so many times, but every time I reached for it, I saw them. I saw all the people we’ve almost lost and I couldn’t do it. So I’m sorry if you felt cheated, but don’t walk in here and pretend you know a goddamn thing about what I did or why I left.”

His breathing was ragged and uneven. A flush spread across his cheeks and neck, and Gwyn longed to reach for him.

She didn’t.

Instead, she swallowed and tried to square her shoulders. “Why call me out here?”

A coward’s question, meant to deflect the conversation away from territory so foreign and sad.

Jake laughed, a mocking and disbelieving sound. “Goddamn it, baby, because I wanted to see you. I just-” he threw his hands up, a pained expression crossing his face. “I needed to see you. And selfishly, I thought that maybe you would want to see me too.”

She did. At least a little. But could she admit that, after pulling back the curtain on the ghost that had hung between them for months now?

Another thought burned at the edges of her brain, pulsing hot enough to scorn her. A question she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer to.

A question she didn’t need the answer to, less she punished herself any further.

But she decided she could withstand a bit more torture.

“Where’s the ring?”

Jake's fingers flexed, a subtle twitch that betrayed his nervousness, and answered her. A stone settled in her stomach Jake opened his mouth to speak.

“Gwyn, please-”

“Jake,” she cut him off, voice nearly a whisper. “Where’s the ring?”

He swallowed. Once. Twice.

“In my desk drawer.”

And suddenly, Gwyn could almost feel the tangible and crushing weight of the object, no more than twenty feet away from her. Tucked away against mounds of folders and reports was the very thing she once thought she would have died for. She felt sick, horribly and overwhelmingly sick. Standing so close to so many unanswered questions and hurts, Gwyn felt the room tilt on its side for a second.

“You brought it here.” It sounded like more of a statement than a question, and her tongue dried as she pushed through the questions she was beginning to hate herself for asking. “Why?”

If sullen had taken human form, it would be Jake Seresin, all bright colors and light gone with the heavy press of emotions pulling him down. “I don’t know.”

“Were you-” she swallowed past a lump that had formed, head light and swimming. “Uh… Were you planning to…”

Gwyn couldn’t bring herself to finish the question. Jake looked like he couldn’t have listened to her ask it if she had.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you know?”

“That I love you.”

It was too much. The walls had begun pressing in on her and the oxygen in the room had fled with her common sense.

She wanted to tell him she needed a second to breathe, a moment to think, but the words wouldn’t come.

Gwyn left without looking over her shoulder to see his face.

—-------------

Scalding water poured over her shoulders and back, leaving them raw and pink. The shower had been a way to calm her beating heart and scattered brain, but nothing was working. Not the music she had turned up to deafening volumes on the drive home, not the two drinks she had made herself once she chucked her boots off at her front door, and not the steaming water raining over her bowed head.

The ache was so much worse than she could have ever imagined. If she thought Jake leaving was awful, this new pain was an untamed beast of which she had never encountered. It tore her insides to shreds on its claws and made a mess of her. A headache pounded at her temples from the tears she had let fall down the shower drain, and her entire being felt heavy and weary all over.

He had the ring. He brought the ring.

He had wanted her as his wife, had almost asked her. He had wanted her forever. And some part of him still wanted her enough to bring her ring to this detachment.

No. Not her ring. It was just a ring Jake had.

For her.

He hadn’t left for some job. He had kept things from her, yes, but nothing she could ever fault him for.

And if she couldn’t fault him, she had nothing against him.

Nothing to guard herself against him and the ever-present ache that followed her every thought about him.

So it consumed her in small bites, pulling at her nerves until she thought she’d crumble.

Alec walked in long after the water had turned ice cold, raising goosebumps and scattering them across her flesh. He took one knowing look at her and grabbed a towel off the rack to wrap her up in. He ushered her out from the blanket of quiet the shower had smothered her in, and steered her into her bed where he curled both arms around her.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Gwyn didn’t. She didn’t even know if she could.

“I saw Seresin,” Alec went on. “Passed him on my way out. He looks even worse than you do if it’s any consolation.”

It wasn’t. Because she had done that. She had made him that way.

God everything was so awful.

She was awful.

“I think I messed everything up again,” she muttered into the cotton of his shirt.

Alec huffed a laugh into her wet curls. “You have a habit of doing that, my love.”

She pinched him, a small smirk cracking at her dry lips despite the heaviness that still laid against her.

“I’m not a member of the Jake Seresin fan club,” Alec continued, more serious now. “God knows, he could do with a few less people kissing that perfect ass of his. But I don’t think he’s a bad guy. He might even be half decent if you squint hard enough.”

Alec’s hands brushed up and down her spine in soothing strokes, as her breath started to hiccup. His words kept coming, soft and warm, just for her. “He’s not a bad pilot by any measure, not that he’d ever let you forget it. And he’s got a smile that could start and end wars. Did I mention his ass yet?”

Gwyn snorted a laugh, even as her eyes stung. “Where are you going with this?”

Alec’s voice softened, barely more than a whisper. “I’m just saying he’s not half bad.” Fingers drew patterns across her arms, sure and calm. “And that he’d make a good husband if you let him.”

Gwyn jerked back, tears freely flowing down her cheeks now. Alec was staring down at her with a small, private smile, always knowing more than he should. He bumped his nose against hers before speaking again. “Nowhere near what you deserve, of course, but he’d do his best.”

Her hands were shaking against the strong lines of muscle beneath her fingers. Alec had always seen right through her, even now after all the distance and time that had passed. She often thought that maybe in some other universe, they held each other just like this, as lovers instead of friends, and wondered if it would be simpler there. Or if she even wanted that simplicity, when roughness brought her Jake. Alec’s eyes were gazing at her with such tenderness that she almost sobbed.

He squeezed her once more before nudging her towards the edge of the bed.

“Go.”

—-------------------

Jake’s military-issued apartment was an alarmingly short drive from hers, giving her no time or space to collect her thoughts and devise what she wanted to say.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Gwyn found herself face to face with his door, fist raised and poised to knock. She nearly hesitated as she once again found herself short on what to say, but she rapped her knuckles against the wood.

Jake swung the door back almost immediately, a desperate sort of relief washing over his features as he took in the sight of her and her still wet hair. “Gwyn,” he breathed.

She started at the sound of her name on his lips, of how gentle he sounded saying it.

And how badly she missed hearing it.

Silence hung between them, too long and obvious to be anything besides awkward, but Jake was still looking at her with that same fondness that broke her.

“I don’t know what your plans are,” she started, fingers trembling enough to draw his gaze, but this time she let him watch them shake, allowed him to see her vulnerability. Something she would only ever give to him. “I don’t know where you plan on going from here, or what you picture after all of this… Or if I’m in those plans. If you’ll even still have me-”

“Of course I’d have you,” Jake cut in, voice sincere and raw. “I’ll always have you.”

She hiccuped down tears. He’d still have her, even with her everything. Even with his everything.

So that was it. It had been settled.

“You better be a good husband.”

A grin wide enough to split his cheeks broke out across Jake’s mouth, and she watched as his fingers twitched against the door.

“I’ll be the best goddamn husband you’ll ever have.”

She nearly sobbed as she fell into him, smashing her lips against his desperately, like she might die without him. And maybe she would have.

Jake’s hands landed across her back, gripping her shirt and flesh in a bruising grip. His mouth worked fervently against hers, a small mercy considering how horrible she had been to him.

His skin was warm and familiar under her roaming hands, and Gwyn sighed into the kiss and she reacquainted herself with every corner of him.

“Jake,” she moaned as he nipped at the swell of her lips.

The blonde in question groaned against her, pulling at her clothes with a neediness she had missed.

They kissed for what felt like hours, only pulling away for breath when their lungs squeezed. Jake was staring down at her, cheeks flushed and perfect.

“There she is,” he whispered, just for her. “There’s my girl.”

Gwyn seized up and caught his mouth once again.

When she awoke the next morning in a tangle of sheets and naked flesh, she grinned. The weight on her ring finger caught the sunlight pouring in through the window, twinkling as she turned her hand to admire it for the hundredth time since Jake had slid it on her.

They had spent the better part of the night twisted in each other, only settling when exhaustion threatened to undo them at the seams. As Gwyn had curled herself around a pillow she knew was Jake’s favorite, the blonde had slid from beneath the cocoon of blankets and retrieved something from the pocket of his pants that had been messily discarded somewhere near the foot of the bed. When he returned, he had grabbed her hand that had bunched in the soft cotton of his pillow.

He had been smiling when he slid the ring on her finger, the cool metal fitting just perfectly in the way only Jake Seresin could pull off without her knowledge. There hadn’t been a speech, no grand declaration of love and eternity, and she didn’t need one. Not when she could see it in the way he brushed his tired mouth over her knuckles and watched her settle in for bed with a smile that never left him, even in sleep.

Soft snores still filled the room as she pulled herself out of the cage of his arms, only pausing when he grumbled for her to come back. But Gwyn only laughed, pecking his cheek and moving for the bathroom to clean herself up a bit. Her eyes caught sight of the fingerprints scattered and pressed across her hips.

She was only afforded a few minutes of privately admiring her newfound marks before Jake stumbled in, rubbing the sleep from his eyes through barely-concealed yawns. He smiled at her blearily in the reflection of the mirror, and wrapped his arms across her chest posessively.

“Good morning,” she breathed, smiling at him widely and unguarded. Jake smiled back before his eyes softened, the change in his expression almost laughably obvious.

Silence hung for a moment. Then Jake straightened up, a devious glint in those green eyes now.

“Get dressed,” he demanded, stalking away from her to grab a button-up shirt that had been tossed over a chair.

Gwyn’s brow furrowed. “For what? Are we going somewhere?”

“We are,” he smiled, glancing at her as he worked on his buttons. “We’re gonna go get married.”

And like always when it came to Jake Seresin, Gwyn’s breath caught.

“What are you talking about?” she breathed through a laugh.

Jake spun to face her fully, and yanked her close with his hands planted firmly on her hips. “We’re getting married. Today.”

And it sounded so obvious when he said it, that she almost found herself agreeing without reason or argument.

Almost. She couldn’t just let him have it though.

“Jake,” she giggled as he nipped and kissed her neck. “We just got engaged last night.”

“Yes, and I said I’d be a good husband, but I didn’t promise shit about being a good fiance, so we need to get this sorted out pretty quickly.”

Gwyn threw her head back in a full cackle, earning her a toothy grin from the man still clinging to her like she might float away.

Once her laughter died down enough to speak, she pushed one more time for reason. “I don’t have any clothes here. Unless you want to marry me in my pajamas.”

Jake smirked again, a knowing expression, like she was missing out on some inside joke. He pulled away and turned to his dresser, tearing open a drawer and rifling around for a second before turning back around clutching a wad of fabric in his fist.

Her stomach turned, in that sweet way that makes you feel sick with giddy. “My dress,” she breathed.

Because it was her dress, her “date dress” that Alec had mercilessly teased her for. The very same dress she had almost wasted on James, and very well would have had she been able to find it the other night.

Jake at least had the sense to look bashful as he handed it over, and explained in a sheepish tone, “Yeah, I held on to it.”

Gwyn’s brow was still furrowed, racking her brain for the last time she had seen it and if she had ever even taken it with her on her visits to see Jake when he was away. “Held on to it?” she pressed, edging into suspicion.

The blonde scratched at the back of his neck with a nervous laugh before planting his hands on his hips. “Stole it, is probably a better way of putting it,” he admitted. Gwyn leveled him with an unimpressed glare, one without any heat behind it, but that still sent him scrambling to explain nonetheless.

“I just-,” he huffed out, glancing anywhere but at her. “It’s the dress you wore for your twenty-first, and I remember how pretty you looked and I just-”

He paused, blowing out a long breath. “I didn’t want you wearing that for anyone else who might’ve thought the same. I just couldn’t really stomach that. So I snatched it the last time I was in town.”

She wanted to kiss again. And again. And maybe never stop.

Forever.

Without another word, Gwyn excused herself to the bathroom to pull the old garment over her head and comb her hair back into something half-presentable. When she emerged just a few minutes later, Jake was fumbling with his belt, head snapping up at the sight of her. A small grin broke out over his face.

“Hello, Mrs. Seresin.”

Gwyn scoffed, even as her cheeks lit up. “Not yet, Bagman.”

Jake only smiled wider at the nickname, teeth digging into his bottom lip. “Just trying to get a head start, baby.”

Warmth flushed through her chest and face at the endearment in his tone. Jake’s hand found hers and his tone was quiet and edging on serious when he spoke again.

“You sure you want to do this? I really don’t mind waiting if you’d like.”

Gwyn smiled.

“I didn’t have any other plans today anyway.”

BONUS- Gwyn Tells Alec

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #hangman top gun #jake hangman x reader #top gun maverick #rain soaked

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