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hollyhomburg · 5 months

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Before I Leave You (Pt.65)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: The truth always comes out one way or another, and with Jimin temporarily whisked away for surgery- it's up to you and yoongi to answer Namjoon's questions.

Tags: Angst, blood, guns, murder, discussions of morality, descriptions of dead bodies, discussion of past spousal abuse, confessions, hurt/comfort, sickfic, hospitals, reconciliation, vmin focus, Trans! tae, Everybody lives nobody dies,

W/c: 15.0k

A/N: this chapter is a bit heavy on the dialogue but! sorry that this chapter came out when it did, we're finally here! sorry for the break in chapters- I got some not great news about a family members health and wanted to spend some extra time with them over the holidays.

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

The abandoned industrial building rises without warning from the mist and fog. You could almost call in lonely. Although it has its comfort in its stillness, the same way that monsters that do not move do not instill fear. A foe vanquished but not forgotten.

The body. The dust. The puddle of blood by the door is more than enough evidence for plausible deniability. The faint splatter of it here and there like confetti left after a parade, or flower petals that fall in spring and pile up like snow.

Moonbyul stands in the doorway, like a pagan in a house of God. Out of place and out of mind. Dark coat unblemished by dust or blood. She doesn’t stoop to touch the ground or try and clean up the evidence from Jimin and Jin’s misbegotten hours here. She doesn’t think Hobi’s name, although she knows it.

God does she know it.

She’s poured over all the files that her men have collected about your pack for weeks now. Searching out weaknesses like a snake searches rabbit holes for soft fur and an easy meal. She’d spent the most time lingering over Tae’s file. The photos that shift from short hair to long, lipstick that she finds too pink and distasteful.

Red is better color.

She'd spent a long time pouring over Jin’s too because she’d needed to. Jimin and her cousins had been glossed over. She already knows enough about them to last a lifetime.

But only one file had given her paper cuts. Revenge on paper is not as sweet as it should be.

She doesn’t need to read that file anymore. Although she hears the words that the youth said so many months ago on repeat, you and Hobi in the coffee shop caught only on security camera. “I think I heard something I shouldn’t have”. As well as the ones that followed.

Contrary to popular belief, Moonbyul doesn’t like killing. She views it only as a necessity. She looks at the blood on the floor without any disgust. It’s been a long time since she’s cleaned up any alpha's mess, and she’s not going to start now.

She looks down at the blood and smiles. It’s a rare thing- seeing her smile. It’s different from her grin that bares her teeth. Sharped incisors changed and honed just before she’d been appointed the head of the moon family.

She remembers her mother's words when she’d looked at them in the mirror for the first time, She remembers that she could still taste the file they'd used to carve them. Metallic, like blood on her tongue.

“All the most dangerous alphas have fangs; you’ll need to learn to use them if you want to fill your father’s shoes.”

Familial death is more of a rite of passage than a time for mourning in the family. A time when power shifts and secrets get covered up or aired out. Like the moon waxing and waning.

Moonbyul hadn’t been born with fangs, the way alphas always are. Moonbyul hadn’t been born with a lot of things.

A smiling Moonbyul is either a happy or a bloodthirsty one. And a happy Moonbyul, when properly stroked- means they get privileges.

Privileges in their pack, amount to small little things most of the time. A night where they don’t have to take the heat inducers. A night where they can wear comfy sweats instead of the lingerie and stifling silk. But if they're extra sweet and good they get better things. A free evening where they can see their families as long as they come home before sunrise.

“Do you think he’s dead?” Solar is dressed as her clone today, with stockings pulled up her milky thighs flashing beneath the long hem. Extra extra cute in the way that she loops her arm into Moonbyuls and pouts. as if she's upset that her alpha is paying more attention to the murder than her.

She still smells faintly of sex, moonbyul, and her own ginger scent. Not like fresh cut- the kind that baked goods have around Christmas time.

Moonbyul smiles, rapping her long nails against where Solar's arm is curled around hers clinging to her as if her life depends on it. It does- Moonbyul and her both know it does. But Solar has always been a good pet. She’s never needed quite as much correction as Wheein who likes to know exactly where her cage ends and begins, or like Hyejin- who needs nearly as much combatting and careful maneuvering as their enemies.

She'd learned from Hyejin. Had never let the others have quite as much freedom or get used to challenging her. There's a reason why Hyejin had demanded to wear her mating mark and why Moonbyul had let her have it.

Omega's however sweet and however docile, still need a cage. Moonbyul's only ever tried to branch out of her tastes once, and she won't ever do it again. Disastrous as alphas are. They make piss-poor lovers and disobedient needy pets.

She sighs. Alphas and their messes.

In truth, the pack could use someone truly obedient, someone for whom being good is as easy as breathing to balance them out. The pack could use a good pup. The pack could use you.

Moonbyul burns in want, stewing in it ravenous. It’s not love, it’s not even really lust either. She’s never been an easily sated person. She’s always wanted too much, always finished the whole pint of ice cream in one sitting. She’s always wanted everything.

That’s why she’s smiling, because she’s about to get it.

She stands a little straighter, holding out her palm. “Why don’t we go see.” Moonbyul doesn’t turn to leave, however. She doesn't walk towards the body dumped at the back of the building, still bearing Jin's fingerprints. A single strand of hair would do it. She doesn’t make any move other than to reach into her pocket and take out a lighter.

She thinks of the family's assassins; The Bee, The Spider and The Wolf. She thinks of Park Jimin. The snake. Hopefully either dead or in the process of dying.

The body in the back of the building is another one of hers. She never thought that this would be the end of the Wolf, he'd always been one of their most reliable killers. Always showed up on time too, an exemplary employee. Not to be easily duped. She'll have to figure this out and pin down What did him in. But that will take time and energy, only one of which she has.

He was only supposed to wait in the wings and ensure that neither Park Jimin nor Kim Seokjin left this building alive, nothing more.

Sometimes things are just coincidences, sometimes if you're lucky- they're just bad luck.

This doesn't feel like bad luck, this feels like revenge.

Solar makes a noise in her throat, a questioning chirp. She really is trying to be her cutest right now. Moonbyul won’t reward her in a way that she likes, a way that she wants. Even songbirds still feel the itch to fly. Clipped wings and all.

She looks at the flame, sparking.

“Why won’t you just leave the evidence? Wouldn’t that be easier?” Solar is not as good as Hyejin at handling this sort of thing, not as experienced. But she’s currently handling other more important things. Things that need her finer touch.

Solar doesn’t understand why Moonbyuls going to light this place up like a fucking Christmas tree and do Seokjin’s dirty work for him. Solar is only a pup, and she’s been kept like that because Moonbyul likes pupish omegas.

She likes the innocence and obedience that people who weren't made for this kind of life have. So eager to please that they're willing to debase their souls. There is no greater sacrifice, no greater sign of love than someone willing to do anything for you.

This also happens to be why she likes you. Why she will have you. because neither Solar nor Wheein have ever been as good at this as you were. The perfect medium between sinful and pious. Cute even while killing.

And 5 is a prettier number than 4. 3 pups for her and Hyejin is a prettier number than 2. They need more than one for each.

Just one more pup, and then their collection will be complete. It took them so long to find the right one, so much trial and error. (Moonbyul despises errors. She's going to try and kill one before this is through)

She won’t let you slip through their grasp, not a second time. You should have never been Yoongi's.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to leave this as evidence? So that the FBI gets them all? We could just like- buy them off if they wanted to take her too-”

“Oh pup” she croons, half gentle. Flicking the lighter and letting it burn in front of her face before she tosses it The soil is so soaked through with gasoline that it lights as easily as a candle, slowly spreading from wall to wall and then- in the doorway, until the heat is too much and they have to move away.

“That wouldn’t be any fun now, would it?”

~-~

(Now, Namjoon)

Namjoon’s shirt is soaked so thoroughly with blood that it makes him cold. The hospital always feels cold, goosebumps rise like a mini mountain ranges on his arms. The hair pressed down where the blood has dried.

It’s not his first time covered in blood, but this time feels different.

He’s shivering, teeth clattering. His hands shake almost too bad to fill out the intake paperwork because he’d rather do it now than later. Park Jimin (registered, Kim) Alpha, weight 165 lbs (give or take a few). Blood type AB. No medications. No known allergies, no known prior conditions. No no no.

No.

Namjoon’s hands shake. He leaves Jimin’s ‘occupation’ blank.

Yoongi sits a few paces back, staring vacantly off into space. On the surface Namjoon would assume that he’s having no reaction and is feeling absolutely heartless about everything that's happened in the last 3 hours. But his breath becomes stuttered every few minutes, like he has to manually force himself to inhale and exhale. Like it’s taking all of Yoongi’s faculties to keep himself breathing and upright and not in a heap on the floor having a mental breakdown.

He kind of wishes Yoongi was crying and screaming instead. Then at least- Namjoon would feel like he had to be the strong one.

He can't get the feeling of stabbing Jimin out of his head, or the sound it it, the wet squelch of knife hitting skin.

Namjoon has cut into people thousands if not hundreds of thousands of times by now. But he’s only cut into someone he loves once, and god Namjoon never wants to do it again- won’t ever be able to touch warm prone flesh and hurt it, not after Minnie. Never again.

The pen in his hand weighs a million pounds. He contemplates asking for a piece of paper and writing out his resignation letter. he breathes in for 5 and out for 9, then sets it down on the clipboard and slides it across the counter for the nurse to take. Namjoon doesn’t hear her quiet tone asking him if he's alright and if there's anything she can do. just shakes his head on instinct.

There is a gaggle of nurses looking around the corner peering at Dr. Kim.

"Do you think he dresses like that outside of work hours?" "I never thought I'd be so attracted to jeans and a tee-shirt." Giggling in quiet voices.

It feels so strange, to hear people laughing while Jimin is dying. Namjoon almost wants to go bite their heads off and report them for poor bedside manner to the hospital manager.

This is Namjoon’s hospital. But Namjoon can’t find it in himself to smile or say thank you to the nurse when she tells him that the second she gets any news on Jimin, he'll be the first to know. He can’t say anything through the mountain of emotion in his throat.

If Namjoon’s love is a mountain, then his anguish is a river threatening to drown him. Yoongi smells like it- the line where water turns clear to brackish, Yoongi’s miserable scent has always smelled like the churning sea and now something that feels an awful lot like seasickness makes Namjoon sway on his feet.

Since he’s done with the paperwork, he promptly returns to Yoongi’s side and sits down. Only once he's sure he's stationary, does he pull a nearby wastebasket over between his knees to upend the contents of his stomach. It hits the top of old gauze pads crumpled up at the bottom and smelling like piss with a surprisingly violent sound, drawing the gaze of more than one person in the waiting room. At least it finally quiets the giggles.

Yoongi’s hand finds Namjoon’s knee, the hole in his jeans, The back of his ribs, stroking once twice. steady and hard the way that Namjoon likes. And Namjoon wishes he could snap at Yoongi. Wishes he didn’t curl into the touch. Wishes he was angrier. Wishes Jimin was perfectly alive and breathing and not going to-

Yoongi’s hand settles on the back of Namjoon’s neck, his throat, pulse hammering, thudding.

They’re just kids and Yoongi's hands are calloused. They've always been.

Deep down Namjoon still feels like he’s only 8 years old. Is just a kid and just starting to understand that the world isn’t all just papercuts and skinned knees; that it means something when people hurt. That it means something when you tell them you won’t let them hurt anymore.

He remembers promising Jimin something similar- a long time ago, the summer they all first met:

Namjoon remembers Jimin, standing in the apartment that wasn't theirs yet, after a movie night, the first movie night that the pack had ever had togeather (not totally togeather, becuase you and hobi hadn't been there yet but still).

It was the first time Namjoon had ever seen Jimin in something other than a designer sweater, sweats and a tee-shirt so ordinary that Namjoon was surprised it didn't make him look less intimidating. standing in the doorway waiting for Namjoon to notice him and look up from his medical journal.

"Yes Minnie? Did you need something?" jimin had shifted from foot to foot. looking up at jimin, a first slice of vulnerability in his eyes.

"Tae and Jungkook, they've got a bit of pain in them. I want to know what you intend to do with it." namjoon set his glasses to the side, the papers rustling as he forgets his reason.

"Make it better hopefully?" Namjoon had been struck with how oddly intense he'd been. Jimin had opened up with time and had gone sweet and trusting with the right amount of love. But he'd looked intimidating in his dark clothes and the wrinkle between his eyes like he was used to furrowing his eyebrows. A cute detail that Namjoon already wants to brush away. To touch. to cradle. To love.

He'll catalogue all of Park Jimin's cutest things in time. He'll treat love as a scavenger hunt, to find the softness in someone who tries so outwardly to be gruff and strong.

Namjoon's stained sleep clothes and promises felt all the more shabby in comparison.

"I need you to promise."

Namjoon had avoided it. Unwilling to meet his words with the same intensity. Jimin doesn't take chances with Jungkook and Tae. Tae's low laugh from the other room, Yoongi's matching grumble, overly fond already. Overly fond from the beginning.

"What about you? Doesn't everyone have pain?"

"Just promise."

"I promise to look after the three of you." Jimin had scoffed. Puffing up like a bird with too many feathers.

"I don't need looking after. Just them- when I go away for work."

"I know, but let me do it anyway." Smiling at the pretty alpha was so easy, so easy with the sounds of Jungkook and Jin's giggles in the other room. Laughter building itself into the walls around them.

"I promise not to hurt you or them. You have my word."

Namjoon lied, Namjoon lied back then and he didn't even know it. He upends his stomach again and Yoongi rubs down his spine.

“He’s not going to die Joon, he’s going to be fine.” Namjoon continues to empty his stomach, it’s pizza mostly, a bit of coffee, and a half-digested protein bar from this morning as well.

“Does hurting the people you love ever get easier?” Namjoon asks. Honesty, not anger in his tone.

Yoongi’s hair has gotten longer and hangs in his eyes. Yoongi never grew his hair out before you, always kept it in that short black sort of coconutty style. It makes him look older and all the more beautiful. Namjoon wonders if that’s why you like it; How regal it makes your mate look.

Yoongi has asked so much of Namjoon in the last few years, from leaving to coming back and bringing you. To hiding the mating mark and now this. Namjoon tells himself he should care more about Yoongi's lies and less about the fact that he just lied, period.

“No,” Yoongi grimaces. He always gets so quiet when things are bad, steady in that consistent way. He still hasn't stopped stroking Namjoon's back. Namjoon knows this is simply all Yoongi knows how to do, his first instinct is to love and not much else. “It was never easy.”

It’s not weird that they re-hash this now. Every time Namjoon learns more about how and why Yoongi left, he understands it more.

“I threw up too, just so you know- when I left, leaving you made me so sick that I hurled the second I got on that train. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.” He blinks back wetness in his eyes, “I don't remember if I've ever told you that."

Namjoon nods. He can't remember right now either.

It’s been an hour or so now since Yoongi drove fast but steady steady steady to the hospital. Namjoon in the back while he stabilized Jimin in much the same fashion that you'd done earlier. The rest of the pack should be here soon. The three of you only lingered behind to clean up a bit and change your clothes, covered with blood and muck and who knows what else.

Yoongi sits like a statue and Namjoon can’t even look at him, can’t ask any questions or even start because he already feels like he’s yelling, and Namjoon hates yelling. This isn't isn’t exactly the most private venue for secrets that could land Jimin in jail.

Namjoon's still not entirely convinced that stabbing him was worth it. Namjoon’s brain is dizzy with terror. He’s still dizzy when he turns and sees you walking through the front doors to his hospital, Jin and Hobi trailing behind you.

He remembers the way you’d looked the day they’d gotten you checked out for the first time; how you’d run and pressed your face to his chest and buried your face there like just the sound of Namjoon's heart could make every demon and monster go away. For a moment, Namjoon thinks you might do the same thing. But your steps are measured, slow, and purposeful.

Namjoons eyes train on you, following you as you walk,

Yoongi stands, leaving Namjoon sitting with a cooling pail of vomit between his legs. he says something to you, to jin, but you don't pause, continuing until you're standing in front of him.

You don't say anything to him, just peer into the bucket and make a disgusted face down at it. Namjoon's teeth feel too sharp in his mouth with such a tense jaw.

Hoseok is on the phone, face gaunt and tired-looking. He must have drawn the short end of the stick and has the job of calling Jungkook and Tae and telling them what happened. They really shouldn’t drive themselves, but all Namjoon can reasonably do is restrain himself from cornering you and Jin and start demanding answers.

He barely even turns to Jin when the omega goes up to the desk and asks if they can have a room, please. A private place for the pack to nurse their worries and not crowd the already-packed waiting room. Namjoon couldn’t name the nurse by name right now if he wanted to but he’s well known here and well-liked too. They give them one of the adjacent exam rooms to wait- Jimin’s surgery will take a few hours more, and there isn’t anything to do but wait.

Terrible terrible waiting, terrible terrible time. (You get a bucket when you want a drop and a drop when you want a deluge. Time only comes in two increments; too much or not enough.)

You drop a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder without a word. After some beckoning Namjoon follows you into the room. Legs shaking and sluggish at first. The pack is quiet even as the door closes.

But once Namjoon's moving it’s hard to stop, careening like a comet or a bullet in your direction. Staggering.

You’d taken precious seconds to change your blood stained clothes before following Namjoon. You all pulled on the first things you could get your hands on. Which is how you’ve ended up in your mate’s shirt and Jungkook’s jacket, and how Hoseok’s in one of Tae’s extra-large pink sleep shirts stained from hair dye underneath Namjoon’s puffer coat and a pair of jungkook's grey work out sweats. Jin had been a little bit more purposeful- his sweatpants match- his matching purple set.

Namjoon's shirt is dark from blood, the bloodstain drying crusty, sticking to his skin like glue.

To say that Namjoon is angry is an understatement; rage rolls off of him in quiet unending ripples carrying with it the strength to change the pack for good if he’s not careful. He doesn't walk to the chairs no- he bee-lines it to you.

He watches you startle and turn, eyes widening. You do not make to move out of his path.

Namjoon has never made you feel afraid before, but the pulse of it, the threat of fear is there as he backs you against the wall until your body lies against it. Looming over your head, so much taller and larger than you.

An alpha. An alpha hunting.

You tremble but you do not move to avoid him when he corners you.

He has a tiny bit of blood on his face, and a hairline splatter, almost like a constellation of stars across his temple. His fingers are harsh and shaking when they dig into your cheeks, pinching them until your lips open. Your knees tremble and you press your palm flat against the wall.

His scent thunders so thick and consuming that you can't physically stop yourself from trying to bear your throat. Namjoon stops you, holding you in place.

His eyes are dark and heavy-lidded as he looks down at you, He pinches your cheeks harder, shakinging you just a little. His voice is steady when he speaks, inches away from low snarl.

“Never make me hurt one of our packmates again.” You swallow, although it’s hard. And he pinches again- harder before you get a chance to speak- to try and defend why you brandished that knife at Jimin hours ago. Namjoon holds your face the same way he held the knife- tenderly.

“I mean it. Never.”

He holds you there for a second longer before he lets you go, leaving you gasping. His hand slides down your throat to your shoulder and neck, You would fall over if it wasn't for his touch keeping you up.

“I’m sorry.” You choke out, a few stingy tears making themselves known at the corner of your eyes. Namjoon rests his forehead against yours and closes his eyes. His spiky silver hair hits your skin. Rough.

After a second, he opens them again. Nodding. And his scent loses its bitter edge. He guides you to rest against his chest. You take big gasps of his scent now that he's giving you permission. Your instincts thunder through you so viciously that you can't physically stop yourself from tilting your neck and bearing your throat.

Namjoon just drags a finger down it, humming. He holds you up, arms around you, a shield and a cage.

“It’s not okay.” I’m not okay, “but I forgive you.” Your knees do give out when Namjoon’s hand brushes the back of your neck, fingers digging in, a half hearted scruff that feels a bit like an apology of his own.

Even if he wants to be angry, anger won’t accomplish anything. Especially with you. His anger will only make you afraid and although Namjoon cannot be expected to control his emotions all the time, you have no reason to fear him.

He's never going to hurt you. He promised.

He walks you two strides, to put you into a chair next to Yoongi. Your mate takes you from him. The plastic chair makes a loud scraping noise against the linoleum floor. Jin's on your other side looking just as tired as the rest of you.

You'll get no rest tonight, sleeping in Jimin's hospital room when he gets out of surgery. Every fitful dream interrupted by the oxygen monitor on his arm. the first few hours when it will go off twice and prompt examination of his vasculature and operation site as well as a fresh dose of blood thinners. The biggest danger going forward will be blood clots; one too large in jimin's arm could leave his hand with nerve damage, numb for good.

But for now, Namjoon looks down at you, yoongi, and jin sitting in the plastic chairs. Secret, killer, and agent. All there in a pretty little row. Namjoon glares down at the three of you and crosses his arms.

“Explain.” Namjoon can’t wait another minute, another second. “Explain to me everything going on in my pack that I don't know about right now or I swear I'll-"

Yoongi scoffs, "That you'll what? That you'll tear us apart Namjoon? that you'll leave? Look around you- we're already falling to pieces."

"You don't honestly expect me not to be angry that I had to stab jimin do you-"

"No, but don't yell at her. I have my limits."

"I wish I was one of those limits, but i'm clearly not since you insist on fucking over our pack-"

Jin turns, cutting them off from their argument with the true shock of his next words. You know that's what he's intending- but it sort of backfires. "Joonie, Don't get mad at Yoongi or her for this. Especially since I'm the one who shot Jimin. It was an accident."

You flinch, then put your head in your hands, namjoon's scent goes impossibly thick and angry for a second before he gets it under control. You physically watch Namjoon's hackles raise. watch Yoongi push back in his chair, leg jumping, running his hands through his hair looking from you to Jin, then back again.

"Jin, you should have kept that to yourself."

"What the fuck-"

Namjoon looks like he doesn't know weather to cry or laugh. "You don't just shoot someone on accident-"

Jin's got the best scoff, one worthy of music screens not just the quiet tomb of this room. Your relationship that's dying all around you. "You don't just stab someone on accident either and yet here we are-"

There are some secrets you take to the grave and others that you keep for too long, so long that they make a grave out of you. Keeping secrets is like keeping someone else's heart beating, you run out of blood eventually.

You might vomit up the truth all over the hospital floor just like Namjoon did a few minutes ago. You feel sick and light-headed and sort of like you might have low blood sugar. namjoon's scent, angry alpha affects you more than you realize.

You start to teater, and their next biting words get extinguished when you almost fall out of the chair, nearly sliding to the floor before Namjoon catches you. One knee dully aches as he picks you up like you weigh nothing, ducking in close, real concern in his face, all his anger gone.

"Shit are you okay?"

"Pup?"

"Just got lightheaded-" Whatever it was, your lightheadedness will have to wait for another time. It's honestly probably just stress. Your heart feels like it's beating extra fast, extra hard.

Namjoon places you gently back in the chair and Yoongi touches your shoulder, the trio of their concerned faces that you swat away.

"We should wait for Hobi." You still owe him an explanation- for earlier and these aren't the kind of secrets you say more than you have to. A cup of water gets thrust into your hands and for once, they fall silent.

When Hobi comes in he’s mostly quiet holding his phone in his hand. Looking at you from across the room. His soulful eyes watching you, head tipping to the side in deference.

"Tae's in-" It takes him a second to gather his words. "Tae's in a fucking state. She was crying so hard that Jungkook had to call them an Uber. I just told her Jimin had been stabbed and nothing else because I didn't know what to tell her."

"That's probably for the best we don't have to-" your mate starts, but Namjoon cuts him off.

"No, no more secrets. Not between any of us."

Hoseok still has a hickey from you on the side of his neck, from you earlier. Jin's fingers skim down the one on your shoulder where a mirrored mark sits knocking you out of your Hobi-induced reverie, red and bruising from his mouth. Jin raises his eyebrow at you, but now is not the time to tell him about you and hobi.

"We've got like- maybe 30 minutes until they get here."

You swallow past a lump in your throat, readying yourself for it, “better make it quick then,” Namjoon waits, Seokjin is silent, watching you, gaze flickering from you to Hobi every few blinks. Yoongi holds onto your knee, sliding his palm down to your hand, your wrist. Finger digging into the sensitive scent gland there and rubbing comforting circles.

You swallow hard. “We’re all on each other's sides, right?”

“Of course,” Jin crosses his arms like he's offended you even had to ask. You bite back your retort. Namjoon nods, so does Hobi.

Your hair flops as you nod. But you still look to Yoongi to wait for permission. After a breath your mate nods and spreads his hands, giving you the floor.

If there’s one thing you know it’s that you can’t do this alone, you and Yoongi, Namjoon and Jin, Jimin and Tae. You and Hobi. There is no separation here, not when it comes to your safety. Each of you cannot keep the rest safe on your own.

“I met Jimin a few months before I met Yoongi, I…Yoongi’s family-”

Yoongi resists the temptation to speak for about 10 seconds when you fall silent. You can sense the moment that the truth shifts, when it explodes at Yoongi’s tongue. Unbidden but frantic and relieving like it's taken Yoongi's whole being to keep all this in.

“My family, I've never liked calling them that. Blood means nothing to me, you guys, you guys were always my family more than them." The pack is silent but you lace your hands with his and nudge his thigh with yours, encouraging him to go on.

"My relatives run the largest network of organized crime on the East Coast, from Boston to Miami. Everything from racketeering to prostitution to production and distribution of pharmaceutical-grade opioids. cover ups, sale of illegal weapons, extorsion of political officials and blackmail. If you can think of a crime they do it. If you can think of a way to make money, they've got their hands in it. It’s one of the reasons why I don’t go home- why my parents-”

Yoongi breaks off, his voice going small and quiet. Wounds he doesn’t talk about- even to you.

“There’s maybe 200 of us now. I’ve got a lot of fucking aunts and uncles. We try to stay in our lanes, our cities, and deal only in our respective crimes. There's a lot of politics and a lot of people vying for control here and there, but only alphas are allowed to lead, omega's increases the bonds of power in other ways and beta's- You know how rare beta's are- in my family- i'm treated as second only to the family head. Being a beta offered me certain liberties. Other freedoms. Not only to avoid most of the violent stuff- but to leave and move around without asking for permission. It's like a get out of hell free card. Not everyone gets that."

You snort, crossing your arms over your chest, “You mean they didn’t exactly expect you to go about popping heirs or advancing the family business through murder and ruining innocent people's lives. not like they expected with me."

Hoseok shrivels his nose, He looks from you to Yoongi- eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “hang on i thought- Are you guys trying to say you’re fucking related or-”

“Oh my god daisy-”

You splutter, “gross- No, we’re not fucking like- blood-related or anything.” You tap your chest. "I'm non family- brought in from the outside. Which means I was just about as valuable as piss to the aunts. In our world the only reason to mate or marry is for power- any other reason and your spouse is considered disposable." you cross your legs, admitting something you've kept to yourself, not a secret just a suspicion. "Geumjae never intended to keep me around forever."

Seokjin makes a strangled noise and Namjoon runs his hands through his hair, “Jesus Christ.”

Hobi raises his hands bare, “Sorry! You’re not doing a good job of explaining!”

"Well, if you just gave me a minute to get to the point-" Yoongi seems to shake himself, to put himself together. “Like she said- I'm not expected to partake in the family buisness, Only alphas are allotted that 'honor'." Yoongi puts the words in quotations and adds an eye roll for good measure.

"Mainly- I’m treated as some sort of glorified advice Column. People call and ask me things and I’m required to answer or else they’d hunt me down and drag me back. They bring me in to coordinate stuff because I'm a beta and I keep everyone calm and keep them from killing each other and shooting out their squabbles. I tried to keep you guys safe that’s why I left but-“

Jin’s hand goes to yours, nodding, because he understands. “But not why you stayed away.”

“No. It's not.” The pack's eyes naturally stray to you.

“The heads of houses report to the family head and she directs them to me if they need a beta's touch. Only she hasn't- the new Don hasn't asked anything of me since taking power. When the last one died- my grandparents- I left to help with the transition. But the new Don doesn't need me."

You flinch, you try to hide it but Yoongi turns, ferreting out that there's a secret there without you having to confess it. Your voice is darker than they’ve ever heard. "It's not that she doesn't need you- it's that she doesn't trust you."

Yoongi tries not to sound accusatory. "Her trust isn't something you should be after."

“It’s not- promise I just-” You pick at a stray thread on your pants.

The linoleum floor in front of you is polished so clean that you can see your reflection in it. "She shouldn't trust me either- and she knows it. Believe me she knows it."

Now it's Yoongi's turn to look at you. To pull himself to the edge of his chair to try and get in front of you. A wordless question that he dares not speak.

"Before you, I was already trying to do whatever I had to survive. including doing what everyone else did back in that hellhole and ask for help-"

Yoongi stands, to much energy and panic in his body to stay seated. “You didn’t." This is a fight and a confession you shouldn’t have In front of the rest of them.

You look up at Yoongi, eyes beseeching. He's quiet and you make your words as measured and soft as you can. "I asked your grandparents first- and then when she told me as long as I did what she said she'd get me out I-"

“She’s more dangerous than Geumjae, you can’t have honestly been trying to trade one captor for another."

The whole pack is silent, watching the two of you. Not really understanding. But Jin- Jin pursues his lips. You don't know how he knows but he does.

Yoongi’s face goes truly white. Yoongi’s hands are shaking. Shaking until he grabs the handles of your chair, knees to the ground, bowed in front of you. Letting your silence stew for a second.

Maybe it’s a terrible thing to blame it on her, you hadn’t fought not to kill. But back then it had really felt like your only way out, the only way to escape the ever-suffocating pressure of trying not to die.

“For what it’s worth, I had no idea what they meant to you when she made me help her kill them.”

Something shifts in Yoongi’s stature, from surprise and shock to resignation so quickly you almost miss it. A tense set to his jaw but a tight-lipped understanding as his eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips and he rests his forehead on your knees.

He's very careful in his words. Slow with them and intentional when he lifts his head and stands. You don't know if they're lies. “Just like my parents, just like all of us in the family, I knew their days were numbered anyway.” But you loved them once you want to say. You’re not sure why you want Yoongi to be angry at you.

“I won’t apologize, not for what I had to do to survive.”

Yoongi cradles your cheek. Something dark and conflicted in his eyes.

“I know, but I’d forgive you anyway, even if you did it out of anger.”

“And Jimin?” Namjoon asks, Yoongi's hand drops from your cheek. "How does he connect to all of that?"

“I met him first, I asked him.” You hesitate. This isn't your secret to tell and you don't even know all of it- like how jimin even became an assassin or started killing. you don't know his motives. It's one thing to confess your own sins, and another to talk about Jimin's to them without his say-so.

Jin darts forward, holding your hand in both of his, “Whatever we say in this room- I’d never dream of recording. I’m not on anyone’s side but ours.” Jin screws his eyes shut tight, willing you and Yoongi to believe him. "Even with the FBI thing."

Namjoon whirls. He doesn't have to ask before Jin's spilling it. telling the truth.

Jin is measured with his speech, but it's his turn. No more secrets, that's what you've all agreed. "I've been working with the FBI for the last 8 years. They approached me back before we met Joonie- because of my proximity to Yoongi. First as an informant, then an agent and now the head of the task force.

"I only did it because I figured out that being a part of them was the easiest way to keep Yoongi out of jail. As long as I could reasonably assume I was the only one trusted and close enough to keep an eye on him, I could keep all the truly damning evidence out of their hands."

Jin turns to you, resisting the urge to reach out to you for his own comfort, you're looking at him like he's got three heads, but he smiles down at you, that pup-soft smile that he saves just for you when you're both nesting.

"I kept your name off of the photocopies of the recipie you used to kill them. Don't worry, no one but us knows." You look at Jin with new eyes, not a double agent but not an enemy either. Somewhere in between. Your heart pulses, and you grip his hand back.

Yoongi pulls his hands through his hair, angry, his tone grave "Well there's your reason-"

Hobi has been so quiet you've honestly almost forgotten he was there. Elbows balanced on his knees and watching the three of you on trial for Namjoon. "Answer to what."

"You don't understand Jin, you don't understand the laws of the family much less the one you've broken."

"The reason why someone's trying to kill you, if anyone finds out that Y/n killed them- everyone connected to them is fair game."

"You mean-"

"We're all done, if anyone finds out, that's probably why the new head of house was trying to take Jin out- to tie up a loose end."

"Hang on, I'm getting confused again." Hobi runs his hands through his hair, and it fluffs up. "Jimin's what again?"

“Jimin is an assassin, I asked Jimin to kill my husband for me but he said no.” You pick at a strand of thread on your pants, unwilling to look up and meet any of their eyes, not Namjoon’s or Jin’s. “Met him back when we meant nothing to each other. He still feels guilty for not saving me. We talked it out a while ago. It’s okay- I did it myself eventually- didn’t need anyone’s help.”

You look up at Yoongi and he looks like he might want to laugh or cry and can't pick which. “I don’t know much else about Jimin other than that he kills for the family."

"They've got people for everything, a few assassin's they keep on retainer," Yoongi clarifies. "People that anyone can hire if you've got the money for it. There are a few names that the family puts on a no-kill list, Children, the pack mates of the ruling pack, the heads of houses and their immediate packmates. If anyone kills a person on the no-kill list- their life is forfeit. I'm on it by default. The pack mates of the beta are on it too, All of you are on it. No one should be trying to kill you."

Yoongi's never paid much attention to the list, the waxing and waning names and faces and photos. he's been on it since before he was born and with no intent to kill or harm anyone and put himself even potentially in harm's way, he's never sought it out.

Maybe if he had, things would go differently.

A cold rush of realization rushes over you. "That's why Jimin and Jin ended up there" You stand up, adrenaline in your hands. "She was hoping they'd take each other out so she wouldn't have to break family law to kill them."

Yoongi shakes his head, "Something about this doesn’t feel right- something about this isn’t normal.”

Hobi’s phone dings before you can hash it out anymore. He looks down in his lap. “They're here,” he’s up and out of the chair, heading out the door and into the hall so quickly that the rest of you have to chase after him. Namjoon tugs you to your feet, staring at Yoongi and Jin. "Was that enough?" you ask.

"We'll talk more later." is all he says. But he does lace his hands with yours and pull you after Hobi. Your legs are so short you have to take two steps for every one of theirs.

“I wish Tae and Kookie were here for that-“

"They should know” your mate agrees, keeping pace with you in the hallway, dropping back with you when Namjoon accidentally lets go in his haste to get through the door. You make eye contact with Yoongi when you turn. Your back to one of those push doors using your body weight to push through it.

You pause, waiting with Yoongi on the other side of them.

“If anyone tells her about Minnie- should be me.”

(You know exactly how you’ll do it, you’ll tell Tae the story of you just like this. You’ll tell it like a story, with author notes and playlists near the end. You’ll talk about Jimin just like this; all of the good parts and all of the bad all in one. So that she might truly understand that having a choice doesn't always mean you're free to do whats right.)

Yoongi nods, “I can tell Jungkook. I think if I do it gently, he won’t get shocked enough to have a seizure.”

You pause before the doors open, to have just a moment with the two of you, just you and him leaning against it. He shifts closer, not holding you, hands by his side but he's close enough that you could rest your head on his shoulder. You do rest your head on his shoulder. Just to hear his heartbeat thud sluggish and heaven-sent against your ear.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” It feels like it’s been ages and ages since you’ve had a quiet moment with him like this. You resolve to have one, to make space for him when this is all over. A private date with just the two of you maybe. Whenever Jimin comes home. “To help with Jimin.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I killed your grandparents.”

“They weren’t good people,” Yoongi shrugs, you've never seen a sadder shrug. “I always knew that. They-” yoongi breaks off, stealing himself for a quiet confession. "I think they might have had a hand in killing my parent. She didn't like it- that they had so much power over me. Future of the family and all."

"You've never said-"

Yoongi pushes through the door, and a high pitched keening cuts off your next words. "Later."

You push through the door and Tae and Jungkook are already there. Entering through the outside doors with a puff of air into Namjoon and Jin's waiting arms. Namjoon holds Tae up as she wails and wails. Her cry high like a nightingale. Jungkook looks pale and shaky, settled under Hobi's shoulder clearly in shock.

You cut through them, ducking under Jin's outstretched arm and colliding with Tae before anyone else can join Namjoon in holding her. falling to little heap on the linoleum floor, just at the precipice of the long hallway that connects to the patient rooms and the nurse's stations to other surgical suites. Drawing countless stars, countless looks from passersby as Tae's sobs renew themselves, loud and broken.

You clinging to each other. Her arms around your shoulders, cradling your head like it's the last safe thing in the universe.

“Jimin,” her voice breaks, throat closing around nothing. Sobs wet and angry, hot tears dripping down her cheeks, big and unabated by hope. "Minnie- My Minnie-"

You cling back, getting your hands on her cheeks. “He’s gonna be fine, he’ll be alright- here- here let me help you up. We've got you Tae-”

Jungkook looks a bit better, a little bit less like he’s drowning. Jin reaches for him while you hold onto Tae. And JK’s nostrils flare, he steps back, looking Jin up and down. Tae clings to you on the floor of the hospital and you look up at them. At Jin and Jungkook, standing a pace apart. Jungkook's hands keep Jin from coming any closer.

“You smell like Jimin does when he comes home from his trips, you smell like gunpowder. And mucky-” Jungkook's voice breaks, "Jin? Why do you smell like blood?"

There are too many people around, too many people for something like this. You're just glad It’s a quiet omission, Jungkook’s scent is level and so is his breath.

Maybe you should give him a lot more credit. Yoongi might not have to tell him much.

Tae's tears hit your collarbones as she crushes you, sobbing loudly in your ear, immune to the string of sweet nothings that fall from your lips. Whispered against her temple.

To everyone else in the hallway, rushing in the late-night hum, you and Tae look just the way that you’d expect; Two girls clinging to each other, one tall and the other short. One an alpha and the other an omega.

The rest of the pack is so blinded by their concern and their terror that they don’t look up. They don’t look down the hall to see the figure standing there watching them. One second the hallway is empty of the dark figure and then next she's there- waiting for you.

Her pine and medicine scent is disguised by the smell of death that lingers here. Although more than 2 of the people there might recognize it if they had the patience to sniff it out. They're too distracted by Yoongi dragging Jungkook close and whispering in his ear to keep his voice down.

Moonbyul watches the scene from the end of the hall. Two coffees in her hands. One for her and one for you because she always assumes that you'll go with her when she asks. No matter what’s going on with your pack, Moonbyul is not the kind of person who you say no to. She’ll ask nicely for you to come one more time.

Or so she thought. Looking at you and Tae holding each other is giving her other ideas.

To love a man is something she's always been able to dismiss as a mistake. Little pups just don't know what they need and even less what they want. She'd been prepared to deal with you loving them, the alphas, on paper, even the admittedly pretty omega male currently in her cousin's arms.

But another woman? Even one like that?

Rage is not like other sorts of anger, it’s not like fire burning to take. Achieng to burn until all the heat has worked itself out. Rage is quiet, rage is darkness and a hunger that needs to consume. That will destroy even if you try to stop it.

It's one thing to know that you love a woman besides her, and another to see you peck kisses along her tearstained cheeks. The rage builds as she watches you cup that female alpha’s cheeks. She watches you brush her hair back from her eyes and tuck it behind her ears. She’s got honeyed skin and smudged lipstick (so inelegant) you wipe her tears away and kiss her cheek.

But what makes Moonbyul’s hands tighten into claws, her metal-tipped nails piercing the coffee cups and making them drip onto the ground, wet and hot, is the way you smile at her.

Moonbyul’s rage is like a tidal wave.

By the time the rest of the pack looks up, the hallway is empty except for a puddle of coffee on the linoleum floor and two discarded cups. One with red lipstick stains and the other without.

~-~

(18 hours later, Jimin)

Tae’s cheek is so soft. That’s the first thing that Jimin’s aware of as he wakes from surgery.

Coming out of general anesthesia feels like being a rickety buoy on the busy ocean. One second bobbing to the surface and the next crashing below the waves and taking on water. Sloshy. Everything feels sloshy.

He only feels her at first- not the hospital bed, not the scratchy sheets, Just the feeling of her cheek resting against the palm of his hand. Her gentle breath tickling his fingers in her sleep.

Jimin will always know the particular beat and cadence of Tae’s body. Would know it if the sun got snuffed out like a candle. Would know her breath anywhere because it’s the very fuel to Jimin’s soul, the very thing that sets the tempo to the heart monitor beating out a pleasant rhythm in the midafternoon hum.

Her skin is pillowy and sweet beneath Jimin’s flayed fingers, limp and cold to the touch because of the whole almost bleeding out thing. He doesn’t know it yet, but he's needed 9 units of blood in the past 24 hours. 4 right away, and 3 during the surgery where they removed the knife and stitched his arm together. And another two units just after.

Compared to his own body, Tae feels so warm.

At least Jimin can still feel his left hand. The doctors that stitched him back together must have done a bang-up job, Namjoon even more so. a lot of people can put an arm back together, a whole slew of them, but not many surgeons could stab someone carefully enough so as to not permanently injure them. There are only so many people that he would trust to stab him.

But Jimin trusts Namjoon with a whole lot more than just that.

When he opens his eyes (a task of herculean proportions) Namjoon isn’t there, it’s just Tae in one of those absurdly uncomfortable hospital chairs. She’s bent over his hospital bed in what must surely be an uncomfortable position to sleep in. Her back arched like invisible wings weigh her down. She slept like that, sprawled as close as she could get to Jimin without the nurses waking her up and telling her not to crowd him.

The smudged mascara on her cheeks flake like falling stars, little trails there were tears rendered it useless. Jimin wipes away a black droplet like he's banishing a ghost. She’s cried so much over the last 10 hours, most of her makeup gone and sporting a bit of 5 o’clock shadow too. The faint roughness that Jimin feels no more than once. Because to derive sensory pleasure from that feels…wrong.

He looks at the ceiling, wondering where the others are. He feels the edge of his body, the spot where the wound begins and the pain ends. Who knew gunshots and stab wounds could make you feel so sore? and tired too? Exhaustion pins his body to the bed like a butterfly to a corkboard.

A wire connected to his good hand tugs, But he ignores it in favor of cradling Tae's head and combing through the tangles in her hair. It's gotten so long now, just to her shoulders, but the bits feel so soft and gauzy against his fingertips. He wishes he could feel it forever. It’s much much better than the 5 o’clock shadow.

It takes a dozen passes for Tae to stir.

And then she startles awake, flinching into being. Fresh tears disrupt the mascara flecks as she beholds her soulmate and nearly tugs herself across his bed to get her hands on his face. To hold his cheeks.

To say that Tae has looked better would be accurate for jimin to say but the words would never grace Jimin’s lips. Not even close. Even with a crusty face and greasy hair- Tae looks gorgeous- so pretty that his heart pulses dangerously quickly. so quickly that jimin's suprised the nurses don't come by and check on him.

Maybe they haven’t given him enough opioids for his shoulder because for a second he feels his heartbeat ricochet through his whole body. To his fingers where he's touching her and back to his heart. Every echo and ripple Tae Tae Tae.

Tae bends over Jimin’s body. Her hands go to his face, fingers touching his smile, and thumbs pressed to his faint crow's feet and twinkling eyes. Clutching at him like he’s her lifeline (he is, a red string of fate that keeps her from drowning, always. She was stupid not to use it like an anchor).

“Pup told me.” She says, a note of finality in her voice, lower lip trembling, tears falling anew “told me you kept talking about me even when you were stabbed" she goes quiet, whispering the words like she's scared someone might be listening in.

"Pup told me everything."

Jimin’s eyes flick from her lips to her face, her body, everything. His hands are trembling, chest building with breaths until they’re heaving and the realization of just how much everything she must know hits him.

Tae knows Jimin well enough to know what a panic attack looks like- knows enough how to soothe it. Knows just to hold on and wait for it to pass. jimin's hands splay and flex, rubbing her skin once, twice, and then a third time in an effort to self-soothe.

"It's okay,"

"You mean you're not-" Jimin's heart monitor is going so wild that Tae has to tell him to calm down. Has to run her fingers up and down his scent glands on his neck, nipping at them to settle him. "You're not angry that I'm-"

That I'm a killer, that I'm a monster. That I've kept everything from you. Jimin readies himself, preparing himself for the speech he always knew he'd have to give. You don't understand, I didn't have a choice, I wouldn't have chosen this- I didn't I just. I never killed people who didn't deserve it- because I know that you'd hate that.

For the first time in their lives, Tae and Jimin are sitting across from each other- without a single secret to each of their consciousness. both of them free and perilously unmoored for it.

But there are no words that Tae needs when she looks up at him and smiles. Wetness at the corner of her eyes.

Seeing Jimin in the hospital bed had not felt like Patroclus and Achilles, it hadn't even felt like Orpheus and Eurydice. There was no roaring anguish. The kind that follows when people leave you too soon. Or the bitter vindication that happens when people leave at just the right time (it’s the worst when people leave like that. Either linger or make me miss you. Stay too long or leave me early. Either way is fine. I’ll feel more human if I’ve got longing or hatred to feel).

In truth seeing Jimin in the hospital bed, wires and hooks connected to him- keeping him alive and keeping him breathing, had felt like a second chance. She's not going to let something as simple as a secret spoil it.

Tae knows she should want to know more about Jimin's job as an assassin and should want to ask more questions (if not to understand her soulmate better, than for writing material). She Should be more revolted or disturbed or upset that her literal soulmate kills people for a living, but at the moment, all she can find in herself is just to be glad that Jimin is fucking alive.

It’s funny, how much your priorities can shift.

Jimin looks like he doesn't believe her. "Tae, you can't even kill spiders."

"Would you care?" Jimin falls silent. "Would you care if it was me in your position?"

Jimin swallows hard and winces. He doesn’t have to ask for a sip of water, because Tae has already gotten it for him by the time his good hand closes over his throat. His shoulder is bound so tightly in bandages that he can hardly shift it. Can't reach up to stop himself from spilling a bit of the water down his chin. Her nails (red polished and chipped) wipe away a drop on his lips.

(There's more that you weren't able to tell her just yet; a lot about you and Yoongi and Jin. You've decided to save the bulk of how Jimin ended up in the hospital bed until after Jimin woke up. Later when you can get her on her own you'll tell her. Probably after Jimin's discharged from the hospital. But the other secrets can wait for now).

It won’t really hit her until later. When she’s in her closet looking at all of her pretty things and designer clothes. Fingers toeing along the fine black cashmere sweaters, to the maroon dresses, to the scarlet ones, stopping just before she reaches the pink. The Dior, the Versache, the McQueen. It will only be then that she'll put two and two together and realize they were all paid for with blood money. With people’s lives.

It will bother her then; it doesn’t bother her right now. It will never bother her enough to think about leaving jimin.

How do you make the choice? What to condemn a loved one for? How do you pin down your line of intolerance when it's someone you love with your whole being? Can you decide at all or is it something that your soul chooses for you? The weight of one sin for another. what you're willing to go through.

They would have died anyway. Even if Jimin hadn't killed them, they had someone out there willing enough to pay for their death and they'd have died anyway she rationalizes. We're all going to die anyway.

Maybe it’s a silver lining that Tae no longer believes in the same kind of sin and wrongness that Jimin does. Doesn’t believe in God and heaven at all. Tae has always believed in soulmates more and believed in Jimin the most. More than any god or afterlife.

“I should be angry, anyone else probably would be but-” Tae turns her cheek into Jimin’s fingers, pressing her lips to his trigger finger. Eyes shining when she looks at him. “I’ve wasted too much of my life being angry at you, wasted too much of it feeling anything but love for you- Jimin- if you died, I-”

Jimin cradles Tae's cheek. “I’m sorry for Namjoon’s rut- for what I said. Didn’t mean it. Never mean it if I'm mean-” Jimin’s finger rubs across Tae’s lips, the wide part of his palm splayed across her jaw, and so much is said in that little touch. But they look at each other and laugh. "Not like Noodle."

It shocks a laugh out of Tae and she presses her temple to Jimin's jaw, feels his smile when the joint moves. She realizes that Jimin's still a little high. Probably too doped up on pain medicine to have this conversation but oh well.

“I never thought it would take you getting stabbed for me to realize it,” her lip trembles, “I don’t want to waste another second being angry with you.”

“I don’t want to waste another second with you either. Won't even sleep,” his eyelashes flutter, struggling to stay awake.

Tae pulls herself more firmly on top of the bed and Jimin shifts a little, wakes a little more when she slings a leg carefully over his hips. Being gentle, still conscious of his physical state. He uses his good arm to pull her up and up until She’s splayed across his lap.

Kissing Tae never loses its edge, it always feels like their first kiss, sweet and with that knotted bundle of anticipation. Jimin sits up into the kiss, sits up until his shoulder protests and he hisses into the kiss. "Don't strain yourself minnie-"

"Don't care just-" he pulls her hips snugly. After that words are sparse as they kiss, again and again, lips working together. Sloppy messy love kisses. Every breath tastes like love, every second of it. She giggles pulling apart for a second to get her breath, the heartbeat monitors in the corner going wild. Breath that washes over Jimin like a gust of spring air, cinnamon flower sweat, and heady. Tae’s kisses are better than a first sip of coffee or a breath of fresh air. (They’re better than living, just a little bit).

“If I was any less sore, I’d ask you to bite me right now.”

Tae grins, and it’s a special secret smile. “You said something like that to Pup too."

“I’m so lucky I get to be yours- don't want to waste the luck-" Tae shakes her head stubbornly pulling back.

"I don’t think that you should say you’re lucky. I’m so lucky that this person loved me, or I’m so lucky that I got to love them. Because when it comes down to it, love and luck are not the same thing. Love is not a single event, like winning the lottery, or finding a 100-dollar bill. Love is a choice and you have to choose it a thousand times. Every day you choose it. Luck is such a cop-out. It’s been really nice.”

“God, I hope I’m more than just nice.”

Tae smiles, “Shut up” She goes a little pale. “Actually don’t shut up with me like- ever. I guess that’s what I’m trying to say.” She plays with Jimin’s hands, “Is that when either of us- whoever- goes first-“ Jimin’s grip goes knuckle tight on her waist, he's coming out of it, a little more lucid with every breath. Waking up more.

“When one of us dies- I don’t want to question if I ever loved you enough, I don't want to rely on just luck. I don’t want to think about the days that I could have gone for coffee with you or could have kissed you longer. I don’t want to think that I didn’t get exactly what I wanted and you didn’t get exactly what you wanted too.

"I want to give you one extra kiss every time so that you get twice as much as you would have gotten otherwise. I just want to think that it was nice, that every moment of it was nice- even when we fought, I want to look back on it and think ‘even the sad parts were nice and I got more than I thought I would.' No luck involved.”

She grins down at him, that same youthful grin she’s had her whole life, Jimin thinks of it sometimes- how many times she’s smiled this way and he hasn’t seen. How many more he will see.

“Also, y/n says that you’re allowed to mate me, but not marry me. She says my ring finger belongs to her.”

Jimin slides up the bed, flipping her over, supporting himself with his good hand, sending her sprawling and giggling. His growl is half hearted but promising. Tae laces her hand in his greasy blonde hair and it stays there.

It stays there.

~-~

The rest of Jimin’s hospital stay goes a bit like this:

There is a pair of suits outside the window, dark and imposing. plain clothes police officers watching and waiting like vultures. They’ve already taken statements from the pack but demand to hear from Park Jimin himself.

Lies from the source always taste the sweetest.

There is a story ironed out and penned in stolen moments, you curled up in one packmate's lap and transferred to another, "the pup" Jin had said, the youngest, was not taking her alpha's stabbing well. "She just needs a bit of soothing, sorry." The suits are charmed enough by two cuddling omega's that they don't notice your mouth pressed to their ears, like a game of cuddly murderous telephone.

The story gets ironed out easily, you’d all gone out for pizza, had come home to find Jimin bleeding in your kitchen.

“It’s pretty normal for Jimin to be reckless with his health. I’m not surprised he tried to come home and see if I could stitch him up himself. I'm a doctor at his hospital- Dr. Kim, pack alpha and head of neurosurgery. The knife- you should know I touched it on accident he wanted to remove it himself and I just had to stop him- I’m sorry- I should have known better I was just- so shaken.” Namjoon is a passable liar at best.

Jungkook has folded himself under your mate’s arm, and Jin’s too. He’s still vaguely shaking, bunny eyes wider than usual. In a little bit, Namjoon will drag him over to an empty exam room for a quick check-up. Just to make sure he isn't about to seize on the floor. Yoongi will go with him, Will tell him the truth about all of this then.

But what, with his comment earlier, you wouldn't be surprised if Jungkook has already figured it out on his own.

Jimin doesn’t even need to be coached into remembering it. The police don’t even think of not letting the pack see him, after seeing Tae’s teary eyes. A pretty girl is the best distraction, and the pack has two pretty girls that smell sour and need to tend to their alpha before the police get a chance too.

They’re impatient as they watch you and Tae fold yourself over Jimin’s barely aware body, more preoccupied with looking at your asses than they don’t see your lips moving against Jimin’s ear, mistaking your shaking for the racking sobs. And your quiet words for sweet nothings.

Hobi had barely leashed a growl, and resisted the urge to step in front of you and block you both from their sight.

The story is so easy and simple- a true case of Ockham’s razor. The simplest story with the least details is the most likely to be believed. the story Jimin tells the police goes like this;

Earlier yesterday, a crazy fan of the idol group he guards that must have followed him from his schedule with intent to learn his schedule and get closer to them. Her description is so ordinary that they’ll never find her because she doesn’t exist. Any person found will easily be made inculpable; either by alibi or honesty. Not that the law cares much about honesty, nor that any of you care about possibly implicating a stranger.

Love always did make people go to extremes, it's easily believable.

Nothing else matters. Besides keeping everyone safe. You're united against this.

Once they're gone, other promises get made:

“I want you to quit, this is too dangerous, if something like this happens to you again, I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle it.”

“We need to make sure we travel in pairs until we figure out what’s going on, why they're targeting Jimin and Jin.”

“I can ask some of my contacts-“

“You’ll do no such thing Yoongi.”

“Do you think we should be like- Armed? Just in case?”

“I don’t think more guns will solve anything but…Maybe.”

In a stolen moment, Namjoon corners you outside Jimin's hospital bedroom, he's holding three bags of takeout, not that Jimin will really be able to eat much of it. The opioids keep down his appetite. That doesn't meant the pack won't try to fuss. As it is, Jimin hasn't been interested in anything but kissing Tae and holding her hand. Pouting whenever the nurses make tae leave.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier," Namjoon has always found apologies easy and has never had so much of an ego that it would get in the way of any of it.

"It's alright, between you and me, I think it was kind of justified." You'd probably yell at all of them if they convinced you to stab Yoongi or tae or any of them.

"No more secrets, okay? Promise me this is the last one." It's easy to promise Namjoon that, so easy. To let him scent you, rubbing his coffee liquor scent all over your shoulder.

(But it's not about the promises that you make, it's about the ones that you break.)

You sit out in the hallway the following morning, still in the same clothes and starting to feel a little bit filthy because of it. None of you have gone home yet. Hobi sits next to you and Jungkook's on the other side.

They’re just checking Jimin’s stitches again, and his hospital room just got a bit crowded. The prospect of checkout is maybe a day away. Tonight is the last you'll have to spend at the hospital.

It was also time to talk over Jimin’s opioid regimen, and the doctor had been nearly delighted when Namjoon had stepped up and taken the lead, reassuring the doctor under no uncertain terms that Namjoon would manage them. You can forgive him for thinking a little too much with his hindbrain. If Namjoon leaned any more into his instincts you'd be worried he was close to going into a rut again.

“Is this what it’s like when I’m in the hospital?” Jungkook asks, sucking on some skittles. It's more sugar than he should be allowed to have especially during a high-stress situation. But Jungkook’s taking the panic to get a little bit of freedom. You cast a glance at Tae, at Yoongi and Jin, standing by the door looking like he’s about ready to twitch out of his skin with the effort it's taking him to stand outside.

Jin had apologized- him and Namjoon both, and Jimin had accepted it instantly. "If I trust anyone to shoot and stab me- it's you two so-"

"But-" they'd argued, but eventually Jimin had turned a little scary, a little threatening. showing a hint maybe- of a persona they're all unused to but you're not. Jimin can be firm when he needs to be. A quick retort of-

"Forcing me to comfort you over something I'm not upset about is not the way to make me forgive you." Shut them up for good (or at least for now).

“Yeah, pretty much.” You hold out your hand for some skittles and he gives you a few. Hobi grimaces and reaches over to take the orange ones out of your palm. He knows you don’t like those. He replaces them with a few green ones.

"It’s fucking boring. I should get you guys like- a DS or something for Christmas.”

“Don’t tell Minnie or he’ll blow all his money on-“ You cringe at your words and Hobi flinches. Jungkook just chews on his candies, they smack against his teeth with a hard clinking sound.

There is still some of Jimin's blood under Hobi's fingernails. You see it when he reaches over to take your Skittles.

The next time Hobi moves to take your Skittles, you grab his hand and pull him to his feet. "Come on."

You lead Hoseok into the women's bathroom, underneath the curious eye of the nurses, all the stalls are empty so you pull him over to the counter.

“You’ve got some- stuff- under your nails- let me.” You rip a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and wet them. You clean Hobi’s hands diligently and he lets you.

He stays quiet, Hobi's been quiet for the last day or so. He hasn't done more than whisper a few quiet words to Jimin and stay close. He didn't say anything during your secret confession yesterday. Didn't ask a single question and the silence bleeds now as you scrub the clean-smelling soap against his skin. Your anxiety builds, and you scrub a little harder. His fingers remain limp in your touch.

“Say something- say anything okay? I need to know that you’re not-” not angry with me. That you don't hate me- that you still love-.

Hobi pulls you against his shoulder in a single clean movement. His wet hands hit your stomach when he grabs your hips. Your nose brushing his throat, his nose skimming your hairline.

“I’m trying not to take too much energy from Jimin- trying not to- be a mess- because he's the only one who deserves the packs attention. I'm not even sure if I am a mess about it. Sure that sucked but-" he sighs, "you and I are kinda like- uniquely able to handle things like this cuz of-" he doesn't need to finish his sentence. Hoseok's lips brush your ear, lips touching your skin, and- he pulls back, smiling softly. It's a tired smile but there it is- soft and special and just for you.

“You’re taking things, remarkably well considering the last time we…”

“The last time we had to deal with something like this?”

You hum, scrubbing a paper towel hard over the ends of Hobi's hands. The white paper goes orange-red with dried blood. "Give it time. There’s still a few weeks for me to go crazy this time.”

But this time, you have a feeling that it will be different. Although Hobi was there the last time- and played an instrumental role in making sure you didn't literally fall apart. It's different now. Right now, your hands tangle on the counter, holding on, even though you try to clean his hands of blood. Holding on is more important, neither of you tries and pull away. You don't have the energy for shyness.

What's more intimate? Sex or murder?

He huffs a small frustrated sound and stoops to rest his forehead against your shoulder, leaning almost all of his weight on you. You take it.

“Maybe this time I’ll take a crack at going crazy.” You laugh, stopping your brushing and just settling for holding him. Hips resting against the counter. The two of you rest, just for a moment.

Your nose against the side of his face where his undercut presses to your skin, spiky. "Still have that train ticket?" Hobi humms, taking a deep greedy breath of your scent to steady himself.

You're not expecting him to pull back and kiss you, but his lips are dry but warm, faintly chapped but yours are too. Pressing soft but demanding against yours. Hobi kisses you just as sweetly as last time and you grip the front of his jacket.

No sooner has he heaved you up on the counter, fingers hooking under your thighs to kiss you stronger- than is the door clanging open and a nurse comes barreling in.

"Ugh- uhm." She's a little stunned, but you're already hopping down, faces flushed and apologizing for the inconvenience.

You don’t throw the bloody paper towels in the garbage, but the toilet, flushing them once, then twice, to make sure that they’re down. Mumbling one last apology before you exit the bathroom together.

Hobi doesn't let go of your hand. You wonder if this is what loving him is going to be like; making out in places you shouldn't, special secret stolen glances when you keep holding hands even around the pack and keep stealing kisses.

You wonder if the kissing will stretch to the cars- to the late night drives, if he'll hold your hand like this around every hairpin turn. If Hobi's going to make you a make out playlist later, full of songs that make him think of you, songs that match the cadence and pitch of your heart. You wonder if loving him will be like this, stolen innocence, like finding sea glass on the beach. There and pretty for the taking if you only look for it.

Your heart feels all warm and tight with it, swaddled. Protected as Hobi tugs you back into Jimin's hospital room. You can't wait to find out.

The next few hours look like this; Namjoon sitting on the foot of the bed his hand on Jimin’s knee, feasting on hospital food. Jungkook giggles, and nearly throws himself across Jimin’s lap so that the alpha can put his hands through his hair. Looks like more takeout, living off of it because no one wants hospital food and you can't go home and cook. You refuse to leave right now.

It looks like Tae smiling for the first time In what feels like years but has logically been only a few hours. Rubbing a hand across her jaw and wincing when she feels the stubble.

Her wince quiets the sounds of the pack happy. And you look up from your plate.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, always stupidly attuned to her and her needs, always watching and waiting.

“I need to freaking shave and I just- I haven’t had the chance to.” Tae lets out a tired sigh, the kind of deep frustration that comes with things that you have no choice but to do.

You take her hand from her chair and tug her up. Because this- this source of angst can be fixed.

“Here- come on,” A shaving razor gets found for her, Namjoon goes to the surgical ward to get the right kind. Sharp and medical and disposable along with a tiny tube of shaving gel. You drag her chair into the bathroom and make her sit while you do it. Lathering up her cheeks and tipping her head back. The whole pack a cacophony in the other room. The shock of skittles and other candies falling onto the floor. Muted words then soft laughter.

You drag the shaving razor up her chin, over her chubby cheeks. Your gentle touch, the soft scrapping of her hair against the blade a gentle accompaniment to the sounds of the pack passing the time until Jimin wants to go to sleep. Jungkook's phone plays a tictok loud, "Bunny- headphones, Minnie's trying to rest" Yoongi reminds him.

Jimin is struggling not to fall asleep, shifting to one side of the hospital bed just to get a better vantage point to look into the bathroom at Tae. Jimin cranes his neck.

Tae's face twitches, and underneath the white froth you see her reddening cheeks. “Stop looking at me.”

Jimin grins from the hospital bed, “Can’t help it, love you.”

“Love you too Minnie” She choruses back, and the pack joins her.

that night, namjoon and yoongi push three hospital cots togeather around jimin's bed and the pack piles in, sweet bodies and kissed cheaks, whiped down with sanitary towels, you end up tucked between tae and hobi, your cheek pressed to her back.

the following morning it becomes impossible to ignore both how purely filthy the 8 of you are and the fact that Jimin's doctors won't let him check out until tomorrow (and even then he'll have days of bedrest and won't be able to use his arm until he gets his stitches out.) You haven't been home in two days, no one can remember if you even locked the front door with how crazy leaving was.

It’s hard to convince Tae to go with you and leave Jimin's side. But she's less resistant when Yoongi reminds her that Jimin needs new clothes to go home in since all of his bloodstained clothing was discarded as medical waste.

“Honestly we should get like- to go bags full of a change of clothes for all of us when like, JK has his seizures,” Maybe it’s just because you’ve done overnights twice in the last week at the hospital- but the idea doesn’t seem like a bad one.

Jin drives you, Hobi, and Tae home in silence; no one tells Tae any of the other secrets yet. Tired as she is, almost falling asleep in the car. Waking with a start when you turn onto your street.

It's a little shocking. When you get home to a cold and quiet house. Jimin's blood has dried up into dark waxy puddles, on the kitchen table and the floor. There are fingerprints from someone, rusty and red on the doorframe. It's stark to see the evidence. To see a bit of it on the butcher block countertop all the terror and the color leached out of it in the grey afternoon light.

Tae is so stumbly that Hobi has to grab her twice just to keep her from walking into walls when he gets her inside. Noodles immediately yowl has you feeling terribly guilty, he circles your and Hobi's ankles. But you push at Hoseok's hands when he stoops to pick him up.

"Take Tae upstairs and shower with her, will you? I'll be up in a second, just gonna feed him and get some stuff together." She's blinking and looking at the bloodstains, eyes already looking glassy with fresh tears.

You need a second, a second in quiet, a second alone just to steady yourself. Jin comes in, dragging in a mountain of mail from your box, "I've got them, come on pups, grooming time."

Jin pecks a kiss along your forehead, "Come up the second you finish?"

You nod, "Just want to get some food first too- hungry."

Jin nods and makes to follow Hobi and Tae but pauses on the stairs. he looks like he wants to say something to you. Eyes full of something unreadable and warm. Unspoken words hover.

If he had to choose anyone, I'm glad he chose you.

But before he can get it out Tae calls from upstairs. "Jinnie? Can you grab one of my comfy sets from the closet down there before you come up?"

You stand, solemn in the kitchen, listening to the sound of them on the creaky stairs, the sound of their quiet voices. The creek of the house as they walk around upstairs.

"Here you go baby," you say, giving Noodles an extra spoonful of food. You know you left enough for him in his bowl and that he didn't suffer too badly. But still, his purring chirping is music to your ears. You pet over his back, his fluffy tail.

He's Still chubby, still good. You aren't too bad of a pet owner then.

There's the gun still there, sitting just to the left of Jimin's blood splatter on the seat of one of the dining room chairs. You're at eye level with it from where you crouch down to pet Noodle. It's the same one that you pulled out from under the bed when you found out he'd been shot. You should probably take it with you when you go back to the hospital, just to be sure.

"You got any secrets for me nu? Are you the long-lost prince of some cat kingdom?" Noodle chops down in response.

You go to the hallway closet to get a duffel bag, where the pack stores their larger bags and luggage.

"Hey!" Hobi calls from upstairs, muffled through the roar of the shower. There isn't much other noise in the house. The birds outside aren't chirping, probably because you haven't been home enough to fill their birdfeeder.

Probably.

"Yeah!?" You call back up, upending the duffel bag and sending a bit of loose change, some quarters and pennies scattering onto the floor. you stoop down to pick up a few of them, tossing them back into the closet with a metallic clang (to be dealt with later.)

“Can you grab Tae's phone charger? It should be by her computer.”

"Got it!" Tae's library room is much the same as it was when you left it, her computer is closed. The walls are green, the window dusty. You find it easily, the cord long and white, tangling in your hands.

You're not sure why your hair raises on the back of your neck.

Noodle stops his chomping.

The push of cold air startles you- the change of pressure in the house like a door being opened- the front door. The windows in the library room are leaky. You're used to being in here and feeling it, used to feeling that same draft every time one of your pack mates comes home.

You freeze where you stand.

The metallic jingle of the doorknob is so much softer than usual. You could almost convince yourself that you don't hear it, that you've made it up.

And then you hear it- Noodle's low hiss.

Call it a habit or a trained behavior but you still make your footsteps quiet everywhere you go. A thing learned from your years with Geumjae when you needed to be quiet to be safe and needed to make yourself as unobtrusive as possible to avoid pain. A vestigial survival instinct.

It serves you well now because no one in the house hears as you slide from Tae’s library through the pantry area, you don’t call out Tae’s name again, or Hobi’s. You don’t know exactly why you don’t.

Your house is an old house and you know every inch of it. You know this house that Yoongi’s built for you from the top of the eves to the shutters, from the windows up top to the ground floor and dusty half-finished basement. You know every creaky floorboard and which steps are the ones you skip when someone’s sleeping upstairs because it always sounds so high-pitched and it wakes Jimin up, light sleeper that he is.

You hear the subtle creek of the floorboards now, the small slide of heavy boots across the wide floorboards. A creak. Someone is about to ascend the stairs, up to where you can still hear Hobi and Tae talking softly. The shower off, they're probably just getting dressed.

Softly, you hear the sound of a heavy boot hitting something metallic, one of the pennies you dropped earlier and missed.

Jin might still be in the other room, that's what you tell yourself. You're just being paranoid. stupid paranoia you almost want to laugh. you're just jumpy from the last few days- that's all. Funny of you, to make it up.

The danger is all in your head.

Only it's not,

Because the first thing you see when you peek around the corner is the pitch-dark barrel of an extended gun.

~-~

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Come tell me what you liked about this chapter!

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~-~

Notes:

There are some parts in this chapter, some facts about yoongi's family that haven't been touched on since the very begining chapters or jimin's secret chapters and i repeated them just so that people get a bit of a refresher but some of it feels a little monotonous to write! i hope it's not too hard to get through.

in an ideal world i would have given myself an additional week to edit this chapter, it's not the most edited and because of that i feel like it got repetitive or arduous in places.

i'm also realizing that this is like, 9th longest bts fanfic in existence. look it up on ao3 if you don't believe me. i think giving people a refresher of the begining is fair. In terms of the harry potter series (it really is a shame that no one knows who wrote it) we're just into the 6th book in terms of word count if you need that for context.

on that same vein. moonbyuls brief rant that is implied to be transphobic and sorta is- is not a reflection of my views she's just...you know...the villain?

this chapter also literally went from 8k to 14k during editing what the fuck. i stayed up till 2 am to get this done two nights in a row. i have this little nagging voice in my head that says its stupid to care about something like this but i can't help it- i love this story so much. even if this isn't the best chapter.

when the m/c has her freak out in the room where she almost passes out- that is called adrenal fatigue and it's soemthing that i struggle with as someone with ptsd. you know the feeling when you go on a rollercoaster when all of your adrenaline unloads it's self all at once? if i go through that my body goes a little haywire like- dizziness, exhaustion, dysregulation, memory fog, all of it. i still like rollercoasters though so as long i like rest and drink alot of water it doesn't affect me too much.

it's really important that you notice that no one says moonbyuls name during the moment when they're talking about their secrets between namjoon, jin, hobi, yoongi, and the m/c. i'm not telling you why just PAY ATTENTION.

Every time i think about the proverb "The child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth." i think of the m/c and how thats her storyline with the family like- she really was like "either you love me or i'll kill all of you" and i think thats cute <3

In terms of why the last don and Beta killed Yoongi's parents- i think it's because yoongi's mother found out that she was pregnant with another beta and the don and beta didn't want to deal with such a divided power. They already had yoongi under their thumb and another possible successor would have over complicated things. Yoongi would have had a little sister, i don't know if he'll ever know thats why his parents where killed- he was between the ages of 16 and 18 when they died.

although this chapter was the least edited in terms of the most recent chapters- i will also say that there are two moments in this chapter- where i 'fuck up' and write things a certian way but heres the thing- they're not fuck ups and they're actually hints so! lets see if anyone notices!!

i'm gonna be honest with you guys the part where it goes "it stays there" left me fucking winded i can't even think about it too hard or else i get misty eyed.

i am catheterizing a lot of emotions writing this i am sorry it took so long to write, there is a reason why this update took a month and thats cuz yeah- my grandmother is dying. She's got cancer and She's 91 so they're not treating it. death is gonna be a /theme/ for me over the next couple of chapters, don't be surprised if I go off on a tangent or if it takes me a second between updates.

i wish i could write the m/c just a little dumber you know?

i wrote this series with the intent to write about people in realistic relationships- showing the moments they make mistakes, the moments they react too much or not enough, the way that trauma affects us all and how we handle it and love. it feels very full circle to have this chapter come out like- this is what bily is about you know? even though they'res alot of dialouge in it.

oh~ shits about to go down~

Mini-Playlist

Dominic fike- acai bowl (kinda hobi and the m/c's song for this chapter, they're going through it)

Hozier- Eat Your Young (Bekon's Choral Version) (this is literally bily's unoffical theme song at this point)

JID, Kenny Mason - Dance now (the beginning when moonbyul setting the industrial park on fire)

Frank sinatra- thats life (the song i picture playing at the end when tae and jimin are talking out their issues).

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certifiedlibraryposts · 4 months

Note

Hey there, librarian here. I deeply enjoy this blog, especially in times like this when its just been a rough week at the library. Its nice to open this beloved hellsite and see a great deal of love for my profession and sometimes it feels like me personally. I love my job but it can be really rough working will all sorts of people every day with different needs and ability who all just KNOW that I can solve all their problems. So it is very heartening to see tumblrinas throwing around confetti for me and other librarians.

We are at the center of multiple culture wars and we try to fill in the cracks left be society that people can fall through. Its not easy and we don't get parades. But here, I see an outpouring of love.

Thank you <3

!!!!!!! Aaaaaaaa this warms my heart 💜💜💜💜💜💜 This bit goes out to you, personally, tumblr user sword-sorceress: I LOVE YOU!!

I'm so sorry for all the stuff that's going on but despite it all you librarians keep trucking and making communities better and I'll always cheer you on as much as I can for that, and so will so many other folks who appreciate the important and amazing work you do, thank YOU!! We're so proud of you!!! We love you!!!!!!

#I hope me yelling 'i love you' at you isnt weird. Platonic 'i love you's are some of my favorite words sjfjdjkska #💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

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chewydolls · 4 months

Text

Feliz Carnaval for all QSMP watchers 🎉✨️

I'm not good with explanations but I separated some curious facts and traditions of the brazilian Carnaval for all the non-brazilians who want to know more about our festivities

Though its origin has some Catholic roots, modern Carnaval is a secular party where people go to street festivals dressed up in shiny costumes or beach wear, drink out in the open, watch parades on TV and send their kids to school looking like Miraculous Ladybug.

People who go out to celebrate Carnaval in the street/beach are called "foliões" and the groups where those people aglomerate, usually following a moving performer (ie a singer performing in a vehicle), are called "blocos"

One of our most beautiful traditions is the "desfile das escolas de samba", parades where different groups, called Escolas de Samba (Schools of Samba, not actual schools), compete in an event that includes very intricate cars, costumes and samba (a musical genre). Each school has a theme, usually related to social commentary and elements of our culture

Some states have a costume called "mela-mela" where the foliões throw sticky food at each other, most commonly flour, tho eggs are not unheard of. This is still not the worse thing someone can throw at you when you're out on the streets

Children use the Carnaval to dress up at school, like some kids do on Halloween minus the scary costumes. Superheros costumes are specially popular

Child-friendly Carnaval is famous for the use of confetti and foam spray. Kids go to school all dressed up and paint each other's hair with shitty pink spray

Other brazilians are welcome to add more traditions if I left anything out!

There's a genre of music you hear on Carnaval called "marchinhas". They're short, simple and often full of innuendos. One of the most popular marchinhas is called, in lit translation, "Mommy I want to suck". Yeah.

In general, Carnaval is a moment to break social rules and go wild. Kiss that stranger you just met. Play soccer with your bros wearing a dress. Engage in some petty food fight with a 7 yo. Go to work in cat ears. People will not judge you (that much)

#qsmp

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jedipoodoo · 5 months

Text

Merry-Go-Round of Life (Hunter x Fem!Reader Howl's Moving Castle AU)

Notes: inspired by @jbeansdraws's lovely art of Hunter as Howl, and also just Hunter's voice in general 😍😍😍😍*swoons*

Warnings: Reader gets hit on and is very uncomfortable, but Hunter steps in to help them out. Takes place in a steampunk-fantasy au. Discussions of eating someone's heart but it's only rumors.

The streets were full for the king’s birthday. Though your little town was quite far from the capital, the people still had a strong sense of patriotism, as evidenced by the number of flags flying overhead. The little steam-powered hovering ships that had taken the country by a storm buzzed by, carrying even more pink and yellow flags like a sail. The soldiers in their smart red-and-blue uniforms paraded past in rows and rows, all sent to the southern border to patrol the wastelands, keeping watch for wizards like the Witch of the Waste and the Heart-Hunter.

You took to the back roads of town to avoid the parade and confetti. The marching band of the parade mixed in a horrible racket with the dance music in town square, and everything was much quieter in the back alleyways, even if you didn’t know them too well.

You glanced down at the scrap of paper with the directions your sister had sent you to the bakery she was working at. You still had to make your wall all the way around to the other side of the square, all while avoiding the crowds of people.

When you glanced up from your directions, you came nose-to chest with a shiny set of brass buckles on a soldier’s uniform coat. Unfortunately, that coat was being worn by a rather tall soldier with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and a rather sharp bayonet attached to his musket

“Hey, looks like a little mouse lost its way,” The soldier said to his companion.

“Oh no, I’m not lost,” You stammered out a little too quickly, crumpling your paper guide in your fist.

The soldier ignored the distress in your voice, “This little mouse looks thirsty, we should take her for a cup of tea,” He said, as if that were a generous offer rather than a virtual kidnapping.

“No thanks, my sister’s expecting me,” You tugged down on the brim of your hat to hide your face, but the soldiers mustached comrade bent down to get a good look at your face, and you jumped back in surprise.

“She’s pretty cute for a mouse,” The mustached soldier grinned.

“How old are you?”

“You live around here?” They began pestering you with questions and you took a bigger step back this time.

“Leave me alone!” you begged. You never had been one for confidence.

“You see? Your mustache scares all the girls,” The first soldier seemed to enjoy teasing not only you, but also his friend.

“So? She’s even cuter when she’s scared. Your chest twisted. You’d never been called cute before, and this certainly wasn’t a situation where you wanted to hear it.

Then, as soft as a fallen leaf, a hand settled gently on your shoulder.

“There you are sweetheart,” A soft, musical voice said. Unlike the unfamiliar, taunting voices of the soldiers, this one made you stand a bit taller, though you were still a little too frozen to be able to look up at your rescuer.

Was this person your rescuer? He could just be trying to get you away from the soldiers and have you all to himself, but you wouldn’t question his actions now.

“Sorry I’m late,” your rescuer continued gently, “I was looking everywhere for you.” there was a certain longing in his voice that you couldn’t quite understand, but you would figure that out later.

The first soldier’s face contorted into a scowl, “Hey, we’re kinda busy here?”

Your rescuer almost scoffed, “Are you really? It looked to me like the two of you were just leaving.”

He lifted a finger, and you gasped as the men jolted to attention, did an abrupt about-face, and marched down the alleyway where you’d come, protesting the whole way.

Now that you were alone with your rescuer, a wizard, no less, you hesitantly looked up at him.

His hair was long and dark, hiding a pair of sparkling earrings, and framing a face that was half-tattooed with a skull pattern.

The Heart-Hunter.

Your breath froze in your throat, but he offered you a gentle smile, close-lipped so you couldn’t tell if he really had those sharp teeth that the rumors said he did. You were alone now, he could easily rip out your heart and eat it in front of you, but he made no such attempt.

“Don’t hold it against them, they’re really not that bad. Now where to? I’ll be your escort this evening.”

He offered you his arm, and you hesitated. People did this for your sister, not for you. But the Heart-Hunter of the Moving Castle wasn’t like most people, that much was obvious.

“The- the bakery,” you said, still in a bit of shock.

He nodded. When you made no move to take his arm, the Heart-Hunter briefly laced his fingers through yours, tucking them into his elbow.

“Do you have someone who’ll meet you there?”

“My sister.”

“Good.” He took off at a brisk pace, and you had to take two steps for every one he took to keep up.

“Now don’t be alarmed,” he whispered as he took you along, “I’m being followed. Act normal.”

You glanced around the alley, but you couldn’t see anything. The Heart-Hunter started off at a leisurely pace, like a romantic stroll through the park. But you could hear a hissing noise echoing through the alleyway. Not like a feral cat, but more like the steam being released from one of those newfangled engines. You managed to keep up with the Heart-Hunter as buildings began to breeze past you, dark gray blobs dripping out from the walls, resembling more of a gelatinous mix than something sentient, though they did wear little straw hats like the ones you made at your father’s hat shop.

Suddenly, there was a whole swarm of these creatures in front of you, and the Heart-Hunter took you in a sharp left turn as you gripped his arm tightly. You could hear them moving behind you, bumping into each other as their skinny little arms reached for the hem of your skirt. There were more waiting up ahead, but the Heart-Hunter just grinned, and wrapped his arm around your waist.

“Hold on!” You wrapped both arms around his with a second’s warning, and The Heart Hunter leaped into the air with you, leaving all the jelly creatures struggling below.

Now you were floating in the air above all the buildings of the town. You gasped at how far away the ground was, but no one seemed to notice you, too wrapped up in their celebrations.

The Heart-Hunter gently took your hands, slipping his fingers in between your clenched fists to hold your hands.

“Now, straighten your legs, and start walking,” He said, as if he were simply teaching you a new recipe.

You stretched out one of your legs, as he demonstrated himself, taking one step, and then another. You were actually moving forward, even though there was nothing to balance on. You could see the crowds of people in the town square, waltzing to the omph-pah-pah of the band.

Having seen your longing gaze, the Heart-Hunter extended one arm, still holding yours, leading you in a delicate spin.

You laughed in a mix of nervousness and glee, and he chuckled.

“You are a natural,” He promised as you walked across the town square, and you smiled at the compliment. It really sounded like he meant it.

“There! That’s the bakery,” you nodded your head towards the yellow building with black beams criss-crossing across the walls. As you came closer, your altitude lowered, and soon enough, the Heart-Hunter was standing on the railing of the balcony of the bakery’s second floor, lowering you onto solid ground.

You sighed, still feeling a little light-headed. This couldn’t be real. You were going to wake up in your room above the hat shop any moment now, ready to begin another boring day.

The Heart-Hunter squeezed your hand, “I’ll make sure to draw them off, but wait a bit before you head back outside.”

Oh right, the jelly monsters.

“Okay,” you said in a small voice.

The Heart-Hunter grinned at you, “That’s my girl.”

Butterflies swirled in your stomach at the tone in his voice, and the Heart-Hunter leapt backwards off the balcony. When you ran to the edge to see where he’d gone, he had vanished, like the last note of the waltz.

You were still standing there a moment later when your sister burst onto the balcony.

“Sissy! What’s going on?” She grasped your hands, they were colder than hers, “Someone said you just floated down onto our balcony!”

You bit your lip, “So that did happen. It wasn’t a dream,” You said slowly.

Your sister pressed you for answers, and you told her the whole story as her eyes grew wider and her face grew paler.

“So he must have been a wizard then,” She gasped softly.

You frowned, “But he was so kind to me, he rescued me.”

Your sister sighed. Given your differences in social lives, she knew more about the whims and cunnings of men than you did.

“Of course he did! He was trying to steal your heart! You know what the Heart-Hunter does to girls, he could have eaten it!”

“No he wouldn’t. You said firmly, clutching your skirts in your hands, “The Heart-Hunter only does that to beautiful girls.”

#hunter tbb #lizart writes #sergeant hunter #sergeant hunter x reader #tbb hunter #tbb hunter x reader #the bad batch #the bad batch x reader #tbb x reader #the bad batch hunter #the bad batch hunter x reader #so the deal is i write something to appease my readers and then i get to write my self-indulgent pieces mmkay????#I hope you enjoy tho <3 #hunter's moving spacecastle au

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aj1dordinary · 7 months

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y'know, im something of a roman empire myself actually

platonic!Johnny Cage x platonic!gen-z!reader; neutral!Kenshi Takahashi x platonic!reader; platonic!Raiden x platonic!reader; platonic!Kung Lao x platonic!reader; platonic!Lui Kang x platonic!reader

no beta reading we die like men. here’s another chapter even though i have like 3 papers due within 2 weeks.

after stepping out of the portal, your eyes catch first the palace setting. how its stone and marble material reached towards the sky and provided a sturdy foundation for your feet. there was clear signs of royalty with the hues of gold and purple that mingled with the color of natural scenery.

however, the view was interrupted when the armed guard replaced it. stern and well-postured, you straightened your back to replicate the menacing look. liu kang had educated you well enough before leaving so you could differentiate the two princesses among them.

johnny whistled, prepared to ruin the scenic moment immediately with that mouth of his. you elbowed him again, “not now” you mouthed.

“you should listen to your assistant more,” raiden said as Earthrealm’s chosen defender. “i’m sure she goes through a lot to keep you out of trouble.”

liu kang hummed in agreement before bowing before the princesses, addressing them as mileena and kitara. the rest of the group’s actions followed after the god.

as he went around, he introduced everyone. well, everyone except you, you stood farther back than the hand-selected fighters. but, your presence did not go unnoticed.

“and the girl?” mileena raised her eyebrow.

liu kang pursed his lips again before speaking, “a spectator, at the request of johnny cage. i assure you that she is of no threat.”

you inch back a little farther behind the pack as the attention seemed to have shifted to your meek form. thankfully, conversation was more focused on the battles that were to take place.

“i hope you are prepared raiden. our champions are determined to win.” kitana smirked.

“myself included, it’s been too long since Outworld has hailed victory.” mileena held her head high in confidence.

before you could also disgrace the group with your quick retorts, the conversation was interrupted by a guard, but clearly one of a higher ranker or importance. tanya, the future empress called her, declared that you all head to the capitol and without further hesitation, you all moving once more.

you made sure to be out of sight, realizing now just how out of place you really were in terms of stature and build. to keep your mind off things, you took out your phone and quietly did the job you were hired to do: vlog.

so as you guys paraded through the city, you whispered amongst the group and took shots of the Outworldian city.

“so raiden give us a little pre-game interview. how do you feel as earth realm’s champion fighter? surely, everyone is gonna want a piece of you.” you shoved the lens into his face again in true paparazzi fashion.

he flushed, you could tell the attention that he has been getting as of late was new to him, but he entertained your antics anyway.

“definitely a little nervous, but also confident. i won against three other of lui kang’s handpicked fighters so i know i have the ability.” he rubbed the back of his neck as confetti had begun raining down.

“a great insight to have raiden. i implore you to keep that same energy throughout our time here.” liu kang spoke like a proud father.

“and you kangaroo?” your low-attention span now shifted.

the nickname always seemed to catch him off guard, so with a recollected sigh, he spoke, “pleased.”

“kung fu! ken-doll! get in on all the fun! we’re being celebrated right now.” you yelled, eager to ramp up the energy within the group.

“we are being celebrated, you just happen to be here also.” kenshi brushed past you, unwilling to give you anything else. ouch. but johnny was quick to replace him, shaking his fist like an angry old man at kenshi’s insult.

kung lao and johnny matched you energy-wise as you all declared that when raiden wins the tournament, you’d order mountains of food and create content to entertain the fans back in Earthrealm.

once a little more composed, you took notice of all the different kinds of beings there were in outworld, you also took in how it felt to be celebrated. mileena seeing the curiosity in your eyes began recanting to raiden about the history of Outworld. she even mentioned about her late father.

you cut liu kang off in the middle of him performing his diplomatic duty, “i’m sorry for your loss. must be difficult.” you provide a flat smile.

“i appreciate your gesture, but you have nothing to be sorry for. not as much as this one here…” she mutters. she stops the carriage to get off and approach a figure in the distance. in the mean time, liu kang is not ignorant to the interaction between you and mileena.

“you have lost your father too.” he spoke, his tone sympathetic. you look down, the camera no longer recording. there was no escaping the conversation with the all-knowing god.

“my mother and sister too. a home-invasion gone wrong. i wasn’t home. i never was, always afraid of missing out. so i blew them off that night when they wanted to watch a movie in favor of partying with friends.”

silence hovered over the group despite the festival music still playing in the background. you made quick work of wiping your tears before apologizing again, scared of dampening the mood. johnny, who knew of your story when he hired you, just provided a comforting arm around your shoulder.

“so your humor is a cover-up, huh?” kenshi muttered.

“really, you want to do this right now?” johnny stood from his position in the carriage. kenshi also stood, making the carriage a little wobbly.

kung lao and raiden replaced his spot on either side, providing you with shoulders to lean on.

“now, now. we will not make a display of ignorance.” liu kang intercepted immediately, a stern tone taking over. “kenshi, now is not the time or place. johnny, not every altercation needs verbal and physical offense. i order you both to sit back down and let us carry on to Empress Sindel’s palace.”

and so it was. mileena returned and the parade carried on as she muttered “li mei and those damned tarkatans” under her breath.

you collected yourself at the palace and stood amongst the group discussing tactics for the fights raiden would be enduring. suddenly, silence took over before johnny pushed you behind him, “red alert. stock villain incoming.”

he spoke in reference to what you would classify as demon split the crowd. his tall stature definitely struck fear deep within you. maybe now would be a good time to start praying. liu kang introduced him as general shao. his goal clear, to antagonize and belittle the group of Earthrealmers that stood before him. the others remained tall before him, but you were kept behind them out of necessary precaution.

the princesses returned and sat on their respective thrones beside Empress Sindel. there was no pause or hesitation for further introduction. she immediately began setting the stage for which raiden would take alongside his enemies.

you begin twirling your hair out of anxiety when his first opponent was introduced. the same li mei that mileena seems to distrust. you found out soon enough in empress sindel’s “motivation” speech.

then the battles commenced. each one menacing than the last. but each time raiden came out victorious. the first part of the tournament was adjourned and true to your goal, you, raiden, kung lao, and johnny made the most of the dinner that was provided. you couldn’t help but feel giddy despite the emotions you let loose earlier. maybe the relationship between Earthrealm and Outworld wasn’t as bad as kangaroo made it seem. you watch as johnny flirted with every woman at the party, as kenshi remained unbothered, and kung lao finish plate after plate. raiden and liu and seemed deep in conversation.

that’s when the feeling returned. the one of doubt that sat deep in your stomach and extended into your throat. everyone here had a place, even in this new world. you begin picking at the remnants of food on your plate.

“i never got your name warrior.”

you look up and notice that it was princess kitana. as instructed by lui kang, you bow before her.

“no need,” she paused. “i just want to know who you are in relation to everyone.” she sat down in the empty chair next to you.

“firstly, i am no warrior, but my name is y/n. this is more of a business trip to me than one of diplomatic relations.”

“hm. a little disappointing. but, lui kang doesn’t bring just anyone to Outworld.” she swirled a glass of exotic wine before sipping.

you chuckle, once again fully aware of how out of place you were. you don’t respond though.

“have you ever fought before?” she raised an eyebrow.

“maybe when i was younger. i took ballet, gymnastics and karate, but i lost all passion for those beginning crafts when my family… i’m sorry.” you used the napkins provided to blot at your eyes.

kitana shared a look of understanding. she even placed a hand on top of yours.

“i think you should get back into it. not only is it an excellent outlet, but,” she extended the ‘u’ for emphasis and dramatization. “i’m surrounded by brutes on a daily bases and would love some feminine company. maybe i can show you something?” she leaned in, eyeing the space around you guys for anyone lurking in your conversation.

and how stupid would you be to deny the princess’ request. with stifled giggles and rushed footsteps, kitana grabbed your hand and rushed off to the palace quarters. sindel watched in amusement, she had the same harmless suspicion as a mother watching her daughter and a friend do some secret activity at a sleepover.

“i won’t go too hard on you, just show you moves you can do when someone invades your space in a manner that is distasteful.”

it only took a couple minutes for liu kang and the rest of the quartet to notice your usual cheerful and sometimes invasive presence was missing. and how lucky, you did not have to witness mileena’s moment of weakness or when general shao insulted your boys or the plans he had that had yet to be unravelled.

when you finally returned to them later that night, you were a little bruised and definitely sore, but you wouldn’t rest until you could show what you learned on a real person, someone like… a drunk johnny cage.

“how did you manage to sneak off with princess kitana?” kenshi quipped, a little dismayed that it was you of all people.

“i didn’t do anything, in fact, it was her who rizzed me up. don’t be jealous ken-doll.” you wiggled your eyebrows to piss him off further.

“well don’t leave anything to the imagination. what happened?” johnny slurred. this time, he was cosigned by a similarly drunk kung lao, leaving a blushing raiden behind.

“yeah? you wanna know?” you egged them on, leading them to their impending doom.

they nodded eagerly. “well come closer, i can’t exactly say this with so many ears leading back to the empress.” you tease.

when they approach and lean down for you to whisper into their ear, you unleashed your attack. you provide a swift uppercut to kung lao’s chin sending him flying back before he composed himself. you then quickly drop down before swinging your leg around to knock johnny off his. kung lao, the ever so competitive, charged back. this time, you used your refreshed gymnastic skills from kitana to avoid his rapid punches.

round off after round off you avoided him until you could feel your exhaustion setting in, while on your hands, you bent your knees and elbows, trying to gain enough energy to push off and drive your legs up. your heels made contact with kung lao’s chin and sent him flying back. he did not get back up, succumbing to the contact and his drunken haze.

after you sent johnny to the ground, he made no attempt to get up, his drunken state rendering him incapacitated.

you gracefully finish the round off and put both your hands in the air as if you as if you had finished an award winning gymnastics routine.

raiden clapped, clearly amused at the current state of his friends. kenshi rolled his eyes, but had a little smirk on his face. “since johnny was so adamant about you capturing everything, you should take a photo of them now.”

“omg ken-doll, that’s the best idea you have had yet!” you squeal and proceed to whip the device out to do so.

“i see that your confidence is back on the mend. i’m happy for you. i am also glad that you are no longer running from conflict.” liu kang chuckled and pat you on the back.

raiden picked up the unconscious kung lao while kenshi attended to johnny. you all then proceeded to walk to the quarters provided to you to settle in and prepare for the next day.

“i knew i had chosen right after all.” liu kang said.

“me? chosen? you flatter me kangaroo.” you smile.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

(The Next Day)

raiden stood before empress sindel, though her daughters were missing from their standard positions. she commemorated him of his past victories and how he only had two opponents who stood before him.

you were back on the sidelines with johnny, phone already recording. you were trying so hard not to yell out “Out-Worldstar”. the jokes just write themselves really.

so imagine your surprise when she announced that kitana was to be his next opponent. slyly, you and johnny slid your phones back into your pockets and just started whistling. all of a sudden interested in the plants and decorations rather than raiders impending doom.

“come on guys, you don’t have any faith in raiden?” kung lao nudged.

“it’s not that,” johnny began. “it’s that he’s definitely going to feel it after,” you finished.

“and i will win.” kitana interjected. she looked over at you, you could tell by the crinkle in her eye, she was smiling, ready to show you what it meant to really be femme fatale.

their quarrel began and liu kang had to even stop himself from giggling as you stared at kitana with a wide mouth and a hint of fear in your eyes. she could definitely hold her own in kombat. she performed aerial flips and even put her magic skills to the test against his lightening. it was miraculous even that their fight looked as if they were floating, feet only touching the ground for a moment before attacking or blocking.

despite her flare and her fans, raiden defeated her in a split second moment of weakness. but it didn’t damper how you felt about the strength she exhibited, if anything, it only fueled the fire in you to get back into your hobbies that you discussed last night. you were determined to actually earn your position within liu kang’s entourage.

she congratulated his victory and with no moment of rest, raiders next opponent was introduced: general shao.

you, johnny, kenshi, and kung lao visibly and audibly gulped. kenshi even tugged at his collar a bit to relieve pressure. it seemed as if the ground shook as he approached the ring. you heard how he made a commotion last night by insulting Earthrealmers and their inherent weakness, so you knew he would show no mercy towards raiden.

you look around at your companions, while lui kang focused intensely on the oncoming battle, everyone else was face deep in a newspaper. this caused you to tilt your head while wearing a monotonous look upon your face.

“ok, i know we are all concerned right now, but maybe the least we can do is cheer him on during his final fight.” neurons began firing as you thought of ways to encourage raiden. then it hit you.

“no.”

“ken-doll come onnnnn. you have to join in or else it won’t be authentic.” you begged, hugging his leg and refusing to get off despite his attempts to kick and remove you.

“i am not doing a pom-pom cheer for a fight.” he grit his teeth.

“come on man, its his last one. we either celebrate now or he dies without ever knowing we were there for him.” johnny wrapped his arm around kung lao and kenshi.

“we can be like the Jackson 5! raiden being michael, obviously” he continued.

“i can hear you guys.” raiden turned, almost embarrassed.

“one time?” kenshi looked down at you, who was still holding on to his leg, returning his stare with puppy dog eyes, your lips wobbling.

you nodded feverishly. he sighed knowing that you have managed to knock his ego down twice now.

“ok.”

you hopped back up excitedly and immediately got your camera ready and positions set.

the kombat was long and brutal, general shao taking every attack raiden gave him and raiden doing the same. though, you do think your plan to increase raiden’s mood distracted the general at some points, allowing raiden to get some solid hits in. you could not lie, raiden’s usual shy demeanor did not match the one before you: a calm, composed, yet deadly storm. his movements also memorized you as his flash of lightning put on a show similar to that of fireworks.

and as general shao fell to the ground, it fell silent even as the ground trembled. you cheered and even entered the ring to give him a hug with the strength of a anaconda, lifting him off the ground some.

“you did it! you singlehandedly saved Earthrealm” you bounced with misplaced excitement.

“and she calls me kangaroo.” liu kang enters as well to also congratulate his champion.

sindel arose to also congratulate him before swiftly disappearing to someplace that would remain unknown to you.

“come. let us bid our hosts farewell and return to Earthrealm.” liu kang looked pleased at the state of his entourage before leading the way.

#johnny cage #kenshi takahashi #lui kang #mk1 2023 #mk1 x reader #mortal kombat #platonic #reader insert #shitpost #x reader #kung lao #raiden #scorpio #kitana #mileena #sindel #bi han sub zero

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 1 year

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The Arcana HCs: M6 as unhinged childhood stories

~ all of these stories are from my childhood with two younger siblings. And yes, the most embarrassing ones here were me. Good luck guessing which >:3 - brainrot ~

- all instances are set when said children were still with their families. In Muriel's case that is unfortunately an alternate universe. The Devorak siblings have shorter stories because there is bonus content of both of them at the end -

Julian (eight years old, with three year old Portia)

He can't sleep

Which is when he has his first unfortunate thought: I'm as awake now as I am during the day. I get to play during the day. What's stopping me from playing now?

So he gets up and starts to quietly play with a toy or two

Which wakes Portia up

"Ilya, what are you doing?"

It's not her fault that he can't sleep. She doesn't need to suffer too

"Go back to sleep Pasha, since you're able to."

Portia doesn't like being left out. She gets up and dumps out every toy in the room so they can play together

Julian goes ahead and lights the lantern, because why not

He thinks they should prepare a nice surprise for when his parents wake up

"Pasha, let's make a circus for them!"

"Okay! I'll practice my running!"

Readers, be advised: neither of them had seen a circus before. It was briefly mentioned in one or two picture books

Julian remembers descriptions of confetti at parades. He decides to make his own out of his school notebooks. He doesn't need them anyway

He briefly pauses to fashion himself a cape from a blanket. He's the leader, because he's the oldest, and circus leaders have capes

Having cut ten full pages of paper into very small pieces, he wants to see what it looks like when they float down from the sky

This is the scene that their poor parents open the door to:

Pasha, feverishly running laps around the room, dodging scattered toys with Olympian dexterity, as Ilya poses grandly on a chair dragged to the center of the chaos, tossing tiny scraps of paper in the air with dramatic flourishes of his cape as he shrieks "Confetti! Confetti!" at the top of his little lungs

Asra: (2 1/2 years old)

Asra doesn't care for discomfort. They will do almost anything to avoid pain of any kind

He doesn't like pooping. He gets dehydrated easily because normal water isn't exciting enough to remember to drink, and the resulting constipation makes pooping unpleasant

Being a generally easy-going toddler, it's surprising how fixated they can get once they decide they will or won't do something

He has decided that he is not going to poop

They frequently get the urge to do so, which leads to them doing all sorts of funny hops and poses to try to keep it in

Aisha and Salim aren't fools. They know what's going on with their two-year-old

"Asra? Do you need the lavatory, my baby?"

Cue a very strained smile on a tiny face glowing with effort: "Nope! I'm just dancing. I just felt like dancing. I'm only dancing."

Eventually it becomes clear that he's not going to give in. Aisha and Salim make the mistake of assuming that it'll happen one way or another. They underestimate him

After a full twelve days passes with no success at convincing them to poop, they take them to the doctor with the concern that their baby couldn't poop now even if they wanted to

The doctor is very sympathetic

Unfortunately, he only has adult-strength laxatives available

The doctor tells Aisha and Salim to give Asra a quarter of the suggested dosage. They give him his first tiny spoonful and go home for an afternoon nap

Asra is no fool. They know there is something mysterious and powerful in the large bottle they only got an intriguing taste of

He's usually pretty docile and sleepy around nap time, but the thought of it is driving him to distraction, so he decides to investigate while his unsuspecting parents doze

When Aisha and Salim wake up an hour later, the tightly sealed bottle previously hidden in the back of the cabinet is in the middle of the table, open, on its side, and completely empty

Salim turns to Aisha and tells her, "this is about to be either the scariest, or the funniest afternoon of our lives."

Over the course of the next three and a half hours, Salim follows a frantically energetic, deeply confused, and extremely frustrated Asra around the house, cleaning up little pile after little pile

Aisha still doesn't know why neither of them thought of putting him back in diapers for that afternoon

Nadia: (2 1/2 years old)

She developed her fashion sense at a very young age

She would run through the halls of the Prakran royal residence, wearing one (1) article of clothing at a time, asking every older sister she encountered "Does this match?"

"Match what? You're not wearing anything else."

Cue a patronizing sigh: "But does it match?"

"... Yes?"

This would continue for the better part of the morning

She would change outfits a minimum of four times a day, usually closer to seven or eight:

One for breakfast. One for after breakfast. One for lunch. One for schoolwork. One for playtime. One for evening. One for dinner. One for after dinner. One for bedtime

Speaking of bedtime, Nadia wasn't particularly fond of lying quietly in the dark until she fell asleep. It was boring

Every night for months, this was her cue to roll out of bed, toddle over to the shelves and chest that held her clothes, and do some fashion planning for the day ahead

One by one she would unfold and lift out a piece of clothing, briefly scrutinizing it before declaring "this doesn't match" and throwing it over her shoulder without a second glance

Her sisters knew what she was doing - every night it would be five minutes of quiet before they'd hear her imperious little voice floating through the darkness:

"This doesn't match. This doesn't match. This doesn't match. This doesn't match. This doesn't match ..."

And every morning her maids would nearly tear their hair out with frustration at the prospect of collecting dozens of tiny clothes off of the floor, refolding, and organizing them back in their places

Bonus scene:

Nadia: *walks into the pantry*

Nazali: *caught with a piece of stolen cake halfway in their mouth*

Nadia: Did Baba say you could have cake?

Nazali: I'll give you some of mine if you promise not to tell

Nadia: Okay

Nazali: *hands her the bigger half of their stolen slice*

Nadia: *eats the whole thing in three seconds*

Nadia: *stares Nazali dead in the eyes*

Nadia, sprinting out of the pantry: BABAAA! NAZALI'S EATING CAKE AND THEY TOLD ME NOT TO TELL YOUUU!!!

Muriel: (seven years old)

He loves his parents. He wants to do something nice for them

He decides to make them breakfast in bed

He doesn't tell anyone about his plans

He wakes himself up two hours before his parents and heads into the kitchen

Has he cooked breakfast before? No, but he's seen his parents do it often enough to know the process

He has a menu planned: tea, oats, and eggs

He decides to make the tea first. He doesn't like how tea always burns his tongue when he drinks it. Grown-ups always make it too hot. So he plops two teabags in some mugs and adds some room temperature water. He leaves them to soak

He knows it can take a while for oats to cook. He takes several fistfuls and puts them in a small pot. He thinks there's supposed to be milk too, so he adds plenty of that. He puts it on the fire and moves on to the next stage

Omelets are his comfort zone. He's made them before with his parent's help. He knows how to crack and scramble the eggs and roll them around in the pan

However, he likes his omelets without anything in them. His parents like to add all kinds of things, like vegetables. And spices.

His logic is as follows: Grown-ups like unpleasant things in their omelets. Therefore, to make omelets they will like, he must find unpleasant things to put in them

He finds a forgotten hunk of very old, very dry, very sour, slightly moldy cheddar, and a jar of whole cloves

He can't find a grater

He breaks the chunk in half and drops one in the middle of each omelet

The omelets are yellow and perfectly cooked, with a rubbery disc of old melted cheese in the middle and dark spots of clove throughout. It smells even more unpleasant than he hoped. He's very proud

The oats have been boiling this whole time, but he never saw them thicken because he never stirred them. When the surface of the milk finally boils down to the oats at the bottom, he removes them from the heat

He drops the pot

He reflexively bops the falling pot like a volleyball, hitting it so quickly that it doesn't burn him, and watches in awe as it sails through the air and lands on the other side of the kitchen

When he goes to pick it up the oats haven't even budged

Muriel's parents wake up to a tray containing rock solid burnt oats, water with teabag essence, and clove and cheese omelets

He sits at the foot of their bed and watches them excitedly, never tearing his gaze away, until they both clear their plates of all their food

They politely decline his offer of seconds. He assumes it's because he already used up all the cheese

Portia: (three years old)

It's no secret that she likes anything sweet

Desserts, candy, pastries, you name it. If it has sugar, she loves it

Her older brother Ilya likes sweets too. She loves her older brother Ilya

Her older brother Ilya loves her too. Her older brother Ilya doesn't like sweets as much as he loves her. If she asks with a cute enough face, he'll give her his share most of the time

Which is why it is perfectly acceptable for her to go ahead and eat both portions whenever someone gives her something sweet and tells her that "this piece is for your brother."

Her parents begin to wonder why she's having sugar crashes so often

Her older brother Ilya is beginning to wonder why he never gets nice snacks any more

She does a good job of staying under the radar, eating her piece where the adults can see her and then using the moment she slips through a door or hallway to scarf down her brother's

She flies a little too close to the sun one day

Some nice merchant friends drop by, bearing a massive box of chocolate as a gift to the family, and make the mistake of leaving it out on the table

While they visit and chatter, she pulls the whole tray out of the box and leaves it closed on the table while she makes off with the goods

With his parent's blessing, Ilya goes to enjoy a piece after the friends leave and discovers the empty box

Portia does not respond when they call her name

Ilya does some amateur sleuthing by following the trail of chocolate wrappers through every corner of the boat

He finally finds Portia by staying very quiet in the hold, until he hears the rustling of a wrapper being opened behind a stack of crates

The stomachache she develops from half a pound of chocolate puts her off of sweets for a while

In her agony she confesses to stealing all of Ilya's desserts and he refuses to play with her for the rest of the afternoon

Lucio: (two years old)

Lucio likes attention. Lucio likes his mother's attention

Unfortunately, his mother spends most of the day busy, and he doesn't like the severity of his punishments when he does something bad enough to get her attention while she's busy

He waits until she's home in the evening to get her attention

One of the small ways Morga indulges him is by giving him a few minutes of time when she puts him to bed. She'll smooth the hair out of his eyes, press a peck to his forehead, and tuck him into his furs

Which is why he'll wait all of two minutes before getting back out of bed and slowly, impudently, walking to the side of the hall lit by the hearth fires

As soon as he's caught, he'll turn tail and make a mad dash for his bed, taking a flying leap onto the pallet and assuming the ostrich position with his head buried in the furs and his rump pointed at the ceiling

And every time, Morga will chase him back, give a few perfunctory swats to his bold little behind, and tuck him back in bed

Rinse and repeat

The other clansmen think it's hilarious. They'll take seats around the fire that give them a clear view of the darkened end of the hall, watching for a little blond head to come bobbling into the light

It becomes a game. As soon as he passes a certain piece of flooring, they'll yell out in chorus: "Montag's out of bed!" and the chase will begin

Until one evening, when the clansmen wonder what would happen if he was able to get farther than that piece of flooring

He makes it to the flooring. He pauses. He scoots a little further. Nothing happens.

He takes one more step, plants his feet, and with all the strength of his tiny lungs, he yells -

"MONTAG! OUTA! BEEDDD!!!"

It was shortly after this development that Morga only tucked him in once a night. After a few cranky days of keeping himself awake trying to get in trouble, Lucio gave it up

Devorak sibling's double trouble (AU in which the Old Testament exists and their parents teach it to them)

Ilya and Pasha's parents receive a letter from Tasya with the following story about her daughter Lishka:

Lishka's favorite stuffed animal is a sheep. Its name is Lambie

Lishka dreams of having a "real, live pet Lambie" to play with every day. Unfortunately, that's not in the cards for her

Some friends of theirs let them stay at their house while the ship is docked. To celebrate the get together, the family plans a feast for the last day of the visit

The traditional dish they wish to serve is roast mutton. As they do not have a refrigerator, they purchase a live sheep and keep it in their yard until the festivities

Lishka loves the sheep. She calls it her "real, live pet Lambie" and plays with it every day. She makes flower crowns for it. She gives it lots of hugs

Tasya and the hosts tell Lishka that "this lambie is just visiting for a bit, and then it's going home."

They schedule the butcher to come while Lishka's on an outing. They clean up all the evidence. They forget about the horns

Lishka comes back from playing in the yard, sobbing, a bloody horn in each hand as she tearfully informs her mother that "my real, live pet Lambie's gone!"

Tasya and the Devorak parents think it's darkly hilarious. Ilya and Pasha feel deeply for Lishka's loss

Over lunch, Ilya asks Pasha who she's going to marry when she grows up. Pasha responds with, "I'm going to marry you!"

Ilya says, "you can't do that. It's not allowed."

"Oh."

"So which of the sailors are you going to marry when you grow up?"

"I don't know." The three-ear-old looks down at her half-finished lunch and she shrugs. "All of them, I guess."

Ilya gasps and drops his fork. "You can't do that! That's commit adultery!"

Pasha freezes, eyes wide with horror. Ilya continues:

"And do you know what commit adultery means?"

Pasha slowly shakes her. Ilya thunders on, adopting the attitude of an angry preacher he saw in a town square once

"It means do adultery. And do you know, what do adultery means?"

Pasha shudders and shakes her head again, hanging on her brother's words like gospel

It is at this moment that their silently amused mother remembers that their father had told them an abridged version of David and Bathsheba's story that morning

Ilya takes a deep breath and continues his sermon like it's the world's worst horror story:

"Do adultery would be like if you had one real live pet Lambie, and you loved it like it was your own baby. And Do Adultery is like if someone came over, and Papa didn't want to feed them any of his own sheep, so he took your real live pet Lambie and he killed it and he fed it to the guests."

Silence. Ilya resumes his meal. Pasha stares blankly at the opposite wall, contemplating the mysteries of death. Their mother's shoulders shake with suppressed laughter

Finally, Pasha clears her throat and sweetly sings a funeral dirge for the dear departed Lambie, making a grave mispronounciation at the end:

"Lishka had a little lamb ... its feast was white as snow."

(A/N: the only proof I have that all of this really happened is that you can't make this kind of stuff up)

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eksvaized · 3 months

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Part Eleven [ Previous 〡 Next ] taglist: @kingsprettyangel, @simonsslvt if you want to be added - let me know!

Simon lays awake, his gaze fixated on the ceiling. The light of the moon filters in through the small sliver of the drawn curtains, casting a grey glow across the room. Although you’re on the second floor, nestled in the confines of your bed and probably deep in slumber, he convinces himself that he can discern the faint, rhythmic sound of your breathing. Tonight, sleep is an elusive phantom, dancing just out of his reach, as if playing a tantalizing game of hide and seek.

At first, his mind is ensnared in a relentless loop that constantly replays the heart-stopping moment he saw you attempting to flee. On the surface, he had maintained a facade of calm and collectedness, a veneer of control that masked the turmoil within. But deep within the hidden recesses of his mind, hidden from your eyes, a storm was brewing. A torrent of panic and fear swallowed whole him, an overwhelming tsunami of emotion that threatened to submerge his sanity in its dark depths.

He was well aware that the thoughts of escape, those tantalizing whispers of freedom, still lurked in the corners of your mind, casting a shadow over your interactions with him. That’s why he made the conscious decision to leave you alone in the house yesterday. Well, it was more than a decision. It was a test, a gamble of sorts. An experiment to see how you would react, what decisions you would make, in his absence.

In his mind, he had prepared himself for a multitude of scenarios. He had expected, with a certain degree of certainty, that you would misbehave and act like a rebellious brat. Maybe you would even give in to the temptation of curiosity and sneak downstairs to explore the rest of the house. Yes, he had anticipated a myriad of potential outcomes. But what he had not accounted for was the jarring sight that had greeted him upon his return.

The living room was a scene of unbridled chaos. It was as if a hurricane had swept through, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. Furniture — at least the stuff you could lift — was overturned. Old books from the bookshelf were strewn across the floor like forgotten confetti after a parade. Even the vase that adorned the coffee table lay shattered, its fragments glistening like teardrops under the harsh overhead light. Every semblance of order in the living room was all but eradicated.

In the eye of this storm of disarray, you knelt. Like a solitary figure in an abstract painting, you were the focal point in this whirlwind of chaos. Your body convulsed with the rhythm of your sobs, each one echoing through the space, bouncing off the walls. The raw emotion that filled the room was palpable, a bitter perfume that clung to every surface.

Simon blinks, his eyelids fluttering once, then twice, as he’s yanked from his thoughts and thrust back into his bedroom. He finds himself lying in his cold, empty bed once again, the emptiness of the room serving as a haunting mirror, reflecting his inner turmoil.

The depth of his frustration with you is so profound, it’s like a storm raging in a teacup, creating a vortex of feelings that’s almost suffocating. His irritability permeates the surrounding air, brewing a heavy, palpable tension that hangs like a rain cloud ready to burst. It’s not that he’s demanding or expecting too much from you, his desires are actually quite simple - all he yearns for is to see a flicker of understanding in your eyes, a sign of acceptance of actions. He craves your obedience and submission, the surrender of your will to his. He imagines a future where he can lavish you with affection, treating you like a precious gem, showering you with the abundant love and respect that you absolutely deserve.

His dreams are filled with vibrant images of you looking at him with love, of you accepting his care and protection, of you surrendering your fears and doubts. He sees himself as your protector, your guide, your lover, and your friend. But as long as you continue to perceive yourself as a prisoner within these walls, his dreams remain just that - dreams.

Your perception of him binds his hands, trapping him within the walls you've constructed around yourself. Leaving him no choice but to treat you as you perceive yourself to be - a prisoner. However, he hopes that one day, you’ll see the love behind his actions, the care in his words, and the dreams he has for both of you.

With a heavy, almost audible sigh, Simon musters the energy to push himself up into a sitting position. His bare back, surprisingly cold, comes to rest against the rough, wooden headboard of his bed. Fumbling in the semi-darkness, he reaches out towards the nightstand, his fingers blindly exploring the cluttered surface until they close around a pack of cigarettes.

Extracting one with practiced ease, he places it between his parted lips, the familiar, bitter taste spreading across his tongue, offering him a small sense of comfort in the otherwise lonely room. The sharp, distinct smell of nicotine hangs heavily in the air, permeating every corner of his bedroom, creating a cocktail of scents as it mingles with the lingering aroma of his expensive cologne.

His mind wanders back to you, and he can’t help but acknowledge the fact that if he ever wants to bring you into this room — when he finally gathers the courage to do so — he would need to eliminate the intrusive odor. He yearns for nothing more than to make you feel completely at ease, to create a safe, welcoming space for you. He understands, with a clarity that surprises him, that the lingering, invasive scent of cigarettes absorbed into his sheets would likely have the opposite effect, potentially driving you away. And that, he knows, is the last thing he wants.

After savouring the last puff of his cigarette, he extinguishes the glowing ember and swings his legs out from under the warmed sheets. Standing at his full, towering height, his daunting silhouette is barely visible in the dark room. Despite his imposing stature, his movements are remarkably silent, akin to a phantom drifting through the night. Each footstep echoes softly, barely disturbing the tranquillity that has settled in the house.

A ritual, as familiar and comforting as an old lullaby, unfolds. A tradition that took root from the very first night he brought you to his home. As you lay sleeping, cocooned in the peaceful embrace of slumber, he assumes his nightly vigil at the threshold of your bedroom. He doesn’t impose upon the sanctity of the room by crossing the boundary, preferring to remain an observer.

Simon leans against the worn wood of the frame, his gaze settling on the serene form that is you. His eyes, reflecting the soft moonlight that filters through the curtains, trace the contours of your peaceful face, drinking in the sight of you. Each night, like a silent sentinel, he stands quietly watching over you, until the sun rises.

Now, bathing in the soft light of the moon, he couldn’t help but notice an uncanny resemblance. It was as if he was looking into the past, staring at a mirror image of her. You bear an uncanny likeness to her, so much so that it was startling. The similarities had been there since the moment he had first laid eyes on you, but now, under the moonlight, the likeness was overwhelmingly striking. You could very well be her long-lost sister, albeit a younger version, untouched by the ravages of time. Your features are softer, gentler and more innocent, devoid of the harsh lines that had come to mark her face.

It’s been a considerable amount of time, a span of years filled with change, since the memories of her last invaded his mind. But now, beneath the moon’s cold scrutiny, with the chilly wind outside whispering tales of the past, he finds it impossible to shake her image from his thoughts.

The memory of her is not just a mere thought, it’s vivid, almost tangible - like a ghost refusing to pass on. He still can see her slender frame laying in a cold, stark cell, her head resting on a pile of paper flowers, as though in a peaceful sleep. The flowers were her own creation, painstakingly folded from the pages of books that Simon had brought for her. It’s an image that has been seared into his memories, a haunting reminder of a past that refuses to be forgotten, a past that clings on to the edges of his present.

Killing her was undoubtedly the most horrific mistake he had ever made in his life. Yet, the real torment lay not in the act itself, but in the bitter truth that it had never been his intention. The memory is etched into his mind, as sharp as if it all took place yesterday...

He can still see her in front of him, her eyes wide and pleading, silently begging him to take her outside, away from the oppressive confines of the cell, even if for a few minutes. She was a pitiful sight, her spirit crushed and her body worn down from the harsh conditions. Her misery hung in the air, thick and suffocating as a heavy fog, twisting his heart into painful knots.

It was this heart-wrenching scene that compelled him to concede to her plea. He did so against his better judgment, against the screaming protests that echoed in every fiber of his being, warning him of the potential catastrophic consequences. Yet, he ignored these warnings, and that decision transformed his life into a living nightmare.

Simon, in his usual cautious manner, had taken all the necessary precautions. He had tied her hands, made sure she stayed within a hand’s reach, and explicitly forbade her from making any sudden movements. But she was a fiery spirit, just like you, refusing to give up or to be tamed.

When she made a desperate, last-ditch effort to escape, he had managed to catch her. Blinded by a fierce and unforgiving anger, he was completely consumed by a terrifying rage, a fire that threatened to burn everything in its path. It was in this heated, volatile moment that he lost his sense of control, his sense of reason. He was so blinded by his fury that he didn’t even realise that his iron grip around her fragile neck was more than just an act of restraint. It was slowly and mercilessly suffocating her.

The horrifying, gut-wrenching reality of the atrocity he had committed only dawned on him after he had dragged her lifeless, limp body back to cell; the moment he let her body go, it fell onto the concrete floor like a marionette whose strings had been abruptly cut.

Simon rubs his face. The memory of how he had ended the life of the woman he loved, the only woman who had ever truly loved him back, haunts him. He was the reason she had drawn her last breath, and that thought was more painful than any physical wound.

The guilt and remorse gnaw at his sanity constantly, and that’s why he needs you, that’s why he keeps you here. You are his solace, his escape from the cruel reality that he finds himself trapped in. When his attention is on you, when you are in his presence, he finds the tormenting thoughts fading into the background. You are his distraction, his piece of normalcy in his world that’s gone awry. In your company, he finds a fleeting respite from the relentless ghosts of his past.

With a precision that has become a part of his daily routine, he closes the bedroom door as silently as a thief in the night, taking care to avoid the creak of old hinges that could wake you. He does this only when he notices you beginning to stir - a twitch of your fingers, a soft sigh escaping your lips - in the soft morning light. By then, the sun is already peeking above the horizon.

In the serene stillness of his bathroom, connected to his bedroom, he steps beneath the soothing stream of the shower, surrendering himself to the gentle caress of warm water cascading over his bare skin. As the steam gradually fills the space, his thoughts drift back to you. His fingers curl into a tight fist. With the fervor of a mutt in heat, he thrusts into his own clenching grasp.

Eyes shut closed, he recalls the vivid memory of you, the sensation of your body pressing up against his fingers. The images in his mind are so powerful; he can almost hear your moans and whimpers. He can almost feel the feverish rhythm of your hips grinding against him in a desperate search for release.

He remembers the crescendo of your pleasure, building, and building until it finally reached its peak. The memory of your climax is so real, so palpable, he can almost feel the tremors of your convulsing body as you succumbed to the overwhelming wave of pleasure, culminating in an earth-shattering orgasm. It doesn’t take him long to reach his own release, too.

Once he’s done, he steps out of the shower, towel draped around his waist. After dressing up, he heads to the kitchen. He loves this part of the morning, when the house is still quiet and he can focus on preparing breakfast for you. He takes his time, carefully selecting the freshest ingredients, chopping, mixing, and cooking. Simon may not be the best cook, but he puts in a lot of effort for you.

An hour later, as the morning sun paints the kitchen with its golden hue, he is almost done preparing breakfast when he hears the familiar sound of your movements upstairs. At first, he hears you pacing around the room, the soft rustling of fabric against fabric, the wardrobe door closing and opening. Then, the sound of your footsteps echoes, a distant drum beat resonating through the house as you walk to the bathroom and back.

Knowing that he’s running out of time, he quickly finishes up in the kitchen. He arranges everything neatly on a tray, the aroma of freshly cooked food filling the air. With a sense of satisfaction, he carries the tray upstairs.

Without even the slightest hesitation or the courtesy of a knock, he pushes open the door and steps into the bedroom. The first thing that catches his attention is the bed, with its sheets and blankets thrown into disarray. His heart skips a beat at the unexpected sight, his mind racing as he realizes that your usual spot within the chaotic tumble of sheets is uninhabited and cold.

His frantic gaze then darts across the room, and that’s when he spots you, perched by the window. You have pulled a chair right up to it the glass pane, settling into its worn upholstery. You are curled up, your body folded into itself as if trying to conserve warmth, a blanket from the bed wrapped around your shoulders. The sight of you, bathed in the soft glow of the morning light filtering in through the glass, brings a sense of relief to him. The room may be in shambles, but there you are, safe and sound.

He registers the fact that you remain oblivious to his presence as he crosses the room. His footsteps, usually a sharp echo in the quiet of the room, are now just a faint whisper against the floor - a noise that appears to have gone unnoticed by you. With a slight sigh, he sets down the tray he has brought with him on the nightstand. It clinks against the wood. But your gaze, usually so quick to shift and assess, remains fixed outside the window.

You are often quiet, keeping your thoughts to yourself, and only rarely do you engage in idle conversation with him. Even so, on most days, you will at least shoot him a glare or scoff at something he says. Today, however, there is none of that. No fiery glare, no curt wave. Just a vacant stare out the window. He can’t help but wonder if this unusual silence has anything to do with the events of yesterday.

He feels a slight pang of annoyance welling up inside. Does he not deserve at least some form of acknowledgment? After all, it’s not fair for you to ignore him completely.

In the aftermath of your failed attempt to run away, he had chosen to be incredibly lenient with your punishment. His mercy had been far more gracious than what you deserved, especially considering the circumstances. Moreover, he had even allowed you to return to your own room, sparing you a night in the basement. Given these concessions, he had expected you to wake up in a state of overwhelming joy. He imagined you grinning from ear to ear, practically radiating an aura of gratefulness that was impossible to overlook. He had hoped to see a spark of appreciation in your eyes, a sign that you recognized his magnanimity.

In fact, he would have even appreciated a more explicit show of gratitude from you - perhaps finding you on your knees, your lips wrapping around him in a silent thank you. He knew that such a scenario was perhaps pushing the boundaries, a bit too much too soon, especially since he understood the necessity of being patient with you.

Yet, what he encounters is an unsettling silence. You show absolutely no reaction to his presence, leaving him feeling oddly invisible, as if he didn’t exist in your world.

He can feel the frustration inside him, bubbling and churning, like a cauldron on the verge of boiling over. It is a fiery presence, an almost palpable entity, threatening to consume him. Every fiber of his being screams out, resonating with this internal chaos. Yet, he knows he can’t let it gain control. He can’t afford to lose his composure. So, he fights back the urge, suppresses the tumultuous feelings, swallowing them down like a bitter pill.

“You should eat something,” he suggests softly, his voice unintentionally gentler than he has imagined. It is as if the tension in the air cushions his words, each syllable coming out as a hushed whisper. Slowly, he moves closer to you.

Yet, you still offer him no acknowledgment, no sign that you even heard him. You don’t even afford him a glance, your attention captured entirely by the world outside. Your gaze remains unwavering, your focus lost somewhere beyond the confines of the room.

A thought begins to cross his mind, a worrying idea that perhaps you had succumbed to some illness. It wasn’t entirely implausible, given the fact that you had spent the entire previous day running around the backyard, your feet bare and exposed against the cool, dew-kissed grass. This could potentially account for your sudden and drastic shift in demeanor, your unanticipated ungrateful attitude.

Yet, when he extends his arm, placing the back of his hand against your forehead to check your temperature for any signs of fever, it is surprisingly normal. No signs of sickness, no signs of abnormality.

A symphony of discontent, a low, frustrated growl, unwillingly breaks free from him, his teeth colliding like stones in a grinding mill, echoing his rising irritability. He is growing increasingly frustrated, but he is also trying to be understanding. After everything that has transpired yesterday, he can still smell you on his fingers, a lingering reminder of your orgasm. It is this tangible reminder that keeps him patient, that prompts him to cut you some slack.

Simon begins to tidy up the room. He starts with the bed, meticulously making sure that the sheets are smooth, free of wrinkles and that the pillows are fluffed. Afterwards, he spends an agonizing five minutes scrolling through various movie options in the box on the table, trying to find something that might catch your interest. Once he makes his choice, he returns to your side.

His rough fingers trace the edge of the blanket that is draped around you. With a gentle tug, he pulls it off, letting it fall and pool around the base of the chair you are seated on. You are wearing a long, big shirt, one that Simon immediately recognizes as his own. He had purposely left it in your wardrobe.

Even now, with him so close that he’s basically breathing down your neck, you continue to ignore him. But he is undeterred, persistent in his efforts. His hand reaches out again, fingers brushing your arm, urging you to stand, to acknowledge him.

“You should eat something,” he repeats, his voice firm yet gentle. You only shake your head.

He doesn’t want to spend the rest of the day arguing, bickering, and trying to convince you to peel your ass off the chair. Therefore, he chooses a more direct, and arguably more effective, approach. With a swift and decisive movement, he wraps his robust, muscular arms around your frame. The sensation of his strength is immediately apparent as he effortlessly lifts you up.

Taken by surprise, you let out a startled gasp, the unexpected shift in your surroundings leaving you temporarily dazed and confused. You find yourself ensnared in the iron grip of his hands, your vocal cords seemingly frozen, unable to form any words. Your eyes, wide with shock, lock onto his.

As he holds your gaze, he can see a veritable storm of emotions churning within you. Undeniably, there is a profound sadness that seems to etch itself into your very being. More disconcerting, however, is the fleeting glimmer of something that bears a striking resemblance to regret. It is a feeling that seems to gnaw at your soul, threatening to consume you in its fiery abyss.

Simon is incredibly observant, with an uncanny knack for noting the minute details that others might easily overlook. He picks up on the subtle stiffening of your body in his hold, a rigidness that wasn’t there before. He notes the way you consciously keep your arms to yourself, as if you’re afraid to initiate any kind of contact. His eyes follow your movements, and he doesn’t miss how you quickly create a noticeable distance between the two of you as soon as your feet touch the surface of the mattress. It’s almost as if his touch burns you, as if you’re recoiling from the heat of a flame. Every flutter of your eyelashes, every slight shift in your demeanor, he catches it all, observing and absorbing.

Seating himself on the edge of the bed, he takes great care to avoid disturbing the spread of food that he has arranged before you. His moves are calculated, mindful of the careful balance he’s achieved. His attention, however, is divided. It’s half-absorbed in the movie that’s just begun to play, the opening credits rolling on the screen, and half-absorbed in watching you.

The screen’s flickering light dances across your face, highlighting the sharp intensity of your gaze. He observes from the corner of his eye as your attention drifts repeatedly to the tray placed before you. Yet, the food remains untouched. His patience wears thin as he waits, waits and waits, hoping you would finally give in to your hunger. Restraining himself from interjecting becomes a struggle he’s slowly losing.

At last, he reaches his breaking point. “You should eat something,” he says. It’s already the third time he’s echoed this sentence, each iteration more insistent than the last. Before you even have the chance to decline, he interjects, his tone leaving no room for negotiation, “Or I’ll feed you.”

You’re taken aback, a flicker of hesitation flashing in your eyes. The room falls into a tense silence, filled only with the sound of your ragged breaths. The silent standoff continues for what feels like an eternity, with neither of you willing to back down.

However, as the seconds draw on, the resistance in your eyes starts to wane. There’s a moment where you look as though you’re about to say something, but then you close your mouth, swallowing whatever words were on the tip of your tongue. You finally give in, your shoulders slumping in resignation.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, you reach out towards the plate in front of you and your fingers close around the cool metal of the fork.

A/N: this chapter is more than 4000 words long and I had so much fun writing it from Simon's POV. I think the rest of the fic will be mainly written from YN's POV and maybe if I'll feel like it, and if it will make sense, I might do another one trough Simon's eyes. :) but anyway, thank you for reading && hope you liked it!

#simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #writing #cod #ghost x y/n #ghost x you #ghost x reader #call of duty #simon riley x reader #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #cod ghost #cod x reader #cod fanfic #malheur #fem!reader #ao3 fanfic #fanfic

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