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hansoulo · 3 years

Text

whisper scarcely breathing

part four of “Pillar of Salt”

Pairing: Boba Fett/Princess!Reader (she/her pronouns, no Y/N)

Warnings: NC-17, NSFW, explicit language, mentions of canon-typical violence, fluff, hurt/comfort but without the hurt, bathing and/or being bathed, choking, female-receiving oral, loss of virginity, unprotected M/F intercourse

Word Count: 6.1k

Image Credit: (x) by @/365filmsbyauroranocte, not meant to be a representation of the reader

A/N: this one is for the boys with the boomin’ system 😩💦

༓ series masterlist ༓

The datapad that you’d left in the garden was thrust back into your possession one morning by the hurried hands of a maid. Truthfully, you had forgotten all about it. The mind, when faced with matters as pressing as the press of a mouth, tends to forget about inconsequential objects.

You’d never met the girl standing in front of you before, and she avoided your eyes while passing over the small screen. She seemed eager to be rid of it. You couldn’t say you blamed her. “‘S yours, miss. The bounty hunter said you’d lost it.”

Did he, now?

“Thank you,” you replied sincerely, careful not to let the datapad drop to the floor as you tucked it back into the deep brocade of your gown pockets. You didn’t have the wherewithal at first to ask her when he’d found it or found the time to return it. But you also didn’t have the common sense to keep your mouth shut. “Could I ask when he gave it to you?”

The servant ducked her head. “This morning, your Highness. I- I was in the loading bay when they left, think he was tryin’ to get a hold of you but didn’t have the time, told me- told me to keep quiet ‘bout it.” A bob of her throat signalled a nervous swallow. “Princess.”

Poor girl, you thought to yourself absentmindedly. Boba probably scared her half out of her wits.

“Really, I can’t thank you enough.” You touched a soft hand to the servant’s shoulder in an misguided attempt to soothe. She returned the action with a nervous smile, eyes still downcast and trying not to shy away.

You never realized how afraid they all were. Of you.

The realization made your tongue tangle in your throat, tripping over some lie about a fever and champagne-induced amnesia as explanation for your exchanges with a man so ill-acquainted.

Hopefully, the maid didn’t make a habit of gossip.

Hopefully, you stopped making a habit of Boba Fett.

⫸———————————————— ⫷

A chaincode, a datapad tracking number, and the rest of your life flashed in backlit neon. You silently cursed yourself for not putting an opening passcode on anything, including the datapad that you now held with slightly tremoring hands.

In your defense, it’s not like it held anything of interest. Mostly just holonovels and some pictures of things you found intriguing enough to want to paint or draw.

But now there was a thing of veritable interest stuffed into a new folder titled “Your Highness” and glowing in galactic basic.

BF-18378-3263827

You stared at the numbers until they morphed into a strong, stern-featured face, muddy in your imagination against the ink night invading your bedroom. Boba left his tracking number there for you. If you wanted to, you could use them to message him or comm him or leave a holoprojection message. Whenever you wanted. Right now, even.

When did he even find your datapad? Why he found it (and why he returned it with the aforementioned numerical contraband) was probably a more apt question.

There was quite a lot to think about. Best to take stock of the present moment, lest you lose your head and go completely mad. As if you hadn’t already.

The facts repeated themselves in a half-conscious mantra, screen slipping out of your hands and onto the pillow beside your head. Facts. Facts were good. What were the facts, again?

Boba Fett was arguably the most dangerous bounty hunter in the galaxy.

Boba Fett was not much of a talker.

Boba Fett was a piss-poor dancer.

And Boba Fett was an unfairly good kisser.

The beginning three points held little negative sway, with the first adding much more appeal than it should, the second a welcome relief, and the third being… sort of endearing.

It was on the last point that your mind lingered the longest.

You didn’t even realize you’d copied numbers into the screen’s communications system until its microphone crackled to life.

One breath, two breaths, stuck in your sleep-thick throat. No words from either side yet. Did you get the tracking code wrong? Maybe. Maybe.

Maybe you were dreaming already, imagining the wind outside to be the quiet, husky inhale that sounded from the other end of the receiver.

“Not falling asleep are we, princess?”

Your eyes shot open. “No. No, I’m…” the words croaked themselves out as you fought down a yawn, “I’m awake.” His low chuckle. “I called you didn’t I?”

“That you did,” Boba assented. Quiet amusement colored his accent. “And you called because…”

“I wanted to,” you said simply, without room for teasing. You were too sleepy to be ashamed of admitting you sought out his company, as foolish as doing so was. No use in hiding what both parties knew to be true.

He let out a noise of soft approval and it rumbled a pleasant sunburst between your ears. “You seem to want a lot of things, don’t you?”

Makes me want… want…

Want what, Princess?

Want you.

You can have me.

The memory snaked a fever flush down your neck, over the still-tender skin and lightly mottled marks. Boba was remembering it just as well as you were. You knew he was.

It gave you a rush, a weird sort of power trip. Because as stupid as you felt doing this, wanting this, he wanted it too. Enough to let your hands thread through his hair and around his arms, then to the scar above his left brow and across his mouth. Enough to let you do it again at the risk of being caught. Enough to leave you his tracking number, like you were two teenagers trading love letters and not legal adults with judgement better enough to do otherwise.

You stayed on the comm for two hours, and only went to sleep because Boba threatened to cut your link off if you didn’t.

⫸———————————————— ⫷

It had been almost five standard months since the first time you’d spoken. Typed words continued to be exchanged under your covers, day after day, night after night. Sometimes you’d fall asleep talking, peppering him with questions about his ship and his job until your throat ached with the effort of keeping yourself awake. Sometimes you did more than talk.

He never fell asleep. Never seemed to sleep, period.

What a strange man. Strange, dangerous, interesting man.

You often missed each other by a hair’s breadth. Courtly flurry and galactic bounty hunting didn’t make much space for private conversation. Boba was still taciturn. You were still naive.

And yet…

You liked him. He listened when you talked about botany and painting, neither of which you imagined interested him. He was arrogant and cocky and insufferable sometimes, but he listened. He told you about his job and regaled your sheltered curiosity with lurid, gory details. He told you about his father.

And one day he somehow, miraculously, had a set of Nabooan watercolors left for you in the garden.

Biting down a juvenile grin with every new message, you watched the quiet ping! of the datapad.

Hello

are you busy?

In a way

how so

Had a brush with Hutt’s rancor

poor thing

Don’t get soft on me now

wasn’t talking about you

Very funny

I’m very, very sorry

Should be. The bastard nearly tore up my flight suit

… show me?

⫸———————————————— ⫷

BF-18378-3263827 HAS ATTACHED 3 FILES

⫸———————————————— ⫷

HOLOCALL DURATION: 02:45:35 HOURS

SAVE CALL RECORDING? PRESS YES/NO TO CONFIRM

Your damp hands tremored.

YES

⫸———————————————— ⫷

Six months, four days, and 20 hours. That’s how long it took for you to see Boba Fett again.

You’d started to think the entire ordeal was a mirage, an illusionary experience your brain conjured up for you as a one-time brush with what your life could have been. Who it could’ve been with.

But you did see him again. Foolhardy, reckless, and unplanned.

You didn’t listen to his explanation about having to leave in the morning, taking some third-rate bounty as an excuse to come back to Quas Killam for the first time in what seemed like ages—practically eons since his mouth had last been at your neck. He appeared on your bedroom balcony near midnight like an apparition, mounted by a still-burning jetpack that shut off with an arc of smoke.

You’d been sleeping, albeit fitfully, and woke the minute his knuckles rapped against the glass. You didn’t remember ever telling him where your bedchambers were, but given… everything… you couldn’t say you were surprised he knew. When he crouched down to shed the helmet, it made a soft thump on the plush carpet.

And then you kissed. And kissed. And kissed.

Boba’s fingertips dragged fire across your prickled skin with every pass. Whose breathing was whose didn’t matter. It was hard, heaving, and shared. Eyes closed, lips raw, every part of you dizzy. Dizzy.

The sneeze that left you was loud enough to knock his forehead against yours. Hard.

Feet stumbling until your legs hit the bedspread, you let your weakened knees carry you down into a sitting position atop the covers and tried to catch your breath. Boba only chuckled, seemingly unperturbed by the mild injury.

Of course your body had picked today to come down with a cold. And of course you’d forgotten to tell him.

In your defense (you seemed to do a lot of self-defending these days) you didn’t know Boba would be coming tonight. When you asked him a week ago—the last time you’d spoken—he’d said “soon.” Whatever “soon” meant, you hadn’t anticipated it being now. Your rumpled nightgown and deteriorating personal hygiene was evidence enough of that.

The day had passed in fitful naps, with you waving away all attempts at help until the servants who usually tittered about decided to give you a wide berth until tomorrow. They’d left the door locked and your curtains drawn, thank the gods.

“A hello would’ve been nice,” you mumbled. The lingering taste of him in your mouth mixed with the bitter medicine that you’d forced down a few hours ago.

Boba didn’t answer at first, only stalking forward with his silhouette glowing in light of the full moon. You brought your knees up to your chest to make room for him to stand in front of you. Every movement was bathed in slowness, in the reverence of caution and night-time silence.

His gloved hand brushed against your chin and tilted it upwards, thumb rubbing a small circle into your jawbone as he moved your face in one large grip. Left, inspecting a swollen mouth and puffy eyes, then right. Up to see the column of your exposed neck. Down to meet his bare, dark face.

He kissed you again, more gentle this time. “Hello.”

A soft whimper left your throat.

Oh, you hated it. Hated the way you sounded when he touched you, small and pathetic. Needy.

The balustrade doors were still open, and this fact was made known by a particularly biting gust of silver wind.

“You’re cold,” the man standing close to you noted with a deep downquirk of his mouth. Boba never had to conceal anything; his helmet did that for him. But when it was off, every thought flickered past his face in evening technicolor.

Your hands paused in their run up your arms to hold petulantly at your elbows, covered only by the thin fabric of your shift. Goosebumps rose against your neck with a new breeze and you fought down the urge to shiver. “M’not.”

“And stubborn.”

You glared at him, but it held no real venom.

“I appreciate the concern,” you sniffled again and your body trembled slightly. “But I’m the picture of health. I really have never been—” here you sneezed rather violently, crumbling any remaining sense of composure and making the final words thick with congestion, “—any better.” Boba hooked two strong arms underneath your knees and around your shoulders. “Wh- what are you doing?”

“C’mon,” Boba grunted and lifted you to his chest in one swift, easy motion. “Up.”

“I’m already up,” you grumbled, a headache you’d thought was all but gone now throbbing from the quick movement. Armor pressed to your cheek and you let yourself go pliant, curling up into Boba’s broad chest. He smelled nice. Like the outdoors. The real outdoors—not manufactured gardens or stone courtyards. No, dangerous things. Like deserts and leather and guns.

You queried him as he walked in long strides across the room. “Where are you taking me? Should have you—” another sneeze burned your airways, “—have you arrested for treason. A high crime or misdemeanor of some sort, kidnapping royalty...”

He only scoffed, shifting your slack body into his one-armed grip when he arrived at the entrance of your adjunct refresher. The door opened with a soft click. “You talk too much.”

Your head rolled back to face him, pressed so close already that the attempt made you cross-eyed. “And you,” a polished finger jabbed lightly at his chest plate, “are up to no good.”

You were only joking, but Boba didn’t deny it.

Green was your favorite color, even before you met him. It was the color of gardens. Of mint leaves. Of insects and jewels. Of him.

Gods, he was beautiful. Did he know that? Would he ever believe you if you told him? He was achingly, painfully, humanly beautiful. It hurt like needles.

The man set you down to your immediate protests. Funny how quick you seemed to change your mind. “Don’t whine,” he chided when you did just that, pushing you forward by the small of your back.

You walked into the refresher confused, that same confusion compounding when Boba strode over to the marble bathtub in room’s center with a surety that belayed the fact he’d never once stepped foot inside here. Were all bounty hunters this self-assured? Or was he just so full of bathroom bravado that your sprawling floor-plan didn’t faze him?

Whatever the case was, said bounty hunter was now crouched down on the tile floor and twisting the tub faucets until they sprayed out a gush of hot water, quickly filling the room with heady steam.

“Hot water helps.” A still-gloved hand dipped an inch into the filling tub and deemed it acceptable. “The steam’ll clear up those sneezes of yours. And the headache.”

“How did you know I-” your mouth opened and closed before you realized you didn’t do a great job of hiding your symptoms. Maker knows you looked a sight, all mussed and tired and sticky with cold sweat. He should make a run for it now, you half-joked to yourself. He’s only ever seen me stuffed into a corset and done up half to death.

He got up with a grunt and turned back towards you. Beskar and durasteel and tactical fabric suddenly made you feel, for the first time in your life, underdressed. “‘S not hard to tell, princess.”

“Oh,” was your only response as you pushed off the sink counter, fisting the fabric of your nightgown in an unconscious display of hesitancy.

Boba’s heavy boots made for the door.

It was probably just to leave you some semblance of privacy, but you panicked, not wanting to be left alone now that he was finally here. “Wait!” you burst out, reaching a palm onto his shoulder before he could exit. “Wait. Can— can you stay?” Of course he won’t stay, you dolt. He probably came to sleep with you, not babysit you. “Please?”

Both of his hands curled into themselves when he turned back to you, their leather squeaking in the tight flex. Then, they released limp by his sides. Each word was carefully measured, slow-simmering like a pot about to boil over. Like a trigger finger twitchy on a blaster. “If you want me to.”

You answered with a bobbing nod and a swallow. “I do.”

⫸————————————————⫷

Boba Fett had long since forgotten he was a man. Instead, he was armor. He was a code, a set of strict (albeit grey) morals, the steadfast honor he’d been imbibed with from the years with his father and then the years of tearing emptiness after.

Bounty hunters had no time for attachments. They couldn’t afford to humor every batting eyelash with more than a self-serving flirtation, and he’d had his fill of those already. He’d overflowed his cup ten times over with shallow pleasantries and quick release.

But those days were long-gone. Had been for years now. Now he was practically puritanical.

Had been, anyway.

He didn’t like thinking of himself as impulsive, wanting to leave the trait behind in his younger years but not being old enough to shake it off completely. But he wasn’t impulsive anymore. He wasn’t.

You were going to destroy him.

Low-ranking royalty on some Imperial-occupied factory planet; sheltered and pretty. You had the brightest eyes he had ever seen and a temperament that took no prisoners, and you were going to destroy him.

Boba thought you’d make him leave, but you didn’t. You wanted him to stay and told him so.

So he stayed. His armor was peeled off in your presence for the first time— carefully placed on a chair in your bedroom—and he walked back into the refresher to see you untying your flimsy nightdress like it’d done you a personal wrong.

When it dropped beside your feet, it took every ounce of self-control Boba possessed to stop himself from eating you whole.

He heard you kick it to the floor (his eyes had since been very determinedly fixed on a fascinating piece of groutwork near his left foot) before you stepped into the bath, sighing in a way that made breathing a work harder than it should’ve been.

His looking away wasn’t a request on your part, you didn’t seem to mind either way, but he didn’t trust himself to do otherwise. Not until the sounds of splashing had subsided somewhat, signalling your stilled motion. “Boba?”

Now there was permission to walk. Look down. Right foot, left foot. Right foot, left foot. Right foot, the clawfoot of the bathtub. He had reached his destination.

A wet hand tugged at his belt loops and he finally allowed himself to look, meeting the sight of you sitting bare in the clear-blue water with legs pulled up to your chest. The arm not touching him was roped around your calves. Your chin rested on the wide, curved lip of the tub.

If Boba had any self-respect, it had been snuffed out the first moment you opened your mouth, six months ago in that cavernous palace hallway with your failed attempt at bravado. It was haughty, short-lived, and adorable.

Maker, you were beautiful. Did you know that? Would you ever believe him if you told you? You were blindingly, effervescently, humanly beautiful. It hurt like needles.

The position of your chin forced your lips into a slight pout. As if you needed another weapon in your arsenal of ways to make him question his judgement. “Could you bring me the tray on the counter?”

Of course he could. He could bring you anything you liked. He would bring you a rancor, a dozen rancors, a fucking sarlaac if it meant you would smile all soft-like the way you just did when he answered yes.

Boba Fett, mercenary feared farther than he would ever live to travel and hunter too expensive for the Imperial payroll, was now a bath attendant. It was torturous in its sensual irony.

The tray was brought over in short order, cluttered with tiny vials of Maker-knows-what and bars of who-knows-how. Individually they probably all smelled nice, but crowded together the heavy scents only made his head spin. He set the tray down on the floor with a rattle and held up each mystery soap for your inspection. No. No. No. No, not that one. Gods, you were picky. No. No. Yes, please.

You were Miss Manners tonight apparently.

“It’s floating archidia,” you told him, mind running through an endless backlog of plant indexes as he handed over the soap. You sounded clearer now, less congested and more alert. Needed to drink water, though. “The flower that this is made with, I mean. Native to the planet Nubia, rumored to have euphoric properties.” You snorted and ran a thumbnail along the bar’s waxy edge, bringing up a curled pink piece. “Whatever that means.”

“Do you think it does?”

“Have euphoric properties?” you hummed, considering it for a moment. “Maybe. But maybe it’s just wishful thinking.”

“Wishful thinking,” Boba parroted.

The meaning of words can change when they’re repeated. Neither of your minds were on flowers.

His jaw tensed when you reached your other hand to his forearm, baring the rest of your body to the dim orange of the refresher lights’ night settings. The water rippled, warm now instead of steaming, and your fingers curled around the scarred skin of his wrist. “Take off the gloves,” you echoed, your voice suddenly desperate and distant as you traced over pale leather seams. “Please.”

He had refused the first time simply to toy with you. You weren’t used to being told no, and it showed. But he let you take off his helmet in a moment of thoughtless self-indulgence, scratching the part of his subconscious that itched to be touched, stroked, held. Shedding the helmet in front of someone else didn’t really mean anything in an honorable sense—at least not to Boba. Nothing tied him to the habit except a desire to keep himself and his motivations unknown. It was easier that way. Less messy.

He acquiesced. "Since you asked so nicely."

Wrinkling your nose, you guided newly-bare palms to knead gently at your shoulder blades. The skin there was soft and warm, pliant under his sandpaper touch. "Keep mentioning it and I'll go back to being difficult."

The soap made foamy bubbles across your back, over your arms and the velvet slope of your hips. Fingertips ghosted through the space between your jaw and ear, where he remembered sucking in a soft bruise.

He liked being known by you.

⫸————————————————⫷

You clambered out the tub with all the grace of a baby krugga deer and about as much shame. Which is to say, none at all. The subsiding cold had left you tired, bones like jelly and mind sloshing its thoughts around with no real order. Boba was here. Had stayed. Was standing in front of you now, watching tiny water droplets trail down your feet and letting you balance on his arm to keep you from stumbling.

A towel was wrapped around your shoulders. The press of his hot mouth against your forehead followed close behind. “Go sit on the bed.”

For some reason, you didn’t mind listening to him this time. Chalk it up to moldable exhaustion, you thought. Definitely not the fact that his voice sounded especially nice tonight, or any number of other questionable reasons.

He was going to ruin you. Or you would ruin yourself. Any way it was construed, Boba would play a part.

Still only in a towel, you drank the stale tea that sat on your bedside table and watched in mild interest as the mercenary’s shadow emptied out tepid bathwater with the thick glugluglug of the drain. It washed down soap and all your shared secrets.

Was it wrong that you still wanted him? More, now that he’d done this for you? Now that it wasn’t just cruel kisses and groping hands? What sort of a person did that make you?

Your mind whispered it when Boba walked back towards you. Someone lonely.

He helped you slide a new chemise on when you asked him to, quick and steady over the thin linen ties. I bet you do that with all the girls, you’d teased. No, he answered simply. Just you.

He was going to ruin you.

“Do you have to go yet?” you asked quietly and climbed under the covers. They were green today. Life enjoyed coincidences like that.

Boba crouched down on the floor beside your lying figure and shook his head. A wide fingertip smoothed away the crease between your brows. He was doing lots of touching. You were not complaining. “Not ‘til morning.”

“You might as well then,” you mumbled and lifted up the embroidered blankets with a sleep-slack hand. “No one’ll bother us, I promise.” you answered the empty air, too heartsick to comprehend any possible insinuations and too tired to realize the fingers tracing your brow bone had paused. “I told them all not to come back until tomorrow.”

His shirt and pants were shed in an unceremonious pile. You were already half-asleep when he climbed into the other side of the bed, slotting his legs against yours like puzzle pieces. Two question marks curled into each other, his chest to your back and his lips brushing your head.

“Goodnight, princess.”

⫸————————————————⫷

You were dreaming about him.

He was the burning sun that every single one of your thoughts had orbited around for the last six months and now he was invading your subconscious, dream-talons taking the form of dark hands rubbing soft circles against you and then invading your open mouth.

In your dream, Boba touched you softly and not at all, a tease even in your self-serving imagination.

Then you woke up, and it wasn’t a dream anymore.

Two thick arms encircled your waist with a grip unyielding in their strength. They’d pulled you impossibly close, pressed up against his sleeping body until every ridge of his muscled stomach could be felt against your back. Something else was against your back.

Your head reeled in its effort to sludge through the fog of sleep and reach the reality of masculine hips. They shifted in an unintentional grind against your legs until you couldn’t bite back the gasp that bubbled out from your voicebox, the sound quiet, keening, and lost in the shuffled sounds of fabric. It was still dark out. The water-clock in the corner of your room read 01:25:02.

You hadn’t put on anything underneath the new chemise. Why bother, when he’d already seen everything? Your body had grown to be a thing for display, a clothes-hanger and object to be prodded by strangers, and you’d long since rid yourself of any precocious modesty.

But this was different.

When Boba touched you, it wasn’t to sew flowers in your hair or drape a sash over your chest. It was simply to touch. The thought made you light-headed with newfound embarrassment, wiggling in his grip until you turned to face his sleeping form.

All the heavy things he carried on his shoulders during the day were gone now. His bottom lip pillowed out when he slept and he looked younger, the perpetual downturn of his lips now settled below the black hair at his temples. You felt a sticky sort of fondness settle in your chest.

“Boba,” you whispered, two hands placing themselves on his tanned cheeks. They traced the divots of scars and premature lines with all the reverence of worshipfulness.

“Mmm,” his voice rumbled with eyes still closed. A warm mouth kissed the side of your palm.

“Boba,” you repeated, more desperate this time but not knowing what you were desperate for. The space between your legs already knew what it wanted, hot and pulsing with a familiar dampness. Traitor.

“What do you need?” The question wasn’t accusatory, nor annoyed at your waking him. It was known that he would give you whatever you liked. Eventually.

You. Just you.

“I don’t,” you huffed, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to your now overheated body as you squirmed, “I don’t know.” Lie.

“Think about it and tell me,” he whispered, eyes opening in their dark, heavy-lidded expectation. The moon and stars suspended outside offered light enough to see the smirk on his face. His skin was the color of burnt earth and of gods. Somewhere, far away in the canopy of carefully pruned trees, a single lark let out its warbled cry.

There was an old adage about being like a lamb to the slaughter. You’d never touched a lamb. Never seen a slaughter. But somehow, you knew it was true.

This lamb, dumb and tender-hearted, was willingly sacrificied.

"I...'' the word left you in the arc of your exhale, one whoosh of air that rattled your chest already wracked with fevered tremors. "I- want you to-"

"You want me to what, pretty thing?" His voice was low, dangerous. It made every part of you want him more. "Say it."

You weren't used to cursing. It was never tolerated and you barely ever heard it, but you'd learned enough to know what he wanted you to say. Which word he wanted to hear, and what it'd mean he would do.

"F-fuck. Me." you choked out, biting your lip to muffle the embarrassment of having to speak it out loud. The word was filthy and raw between your teeth. "Please?"

⫸————————————————⫷

You were dying. Possibly had already died. Were ascending up or barrelling down, you didn’t care as long as his wet mouth stayed between your legs and never, ever stopped.

Wide hands cupped at your skin and kneaded wherever they could reach, simultaneously rough and supplicating. Every pass of his tongue was enough to make you feel possessed. He was killing you.

“Good. Good girl.” he said against your swollen skin when your hips arced off the bed, your spine and toes stiffening for what seemed like an eternity during the damp lightning finish. It sounded like a growl, animalistic and vibrating. A burning, sweet hurt.

Some people call it “little death,” a lady’s maid once whispered underneath her hand in a giggle. “Little death?” you repeated incredulously. That seems a bit dramatic, don’t you think?

You understood now.

Boba didn’t let up, never once letting his touch waver even as you buckled and swayed, all sense lost and all sensation compacting. “Another,” he ordered. Your body listened, bending to his touch without complaint with eyes rolled back into your head.

You were dying.

⫸————————————————⫷

Boba let you lay against him in the downturn, rubbing mindless shapes into the bone of your wrists as you struggled to breathe. Your neck was cradled in one of his broad, bronze palms. It gave one tiny, imperceptible squeeze. An accident. A test.

You pawed at the hand resting heavy on your nape until it moved to leave completely, but was caught instead by your fingers and guided—slow and curious—to cup at your bared throat.

“Dirty,” the man noted in a dark rasp and rolled over to face you. There was a slight smirk in his voice, but that could’ve just been your imagination.

“I don’t see you...” your voice trailed off into a wheeze as Boba’s thick fingers pressed into the sides of your neck, “—see you complaining.”

He kissed you. And kissed you. And kissed you. An eternity was spent opening the seam of your mouth while he choked you softly, baring your pulsating soul with only your bedroom walls as witness to the present depravity. The air was filled with begging and grunting—simple noises that stuttered and left your sheets ruined.

You wanted more. You couldn’t help it.

His chuckle morphed into a groan when you reached down to touch him with widening eyes, squeezing him curiously after pulling down his boxers. “You’re a brave little thing,” Boba noted with a hint of greedy pride. “Never done this before, have you?”

Your own hands served as poor substitutes all these years. You shook your head no.

“D’you want to?”

Of course you did. This was the only thing you wanted. The only thing you would ever want, over and over until your body turned to dust under him. A million grains of fizzy, burning blaster powder. A million comets passing by a supernova.

You nodded and tucked your face into the space between Boba’s shoulder and neck, rolling onto your side and hooking a leg over his hip. Your chests met, damp with sweat as cool air flowed over bare skin. The covers had long since been pushed aside. “Safe,” you said in a heady moan over the shell of his ear. “Implant.”

Thank goodness for modern medicine.

⫸————————————————⫷

It hurt a little at first, but most of the discomfort melted away as he whispered to you, sweet and cloying praises alongside filthy things that you’d be hard-pressed to repeat in public. They wove together in an endless stream of baritone vowels, lapping over each other like ocean waves until everything was a gyrating, syrupy playback.

He let you move against him, mouth open and sloppy against your temple when you whined at the stretch. The hands at your back didn’t push. Only placated. “I know, I know,” Boba assured you with fingers rubbing sympathetic desire into your flesh. It would bruise, but you’d come to like the marks. Your hips bucked at their own accord when he pressed up against something tight, the friction burning a bright, numb spark. “Slow down,” he mumbled into your hair, “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Never in your life did you think this was how it would be. Your first kiss, more of a battle than it was a kiss, served as fuel for the expectations of your first time. Never in your life did you think he would be the one telling you to go slow.

It was for your sake, you knew that. But it was still surprising.

You huffed and bit the shell of his ear in childish revenge, blowing a puff of air where you knew it would tickle. Boba only growled and tightened his arms around your waist, rocking into you slow and deep. “Don’t tease,” he warned.

The new movements robbed you of the ability to speak until all you could do in response was lift your head from where it had rested on his shoulder, meeting impossibly dark eyes in lust-addled vision as a building pressure colored the entire world in shades of black, red, and green.

In a moment of complete and utter lack of propriety, you leaned forward, smiling like a woman deranged, and pressed a kiss to his nose.

Boba came undone the same minute you did. It was a rush of wet, rocking pleasure, spreading like thick webs of lighted fire from inside your blood and out to fill the room with quiet devotion. Panting, bursting, close, messy. You’d never felt so whole.

Your foreheads met and you went cross-eyed trying to look at him again. That’s all you wanted to do. Look at him. Uttered underneath his jaw, where the skin was smooth, was your finishing admission. “I love you.”

You didn’t say it to hear it repeated. It was just to give it a shape. Make it concrete. Said more to yourself than him, really.

But Boba did repeat it. Over and over and over. In the tangle of your arms. I love you. In the kiss to your breasts. I love you. In the towel brought between your legs. I love you. In the settled silence of new sleep. I love you, I love you, I love you.

⫸————————————————⫷

The watery light of dawn melted through heavy curtains and you awoke, body weighed down with lead and gold. Sweet soreness had made its home in your muscles and you were loath to get up, but the man you’d been using as a pillow had very rudely left his post.

“I have to go,” he said, already awake and standing sentry by your bed. You raised your head up from the pillows in groggy protest to meet his blurry figure. If you squinted, there were three of him standing there at once.

A shake of your head rid your vision of the doubles, leaving the lone man. He kissed you—quick and dirty, with tongue—and squeezed your exposed breast, prompting a low moan to tumble from your mouth before he slipped his blaster into the holster at his hip. It wasn’t even 6 in the morning and you were thoroughly debauched. What a scandal, you thought (not for the first time) with passing amusement. A bounty hunter and a princess.

Watching in a dim haze as Boba finished strapping on his amor, you tracked the reflection of the sun in the metal’s lazy movement.

He leaned over you. “I’ll be back soon.” Soon. What did soon mean? Another kiss, slow and careful on the bow of your mouth. One more on the slope of your forehead. For luck, you supposed. Whether it was for you or him didn’t matter much. “Promise.”

Slowly, as he climbed out onto your balcony and was gone with a flash of jetpack light, you wondered if it was a mirage; a dream, maybe. The entire night a hallucinatory haze, a figment of your overactive imagination and reckless romanticism.

But the towel left discarded on the floor and the pulsing ache between your legs was very, very real.

#boba fett x reader #boba fett/reader #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett x you #boba fett fic #boba fett oneshot #boba fett imagine

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seasonofthewicth · 3 years

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nobody does it like you do - act 6

The final part!! I hope this is a satisfying conclusion! Thank you so much to everyone who has reblogged/commented/shared - it has meant so much. Special thank you again to @morganofthewildfire I'd still be working away at this fic if it wasn't for you, I don't know I ever would have finished it off. Your comments and analysis helped me so much and made this fic better than I could have alone, I'm so grateful.

13k - masterlist - ao3

There are five weeks between the eventful wrap party and her first day shooting the Netflix miniseries in Antica. Five weeks for Aelin to sort her shit.

It’s ambitious, and probably unattainable, but she needs a goal.

She needs something to draw her mind away from Rifthold and the director she knows is no longer there.

She gives herself a week of self pity. A week of lying around her sparsely decorated and impersonal Orynth apartment dwelling and pointedly ignoring the headlines she knows have been released. Elide let her know only one picture was captured of her with tears in her eyes leaving the party. Only one and gods bless Elide she shut it down.

Aelin lies on her uncomfortable couch in well-worn pyjamas with unwashed hair and runs through the photos on her phone of her and Fenrys, her and Manon, and the group of them together on set doing whatever shit they used to do.

She spends more time than she should like that. She sits there until her coffee table is overflowing with takeaway wrappers and Aedion and Elide have stopped texting more than once a day. She’s awful for ignoring them but she’s still mortified.

She hasn’t been able to look Aedion in the eyes since he dropped her back at her apartment after their long flight home from Rifthold. He didn’t say much. After he managed to again get her out of the party with minimal press she had cried, curled up between Aedion and Lysandra in their bed, and he didn’t offer judgement or instruction.

He just held her, whispering words she can’t remember but appreciates anyway. Now she hasn’t replied to any of his texts.

She hasn’t texted Fenrys or Manon either. She doesn’t know what to say.

She knows Fenrys jumped immediately into another movie, an action movie she knows he’s been chomping at the bit to get training for, and Manon into the second series of her show that she’s probably too famous for now.

They’re busy. They’ll understand. At least that’s what she tells herself.

The worst thing she does in that week is pour over the photos she has of Rowan. She didn’t realise she had so many but her camera roll is full of silver and green.

There are photos of just him, looking like Rowan, tall and handsome and understatedly happy, smiling covert little smiles at Aelin behind the camera. He was used to her instructing him to pose by the end of filming, she loved snapping away as he did anything. Eating, sleeping, smiling, everything - if it was Rowan she wanted it captured.

Now every photo is a knife to the chest.

The ones of the two of them together are worse, they twist the knife, pain splicing through her until she can hardly breathe. There are pictures of their cheeks pressed together, eyes shining, some serious, some silly. In all of them Aelin can clearly see her own happiness.

She can’t stop looking at them even as tears swell in her eyes and her throat gets tight.

For one week.

Until it’s been seven days since her flight landed back in Orynth and she gets up off her couch and deletes them. She almost doesn’t, her thumb hovers over the button for a good minute before she presses down but then it’s done and they’re gone. She showers and changes her clothes, she throws away all the rubbish on her coffee table and makes a plan.

Filming the movie with all of them it was easy to feel better than she did before, surrounded by new and exciting things, new people who didn’t know her before or treat her differently because of it. It was easy to lose herself in who she was there and with them.

Now though, she’s back to real life and real life lasts for an uneventful three weeks.

She tries what she can, she reads, she runs, she bakes, she teaches herself how to knit. None of it is satisfying and it's hard to make it stick. It’s all boring and never quite captures her attention the way she hopes. Never captures her attention enough to tear it away from Rowan and Rifthold.

A week before she flies out to Antica it changes.

She stumbles upon the change, completely accidentally, and she doesn’t realise what she’s needed until it's right in front of her.

Her usual run route is obstructed by construction and so she takes a left where she usually takes a right, heading down into the west side of the city, the side she doesn’t often frequent.

She used to. She used to spend hours strolling the streets letting the warmth of the sun and Sam’s hand in hers settle into her skin as they observed the numerous bakeries and small boutiques. Thankfully the scenery appears to have changed since.

The chill breeze of the September Orynth air teases the loose strands of hair tickling her face as she comes to a stop outside the sleek shop front. The wooden panels are painted a dark, glossy black and the windows are polished so brightly they reflect what’s left of the sunlight.

Music of Mistward the sign reads in curved, white lettering.

She can see her reflection in the shop window, her cheeks flushed, hair unruly, her running gear nowhere near to what would be appropriate attire for the shop dripping in class but she can’t turn away.

A bell tinkles as she pushes through the door, her headphones gripped tight in her fist as the gentle jazz playing over the sound system greets her. She doesn’t like jazz, it’s not her thing, but along with the musk of wood in the air it’s soothing in welcoming her in.

She passes walls of guitars and violins until she reaches the instrument that caught her eye. It’s sleek, black lid propped open revealing the elegant strings, pulled tight in neat lines. The sharp contrast of the keys against each other, bright against the deep black of the case. Her fingers ghost over them, dying to press down.

She hasn’t played since those days in Rowan’s Doranelle home. She’s wanted to, longed to feel the cool keys under her fingertips and the flood of the music pouring out of her, but the cheap keyboard in her Orynth apartment wouldn’t do Rowan’s beautiful instrument justice.

Aelin would rather not play at all than attempt a cheap imitation of what she felt there.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” A voice sounds behind her, low and raspy but cheerful all the same.

She turns, taking in the older man, his grey hair cut short and his classic shirt and slacks pressed crisp. She glances back to the piano before facing him fully.

“Stunning,” she breathes.

The man steps forwards and offers her his hand. She slips her hand into his and he pumps firmly as he introduces himself.

“Emrys,” he says. “Welcome to Music of Mistward.”

“Aelin,” she says, surprised to hear her voice thick.

“Great to meet you, Aelin,” Emrys says with an ancient smile. He nods towards the piano. “Do you play?”

“No,” she says and Emrys’ smile flickers. “Yes, I mean I used to. I want to,” is what she settles on.

He nods, satisfied, before taking a step closer to the piano. He runs a hand over the top, almost reverently and smiles to himself.

“Antique,” he starts, “almost one hundred years old but well loved. I acquired it recently - here we deal mostly in antique instruments, it’s a passion for both myself and my husband. The previous owner only sold it to me when she inherited it and didn’t know how to play, she wanted it to find a good home.”

He shares a smile with her as if she’s in on the joke but her breathing still hasn’t settled.

“Satin Ebony finish,” Emrys continues, “eighty-eight keys, all original but preserved to the highest quality. Accompanying bench, cut with refreshed velvet. I don’t know in all my years I’ve seen such a fine instrument as old as this.”

Aelin glances back to the piano, it’s big, it won’t fit in her apartment in Orynth but she doesn’t care. She can… adjust. She hasn’t felt a pull like this in a while, she doesn’t want to deny it when she does.

“How much?” she almost demands from the man in front of her.

He appraises her and she knows what he sees. Her bedraggled state and the tension through her shoulders doesn’t give the impression of someone with this much cash to throw around. She abruptly ignores that the way she probably can afford this is because of Rowan’s movie.

When he doesn’t speak she repeats herself, more firmly. “How much?”

“Our price includes delivery and tuning on arrival.” He seems apprehensive of telling her the truth. Aelin waits.

When he finally reveals the figure Aelin blinks. And then she extends her hand. “I’ll take it.”

To his credit Emrys just nods, shaking her hand. “You don’t want to at least play it first?”

Aelin feels the smirk she hasn’t worn in a while creep onto her face. “Is there a risk you’re pulling a fast one on me?”

Emrys returns her smile, a playful glint in his eye. “Not a chance, Aelin. Please follow me to the register where I can take your details.”

Aelin almost stumbles. Almost, but then recovers.

“Any chance I can pay a deposit and then let you know where you’ll be delivering sometime soon?”

Emrys winks knowingly. “Absolutely.”

She follows him to the counter, signs away part of a disgustingly large total of money but leaves with a sense of satisfaction. It’s an accomplishment, a step for purely selfish reasons.

The first thing she does when she leaves the shop is call Elide.

Aelin meets her new therapist two days before she flies out to Antica.

She hasn’t called her old one in months and thinks that’s probably a sign. And she’s all about changes at the moment.

She isn’t shooting in Antica for too long, only a couple of months until she’s back in Orynth and then back to Rifthhold for press. Her stomach drops everytime the thought wanders into her head.

She’s excited to be back in Rifthold, but the company is daunting.

Fenrys and Manon will easily be pissed at her disappearance. She knows Manon will play aloof but she also knows she’ll be upset, Fenrys too. Aelin didn’t mean to hurt them, didn’t mean to drop off the face of the Earth, and she knows she’s let them down but Fenrys and Manon remind her of Rowan. She couldn’t trust the conversation not to eventually steer towards him and Aelin isn’t ready for that.

Their break-up feels weirdly anticlimactic. After everything they built to, Aelin just dipped.

She knows it seems that way to Rowan at least. She hasn’t texted him, or rang him or anything since the party. She’s wanted to, wanted more than anything to hear his voice as she cried, but it’s not fair to him to drag it out and she knows that. She knew when she drew the line she had to stay on her side of it, no matter how much it hurt.

She had cried until her head pounded and her throat was raw. She cried until her eyes itched with no tears left to fall, until all that came out of her was hoarse screeches as she ached to hear him call her Fireheart one last time.

But no one needs to know that, she had kept it as hidden as she could.

She definitely didn’t need any more paparazzi pictures of her with red-rimmed eyes looking downtrodden. She couldn’t bear the thought of Rowan, or worse her mother, seeing them.

She knows Fenrys and Manon; Aedion, Lysandra and Elide would see through her flimsy excuses and so it was easier to stay quiet.

She’s not thinking about facing them yet. She supposes that will be something that likely comes up with this new therapist, but so far on her own, she’s choosing avoidance.

She gets Maeve’s number from Dorian, and she comes highly recommended by a number of Dorian’s other high profile clients. She’s well-versed in non-disclosure agreements, secret sessions and back street exits; she feels like the perfect fit for Aelin.

Unofficially, Dorian lets her know Maeve takes no shit, and that’s also just what Aelin needs.

They agree to online sessions while she’s in Antica, but Maeve recommended an initial meeting and Aelin is open to all of her suggestions.

Their first hour is not directly her most life changing but it’s a start.

“Welcome, Aelin,” Maeve says, sweeping an arm out towards the firm-looking, orange couch in the centre of the room.

Aelin takes a seat, mutters her thanks and glances around the room.

The room should feel cold with the exposed brick and minimalistic decor, the only furniture being the couch Aelin perches on, the almost regal armchair Maeve reclines in and a lamp, but it doesn’t and she gets comfortable tucking her feet beneath her thighs and leaning against the arm.

“So,” Maeve begins, surveying her in the way only a true professional can. “Let’s get started.”

Aelin feels bare beneath her gaze, and like everything about Maeve and her practise it should be unnerving but she just blinks against the scrutiny.

“Why are you here today? You could start with sharing why you have made this appointment.”

And isn’t that the million gold-mark question?

Aelin takes a deep breath through her nose and raises her chin.

“I don’t want to move backwards,” she admits. “Or maybe I just want to know I’ve actually moved forwards.”

Maeve’s expression stays calm, but Aelin knows she’d be smirking if she could. She’s well aware of how therapy works but even so, speaking her thoughts aloud can help to verify them in her own mind.

Aelin hopes so at least.

Their hour is over quickly and Aelin is resolved that Maeve is a good fit, reassured in Dorian’s claim that the woman takes no shit. Her all-knowing assessment of Aelin should have been unsettling but the frank dissection is what she needs.

Online therapy, especially fitting it around shooting might be a challenge but it’s for the best. As much as she values her independence and standing on her own two feet, Aelin is big enough to admit that facing her mother again may require some professional guidance. Seeing Rowan too, but again, she’s not thinking about that yet.

Antica is hot and Aelin is sweaty within seconds of stepping out of the air-conditioned luxury of the airport. That feeling lasts the entire time she’s there, disrupting the otherwise enjoyable time she has shooting the series.

Her new co-stars are fine, they invite her out with them and make her smile but she can’t help as though a part of her is always comparing them to who and what she left in Rifthold. Aelin tries her best to enjoy her time there with them, she hosts dinner parties and invites them to a game of Aedion’s but nothing quite hits the same as her time spent on The Crescent City.

She rationalises it to Maeve, that The Crescent City was a big turning point in her life and that it has nothing to do with Rowan, Fenrys or Manon, but she’s not sure she even believes it herself.

She spends the rest of her time in Antica trying to convince herself, and Maeve, that she’s moving past it. That she’s moving forwards or else she’ll move backwards. She’s not sure how much of it is futile.

The Crescent City is done, whether she likes it or not, and she can’t deny it changed her in ways she didn’t expect. It’s a hard pill to swallow that maybe it changed her beyond return to how she was before. She also can’t quite figure out whether she thinks that’s a bad thing or not.

They have a dinner for the core cast and crew, including Rowan, once they’re all back in Rifthold for the beginning of the press cycle. They have one night to reacquaint before they’re shoved into the whirlwind that is interviews, photoshoots and promotion.

She’s seen the trailer already and it’s just as she expected but more. It’s dark and dreary with flashes of brightness from herself and Fenrys and she’d want to watch it if she chanced a viewing as a member of the public.

What is surreal, is to see herself in a polished version of the film they were creating. Or at least a part of it.

She said each of the lines, rehearsed them over and over until they fell off her tongue without thought, but she still doesn’t recognise the girl in the trailer. A droplet of pride slips down her chest at the realisation that it’s not Aelin in the trailer but Feyre. She knows she’s good, has known it all along, but the realisation and reaffirmation is ecstasy better than any drug.

She hovers outside the restaurant, watching through the window, needing a couple more seconds before she submits herself to the assault of them all again. She still hasn’t replied to either Fenrys or Manon and the thought presses on her like lead but it’s too late to change that now.

If she’s honest she’s concerning herself with Fenrys and Manon in the hopes of distracting herself from the fact that she’s seconds away from Rowan. Seconds away from him in the flesh, his solid body in front of her that she had learned almost as well as her own.

Her palms are clammy and she wipes them against the fabric of her trousers. The upcoming interviews and photoshoots will all be styled for her and so she’s relishing in her last moments for a while of truly dressing like Aelin.

She takes a step towards the restaurant door, the tip of her trainer bumping the wood when a voice sounds behind her.

“Well, hello there, Stranger.”

Aelin braces herself, hand paused outstretched where it had been reaching for the door.

She turns, biting her lip as she faces Fenrys. He looks the same as he did, skin still golden, eyes still dancing with mischief, but his golden curls are trimmed shorter than the last time she saw him. His expression is carefully blank.

“I- Hi… um,” she stumbles over the words. “I’ve missed you.”

Fenrys breaks almost immediately. “Oh thank the fucking gods.”

He surges forwards and wraps her into a tight hug. Aelin clings to him, fighting the tears in her eyes as she buries her face in his chest. She’s gone far too long without this, without him, and it’s all her own fault.

“Do you have any idea how much I missed you?” Fenrys asks. “Oh wait, no you don’t. I’m assuming your phone broke, or was stolen or something since you never replied to any of my texts letting you know.”

Aelin knows her cheeks are stained pink. “I’m sorry,” she admits.

“I know.” His voice softens, losing the teasing edge as he presses a gentle kiss to her cheek.

He pauses before he speaks again, his eyes running over her face. “You could have texted me anytime, you know. Manon too. I know you might forget or try to convince yourself otherwise, but we are your friends. You could have called us about literally anything.”

Aelin feels like she could cry. She’s not sure that she isn’t.

“It doesn’t have to be about anything serious, especially not related to the movie,” or Rowan he doesn’t say but Aelin hears it. “We just wanted to hear your stupid voice.”

Aelin pouts. “My voice isn’t stupid.”

She pokes her tongue out as he rolls his eyes, easily falling back into the dynamic they had shaped a few months ago.

“Not what I meant,” he says before pausing, taking her in as she stands in front of him. “You can’t lose us that easily, you know. We’re like rats or fleas or something. Hard to get rid of.”

“Nice,” she comments, but her chest is tight at his words.

He smiles at her before adding, “and you had fucking better text me back.”

Aelin laughs through the sniffles he’s kindly ignoring. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and finds his contact. Hi she sends and feels his phone buzz against her.

“Much better,” he says and releases her from his arms. “Now, are you ready for a night of the finest dining all on the studio credit card?”

Aelin laughs again. “Lead the way.”

He shoots her a wink and waltzes ahead to hold the door open for her.

Fenrys’ presence shouldn’t reassure her the way it does, especially after the way she has treated him but she clings to him anyway. He’s her buffer for now, a crutch for tonight and tonight only. Once tonight is over and tomorrow begins she and Rowan can be professional, they managed it for months during filming and this should be no different.

Rowan still looks the way he did the night she broke his heart.

His silver hair falls elegantly over his forehead as he bends his head to talk to Manon, the pair of them are engrossed in a conversation as she and Fenrys walk over, not spotting them yet. She loves his hair, loves the thick silver waves and the way they feel between her fingers. She loves the way any attempt he makes to arrange the thick strands is never quite able to tame the beast. She loves the shirt he has on, with the sleeves rolled up exposing inches of tanned skin and dark ink, the same worn green cotton she wore numerous times around his living room all those months ago. She can still remember the feel of it against her bare skin.

His smile is the same, his green eyes crinkling as his lips barely part as he does his best to hold it back.

His smile is the same until he spots her.

He catches sight of her when she reaches the table and his smile drops, the shutters closing over his expression so fast she wouldn’t know he knew how to smile had she not just seen it.

It tears her chest in two and any attempt at a smile on her part is futile. It’s all she can do to make it to her seat without stumbling and she’s sure she misses any other greetings she gets as she slumps onto the chair opposite Manon. She absently notes Fenrys dropping in at her side.

She can’t look away from Rowan, her eyes scanning to try and find anything that distinguishes him from the man she loved all those months ago. She finds nothing. He’s still Rowan and Aelin still… fuck.

He recovers before she does, ever the collected courtier, clearing his throat and nodding.

“Aelin,” he says and she adores the sound of her name on his tongue.

“Hi Rowan,” she manages and hears how weak she sounds. Rowan hears it too. She can tell from the purse of his lips and the tension in the hand he rests along the back of Manon’s chair.

Aelin allows her eyes to drift to Manon and she finally catches the thunderous expression the younger girl wears.

“Hi,” she whispers and Manon blinks.

“Hi?” Manon repeats incredulously.

Aelin is fucked.

“Five months and I get a hi?”

It’s loud and a few heads turn their way. It’s simultaneously mortifying and everything Aelin deserves.

“I’m sorry,” she says plainly.

She could lie, make up some useless excuses but in the end there’s nothing else but the truth and if Manon wants her to grovel she will, she’s just not sure this is the time or place.

Fenrys shares her thoughts. “Later, Manon,” he says, gently.

Rowan’s eyes stay firmly glued to the tablecloth as Manon frowns, seemingly unwilling to let it go.

After a few seconds, seconds Aelin spends waiting for the ground to open up and swallow her, Manon nods. She nods and turns to Fenrys, demanding to know what he’s ordering. And just like that Aelin has a moment to catch her breath.

She knew this dinner wouldn’t be easy, knew she’d be walking into the lion's den of her own making, but she hadn’t expected it to be as hard. Hadn’t expected seeing Rowan to feel like a slap, hadn’t expected Manon’s hurt to scrape across her skin leaving her raw.

She tries not to think she deserves it, Maeve would only raise a brow as if to say we’ve been over this. The thought is sobering, and she manages to lift her head.

It is what it is, what’s done is done and she can only apologise and move forwards.

As much as she tries to resist, Aelin finds herself watching Rowan throughout the night. It’s scary how familiar he feels, he should feel like a stranger, but he feels like she knows him too well. He laughs when she expects, rolls his eyes when she predicts. He orders what she thought he would and he sips away at an orange juice the way he did the first dinner they all had together.

Aelin already feels so different than she did the last time she was in Rifthold and he seems unchanged.

She observes for most of the night, feeling drained despite her minimal contributions to the conversations. She speaks when spoken to and actively avoids speaking when Rowan does, she definitely doesn’t respond to anything he says even though she wants to at least twice and wants to laugh a couple more.

She makes it through and clings to Fenrys again as they all leave, linking her arm through his as they leave the restaurant. He knows what she’s doing but graciously guides her out of the building. Once on the pavement outside the restaurant he pauses and turns to her.

“What hotel are you staying in while you’re here?”

The rest of the group are milling about, calling taxis and bidding their farewells. Aelin doesn’t know how she’s getting back yet, she’s assuming she’ll split a ride with someone.

“Um, the Glass Castle, I think,” she says, desperately trying to recall the name of the hotel she dumped her bags in a few hours earlier.

“Boo,” Fenrys laughs, pointing his thumb down. “They’ve got me in the Torre Cesme. Think I’m ages away from you.”

Aelin laughs, disappointed but ready to order her own taxi back when a voice she didn’t expect sounds.

“I’ve just ordered a cab to the Glass Castle, I’m staying there too. You can jump in if you want.”

Rowan.

She shoots Fenrys a panicked look but his expression is pure glee.

“That would be great thanks, Boss,” Fenrys says, shrugging his arm out of hers and nudging her towards Rowan.

“No problem, Boyo.” Rowan offers Fenrys a dark grin at the nickname and the sight of it stills her. It’s new, he used to roll his eyes whenever Fenrys would drop it into conversation, but now Rowan’s playing along. And the grin, the curl of the lips and the narrowing of the eyes, it’s sexy as fuck.

It’s only taken one night and she’s back in the danger zone. She doesn’t want to be, hell, she wants him to take her back to his hotel room and peel off her clothes but this is Rowan. She’s spent the last few months trying to get over him, falling into bed with him the first night she sees him again would not likely be defined as progress.

He’s also not likely to want that after what she did.

“You don’t have to,” she says. The first direct thing she’s said to him since their greeting.

“I know.” A slight shrug of his broad shoulders. “But we’re going to the same place, it wouldn’t seem logical to take different cars.”

Logic. That’s all it is.

“Right.” She doesn’t think she’s ever felt so awkward with him, not even at the start. “Thank you,” she says, following him to the car.

Fenrys shoots her a grin as he slips into his own taxi. Traitor.

Rowan holds the door open for her and slips in behind her. She tries not to think anything of the fact he could have easily taken the front seat.

The ride is silent apart from the easy chit chat he makes with the driver, another thing she’s not sure she noticed him do before, and she stares out the window as the city passes by. The streets of Rifthold are not her home but she feels a brightness as she glances down the curving roads, spotting groups of people milling about enjoying the night.

She knows the first call she made to Elide in weeks was the right call. Elide is the only person she’d trust with her bank account and access to real estate listings. The link to the flat her friend had sent over has stayed open in her browser since she got it.

It’s modern with classic twists, situated in a recently renovated old warehouse with miles of exposed brick and rustic wooden panelling. She loves the master bedroom the most, with its adjoining en suite with a huge bathtub she can picture herself soaking in. She has a viewing booked in two days but doubts she’ll even need it.

It’s not long before the taxi pulls up outside the hotel and she follows Rowan through the glass doors. He presses the button for the lifts and Aelin shifts in the awkward silence.

Awkward is not something she’s used to with Rowan. Or it wasn’t before.

The doors slide open and again she follows him inside.

He pauses with a hand hovering over the buttons for the floors. “Which floor?”

“Nine.”

Aelin hates these one word exchanges compared to the hours they used to share talking about everything and nothing. She can’t believe this is the man she was so vulnerable with.

His short huff of laughter drags her gaze to his face.

“What?”

“Makes sense,” is what he says, shaking his head and pressing only the button for the ninth floor.

The ride takes seconds, a minute at most, filled with the silence between them.

When the doors open to the ninth floor she steps out, determined not to follow him again, and she feels him follow her. Even now she’s so aware of his powerful body and the way he moves it. She shouldn’t be so attracted to the power emanating from him, from the breadth of his shoulders to the sureness of his steps. She wants him, doesn’t think she ever stopped, except now he’s the forbidden fruit. Forbidden only by her own actions.

She reaches her door, room 905, but pauses with her key tucked in her hand.

“Thanks for letting me share your cab,” she says, finding herself desperate not to say goodbye yet. “I can transfer you for half.”

That finally, finally, cracks a whisper of a smile but she’s not sure she enjoys his laughter if it’s at her. “Don’t worry about it.”

That should be the end of it, she should open her door and shut it behind her, they have a few weeks ahead of them that will be hard enough without any complications.

She left him and he seems gracious enough to have mostly moved past it.

“It was good to see you, Aelin,” he says, seemingly unwilling to let the night end as well. She doesn’t let the seed of hope sprout because what would be the point?

Nevertheless, Aelin smiles, leaning back against her door.

Rowan continues, “even if I wasn’t sure how the night was going to go.”

Her attention is spiked. “What do you mean?”

She can’t lie, a part of her expects him to back down at the edge to her voice. He doesn’t.

“I wasn’t sure if you were going to pretend nothing ever happened between us.”

She blinks, giving herself a second to process.

Maybe this isn’t the same Rowan from all those months ago. That night he let her walk away from him, gods know she needed it, but a dark little part of her had wanted him to fight her harder. Fight harder for her. When he hadn’t she’d taken it as her sign.

She knows the expectation was toxic, if he had fought her it would have only pissed her off, but she wishes she’d had someone to tell her it was the wrong choice. It would have helped to hear in the moment, rather than be faced with Rowan months down the line that she wants and can’t have.

The Rowan in front of her, the third Rowan she’s known, stares her down. His eyes peel away each of the layers she’s worked with Maeve for months to don in a second.

“I wouldn’t do that to you.”

It’s honest and maybe she’s not the same Aelin as a few months ago either.

That’s what she had asked for that night in the cool air, to move past them with as little commotion as possible, stirring up as little attention as they could. She hadn’t wanted to let them eclipse the movie and yet that ended up being exactly what she had accomplished.

Now though, Aelin knows better.

Rowan nods as his eyes dart across her face. He seems to step closer without realising. Aelin notes the motion, still so aware of him and his proximity to her.

His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip. “I was so angry at you for leaving.”

Aelin loses her breath at his confession.

Eventually she manages, “was?”

He looks away from her, glancing down the dark hallway, his jaw tight. When she’s with him she forgets about the world around them, there’s probably-definitely-CCTV in this hallway but he’s here and she can’t let him go yet.

His fists curl and uncurl as he takes a deep breath.

“Was,” he says shortly. “I was so angry at you, the way you did what you did was shit.”

Aelin swallows. He’s not wrong.

“I know.”

“But now I don’t know.” She lifts her eyes to his, swimming in the openness she doesn’t deserve. And fuck that. That is such bullshit. She meets his stare, returning all that he isn’t saying. “I spent a long time thinking about it, thinking about you, and it took me a while but now I get it.”

That hurts more than she expects. She didn’t expect him to be all over her the minute they reunited but his understanding was always a kicker.

“I know why you did it,” he continues. “And that took most of the wind out of my sails.”

Aelin frowns. He can’t possibly know why.

“I don’t think you do.” He tilts his head, an invitation for her to expand. “Or you’d know that nothing has changed.”

“Hasn’t it?”

His question throws her. Completely.

She tilts her head up to look at him, closer to her than he’s been all night, pushing her to keep being honest with him.

She’s dazed being this close to him again after so long, the green of his eyes stronger than she remembers. Or maybe her brain had assured her the memory of him couldn’t have been real.

“I don’t know,” she admits, unable to fight the way her body leans into him.

His teeth graze his lower lip and she follows the motion.

He’s silent for a beat too long and her skin is thrumming under his attention. She doesn’t know how she’s gone this long without him, she doesn’t know how she thought she’d survive never having him again.

“Let me know when you figure it out,” he says finally, drawing back and a rush of cool air fills the space he had taken. “Goodnight Aelin.”

He turns and she watches his back down the hallway. He slips easily into a room a few doors down and she’s left watching the path he’d taken, feeling the weight of his eyes on her lips.

Her head thuds against the door as she screws her eyes shut. She wants to scream, wants to chase him down the hall, wants to fly back to Orynth where she was safe.

She doesn’t do any of those things.

She tucks herself into her hotel room and readies herself for the whirlwind that’s about to hit. These next few weeks are going to be hard, not just dealing with the Rowan situation, but she can’t fight the excitement she feels.

Fuck. She’s back in Rifthold, back where she loves, doing what she was born to do.

This is big. She can feel it.

The Crescent City is not her first project, and so she’s been a part of press cycles before, she knows how they go. What she doesn’t know is how a press cycle for something like this works.

The only word she can find is insanity.

There are somehow earlier mornings than they had while shooting and often longer days. She gets poked and prodded in hair and make-up for hours before they spend all day sat in a hotel room filming repetitive interviews for various magazines.

She and Fenrys are genuinely friends and yet they still have to put on a show in front of the cameras. She plays up her laughter when he cracks a joke and he makes sure to never look away from her for longer than two seconds when she speaks or a producer behind the camera makes a comment.

She loves Fenrys but it’s exhausting. Her only blessing is that for most of her engagements she’s with Fenrys and Manon with Rowan conducting his own interviews separately as she had hoped.

Sometimes though, given their relatively similar ages and general level of chemistry, they get grouped together.

The four of them are filming a video for Buzzfeed, filling in a quiz to find out which character from The Crescent City they’re most like. She’s unsurprised to discover her result is Rhysand and it’s fun even if her heart does pound every time she has to act like she’s unfazed and friendly with Rowan.

There’s a moment, just a moment, where she almost breaks from her friendly and unbothered interview persona. It’s her turn to read the question, what item could you not survive without on a desert island?

It’s Rowan that speaks. “Her shampoo,” he says, “it’s jasmine.”

There’s a split second where she doesn’t speak, where all she can do is stare at Rowan, stunned that he remembered and thought to mention it now.

In that split second she’s transported back to memories of them together in the shower at her rented apartment, kissing lazily under the spray after spending hours between her sheets. She remembers dumping the shampoo into her hand and then onto his head, massaging his thick locks and surrounding them in the scent of jasmine.

She remembers how he kissed her neck as she did, trailing his hands over her silky curves, slick with the soap, with his kisses building in heat until her hands dropped to his shoulders. He’d lavished kisses down her chest until he’d jerked back, shampoo in his eyes and she’d laughed until he was safe and pressed his lips again to hers, continuing where he’d left off.

She’s shocked he’d bring this up when there’s a camera on the two of them and she can only imagine the comments it will spark. She’s not sure she cares if it keeps Rowan’s eyes on her.

“It’s luxurious for a reason,” she says when she recovers, tossing her thick locks over her shoulder. “Well worth it.”

She doesn’t miss the flicker in his own mask at her comment.

That kind of interaction will no doubt ignite the sparks she’d only ever wanted to avoid.

As the press cycle goes on and on, and they get closer and closer to the premiere it only becomes harder for her conviction to hold.

She tests her own argument, the clear line she drew in the sand, when she manages to keep it professional with Rowan and she’s not sure where that leaves her. She had thought they would overshadow everything about the project and now she’s not sure.

She said nothing had changed and he had challenged her.

She’s still not sure who’s in the right.

Everything is simultaneously completely new and exactly the same. Rowan is still gorgeous, still charming in his own reserved way, still almost reverent when he talks about his craft throughout interviews. He still talks with his hands and Aelin still can’t draw her eyes away from their motions, she still craves the touch of them on her skin. He’s still seven years older than her and the director of her big break.

Yet there are differences.

They’re still often on the same page, offering similar answers and backing each other up but now he never backs down from a challenge. Now he doesn’t hold back those comments she knows he was always dying to let slip. She should be annoyed, everytime he drops a line that pushes her to expand a little part of her wants to roll her eyes.

She doesn’t though. Her blood heats and her skin prickles. She loves this with him. Loves the dance they play, the teasing, verbal games that shouldn’t start her off but do. She loves the smirk he wears when they end up down that path, and she knows she wears it’s mirror image.

She always ends up squirming in her seat and it should be wrong but it isn’t. The cameras can’t see below their chests and the flush in her cheeks could easily be from the warmth of the day.

She’s beginning to wonder if she’s powerless against Rowan Whitethorn. If she’s powerless against the green of his eyes or the curl of his accent. The slant of his brows or the points of his teeth when he smiles.

She doesn’t know that it’s just one thing. It’s all of the things, it’s all of him, and more so than ever she’s completely fucked.

But they aren’t talking outside of the interviews and photoshoots, and the knowledge of which hotel room is his itches her toes every night. It would be so easy to sneak down the hall, to knock on the door and slot her lips to his when he opened.

It’s only a couple of nights before the premiere when the temptation becomes too much. She’s been around Rowan all day, surrounded by the smell of his aftershave, the notes of pine and freshness and Rowan and it’s too much. She strides down the hallway, resolved in her decision and closes her fingers over the button for the lift.

She needs to be elsewhere or she’ll make some bad decisions.

She’s come so far, survived months without him, she can’t cave due to proximity.

The hotel bar is deserted when she walks in and makes a beeline to the bartender. Yeah, maybe after her wobble at the wrap party a bar isn’t the best decision she could make but her options are limited. Trying to sleep with Rowan is, after all, probably the worst of both options.

“Just a sparkling water please,” she says to the barman who nods and returns a moment later.

“Put it on my tab.” A voice from the end of the bar.

A laugh bubbles out of her chest as she closes her fingers around her glass. Of course he’s here. She should have spotted Rowan the minute she walked in and it’s cruel that the reason she didn’t was that her thoughts were too wrapped up in him.

“Be careful what you sign up for,” she says as she walks over, her steps measured as she comes to a stop before him. Her hips swing of their own accord and his eyes dart up and down the length of her. “I can put a number of these away.”

The smile he gives her is surprisingly unguarded. It seems he’s done holding himself back too. Aelin loves it.

“I don’t doubt it,” he says, nodding at the stool next to him. She obliges as he speaks again. “It’s hard to switch off sometimes.”

He’s always on the same page as she is. Aelin shrugs, taking a sip of the drink he bought her.

They’re quiet for a moment, both unsure of how to break the silence between them when one of the last things they knew was the taste of each other’s lips.

“I keep thinking I’ll get used to it, that one day this will just be my job, but I never do,” Aelin says eventually, tracing a fingertip through the condensation gathered on her glass.

Rowan nods, smiling softly down at the bar and taking a sip of his own drink. An orange juice as usual.

“It’s hard to sleep at the end of days like today,” he says. “It’s why I’m in here.”

The bar is dark at the late hour, and quiet with no one else in there but them and the bartender. There’s something about the late hour, the darkness and the stillness surrounding them a break from the recent rush, that feels a little bit too close. She feels a little too exposed under the weight of his gaze but she rolls her shoulders back and leans an elbow on the bar as she turns towards him.

“I thought you’d be used to all of this by now,” she says and he cocks his head.

“Why?” His question is coy, begging her to expand.

“This is not your first rodeo and all of that,” she says with a smile.

Rowan laughs softly, the sound curving around her like an embrace.

“It can still be overwhelming after your first big movie,” he says gently, but with an edge to his voice that she needs to immediately get rid of.

“I don’t doubt that,” is what she whispers and his brow seems to soften, sensing her lack of malice.

She hates the way they’re in the position where he assumes the worst of her. She has to make that change.

“I don’t think if I get to do this for the rest of my life that it would ever feel normal.”

“No,” Rowan agrees, “I don’t think it could.”

“So then we need this film to do well.” Aelin shifts on the stool, finding herself leaning closer to him without conscious thought. He doesn’t retreat. He stands his ground until they’re only inches apart. “Lest we find ourselves fading into obscurity.”

“I doubt you ever could,” he says with a laugh and it’s the best thing she’s ever heard.

As he looks at her, his expression soft in the dim light, his smile holds something special for her and her chest lifts that she managed it. That he was willing to give that to her.

“My agent sent over the initial critic reviews earlier,” he says and her stomach plummets.

“And?” she demands, her voice wobbling slightly. Her confidence from a minute ago vanished.

This is the moment where she could sink, the moment this could all be over.

“And they’re good,” he almost whispers.

“Good,” she repeats and it’s not a question but he nods.

She wants to throw herself at him at the news, a couple of months ago she wouldn’t have even hesitated, but now she sits clenching her fists and trying not to smile too wide. It feels like a waste. She’ll never get this feeling again.

She turns to him and he’s smiling so she does what she’s wanted to for months. Aelin leans forwards and wraps an arm over his shoulders, pressing her chest to his.

His arms slip up slowly over her shoulders at first, unsure but gaining confidence as he tightens his grip around her, drawing her further into his chest. Aelin laughs a little, throwing her other arm around him and resting her face against his shoulder.

It’s not enough, it never could be with him, but it will do. She’s just happy he didn’t push her away.

Eventually, after a length of time that feels far too short, she pulls back to see him gazing down at her with an expression she can’t name. His brows are drawn in with his lips gently parted. He’s happy but apprehensive, open but distant. Aelin will take what she can and the distance between them has always been too far.

She wants nothing more than to close it, to draw herself into him and he into her, but she can’t. They’re here for one thing and one thing only and she refuses after what they’ve been through to mess it up again.

She knows he can read her own expression but she doesn’t care. She’ll hide from everyone and anyone but she’s realising she could never hide from him.

She wants Rowan, will probably want him for the rest of her life, but she made the call and he’s wrong, things haven’t changed.

Apart from all of the things that have.

The day of the premiere Aelin feels sick.

Her stomach twists and she tosses and turns all night and the dark circles under her eyes are brutal as a result. Her make-up artist tuts but diligently packs concealer on until Aelin looks well rested. Or as close as she can.

She’s trying not to think of the stretch of carpet she’ll have to walk tonight, a smile plastered across her face as she poses for the hundreds of cameras. Their premiere is one of the biggest of the season and, along with Fenrys, she’s the star.

She’ll have nowhere to hide.

Aelin sits in front of her mirror, her hair and make-up are done but she’s yet to get dressed. She takes herself in, making sure to note every strand of hair to every line of her lips, feeling as though she needs to remember this moment. The moment before it all explodes.

They’ve been building to this for almost a year now and this is as close to a culmination as she’ll get.

Her dress is something fierce. Endless, flowing velvet in the darkest shade of black. Long sleeves and a fitted bodice with an almost indecent dip in the back. The dress would be modest without that cut out, she can’t wear any underwear it dips so low.

It would be a simple dress, some might even dare to say boring, if it weren’t for the back. The majority of the fabric that remains is covered in gold embroidery taking the form of a dragon, coiled to strike. Aelin adored the dress the moment her stylist revealed it to her. She didn’t consider any of the other dresses, didn’t even acknowledge them as options.

The dress is what she needs, something strong, something to help her hold her head up high. She can walk the red carpet and stare down every single person who doubted her and know that they were wrong.

Aelin doesn’t need their approval. She doesn’t need the reassurance of faceless commenters, she doesn’t need the support of the magazines and the newspapers. She doesn’t need her mother’s approval. On anything.

Aelin is confident and self-assured and she can walk the red carpet knowing that.

Her sessions with Maeve have helped to reassure her stance, but she’s realising day by day she’s known it all along. It’s just taken a little bit of digging to uncover it.

She slips into her dress and it slides on like a second skin. She takes in her appearance, the arch of her brow and the red smirk of her lips makes her look intriguing, like a confident young woman.

Aelin was born to be an actress but she’s proud to say the sight in the mirror is real.

She poses for a few photos before she’s led out of her room and into the car, waiting to take her to the theatre.

She spends the ride in silence, barely listening to the jabbering of the aide in the car with her, and she focuses her thoughts on the calm before the storm. She takes deep breaths and centres herself the way Maeve has taught, she knows this could so easily be overwhelming but she’s determined to enjoy it.

The car stills and she can hear the noise of the crowd outside. She takes a final deep breath and allows her lips to spread into a smile. This one is genuine, nothing forced about it, and she pauses for one last beat.

This is big and Aelin is ready.

The car door opens and the sound hits her like a wave, slamming down onto her and it's so loud she can hardly think.

This is it. This is the moment she has dreamed of.

The nights where this image was all she could cling to to make it through could never have compared to how it feels standing here now, screams of her own name wrapping around her and urging her on.

Her steps are slow and purposeful as she glides down the path forged for her, the red carpet beneath her stilettos is plush and bright. She pauses where she’s instructed, rolling her shoulders back and smirking at the cameras with a hand on her hip.

She knows she looks incredible and the shouts of the photographers do nothing to change her mind. They are here for her, they’re all here for what she has accomplished, along with Fenrys, Manon, Chaol and Rowan and everyone else involved.

There are so many forces upon her, the flashing of the lights, the screams and shouts calling her name or Fenrys’, the magnitude of what this is could knock down a lesser individual but all it does is raise Aelin up.

She’s been through worse than this and survived, she’ll stare down the lense of all of these cameras, of everyone who has ever spoken her name and she won’t cower, she won’t just survive. She’ll thrive.

A warm hand lands on her waist and somehow the flashes of the cameras explode.

“Hey, golden girl.” Fenrys’ words are almost hard to hear even though his lips brush her ear. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Aelin wraps her arm around his back and grins, “I thought I’d at least show my face.”

He returns her smile and together they pose for the cameras, their shoulders back and smiles confident. She’s not sure this could be better.

Until she turns slightly to her left and gets flashes of silver where she and Fenrys are gold.

Rowan and Manon, posing for their own pictures mere metres away. He looks spectacular, the deep black of his tuxedo doing nothing but bringing out the depth of his tan and the shine of his silver hair.

He’s smiling his public smile and it’s gorgeous even though it’s not her favourite of his smiles, she loves the private ones he used to save just for her, and her own smile falters at the sight.

She’s here with Fenrys and it’s not wrong but it doesn’t feel right. The arm around her waist shouldn’t belong to Fenrys.

She should be where Manon is, smiling up at Rowan while they marvel at what they’ve accomplished. She knows her smile has dropped and she fumbles for anything to plaster onto her expression other than the longing she feels for Rowan.

As if she’d called his name he turns to her, green colliding with blue, and she knows he feels the same.

And that hurts far more than all of the months they spent apart.

All the months she spent hurting, trying to deny what she always knew, trying to pretend that they were anything other than a force of nature. They had been an eclipse, threatening to over take all of this but she was wrong. Rowan was wrong too.

It doesn’t matter whether everything or nothing has changed because she wasn’t right in the first place.

She should have known better than to think that whatever flimsy decision she made could halt what they were, what they should be.

She can only hope he forgives her. She can only hope he feels the same.

But the thing about this new Rowan is that she can’t read him the way she used to read her Rowan, she can’t tell if the way he steels himself and turns away from her is a dismissal or if the look they shared had been just as painful for him as it had been for her.

“A masterpiece.” - Rifthold Reporter

“Fenrys Moonbeam shines alongside Aelin Ashryver in The Crescent City. See our full review here.” - Wyrd Stone

“Latest Rowan Whitethorn flick smashes Box Office records.” - Valg Weekly

“Unapologetic, daring and thought provoking. Award nominations expected to follow for The Crescent City.” - Terrasen Tribune

Her phone has not stopped buzzing for the past four days.

Dorian texts every waking hour with the updates he gets, the numbers coming in and all her latest offers. It’s surreal. She knew they were good but she’s not sure she ever really expected this. Aedion texts her a picture every time he sees or hears her name, it should be terrifying the frequency with which he texts her but she has to fight back her smile each time he does.

She managed to find an hour the night before to call Lysandra and the majority of their call had consisted of Aelin repeatedly asking what the fuck was happening while Lysandra cackled down the phone.

She’d even got a text from Lorcan. It was alright, he’d written. Followed by, I hope I die before ever having to watch you make out with someone like that again.

She’d sent three middle finger emojis and a kissy face in response.

Now is probably not the best time to move to a different country but she’d signed her name on the papers two days before the premiere and Rifthold is calling, irrespective of the fact she’s only been back in Orynth for two days.

Most of her stuff headed out yesterday with the moving company leaving Aelin with two suitcases to fly back to Rifthold with tomorrow.

There’s one last place she needs to go before she heads back to finally get a good night's sleep before her flight tomorrow. She’s never set foot in this graveyard before, she’s never had the courage to dare before, but she’s emboldened. By the success of the movie, by her progress in the past year, by her sessions with Maeve. This has felt like a natural step.

The shining, black headstone is understated and classy and completely to his taste.

Sam Cortland. Beloved son and brother, taken far too soon.

Aelin waits with her head bowed, allowing all of her emotions to rush through her veins. She doesn’t fight them, it would be pointless to try, and she embraces the tears that gather. Eventually she steps forwards, placing the smooth, small stone on the crest of the headstone.

She rests her hand on the cool stone for a moment before sinking down and crossing her legs beneath her as she leans against it.

“I’ve missed you,” she says aloud, “I can almost hear you telling me to stop being such a sappy shit. I can’t help it, it’s been too long since I’ve seen you.”

She pauses, letting the wind drift through the field sweeping her words away.

There’s no one else here but her and Sam, no one else she’d want to hear her confession.

“I wonder what you would have made of all this. I think you’d tell me to enjoy it all, to not miss a moment, and I’m not. I’m just choosing the ones I want to savour. And this is one of them, Sam. I wish you’d been there with me, you would have loved it, the cameras, the lights, everything.

“I have to keep pinching myself to know it’s real, I did it, and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to come and see you.”

She sighs, letting her head tip back to rest against the stone. She didn’t prepare anything to say, didn’t realise she’d even want to speak to the open air but here she is.

“I’m not the same Aelin as the girl you knew anymore,” she says after a few moments of silence. “I didn’t think I would have the capacity to love again after you but I did, and I feel terribly guilty that I do. I have to remind myself that this is what you would have wanted, you would have wanted me to be happy.”

The silence in the field is more than an answer enough. So typically Sam to give her an answer without so much as speaking a word.

“I was happy,” she says, trailing a fingertip along the words etched into the stone. “I will be again.”

A faint haze of sunlight drifts through the Orynth autumn clouds, a whisper compared to the chorus of brightness she misses in Rifthold, and she stands, brushing off the dirt from her jeans. She touches the stone one last time before turning and heading out of the graveyard.

Her visit was years overdue but her chest didn’t crack open the way she had expected, the tears hadn’t been relentless the way she had expected. She’ll visit him again the next time she’s back in Orynth, probably visiting Elide and Lorcan for Yulemass, and she’ll visit again and again for as long as she lives.

But for now, she has a plane to catch.

Months later and two days before the Oscars, when they’re all back in town for the ceremony held in her new home city of Rifthold, Fenrys throws another party.

She’s managed, this time, to stay in touch with Fenrys and Manon, having made up with the younger girl before the press cycle had finished. Aelin knows her upset was real but partly suspects the animosity was a front. She even finds herself participating in the group chat with the three of them and Rowan. She’s only texted him one to one once to wish him a happy birthday and they had caught up briefly but not texted since.

She’s missed him in a different way to the last time she missed him. This time missing him doesn’t feel necessary, it feels wrong not to text him, wrong to be away from him and she’s itching to see him again.

It’s no one's birthday this time but they’re all together again to celebrate, no matter the results they’ll see in two days. Aelin is very carefully measuring her excitement about her own nomination for best actress. Fenrys is up for best actor, Rowan best director and the movie best picture.

She’d almost dropped her phone in the toilet when she found out from Dorian a few weeks ago.

The party is small but still in full swing by the time she arrives. Big names from the industry, all in town for the ceremony, are scattered all around Fenrys’ Rifthold apartment. He’d bought a place here not long after Aelin and she’s secretly relieved she’s not the only one so moved by their experience.

She waves to a few people she knows and tries to stay calm when she spots Sartaq Khagan in the corner chatting away to a small group of people. Holy shit Fenrys has some famous friends.

Aelin finds herself a glass, tops her orange juice off with a splash of lemonade and begins her rounds. So many more people want to talk to her after the movie dropped.

Her mother had been one of them, and Aelin’s thumb had hovered over the accept button for a moment before decidedly pressing decline. She had blocked her mother’s number a moment later, and then she had made some calls closing the bank account her mother kept topped up and arranging for every penny she’d ever received from Evalin Ashryver to be paid back.

It had hurt, emotionally and financially, especially in the month she’d moved to Rifthold, but it had been worth it. To never let Evalin pass any judgement over her life again was a relief worth any cost. Aelin’s hoping there’s a possibility she could end up with a reward.

She doesn’t know how long she spends talking to big name after big name and it’s a realisation that drops onto her that she fits in here. Aelin Ashryver is a big name. No matter the outcome of the ceremony she has prospects, already a number of projects lined up and she’s loving every minute of it.

She drains her cup for the third time tonight and heads back into the kitchen. She’s barely seen Fenrys all night, and she doesn’t even know if Manon is here.

She frowns into the fridge, there was definitely a full bottle of orange juice in here the last time she topped herself up. She shuts the fridge and spins around.

“Looking for this?”

She should have known.

Rowan looks predictably gorgeous in the dim kitchen lighting. All tanned skin and silver smiles. He’s dressed in her favourite look of his too, worn denim jeans and a soft cotton shirt.

It’s the softness in his gaze that really takes her though, it seems the animosity from the last time they saw each other has faded if not disappeared. Her chest squeezes at the thought. She has no idea what could have triggered it but she will take it.

“Nope,” she says, stepping over to where he stands with an arm braced against the counter at his side, the other holding out a bottle of orange juice. “I was hoping Fenrys would have some chocolate in there but I guess this will have to do.”

She takes the bottle from him, her fingertips brushing his and she feels her cheeks heat at the innocent brush.

His smile is genuine and she knows what he’s remembering because she’s thinking of it too. The first time she visited his house during filming and their moment in the kitchen. They’ve been through cycles, she supposes, but hopefully now for the better.

“I’m sure we can find you some somewhere in here,” he says as she fills her cup, pulling open the cupboard next to his head.

Aelin smirks. “I’m going to leave the rummaging through Fenrys’ cupboards to you. You could find anything in there.”

Rowan winces, closing the door before returning her smile. This is friendly and the hope that’s been planted in her chest begins to sprout.

“Yeah, maybe not,” he says with a conspiratorial smile. “We wouldn’t want to risk it.”

Aelin pauses for a moment, taking in the glory of him in front of her. He’s still Rowan, he’s still tall and deliciously broad. His silver hair is slightly more grown out and there are a couple more lines around his eyes but she doesn’t care, in fact it’s charming. He’s still and always will be stunning. She takes a sip of her drink before she takes one of her biggest risks so far.

“I’ve missed you,” she says, not daring to look away from his face.

He bites his lip, his tongue darting out to soothe the skin before he speaks. “I’ve missed you too.”

The smile that spreads across her face is all too telling but he’s smiling too so she doesn’t think it matters. He definitely feels the same and she’d be annoyed at the months she spent worrying but the relief is too sweet.

“Good,” is what she says, far too happy they’re here to bother with pretending she’s anything other than ecstatic. “Congrats on your nomination.”

His eyes dart to the floor and then back up at her, he’s too modest about his own skill and Aelin adores it. “Thank you,” he says softly, “you too.”

“Thanks,” she says. “I couldn’t have done it without you. All of you.”

“Me neither,” Rowan says.

He’s close to her now, closer than he has been to her for months and her skin cries out for contact. She almost can’t believe she’s here now, talking to Rowan without any animosity, days before the Oscars that she’s nominated in.

The smile that takes over her face is completely of its own accord. She’s floating and it seems Rowan is too if the beat they share, exchanging incredulous smiles, is anything to go by.

“It’s crazy, right?”

She’s been asking herself the question for so long it seems only natural it slips out to him.

He laughs softly, and the rough sound curls straight to her core.

“Definitely,” he agrees, his voice low. “I don’t think last time felt like this.”

Aelin slaps a gentle hand to his chest and ignores the thrill that shoots through her at the eventual contact. “I get it, this is not your first nomination.”

Rowan rolls his eyes and she didn’t know how much she missed this, playing with him. She adores his reaction every time, the begrudging amusement he only lets shine through to make her smile.

“Some of us have never been nominated before, this is all completely new.” Aelin takes a sip of her drink. “I had to give up my social media accounts to Elide, it got so crazy.”

Something flickers over Rowan’s face at her comment. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she says, her eyes darting across his face trying to decipher the expression. “She’s always had access and I still do so I can post if I want to but it just became a lot. It stopped being fun when I would see what people were saying, whether it was good or bad I don’t want to see it anymore.”

Rowan nods before his eyes lock onto hers, the intensity in his expression shreds her control.

“And you said nothing had changed?”

Aelin gets it now.

She shifts her weight, leaning as close to him as she can without sliding herself completely into the circle of his arms. “I was wrong. Lots of things have changed,” she says, her voice quiet but strong. “And lots of things are now right that weren’t before.”

She doesn’t mean to skirt around the truth, hiding in veiled words and double meanings, but as always, Rowan sees her. He sees her meaning and he smiles. It’s the most beautiful smile Aelin has ever seen him wear.

“I’ve been looking for you two.”

Fenrys bursts into the kitchen, startling Aelin back from Rowan. She hides her guilty smile in her drink and notices Rowan doing the same. Fenrys just grins, clearly enjoying whatever he thinks he’s seeing.

“You’re missing out, we’re playing kings in the living room if you want to join?”

Rowan glances at her before he turns back to Fenrys. “I think we’re good, thanks.”

Fenrys’ smile turns smug and Aelin resists the temptation to flip him off. She’s in too good of a mood to be annoyed at him.

“Okay, see you later, lovebirds,” Fenrys says, already on his way back out of the door.

Aelin pretends she isn’t blushing as she turns back to Rowan, his green eyes shining.

“This might sound crazy,” he says with an alluring tilt to his lips, “but do you want to get out of here?”

She’s reached a point she truly never thought she would.

She’s an Oscar-nominated lead actress in a box-office-record-breaking movie.

She’s happy, healthy and out from underneath the thumb of Evalin Ashryver.

The part that’s most uplifting, the part that has her unable to wipe the smile off her face as she strolls down the streets of Rifthold, is the arm she has tucked through Rowan’s.

They’ve been walking for a little while, enjoying the cool night air and the ease with which they managed to sneak out of Fenrys’ party. Her heels are killing her and Rowan very graciously offers her an arm to lean on and each time she takes a step in time with him she smiles.

“I never thought I’d like doing television,” he says.

She didn’t know he’d taken on a miniseries, similar to the one she’d done after filming, but she’s loving the recap she’s getting of the months they’ve been apart. The chill of the air is more than fought off by the warmth of Rowan by her side. The streets are mercifully empty and she can bask in the knowledge that it’s just the two of them out here, that they’re insignificant, that anyone who sees them will immediately dismiss them.

“I always thought I’d stick to movies, singular stories but I enjoyed it. I guess change can be good.”

Aelin laughs softly and squeezes his arm. He looks down to her, a question written in the slant of his brow.

“Change can definitely be good,” she says as she takes in the sights of the skyscrapers surrounding them. “I would know that I suppose.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I bought a flat recently.”

“You did?”

He’s so graciously giving her the floor to say what she needs to say and she holds his arm even tighter.

“It’s right here in Rifthold.” Aelin avoids his gaze, lest he think it’s a speedy invitation and that that’s all this is. “I bought it just after we were back here for press, I realised that I adore Rifthold and being here. I missed it when I wasn’t here and I don’t feel there’s anything holding me in Orynth anymore.”

Rowan laughs softly, his feet scuffing the floor.

“What?” she demands.

“I swear I’m not following you,” he says and she feels a smile creep onto her face. “I bought a loft here too.”

Aelin gasps. “But your house was gorgeous!”

Rowan’s smile twists as he looks away from her. “I didn’t say I sold the house.”

Aelin cackles as she squeezes his arm, the sound joyous and bright as it echoes around them. “I knew being Mr Big-Name-Director has its perks.”

“It does,” he agrees with a smirk.

Aelin wants to kiss that smirk. Wants to pull him down and twist her fingers through his hair as his own tangle along her skin.

Instead she says, “I copied you somewhat too.”

He only raises a brow.

“I bought a piano like the one in your house. It was too big for my old flat in Orynth and so I knew what I had to do.”

“That’s good,” he says as his arm drops out of hers. She almost pouts until he instead tangles their fingers together. Her smile says it all, reflected back in his own. “You play beautifully.”

“Thank you.” Her cheeks are glowing. “You’ll have to come over and I’ll play for you sometime, neighbour.”

“I’d love to.”

Aelin slows, using the hand tangled with his to pull him to a stop too. Her free hand trails a gentle path up his chest before coming to rest at his collar, her fingertips tracing the golden skin peeking out from his shirt. His free hand finds her waist.

They’re close, closer than they have been in such a long time when he speaks.

“I don’t know what you think has or hasn’t changed.” His hand leaves hers to cup her cheek. “But I still feel the way I used to about you.”

Her heart takes off, pounding within her chest.

“I do too, Rowan.” Some of the easiest words she’s ever said to him. There’s something about the way the streetlights shine through the silver tips of his hair and the way his calloused fingers feel between hers that she’s feeling brave. “I loved you then and I love you now.”

His eyes flicker across her face as his smile dawns, taking over his face as he smiles so brightly. This is all she’s ever wanted, to have a Rowan like this, with pure, unfiltered happiness in his eyes as he looks at her.

“You love me?”

“I do. To whatever end.”

His lips are barely a whisper from hers and she only acknowledges the thought that they’re in public for long enough to realise she doesn’t care.

“And I love you.”

His words are simple, but sweet. They wash over her and settle into her skin as his lips land on hers. He kisses her with what she can only describe as love. His lips pour devotion onto her and his hands light a fire inside her as he tastes her tongue.

They kiss for longer than she can keep a track of, wrapped up together illuminated only by the street lighting. She’s missed this, missed him, and she can’t help but feel right when his hands are on her. She can’t help but feel right as she stretches onto her toes to throw herself into his kiss.

This was never wrong, this was one of the first things she knew was right.

She loves him and he loves her and nothing and nobody else matters.

She doesn’t win the Oscar, and neither does Rowan. Fenrys does and she screams herself hoarse cheering him on as he makes his way to the stage.

The moment that takes the cake is when The Crescent City takes best picture. She takes to the stage with some of her best friends to recognise what they achieved together and maybe she is a soppy shit but she definitely cries. Fenrys laughs at her and Manon grins but Rowan just throws his arm around her shoulders and it's worth it.

Afterwards, she logs into her Instagram account for the first time in a long time. She posts a picture of Rowan looking absolutely delicious with his tux unbuttoned and his bow tie hanging untied around his neck with a greasy burger in one hand and hers in his other.

Posting him is a statement but she doesn’t care. In fact, she wants the world to know. She wants the world to know that nobody does it like he does. Nobody does it like they do.

#rowaelin #nobody does it like you do #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #throne of glass #rowaelin au #ndilyd #i cant believe it's the last part of this fic #crazy #hope you all enjoyed

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333sth · 3 years

Text

dove. (frankie morales)

chapter ii. previous. series masterlist.

pairing: frankie morales x ofc (’dove’) no use of y/n

warnings: ptsd/military service, violence, injury detail, language, angsty.

summary: santi’s hunch is no longer a hunch, but only will knows how close they are to finding frankie’s girl.

rating: mature wc: 1.8k

When a strong hand had clamped around her shoulder, Dove’s instinct was to break it. It wasn’t menacing; they were just waiting at the bar to be served.

A burly, middle-aged man was towering beside her, clutching a beer bottle that looked miniature in his thick grasp. His arms, still holding the shadow of what was once impressive muscle, were littered with military tattoos. Dove could spot a stick-and-poke from a mile off.

“I recognise that,” He gestures to her neck, where a small Delta Force tattoo was usually disguised by her long hair. “You ex-forces? Delta?”

She wanted to kick herself. The sticky atmosphere had gotten the better of her and she’d thrown her hair into a ponytail without thinking.

“Yeah, but that isn’t exactly public knowledge ‘round here.” She murmurs.

Across the room, Roni throws her head back in exaggerated laughter. A group of men, who looked barely out of their teen years, had come over to make some desperate attempts at getting laid. Dove had excused herself to buy the next round after one of them had cracked a mortifying joke about liking older women.

“That’s understandable.” The man held out his hand, which she took hesitantly. “My name’s Mark, I just retired out here. Served for twenty three years.” He chuckled gruffly, his voice thick from cigarettes. “I got jack shit to show for it, mind you.”

“Tell me about it.” She laughs, but she doesn’t offer her name.

Mark notices as the conversation lulls. “I trained with a guy who made Delta. Santiago Garcia - we called him Pope, ‘cause he just had that way about him. You probably knew him.”

Dove swallows, chest lurching. “Sounds familiar… You know how it is though, the nicknames all blur into one eventually.”

That’s a lie, you never forget your teammates’ names. Mark knows it and so does Dove. Thankfully, he doesn’t push a conversation she clearly doesn’t want to have, and raises his bottle to her.

“Well, it was nice to meet you anyway. Enjoy yourself out here.”

“You too, Mark.” She tries to smile, but her lips press into a thin line that probably looks more like a grimace.

Mark had called Santiago the following day, the alcohol-blurred memory peaking his interest once he remembered his old friend’s plea a few months back. He’d asked around for any heads-up if any ex-Delta women around their age popped up. Mark had thought the man was delusional when he’d heard. If she was Delta Force, she wouldn’t be found unless she wanted to be.

Apparently, he was wrong. Maybe even the best of the best got rusty after a while.

The town Dove had been spotted in was questionable to Santiago. It was too cosmopolitan for a woman who was starting over. However, after a onceover on a map of Mexico, Santi spotted its smaller neighbour. He’d never heard of it, which meant it must be the place. Small population, right on the coast, with enough amenities and business to get by without any trouble.

“And, man, she had a wicked scar on her throat. Sort of shit you’d only see on a Delta.” Mark had added, with a chuckle. “I can’t imagine that ain’t your girl.”

‘Dove isn’t my girl,’ Santi wanted to bite back instinctually. He bit his tongue, and instead offered, “It sounds like her. I can’t thank you enough, brother.”

Santiago only told Will what he knew about Dove. He had the mind to retain that information no matter what this trip threw at them. Plus, he trusted him with his life, plus a couple other lives that came to mind. Call it insurance, if things went south.

Plus, Will didn’t have Tom’s mouth, or twisted morality. Tom was more than willing to accept that Dove would miss out on their prospective fortune, that the ‘hunch’ would have to wait until Lorea was dealt with. Santiago knew his brothers well enough to know Benny would throw a hissy fit if they knew where Dove was and she wasn’t included. She’d spent enough time stitching up their war-torn skin and shoving them out of bullets to deserve a cut.

So, Pope told a little white lie. They had a stop in Mexico to meet with a contact.

Frankie had murmured, “Better be worth it, stuck in this shitty car with you fuckers for ten hours.”

Santiago resisted the urge to agree. God, he hoped it would be worth it too. He hoped he wasn’t driving them into a dead end, a bluff on Mark’s part. Or even worse, invading Dove’s beautiful new life without them. That would destroy everything; Dove, the boys, Frankie. What if she had settled down? What if he pulled into that idyllic beach bar she wanted and she’s there, a baby with the same brilliant eyes balanced on her hip? She was never sure about kids. A vivid mental picture of the wrong diamond, glistening on her ring finger in the afternoon sun, and the wrong man pecking her lips, made Santi physically wince.

Fish would never forgive him. Will and Benny would never forgive him. He’d never forgive himself.

It was a long, apprehensive drive. Santi’s eyes were drying, squinting against the headlights that occasionally glared past them. His jaw had been clenched for the last few hours as his anxiety grew, nothing but open road to stare at while he contemplated over and over as to whether it was the right decision. It didn’t help that Frankie never really slept like the others did on the move. While the other boys passed out, Frankie’s soft eyes continued scanning the scene flying past the window. It was like he stayed awake to watch Pope’s back, as if they were still in combat, or as an unspoken act of kindness to keep him company.

Really, Frankie was a terrible sleeper. Santi remembered that from the early days, before he and Dove gave it up and became an item. He was the last to drift off and first to wake up, always restless. Once Dove started tip-toeing over to his cot in the night, he became the worst snorer in the division. Always splayed on his front, one arm tossed over Dove’s waist and the other under his pillow. She’d kick him in the night so he’d roll over and shut up, but it never lasted long.

One night, Benny had enough, and groaned to Dove, “Put us out of our fuckin’ misery and smother him with your pillow, for the love of God.”

Dove had snapped back, “Fuck off, Benny, just ‘cause you aren’t getting any of the action doesn’t mean you have to get all bitter.”

“I’ve told you guys - I’m more than willing to join in-”

“Ben.” Frankie grumbled into her shoulder. It was gruff with sleep but still menacing enough to make the hairs on Dove’s arms stand on end.

Before a pillow smacked into his head, Benny guffawed, “Oh, so he is alive after all.”

Wringing a soft rag for polishing glasses between her fingertips, Dove descends the wooden steps at the entrance of the bar. The last huddle of regulars holler behind her, wrapping up their weekend drinks as the evening creeps closer to the early hours; Dove always notices the time when moths start colliding with the lanterns.

Roni rises from a crouch on the ground, dropping a paintbrush into a can with a clatter. “See, your own little touch!”

The wooden panels that constructed the side of the bar, usually concealed by a stack of cardboard beer boxes, is decorated with little doves. Despite studying criminology, mainly for the satisfaction of her parents, Roni loved painting and insisted on brightening the exterior of their beach shack.

Dove cracks a half-smile. “It’s lovely, Ron. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” She beams, throwing the half-empty cans into the nearby bins. She pauses, glancing hesitantly at the older woman over her shoulder, “Dove’s not your real name, right?”

“No, no. Nickname from when I was nursing overseas.” Dove chuckles, before adding, “Feels more like my real name than my Christian one nowadays.”

Roni passes Dove on the steps as she returns to the bar, “It suits you. You’re always graceful, but… you’re fucking fast.”

Dove laughs with her, ignoring the familiar clench in her chest. It’s exactly what Frankie used to say. The difference is Roni notices when she almost drops a glass, or her tray of drinks starts to wobble, and Dove is there to catch it with such fluidity Roni never saw her coming. Even the way Dove’s knife slices through fruit like each piece is a slab of melted butter. Frankie witnessed the extreme of that, the stealth and grace that usually ensured the enemy was dead before the others had even thought to raise their guns. Still, he admired her the same way Roni was right now. It was like awe.

It’s probably because he loved her effortlessly, every single aspect of her being without a glimmer of doubt or judgement. And now he wasn’t here.

The group of regulars stumbling down the steps break Dove from her thoughts, chortling and wishing her goodnight. One of the older men turns and jerks his thumb towards the road, “You might wanna tell them you’re closing, bonita.”

Before the road becomes the sand, there is a small, dusty wasteland that doubles as a makeshift car park. A vehicle is parked, glaring headlights facing towards the ocean and forming peculiar, alien-like beams in the dark. She’s definitely getting rusty; she’d barely registered the idling truck.

“I’ll sort ‘em out, Miguel, don’t you worry.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” He jokes, waving to her. “Buenos noches, Dove.”

Military habits are practically impossible to shake, and immediately, Dove’s mind launches into overdrive. She raises her hand above her eyes, squinting against the blinding white LEDs in an attempt to make out a registration plate or even a recognisable model. Her mind is fine-tuned to memorise; most of the locals’ cars are already catalogued in her memory, but this isn’t one of them.

Maybe they’re tourists, ready to push their luck with the opening times. That’s the reasonable side of Dove’s mind. The irrational, dark edges whisper, ‘What if someone found you?’ By someone, it means someone bad. Someone she wronged during her service, an enemy or straggler that got away. Even a civilian that might have been caught in the crossfire. She thought about those ghosts often. Hell, some of them she could still name. When she can’t sleep, sometimes she lists them, pictures their faces if she can recall them, just in case they ever came back.

She inhales a sharp gust of ocean air through her nostrils, welcoming the clarity that spreads through her mind. Parting her lips (the lips Frankie always teased were in a permanent pout), she released the breath slowly, trying to relax the stressed scrunch in her features.

“Your face is gonna get stuck like that someday.”

The voice is familiar. A deep, breathy chuckle, barrel-toned and gravelly. It sounds like home.

taglist: @mishasminion360

#frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie x reader #triple frontier imagine #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier fic #frankie morales x ofc #dove #Santiago Garcia #Benny Miller #Will Miller #pedro pascal #frankie morales imagine #frankie morales fic #francisco morales #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal characters

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floralseokjin · 3 years

Text

final sleigh drabble #1

❛ a few hours later...❜

original oneshot here // drabble index here

kim seokjin x reader smut, comedy 8,156 words (🥴)

Rushing to the door as you heard the low knock against the wood, you took a few deep breaths before yanking it open, knowing what was about to happen once Seokjin stepped inside.

He smiled as you came into view, a tiny one that seemed to round his cheeks something crazy. Something inside you went a little gooey. He was dressed in a thin black sweater that hugged his body, a basic silver chain hanging around the neckline. You were half expecting him to turn up in another one of his Christmas jumpers — the one he had been wearing earlier was still embedded inside your brain, but mainly because of what you’d been doing... Seven hours ago you’d thrown caution to the wind and participated in something that could 1000% get you fired. Although... It had been your idea, so.

“Hey,” you said with a smile, feeling momentarily a little awkward. This was no innocent visit after all. He was here to have sex with you. Please, he’d begged. Let me fuck you. The memory of his words were enough to tinge your cheeks a darker shade.

“Hey,” he greeted, taking the first step inside. For a brief second his face appeared not so far from yours and you wondered if he was about to kiss you. You had kissed with abandon earlier on in the day after all. But instead, his lips flickered up into a smirk. He was amused as he spoke. “Pizza guy just pulled up too.”

“Oh.” It took a moment for your brain to process what he was telling you. “Let me grab my purse.”

You toddled off, into your living room and through to the kitchen, leaving him by the open door. Jerk, you thought, realising he’d been messing with you, or at least, that’s what you thought. Who knew, and you weren’t about to ask him. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

When you got back to your entryway Seokjin had his wallet out in front of the pizza delivery guy, fishing for bills. “What are you doing?” You demanded.

Seokjin shrugged. “I’ll pay, it’s no big deal.”

“No way.” You thrust inside your purse, eager to beat him.

“Y/N.” It sounded as if he was half warning you, voice low.

“It was my idea, I’m paying.”

Inviting him over just for sex seemed a little... crude, for lack of a better word, so suggesting pizza helped soften the intent – in your eyes.

Seokjin looked at you incredulously and when he realised you weren’t going to give in, he sighed loudly. “Let’s go dutch then, I am eating half after all.”

“Fine.” You weren’t happy about it, but fine.

You both handed your cash to the delivery guy who had watched the whole exchange wordlessly. You took the boxes from him and waited as he counted out your change.

“Here,” he said, reaching his hand out to pass it to Seokjin, who shook his head.

“She can have it.”

The guy changed direction, holding his arm out as he waited for you to take it (hands full, mind you...).

“No, you can have it,” you told Seokjin.

He turned his head, dismissing you. “I don’t want it.”

You choked out a noise of frustration. However “gooey” you’d been feeling five minutes ago had well and truly disappeared now. Nothing had changed, despite what had happened earlier, he was still an annoying ass when he wanted to be.

“Can someone just take it?” The delivery guy exclaimed, causing you to startle. “I have five other pizzas getting cold.”

“Fine,” you hissed, displeased by his attitude. Yes, okay, you were wasting his time but no need to be so rude about it. “Put it on the box.” You glanced at Seokjin, seeing him try to hold back his laughter. That just annoyed you more.

“Wash your hands,” you ordered him as soon as the mannerless delivery guy left.

He slipped his sneakers off and followed you into the kitchen, stopping halfway as you dropped the pizza boxes onto your coffee table. He washed his hands in silence, absentmindedly looking around the room, as if he was getting familiar with the place again, and then it dawned on you; he’d been here before. Last weekend, after your drunken make out session that had resulted in him packing you off to bed with a glass of water... Your memories were still hazy, but it was something.

As you washed your hands too, you noticed Seokjin watching down at you with a smile that had you feeling a little uneasy. “What?”

Maybe this was a bad idea.

“Nothing,” he shrugged, but his eyes twinkled more than usual, the last syllable bubbling in his throat as he held back another laugh.

You opened your mouth, ready to tell him something. You didn’t know what, maybe to shut up? But then he shifted, moving in one swift motion to lean in and kiss you.

You made a small shocked noise as he pressed his lips against yours, eyes wide open even though his were fluttered closed, but soon enough you relaxed, settling into his touch as he cupped your hips, yours reaching to grip under his elbows.

He pulled back suddenly, grinning. “This is the best. All I have to do is kiss you and you shut up.”

Huh? “You can’t weaponise kissing, Seokjin,” you scowled.

“Wanna bet?” And he was on you once more, you, miraculously quiet again. His mouth was a little more eager now, presses harder as your lips glided together, and your mind was quickly becoming cloudy. Kissing Seokjin was a little addictive. You couldn’t hate it even if you tried.

“Mhm.” He groaned a little against you, sending your lips tingling. “I swear I just experienced the slowest 3 hours of my life.”

You had to agree. From half 5 to now, you’d been practically counting down the minutes.

“Actually,” he added as an afterthought. “I’ve wanted to kiss you ever since we had to stop.”

You couldn’t help but smile, fingers lifting to play with the chain around his neck. Since when did he accessorise, and why was it so hot?

“Well, you’re here now,” you said, your voice a little softer than you’d expected it to be, but whatever, Seokjin wanted to kiss you just as much as you wanted to kiss him. You’d leave it slide.

“Come,” he jerked his head in the direction of your living room, taking your hands in his. “Pizza first, you’ll need your energy.”

The wink he gave you was completely uncalled for. Your legs instantly felt a little shaky.

You spent maybe an hour eating and chatting a little. It was a little strange to be having a proper conversation with Seokjin, in light of what you both had been this past six months, but when you thought about it, you’d shared numerous conversations ever since you’d began the Christmas party planning, so it wasn’t too bizarre. Actually, it was nice. You felt less nervous about the obvious direction tonight would soon go.

You scrolled Netflix, choosing Brooklyn Nine-Nine as background noise as you were in the middle of binging the series and it was something light and funny to fill the sometimes small silences that fell between you. Only, Seokjin informed you he’d already watched all available seasons three times and that meant he could recite any given episode on cue. It was slightly endearing watching him go, if not mildly annoying too, but whatever, he was enjoying himself.

You didn’t know who started kissing who soon enough, it might very well have been you. One minute you were sneaking looks his way, checking out his biceps in that sinful sweater and the next you were wrapped up against his body, tongues furiously crashing together. The line had been crossed once again, only this time things were leading somewhere even more exciting.

You were ready for this. You’d showered before he’d arrived, made sure there were no stray hairs poking out of random places on your body – because this afternoon had taken you by surprise, but now you were prepared. You had your sexiest lingerie on, a black lace two piece that you hadn’t had a chance to wear yet. It seemed to show more skin than cover it, but that’s exactly what you wanted. You’d even painted your god damn toenails. You wanted to knock his proverbial socks off.

Your phone was on silent, no room for interruptions no matter whose house was on fire. Ana had already been informed of your dick appointment, and while her first instinct had been to gloat, you’d stopped her right in her tracks. You didn’t want to hear it and you didn’t want to hear from her tonight, because she often liked to call you when she was bored – very often.

Tonight you were going to get laid and nothing was going to get in your way. It had been a long six months, and yes, it was sex with Seokjin, but honestly, that just made it better. You thought back to this afternoon, how good it had felt to be touched by him and how hard he’d made you cum. You didn’t want to jinx things, but you had very high hopes for tonight...

“This afternoon feels like a dream,” he confessed against your mouth, taking the moment to pull you onto his lap, his hands snaking their way down to ass to give it a firm squeeze, rolling you into his crotch.

You let out a throaty groan, mouth open, giving him perfect access to lick into it, stealing your tongue to suck the muscle gently. You clutched tightly to the nape of his neck, catching some of the small hairs and he moaned. You were under the impression Seokjin liked having his hair tugged...

“It definitely happened,” you grinned as he pulled away, and you took the opportunity to nibble on his plump bottom lip.

“I don’t know, you’re going to have to remind me...” He gave a throaty chuckle, nudging his hips and you felt the very obvious bulge in his jeans.

“What do you think I’m doing right now?” You laughed at a sudden memory, placing your hands on Seokjin’s chest to ease up. “No one had a clue.”

He held your wrists, keeping you to him as he laughed along. “Not even Jungkook. He was so oblivious.”

“Even with the lame excuse with the cake.”

“Hey,” he whined, “in my defence, I panicked.”

Humming, you leaned in to press against his lips, pulling back before he could part them. “Yeah, we probably should’ve thought of a reason beforehand.” Terrible lack of judgement on your part.

“Do you think?” Seokjin asked rhetorically, impatient as he lunged to kiss you, clasping your arms tight to your side to keep you still until they strayed, caressing your sides, ghosting the sides of your breasts. Your skin felt electric, despite the layers that blocked his touch.

You squealed as he gripped your hips, finding your back flush with the sofa cushions in an instant. Seokjin liked to throw his strength around a lot too it seemed. Not that you were complaining, it was hot, and you spread your legs, letting him nestle between them as his mouth found yours again. You clutched at his shoulders, gasping into the kiss from the sheer want you were feeling.

“Been waiting so long to get my hands on this body,” he grunted against you; leaving you wondering if he meant all day, or longer? The way he was tugging at your mouth with his made you want to believe it was the latter... Ridiculous, but maybe...

Hands riding up your shirt as you moaned in agreement, he made goosebumps appear against your stomach, his fingers glided along the hot skin, and then, suddenly, they were on the buttons of your jeans, fiddling in haste.

Anything more was wasting time, and your stomach leaped with anticipation, knowing you didn’t need to wait much longer. Soon he’d be fucking you. You were beside yourself.

An exasperated sigh stole your attention and you felt Seokjin move, kneeling between your legs, sofa cushions dipping with the weight as he yanked at the waistband of your jeans, a groan leaving him now.

“Why do you insist on wearing sex proof clothing?”

You used your elbows to sit up a little, narrowing your eyes at his dramatics. “They’re jeans, Seokjin. Hardly difficult to take off.” Yes, admittedly there were a few more buttons than usual but they were simple to undo. You reached down, swatting his hands out the way to unfasten them. “There. See.”

You watched his bottom lip stick out slightly, his voice small and annoyed as he spoke. “I wanted to do that.”

“Shut up,” you scoffed lightly, grabbing his arms to tug him back to you. You went to kiss him but he was moving you again, hooking his hands around you waist to prop you up.

His mouth found the crook of your neck, half pinning you to the sofa as his right hand slipped into your jeans, and you moaned when the pads of his fingers found your clit above your underwear, rubbing you firmly a few times before he slid down to your opening, feeling and hearing how wet you’d already become. It had soaked through your panties no issue at all.

Seokjin let out a tight grunt as he felt it, lifting his hand to bypass the lace and feel you for real. It was pretty restricted down there, your jeans still snug around your hips but he made it work, rubbing your whole mound, spreading your arousal.

“I can’t believe I’m going to fuck you...” He murmured, although his voice wasn’t particularly soft, more thick with lust. He was sucking on your earlobe, working out you liked that very much by now and you struggled to gain your bearings. “Be inside you...”

“Mhmm,” you moaned in agreement, the noise breaking in half when you felt him insert a finger inside of you.

Again, room was tight and even though he couldn’t finger you like he wanted he still made it feel amazing – or probably you were just too far gone now. Everything he was doing was driving you wild. You dragged your hands up and down his torso, clinging onto any muscle you came across.

“I swear you haven’t felt nothing yet,” he informed you, mouth tight to your jaw and your moans turned into mild tugs for breath if anything, your head falling back against the edge of the sofa. “Jiin–“

He paused his kisses, his hand following suit trapped in your underwear. “Jin?” He repeated, tilting his head back to meet your eyes, his left eyebrow ever so slightly lifting. “Why did you call me that?”

What was he going on about? You were hot and desperate and here he was suddenly questioning you. “It’s your name, isn’t it?”

He looked mildly concerned. “You’ve never called me that before.”

You breathed out a confused laugh. “Am I not allowed? Everyone else calls you it.”

His expression grew softer, sincerity pooling in his words. “You’re not everyone else though. I love it when you call me Seokjin.”

You had to admit you were a little speechless. You knew in the past you’d never used the shortened version of his name because you refused to be friendly with him like everyone else. ‘Seokjin’ held a distance between you, or so you’d thought... In reality it had become something special between you both...

“Fine,” you whispered, pushing your hips into his hand as you moaned lightly, catching his eyes. “Seokjiin.”

He found that funny – you both did, laughing together before you lifted a hand to play with his necklace, giving him a small smile. “Wanna go to my room now?”

You lead him by the hand all the way and he followed you eagerly, eyes hungry. You switched on the lamp by your bed, and safe inside your room he got a little distracted, his eyes darting around the unfamiliar setting, as if he was soaking it all in, but that only lasted for a little while, something, or someone, far more interesting needing his attention. His gaze found you stood at the foot of your bed.

You followed the hand that tugged at his crotch and noticed the now incredibly visible tent inside his jeans. Your gut lurched as he strode towards you. “Come here,” he breathed, reaching for you, and just like that his lips were on yours again. Somehow you ended up in his arms again, his hands firmly cupping your ass as you clung on, moaning into his mouth as your enjoyment started to reach breaking point.

You squealed out his name when you felt him lift his knees to the bed, dropping you down to cage you under his body.

“I got you. Relax,” he chuckled, finding your reaction amusing as you squeezed your fingers into his biceps. A low noise emitted from his throat as he nosed at your neck, mumbling into your skin, “I love feeling you touch me.”

Your heartbeat skyrocketed, sure he could feel your pulse against his lips and you moaned a little too loudly when you felt his teeth bite down on the flesh, continuing his descent down to your collarbones and chest before it became too much and began to tickle you.

“You’re really finding that ticklish?” He asked curiously, lifting his head to catch a look at your face.

You nodded, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth as you stroked down his arms, a little pleased now that you knew it drove him crazy.

He smirked down at you, his eyes near black. It totally altered his face – his whole demeanour actually. “Do you like a little pain, Y/N?”

He had to see the mild shock on his face, but you quickly composed yourself. Where had that come from? His mouth seemed to run wild when he was turned on, if the storage room was anything to go by, and you found yourself enjoying it immensely. You hooked your hands around his neck as you sat up and he eased away, kneeling straighter. Your teeth reached to nip his bottom lip. “Depends on what kind,” you purred as he hissed at the sensation.

He watched you lean back, never taking his eyes off you as you removed your arms from his neck to pull your shirt over your head. Immediately he stood up, his sweater gone in one swift motion as he dropped it at his feet. You soaked in the view, his torso toned, chest firm. The silver chain hung around his neck, patches of skin flush, revealing his evident arousal.

He tilted his head and smirked. “Like what you see?”

You rolled your eyes. “Cocky much?” But yes, yes you did.

He snorted, laughing pretty loudly as he knelt back on the mattress. “I’m just messing around.”

You couldn’t help but touch him, your hands travelling up his body and across his chest as he crawled over you. He grunted as your lips met and you kissed one another hungrily, more eager now than ever. His hands grazed the cups of your bra and no more than a few moments later he was on one breast, licking and sucking at your nipple, quickly soaking the lace. You moaned loudly, the sensation sending you partially shaky until you had to hold the back of his head, rooting yourself in fear of falling backwards.

His left hand travelled around your back, fingers fumbling with the strap of your bra. “Can I?” He asked, and you strained out a yes.

He broke away from your nipple as he used his other hand to help hook you free. The straps fell lose against your arms and he tugged at the middle of your bra to remove it entirely. His eyes ate you up before cupping the soft flesh in his palms, jaw slack as he flicked his eyes up to yours.

“You have the prettiest tits.”

Slightly abashed by his words but turned on by the way his thumbs rubbed circles against your sensitive nipples, you found yourself chuckling. “That’s good to know.”

“No, really,” he half-awed, reaching to kiss you again. “You’re just... perfect.”

He sounded so sincere it shocked you, made you unsure what to respond. Not that you could anyway, his tongue down your throat again, his body pressed against yours as your urge for him continued to grow.

You were thankful when you felt his hands tug at the waistband of your jeans. “I need to get you fucking naked,” he muttered against your shoulder. You were unable to keep track of his mouth, he was kissing every inch of bare skin he found.

You lifted your ass off the bed, helping him shimmy the fabric down and over your ass before they became jammed at your thighs. Okay, maybe skinny jeans had been a bad idea... He got them down to your knees with quite a struggle, leaning back to yank them off the rest of the way. He nearly fell backwards with the force, irritated eyes finding yours. “I swear to God, you don’t want me to fuck you.”

You tried your best not to laugh, he was putting way too much effort into a simple(ish) task, if he carried on like this you’d have no other option than to think he was incapable at stripping women. Instead, now that you were finally free of your jeans, you spread your thighs, revealing your barely there panties.

“Really?” You cocked an eyebrow. You were now more aroused than ever, the delicate fabric stuck damp to your sex, and Seokjin’s eyes immediately wondered to the sight you’d put on display, his eyes glazing over slightly, darkening with lust.

He stood from the bed suddenly, unzipping his own jeans to remove them too, throwing them to the side with haste. You could easily see the curve of his impressive erection in those tight black boxer shorts and as he crawled back to you, you couldn’t help but cup him, tracing your fingers across the thick length before rubbing him, feeling him push into your touch and groan as his lips pressed into yours.

You pulsed when you felt his hand cup your mound, knowing he could feel the heat that radiated from it instantly. He pinched at the sticky fabric, pulling it back and snapping it against you. Annoyingly, he didn’t seem to take much interest in the underwear as you’d hoped, more concerned about what was underneath, so near enough immediately, he had them gone – successfully this time. His gaze travelled to your nakedness, soaking in the view before he traced the outline of your folds with his fingertips. “You’re literally fucking naked in front of me,” he awed, never once taking his eyes off you.

He had to feel you pulsing beneath him, eager for something more, but he didn’t give you it. “I didn’t think being this wet was possible,” he whispered smugly, eyes flicking over to your face.

You grumbled, although probably more frustrated he was teasing you than by his words. “Stop trying to inflate your ego.”

He chuckled, shifting closer, and then suddenly there was a finger inside you. You sucked in a breath, no time to get accustomed to the sensation as he began fingering you, curling and pressing the long digit against your velvety walls. “Fuck. Seokjin!”

He grinned wolfishly down at you, strands of hair falling into his eyes, but you could still see them twinkling with mirth. “Found another way to shut you up.”

You would’ve scowled if your mouth wasn’t too busy moaning. He was not going to weaponise fingering too...

His actions sped up as he slipped a second digit into you, straightening them as he fucked you with them, sending you splayed out on the mattress as he knelt between your legs. You should’ve maybe felt self-conscious by now, but the pleasure coursing through your body was too distracting. Plus, the way Seokjin watched you, eyes hungrily staring at your breasts jiggling with each snap of his wrist, had you basking in the attention.

You were shocked to find out how close to coming you had been when he abruptly pulled out of you, your body on a come down as shaky breaths wracked throughout you. His mouth was on yours immediately, kissing you messily, shallow breathing. His voice shook as he spoke. “Fuck. I can’t think straight.”

He kneeled up, looking between your legs again as he vigorously rubbed at his dick. “Let me eat you out again.”

He went to dive in, but you stopped him, placing your hands on his shoulders as you sat up. “Wait, you’ve already done that.” As much as you’d loved it and wouldn’t mind a repeat, what was the point in waiting? He was obviously as desperate for you as you were for him. There was no point dragging it out, anymore would just be considered teasing.

You looked up at him with half-lidded eyes, running your hand down his chest. He was a little sweaty and you loved it. “Just fuck me. I want to feel you already.”

He looked down at your hand, fingers now toying with the waistband of his underwear and swallowed. “Yeah... Yeah, good idea.”

Standing on the floor, he looked around for his jeans, spotting them near the left side of your bed. You shuffled closer, reaching out to grab his elbow and stop him in his tracks. “Take those off first, I want to get a good look at your ass,” you prompted, gesturing to his underwear.

He looked a little surprised by your request, but listened, giving you somewhat of a bemused smirk as he stripped himself of his boxers. He turned slightly, protecting the fullness of his butt as he reached down for his jeans, but you were more than satisfied with the curve of the flesh you saw. Seokjin always did have a nice looking ass in his work pants – not that you’d been staring, of course...

“I feel like a piece of meat,” he told you, eyes narrowed as he stepped closer, foil packet between his fingers.

“A tasty piece of meat,” you corrected, feeling excited when he sat down on the side of the bed and dropped the condom beside your bodies. You were literally a couple of minutes away from having him inside you, and you quite honestly couldn’t contain yourself.

Crawling into his lap, you hooking your arms around his neck, feeling his wrap around your waist, his cock bouncing slightly against your inner thigh. Pulling you closer he pressed his mouth into yours, his grip firm, kiss passionate. A hand travelled down to your ass, another cupping one breast and he moaned loudly as he pulled away from your lips. “God. I love your body so much.”

You smirked, very much appreciating the praise and as if your body couldn’t help it, you pressed your hips into him, rubbing against his thigh partially.

“You really like to grind,” he commented, looking down between your bodies and that’s when you couldn’t take it any longer, reaching down to wrap your hand around his dick. His hips jumped at the sensation, and you couldn’t help but run your fist up and down the length, feeling the hot, ridged flesh pulse against your grasp.

Condom back between his fingers, you watched him start to tear it open, rushed slightly, his hips absentmindedly jutting up into your hand. Randomly, your eyes caught the writing on the gold square and instantly your mouth became dry.

“What?” Seokjin asked, pausing his movements as he noticed something was wrong. Did your face give it away?

“N-nothing,” you stuttered, tearing your gaze away from the bolded King Size to look down at your hand. Seokjin’s dick almost taunted you. You hadn’t really paid attention to it properly since he’d gotten naked, forgetting the shock you’d felt earlier on in the day when faced with the massive task. Your mouth had accustomed well, but your vagina?! You were getting reservations...

“You really do have a fucking massive dick.”

Seokjin chuckled, angling his head low to kiss your mouth. He knew you’d noticed the text on the condom packet now. “You’ll make him go shy with all these compliments.”

He lifted you in one smooth motion and you found yourself spread on your back, head on the pillow as he hovered over you, sliding the condom on. He held his cock in his hand as he dropped to his knees, tugging it a couple of time just to make sure all was secure and then he leaned in to place a kiss on your shoulder. “Can’t wait to be inside you,” he murmured, rubbing the head if his cock against your sex. You could hear the noise of the latex and you clenched unconsciously, now nervous. “Hm?” He prompted, waiting for a likeminded reply. When you didn’t give him one he lifted his head to look at you, looking a little concerned. “What is it?”

You wrapped your arms around his middle, feeling comforted by the heat of his body and the softness of his skin. It was funny, you didn’t feel embarrassed to confide in him right now, to ask for reassurance. There had been a time, even as far as quite recently, when you had not for even one second wanted to look scared, worried or dumb in front of him. Now that seemed kind of silly...

“You will fit, right?”

“Of course I’ll fit,” he laughed, looking instantly relieved. Had he been expecting something bad?

“You better. I don’t want you breaking my vagina in two.” You warned, chest feeling a little lighter, enough to joke around with him.

“You’re acting like it’s dangling above my knee or some shit.” He repositioned himself, easing his dick away from your heat as he rolled his eyes playfully. The action touched you. Even though he was teasing you, he still wanted to make sure you were comfortable...

Ever so gently, he rubbed the inside of your thigh, his way of reassuring you while also helping you relax. Were you that tense under him? You keened into his touched, loving the way he made you feel.

“You been fucking men with tiny cocks this whole time?” He joked, making you scoff out a small laugh.

“No, just not that... big.”

You expected him to make another joke, something about stroking his ego, but instead he leaned in to kiss you, his hand rubbing circles on your hip now. “I’ll go slow. Don’t be worried,” he reassured. You bucked into him instinctively when you felt his fingers at your entrance. He slid two fingers inside, moving slowly. “I stretched you out pretty good anyway.” He pressed upwards, causing you to moan. “You’ll take it.”

His words made you tingle all over, something kind of vulgar about them that made you not so anxious now. Pulling out, he ran his fist over his length again and you felt a little sorry for him. You didn’t want to keep him waiting anymore. You didn’t want to wait anymore.

Seokjin caught you watching him and smiled, leaning closer. “Yeah?” He asked your permission.

You nodded, crossing your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. “Yeah.” He repositioned himself, sitting taller on his knees as he pushed the tip of his cock up against your entrance. You wanted him closer, reaching for him as you murmured, “Kiss me.”

He listened immediately, moving over your body to meet your lips. He started to push inside, carefully, an inch or so at a time. “Fuck,” he mumbled, as your warmth continued to surround him. “You feel amazing.”

You moaned out in agreement, the stretch nothing but pleasurable as he sunk a little further. You went to look between your bodies, curious.

“No, don’t look down.” He stopped you, kissing your mouth over and over again, distracting you successfully. “Not yet. Wait until I’m fully inside.”

You didn’t know why he was so adamant. Maybe he didn’t want you to potentially freak out and see him pushing that massive ass dick into you, or maybe he just really wanted your first sight to be you stuffed full of him... You moaned at the thought, feeling him push even deeper. God, you loved this feeling.

“Seokjin–!”

His mouth was against your neck now, kissing you softly. “Just a little bit more.” His voice was tight, strained under the increasing pleasure he was feeling, mixed with the urge to delve straight inside.

You planted your feet to the bed, widening your legs just a tad to silently let him know you were more than ready. With one more nudge he slipped all the way in. You knew because you felt his hips press into yours, that and the moan he gave out. “Ngh. Yeah. Shit.”

You looked down, Seokjin’s lips frozen against your shoulder. “Oh, my god,” you whispered, taking in the sight of where your bodies met. You felt incredibly full, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it was pleasant. Incredibly pleasant.

“Can’t believe I’m inside you,” he awed next to your ear, and it took you a moment to realise he was staring too.

You cupped his face, sliding your hands around the back of his head to weave your fingers in his hair, grip firm. “Move,” you informed him, needing him to start fucking you immediately before you cried.

He got to work, your hands now travelling the expanse of his back as he rocked his hips into you at a painfully steady pace, the chain on his neck swinging back and forth. His hands were either side of your head on the pillow, his breathing heavy as he cast his gaze down to your eyes. “You literally have the warmest cunt I’ve ever felt.”

Your face heated up immediately, not expecting such an admission and instinctively you dipped your chin. You might’ve really liked it but it was still embarrassing, nonetheless. You heard him chuckle, a hand reaching to cup your cheek, making you look at him again. “What? Not used to guys talking dirty to you?”

“It’s not that.” You shook your head. “I usually don’t like it.” It was true. Nobody had been able to pull it off well in the past, usually feeling cringey and unnatural. But with Seokjin... It made you feel some type of way.

He smirked, although it looked a little strained due to the way he was still thrusting inside you. “That’s because they never did it properly. It’s an art form.”

He was lucky his bragging held up...

You ran your hands down the small of his back, cupping his ass gently as you pushed down with each thrust of his hips. You couldn’t help but moan each time he bottomed out, wriggling under him.

“It feels good, right? Nothing hurts?” He asked, nuzzling his face into the side of yours. You shook your head. “Good.”

With your assurance, he thrust into you hard, causing you to shoot up the bed. You dug your nails into his ass with the shock. “Seokjin—!”

He repeated, slowly pulling out until just the tip of his cock was inside and then slamming back in. “Told you I’ll fit.” He murmured, sliding out again, looking down your body as it shook. “This pussy couldn’t wait for me to fuck it.”

You cried out as he hit deep, even more pleasurable because of his shameless mouth. “Again!” You begged, hands raking up his back now as you attempted to roll your hips into his, but it was no use, he had you pinned down, held prisoner by his dick.

“Patience, baby,” he purred against your ear. “It’s not a race.”

Your breath shook. There it was, that word again. When he was inside you like this, it didn’t sound half as bad.

Despite his comment, he gradually started to speed up, straightening his back to fuck you harder, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you planted, although you couldn’t help but grind your hips into him, chasing more and more. When his fingers brushed over your clit, you fluttered your eyes closed, brows furrowed.

“Don’t stop,” you breathed, soft moans leaving your mouth involuntary, enjoying the sensation of him circling your clit.

“Yeah? Gonna cum?” He asked – more like goaded. Your skin prickled, his tone setting you alight. “Gonna cum all over my dick?”

You let out a strangled cry, squeezing around him, your thighs spreading further, desperate to feel him deeper. Grunting, he leaned over your body, snapping his hips harder, his motions against your clit firmer, the pads of all four fingers rubbing tight circles.

“You feel so fucking good.” He groaned. “Tell me how much you love it. Don’t be shy.”

Once again you felt your cheeks heat up, reluctant despite how good he was making you feel.

“Y/N.” He commanded gently, and you slowly found his gaze, jaw slack. “Let me know how you’re feeling. How much you love me fucking you.”

You wanted to. You really wanted to. It was only fair given how much he was praising you too. There was nothing wrong with him wanting you to stroke his ego right now, despite how unaccustomed you were to dirty talking.

“I love it so much,” you moaned. “Please don’t stop. You’re going to make me cum.”

Not that you could label that as dirty talk... You sounded a little awkward, cringing at yourself, but Seokjin seemed to like it, dropping lower to kiss you, grunting into your mouth. You felt encouraged enough to continue. You weaved your fingers in his hair, loving the sound of his panting. “Seokjin, please make me cum. You feel so fucking amazing. I love your dick, don’t stop fucking me.”

His hips stuttered as he processed your words and then he growled, kickstarting them again – much harder. “That’s a dangerous thing to ask, Y/N,” he warned, breaking away from your mouth to stare down at you, expression dark. Each thrust sent your headboard into the wall.

“You want me to keep fucking you even after you cum?”

“Oh, god,” you moaned as he slammed into you, his fingers against your clit unrelenting. “Ye-ss! You can fuck me all night if you like.”

“Don’t,” he whined, his face dropping into the crook of your neck before he growled again, flinging himself up.

Still on his knees between your thighs, he lifted one of your legs up, hooking it casually over his shoulder, fingers on his left hand digging into the meat of your thigh. You spread your other leg, resting it on top of his knee, his right hand holding you flat until he found your clit again, two fingertips stroking it steadily.

Your thighs started to shake, the rest of your body tense as your middle jerked up against his touch. He kept fucking you, stopping each time he was fully inside of you to grind against your insides.

“Seokjin, I want to—” You couldn’t even finish your sentence, pleasure too strong. You were so tense your release seemed like it would never come.

“Just let go. Cum.” He told you, his voice tight, neck strained. “Just think of how good I’m making you feel. You’re so wet, I’m sliding everywhere.”

You could hear yourself, squelching with each snap of his hips and circle of his fingers. Suddenly he slapped down with his hand, not especially hard, but it made your body jerk, a cry of surprise leaving you. “Seokjin, fuck.”

He instantly went back to playing with your clit, you pulsed red hot. “You like that, baby?” He purred, voice low, rolling his dick inside you at a deadly rhythm. “You’re such a fucking tease.” He smirked. “Knew you’d be dirty, or do I just bring out that side of you?”

All you could do was moan, the shock of his palm against your core still zapping up your body, your hips moving with his, urging him to keep going because you were so close, teetering over the edge. Pushing his body weight into you, still gripping your leg against his chest, you sunk further into the mattress.

“Just concentrate on how my cock feels.” He helped you along, words flying out of his mouth as you squeezed around his cock tightly. “How my fingers feel. I really want to make you cum.” He groaned loudly, determination in his tone. “Soak me.”

“Fuck.” This was it, you could feel the build-up of your orgasm cresting. “Seokjin, I’m—!” You broke off with a moan as pleasure engulfed you. “Coming. I’m coming.”

Your body stiffened, foot trembling above his shoulder, but Seokjin kept fucking you through the waves that wracked through you, his fingers against your clit easing up slightly, careful not to overstimulate you. Your head was spinning as you started to feel your orgasm gradually wane, warmth flowing through your veins as your limbs started to relax again. You gasped for breath, amazed by what had just happened. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d come like that... if ever.

Seokjin’s hips slowed down, carefully dropping your leg to the bed as he eased up and crawled over you, mouth finding yours, your tongues meshing together sloppily. You wrapped your arms around his neck, legs around his waist and tugged him closer. He was still inside you, not moving, but that soon changed as you started to roll your hips into his. You still wanted him, orgasm only making you hornier, however possible that was.

“I-I can carry on?” He asked thickly, shallowly fucking inside of you now, pace uneven.

“Please,” you murmured against his ear. “I said don’t stop.”

He groaned, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips before knocking into you harder, slow but calculated. He felt bigger inside of you, the result of your walls tightening, but you loved it, your fingers playing with the chain at the nape of his neck. The metal was cool, a big difference to his skin which was hot and slick with his sweat.

“Not too hard?” He asked, grunting with each thrust.

You pulled him to you closer, ignoring the way his pelvis rubbed against your core, still a little sensitive. “Fuck me however hard and fast you like.” Running your hands along his muscular back you felt him shiver, a tight whine escaping his lips as your words got to him. You felt pretty chuffed.

“You feel so fucking amazing, Seokjin. You’re so good at this.” You praised, words falling from you naturally and unprompted.

His brain didn’t seem to be functioning anymore, unable to respond to you, the feeling of his impending orgasm too distracting, but he moaned at your words, face falling to your shoulder as he just. Kept. Fucking. You. His thrusts were hard, but not as calculated as before. You could tell by the way he was breathing he was close, his grunts muffled but still audible.

“Gonna–gonna c–”

You could hear that too, feel the way his body stiffened instantly, and he rammed deep inside you, waiting for the first spill of cum. You gripped him tight, loving the way his body shook as he came, and you welcomed each tremor as his cum filled the condom.

“Oh, my fuck,” he gasped, the last surge the strongest, and you suppressed the giggle that wanted to escape your throat. He was pretty speechless, you guessed. “Shit. Fuck. Shit.”

He laid on top of you for a few moments, catching his breath while muttering expletives into your skin. You liked being weighted down by his body, you couldn’t describe it, it just felt good.

“Seokjin?” You questioned, turning your head as much you could to rouse him. His back was all clammy, the hairs against the back of his neck damp with sweat.

He slowly lifted himself up, hands pressing into mattress. “I think my brain just blew to pieces.” Blowing air out of his mouth, he noticed his lips were wet. He brought a hand up to feel. “I fucking dribbled.” He chuckled, wiping himself clean.

“Hot,” you teased, watching him roll off you and remove the soiled condom, tying a knot at the top. He sat up, looking around for your trashcan before spotting one near your closet. It gave you a great view of his ass when he walked over to throw it away.

You rolled onto your side as he came back, joining you on the bed, stretching his arm behind his head as he looked over at you, a smugness to his face. “I don’t want to take all the credit but I’m pretty sure that was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

You shrugged casually, trying your best not to smile. “Yeah, I’d rate it like an 8/10.”

“Hey,” he exclaimed incredulously.

“I’m messing around.” You laughed, your hand reaching to play with his necklace, your eyes skimming down his torso. “It was amazing.”

“Yeah?” He smirked, stealing a small kiss.

You nodded. “I kinda want to go again...”

He raised an eyebrow. “So you don’t want me to leave?”

Laughing, you hit his chest playfully. “Did you imagine I’d kick you out straight away or something?”

“No,” he insisted, looking a little embarrassed. “I just... I don’t know.” He looked really happy that wasn’t the case though. As if you’d kick him out after that performance. You were making the most out of tonight…

You laid your head down on the pillow, still looking at him, weirdly uncaring that you were still naked. “You have more condoms on you, right?”

“I came prepared – just in case.” He felt the urge to add, not seeming to care his junk was still out at all. “Do you want to go again right now?”

You chuckled. “Give it a little while. You wore me out.” Although, you’d be highly impressed if he was able to go for round two immediately.

“Sure,” he agreed, folding his other hand behind his head too, Adam’s apple bobbing as he spoke. “I could do with a nap.”

A nap definitely sounded good right about now. You tapped his chest, sitting up. “Let me pee first.”

Standing, you grabbed the gown draped over your wicker chair and slipped in on. Not before Seokjin snuck a glance though, groaning to himself and burying his face into the bed as if he couldn’t go on any longer.

“Ugh, your body.”

You woke up to a phone ringing. It sounded like it was coming from the floor because you could hear vibrations against the wood. Seokjin groaned and then slipped from under you, letting your head down gently to rest on the pillow.

Once you’d come back from the bathroom you’d immediately jumped under the covers, feeling it cold now and encouraged Seokjin to follow. You’d cuddled for a little bit, your head on his chest and before long you’d fallen asleep. It couldn’t have been that long ago, and one look at your alarm clock as Seokjin searched for his phone in his jeans, told you it was half past midnight.

“Who was it?” You asked sleepily, hearing it ring off just as he grabbed it.

“Jungkook.”

“Why is he calling so late?”

Seokjin put the phone down on your dresser and got back into bed, wrapping his arms around you. He was still naked, the thought got you a little excited.

“Probably gonna ask if I want to play a game of League.” Video games at this time? What was he, still in high school? You halted your judgement though, settling back against his chest.

“I’ll just pretend I was asleep,” he shrugged.

“You were asleep.”

There was a pause, and then you felt his hand travel to ass, giving it a firm squeeze. You still had your gown on, but it was thin, and you could feel the heat of his palm easily. “I’m awake now,” he murmured. “Are you?”

“I guess so,” you teased, nudging your pelvis into his thigh ever so gently, silently giving him the go ahead.

“I’ll tell Jungkook I was a little preoccupied then...”

You lifted your head, looking unimpressed. “Don’t you dare.”

Laughing loudly, he leaned in to kiss you. “As if he’d believe me.” You weren’t particularly listening though, too busy getting addicted to his mouth again.

You soon found yourself on top of him, his dick hard against your stomach as you made out furiously , his fingers brushing against the lips of your entrance, teasing you.

He pulled his head back, a boyish grin on his face. “Can you ride me this time?”

Written 2020 - 2021. Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2021

#seokjin smut #bts smut #bts fanfic #seokjin fanfic #floralseokjin:writings #fic:final sleigh #drabbles:final sleigh #final sleigh:drabbles

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melzula · 4 years

Text

The Throne

part one

pairing: Zuko x Princess!reader

notes: so excited to finally be getting into the Koa storyline with you guys! I hope you enjoy ♡

summary: though a party is held in her honor, the Princess doesn’t feel welcomed home just yet. but will the help of some old friends bring her one step closer to taking back the throne from the scheming Koa?

~ part of the fire lilies series ~

Your crown weighs heavily upon your head as you walk through the palace hallways, chin held high but shoulders tense as you pass by the guards and officials who look at you with silent judgement in their eyes. None of the faces are familiar as all of the men you’d known growing up had been sent off to war and killed in battle. The new recruits now in charge of protecting the royal family all had been assigned by Koa, and you’d have to be blind—sorry, Toph— to ignore the malice and resentment in their hard set gazes as they watched the girl undeserving of her title waltz by as if she hadn’t abandoned her people for the enemy. Koa had made it adamantly clear that the so-called Princess cared not for her tribe but rather her own selfish wants and desires, and they believed him.

Outside the palace servants and cooks and decorators all scramble by in preparation for the party being held in your honor; your mother had insisted on a welcoming party to celebrate your return, though you doubted many people shared her sentiment. There were a handful of members from the tribe who were so glad to have you back, who showered you in warmth and thanked you for aiding the Avatar in ending the war so that their husbands and fathers could return safely, and little girls who shyly tugged at the skirts of your dresses and expressed their admiration for you and their desire to one day be a strong, fierce fighter like you. But there were also those who overlooked your accomplishments in order to focus upon your faults and your mistakes, who agreed that you were not ready to take control of the throne and some who even went as far as to say you were undeserving of it, that a water bending princess who strayed from healing and trained in fighting was untraditional. And of course, there was the group of indifference who needed extra persuasion to decide whether they were for or against you. Overall, the party didn’t seem like the best idea, but your mother was adamant that you use the opportunity to reconnect with your people, so you obliged. You’d survived a strike from a crazed Azula, so surely you could handle this.

“Princess,” one of the servants calls, bowing before you in respect before handing you a neatly tied scroll, “a messenger hawk from the Fire Nation was sent for you with this scroll.”

“Thank you,” you nod, containing your smile as you politely dismiss her before opening the scroll to be greeted by familiar handwriting.

“Princess,

I know it’s only been a week since you’ve left but I already miss you greatly. It’s odd not having you by my side, but I know you’re doing great things back in the south. I hope to see you soon once I have all of my affairs in order, though that could be some time. Until then, expect a messenger hawk at least once a week. Take care, y/n. I love you.

- Zuko”

“Oh, Zuko,” you sigh softly, clutching the letter to your chest in a form of comfort, “I really wish you were here right now.”

It was definitely going to be a long night.

~~~

The steady beat of the drums reverberate through the walls and pound in your chest as you anxiously adjust your headpiece and prepare to make your grand entrance. The beads that hang from your jewelry click against one another with your movements, a calming sound that brings you comfort and reassurance despite your nerves, and you are only allowed a single moment to hide your scarred hands underneath the pure white fabric of your gloves before the two guards begin to escort you out to greet your tribe.

Your mother sits at the grand table amongst the elders of the tribe, a proud smile on her face as she watches you emerge from the palace with grace and dignity despite how nervous she knows you are, and as soon as your presence is announced you are greeted with an obligatory round of applause from your people. Koa rises, a bowl of black paint in his hand and unreadable expression on his lips; he does not bow to you as he is expected to, but no one other than you seems to mind.

“It is with great honor that I bestow the mark of welcoming upon our Princess,” he announces as he dips a finger into the black paint and presses four dots on each cheek before drawing an intricate swirl on your forehead meant to represent the tides washing back to the shore— a symbolic mark of your return home. “May she be welcomed with warmth and gratitude after her three year long journey from home.”

You smile proudly, waving to your tribe as some cheer and others politely clap and most share looks of uncertainty with one another. The return of their princess was now official, but one unspoken question remained: who would take the throne now? You startle at the sudden weight that falls upon your shoulder, Koa maintaining a neutral expression as he leans nearer and whispers in your ear.

“Remember Princess, this paint won’t last forever. Every welcome washes away eventually.”

He pulls away from you like nothing, leaving you stunned and stiff and with no time to recover as he smiles and announces, “Let the festivities begin!”

You are given no chance to retaliate or fight back as you are suddenly pulled every which way by your guests. You are offered various dishes, asked for endless dances, and you can’t even count how many times someone has asked to see your scars. It seems like hours pass before you are finally given a chance to breathe, seating yourself at the table and devouring your plate of puffin-seal sausages— dancing had made you absolutely famished. It’s lonely and, frankly, quite intimidating sitting at the head table by yourself, almost emphasizing the fact that despite being the Princess you aren’t exactly welcomed back, at least not completely.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” A shy voice asks. You quickly swallow the large chunk of sausage in your mouth with a grimace before turning your attention to the boy in front of you who greets you with a friendly smile and sheepish wave.

“Kai!” You exclaim, happy to have a familiar face to keep you company. “You’ve grown so much, I almost didn’t recognize you. Of course you can sit.”

“Thanks, y/n,” the boy says before seating himself beside you. Kai was the silent, soft spoken son of Koa, the boy you would have married had you not ran away. Unlike his father, Kai was good company and never once gave you any trouble. He used to bring you colorful fish scales when you were children, and because his father was your father’s advisor you often spent time together as kids. You got along well, but you never saw him as nothing more than a friend despite how often your parents tried to get you together.

“It’s so nice to see you again, Kai. I’m in great need of a friend,” you admit with a faint smile.

“Yeah, these parties are mostly for the adults if I’m being honest. But it’s nice to see you, too. You look really different. Uh, good different, of course.”

“It’s been some time since we’ve last seen each other,” you note thoughtfully, your solemn gaze focusing upon the festivities before you. “So much has changed.”

“It isn’t so different. Now that the war has ended the men are back and we can start rebuilding. The outer villages should probably receive the most attention considering how small they’ve gotten and how little resources they have, but my dad says we should focus on the capital tribe first. If we’re weak then the smaller tribes don’t even stand a chance. At least that’s what he says, anyway.”

“I agree with you,” you say, turning your attention to him then with an apologetic look on your face. “Listen, I know you were originally promised my hand in marriage, and I’m sorry for running out on you. I didn’t want to hurt you, but an arranged marriage wasn’t part of my destiny, and if I hadn’t ran away I never would have found myself or became the person I am today. I hope you can forgive me.”

“Oh, yeah,” Kai laughs quietly, awkwardly tugging at the collar of his coat. “I never really wanted to marry you anyway.”

“Wait, what?”

“My dad was the one who came up with the idea. Ever since we were kids he’d been trying to convince your dad that an arranged marriage between us would benefit the tribe, but Chief Tukon wasn’t exactly thrilled by the prospect,” Kai explains offhandedly, as if his revelation wasn’t incriminating evidence that would prove his father was up to something. “My dad was really persistent though, and once your dad was gone he convinced your mom it would be a good idea to have someone there to look after and protect you now that your father was gone. Normally a marriage like that would be untraditional, but he said the circumstances of the situation made the proposal an exception, so she accepted. Honestly, I was kind of relieved when you ran away and the wedding was called off. I mean, no offense, you’re great, but I like us better as friends.”

“Me too,” you murmur quietly, your mind reeling at the newfound information Kai has given you. All this time you had assumed the marriage proposal had been your parents doing, so to find out that it had been Koa who had been so persistent in your marrying of his son only confirmed the fact that he had been after the throne since the beginning much like you’d suspected. Regaining the throne from Koa was going to be much harder that you initially presumed, he wouldn’t give away his power that easily, and you knew then that you wouldn’t be able to do this alone.

You rise suddenly from the table, startling Kai who watches you curiously and blushes at the chaste kiss you press to his cheek.

“I have to go, but thank you so so much for keeping me company. You have no idea how much you’ve just helped me,” you explain quickly before rushing off and sneaking away from the party, leaving Kai flustered and a bit dumbfounded.

“Uh, you’re welcome...?”

~~~

You watch the early morning sunrise from beyond the horizon, the golden rays of sunshine sparkling along the crystal blue ocean and the outer walls of the palace and reflecting off the irises of your eyes. If your calculations are correct then they should be here any minute now. You’d sent the messenger hawk with a letter of urgency for assistance shortly after your conversation with Kai, and since that night you’d anxiously been awaiting the arrival of your allies. A ship approaches in the distance and you suck in a breath, wrapping your cloak (Zuko’s cloak, actually) tighter around your frame as the icy air crystallizes almost painfully in your lungs before subsiding. They’re here.

The ship pulls up silently to the dock before lowering its ramp, and tears begin to well in your eyes at the sight of the siblings who are quick to rush towards you with open arms and wide smiles.

“Y/n!” Sokka exclaims, lifting you up off the ground in a bone crushing hug before setting you back down on your feet so that Katara may do the same.

“I’ve missed you both so much, thank you for coming on such short notice,” you say with a teary eyed smile, shifting your gaze from Sokka to Katara. “I’m sorry to have pulled you away from Aang and your work on the Harmony Restoration Movement but I didn’t know who else to call.”

“Don’t apologize. As much as I love spending time with Aang, this is more important.”

“Yeah, we left as soon as we got your message,” Sokka agrees. “I can’t believe that jerk would treat you like that after everything you’ve done for our tribe!”

“I wish more people shared your sentiment,” you say with a weak smile. “I know Koa’s up to no good, but I need the proof to convince everyone else.”

“Don’t worry, Princess. Detective Sokka is on the case!” He announces firmly only for both you and Katara to shush him. It is early, after all, so most of the tribe is still asleep, and you can’t have anyone know about your plan to remove Koa from the throne.

“What my brother means to say is we’ve got your back,” Katara says with a comforting smile.

“Thank you,” you breathe, tufts of air blowing past your lips and escaping into the air. “And you told no one about why I invited you here?”

“As far as Aang and Zuko are concerned, we’re here helping you sort through your father’s old belongings and reorganizing the palace.”

“Though, I have to admit, I feel like you maybe should have told your boyfriend about this,” Sokka notes offhandedly. You frown.

“This is water tribe business, I can’t bother Zuko with something like this, not when he has his own nation to run and rebuild. Unless things take a drastic turn we won’t be telling Zuko about Koa until it’s over and done with,” you instruct, earning head nods from an understanding Katara and a reluctant Sokka.

“Alright,” he finally sighs. “So what’s first on the agenda?”

“Katara and I are going to have to look through Koa’s things for any evidence or plans he has in regards to taking over the throne permanently. Sokka, I’m going to need you to blend in with his followers because spirits know he has a lot. Try to gather whatever inside information you can, but don’t blow your cover. You’re going to hear some nasty things about me and you can’t react to them, you have to act like you believe them too,” you explain.

“We can do it,” Katara says firmly. “I’ll even talk to my dad and see if there’s any way he can help.”

“Alright, operation Get Back the Throne is a go!” Sokka says excitedly, and you can’t help the faint smile that pulls at your lips in response.

Getting rid of Koa isn’t going to be easy, not by a long shot, but with Katara and Sokka’s help you know you can put an end to this once and for all.

| tag list: @rainteslerrrr @oddment-niwit-blubber-tweak @thebluelcdy @royahllty @the-firebender-girl @coldlilheart @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @knaite-solo @zukh03s @taeeemin @user12345321 @titaniafire @dekahg @emberislandplayers @kikaninchen-2 @lozzybowe @izzieserra @melacholy @music-geek19 @thia-aep @thyunnamed @haylaansmi @nataliahaslosthershit @idkdude776 @aangsupremacy @thirstyforsometea @ihaveaproblem98 @brown-eyed-thang @djskfkdkkf @xapham @yeetletzgetitjae @misnmatchedsox @chewymoustachio @that-bucket-hat-gal @chilifrylizard2 @kyomihann @kaylove12 @kiwihoee |

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lunawritingspaceoxoxxx · 3 years

Text

Unresponsive II

Three months

Three

Three months

Y/N thrived in the art world, their first displayed piece expressed the raw feeling of losing a love that was so exciting and heart racing and trying to manage in this bland, cold world. They glanced out towards the concrete jungle, watching people hustle and bustle around; single mothers, business men, ladies of the night, etc. They sighed, walking towards the canvas, rubbing their face as they tried to create anything from this creative funk. They knew this was coming from the trip to the falling out with Jennie, suppressing it until they couldn’t anymore, breaking down from just feeling absolute shit from just everything, they cried for their lost friendship, for Damiano, for everything that they sacrificed to get her. When they first started dating Damiano, they were in college for communications and journalism and for the most part, they enjoyed it for the most part and they thought it was going to stick for the most part and then they met Damiano. He came through like a hurricane, tearing through their world and showing them more than just their little small town as he sent pictures of places that he toured at, sending love letters and expensive jewelry.And they cherished every single one, keeping them in a small box underneath their bed, unable to stand even looking at them. Y/N rolled their neck as they pulled off their shirt, tossing it to the side as they grabbed a paint can as they stared at the blank canvas in determination.

TWO WEEKS LATER

“‘Up and coming painter,Y/N L/N, has been hospitalized at New York’s mental hospital. They’ve been experiencing vivid hallucinations and long periods of mania, breaking the glass of their high rise apartment. One theory is giving a little bit of insight to why they’re acting like this, some say she hasn’t been sleeping well or sleeping at all. They recently did a painting stream and you won’t believe this, for almost 30 hours. Some say that they didn’t move either, to eat or relieve themselves, so they potentially have an eating disorder as well.’'

Ethan scoffed as he changed the channel, tossing the remote to the side. “Lo sa ancora (Does he know yet)?” Ethan questioned as he opened a bottle of liquor, pouring himself a glass along with Thomas and Vic. “No, but he’ll probably know soon, you know he kept tabs on them. I don’t know why though, I’m pretty sure that they’re over with.” Damiano stepped through the door, looking worse for wear as he stomped through the room, taking the swing of the bottle. “Damiano….” “Just don’t. I don’t want to hear it, I know they’re in the hospital and-” “Dude, we’re just wondering if you’re okay, we don’t care about them-” Damiano stopped as he glared at Thomas, bending down in front of him. “I don’t give a shit how I feel, but you’re not going to disrespect Y/N in front of me. You can do it anywhere else, but around me.” Ethan quietly watched him as he slammed the door shut. “Maybe he’s onto something, he knows them better than us, maybe they’re nice.” Vic spoke up after a while, rubbing her neck as she felt an insane amount of guilt. She knew that Y/N knew that, and the rest of the band didn’t like them. They were so different from Damiano’s partners, none of his partners were foriegn, Y/N was an American and they did things differently than they do. “Are you okay, Vic, you look like you have an idea that none of us are going to like.” Vic was going to make this right and help these two useless lovebirds. “Pack all of your shit, we’re going to America.”

“What do you mean they’re not here? Where could they go?” The receptionist stared blankly at three before grabbing the phone. “If I knew that, I still couldn’t tell you because of HIPAA, if you don’t leave, I will call security.” They quickly stepped out of the building, disappointed as they looked at themselves. “Okay, so we’re going back home right?” Ethan looked done with everything, glaring at the paparazzi that made their way down the street. “We’re going to look for them, I’m not giving up, Damiano is close to shutting down completely and leaving the band. We owe it to him to at least help him either get back together or help him move on.” Vic realized during the ten-hour flight how well Damiano was doing much better with them in his life, they actively made sure that he was eating and remembering important small details. They were a match made in heaven and according to Vic, everyone needed someone to manage in the cruel world. “I know that they have a friend named Jennie, we just have to find where she’s at.”

“The world hasn’t been too kind to you, hasn’t it?” An older man glanced towards the backseat, frowning as he occasionally watched his child sleep. They looked exhausted and ready to throw in the towel from this brutal boxing match. He remembered them, crying into the phone, on the verge of a panic attack as they tried to form a coherent sentence and the next thing he knew, he was on a flight headed to New York. He knew that after the death of their mother, his wife, that they weren’t okay, but it was their senior year of high school and they got into a very prestigious school. They just kept going and going, no time to grieve and he was surprised that it took them so long to do so. As a father, he wanted to protect them from the outside world and yet, he couldn’t be there for them and it frustrated him so much. He pulled into a dirt road, sighing as they made their way down that familiar path. “I just want you to be happy again, just have this snarkier, larger than life attitude, and enjoy yourself. If you didn’t know, I’m proud of you and I’ll make sure that you know that for the rest of your life.”

“So you’re that Måneskin? Not going to lie, I thought Y/N was lying about him, you know? They seem a little...off the rails.” Ethan furrowed his eyebrows at Jennie as she basically walked around naked. “Is there another Måneskin band that we don’t know about? I’m getting sidetracked, where is Y/N? I know they had a breakdown and I thought in America you had to stay there for three days so?” Jennie just looked at the other woman, shrugging her shoulders as she walked into her kitchen, dancing to trashy pop music. “I really don’t know and I really don’t care, I didn’t consider Y/N as my friend. When they came to New York, I just took advantage of that, they were from the South. They came here and wanted to make all of the friends, wanting to get close with everybody and you know what? I could see them, slowly crack and not be their cheerful self and -” “God, no wonder they acted like that, they have you in their right ear, being a negative bitch and making themselves feel like shit.” Thomas spoke up as she pouted, making Ethan and Vic wear a puzzled look on their faces. “How are you making this about yourself? They’re obviously not in a good mental state, don’t make this about you.” Ethan shuffled uncomfortably in his seat as he looked around, coughing awkwardly. Jennie raised her eyebrows at them before she opened the door, pointing out. “Get the fuck out of my apartment and never come back. You’re lucky that I became friends with that hillbilly freak, no one else would ever deal with them.” Once again, they were stumped, they had no leads and they were pretty much ready to give up and call it a day. “...Vic, why are you doing this? Be honest with us, why do you feel this urge to help them? What have they done for you to help them?” “Because Damiano..has become a better person because of them, he’s been worse than this before. He would sleep around, not caring about who he hurt in the process and he was just sinking further and further. Then Y/N came along, they became friends and it took months of Damiano being called out for him to change and during that time frame, he fell in love with Y/N. ...I was jealous, he was more open with them than me. I’ve known him longer than anyone else and it was painful for me to hear him express his dreams and feelings to someone else. I wanted him to express himself with me instead of trying to act like he’s okay with whatever he was dealing with. That’s why I despised them, my jealousy got the best of me and it clouded my judgement.”

2 MONTHS LATER

Y/N watched the fields of corn as they seemed to continue on, never ending as the days went on. They were mounted on their childhood horse, Luna, as they explored the unchanging surroundings around them. Everything was the same, albeit, it really wasn’t, people passed away and some left to bigger and better things and the town that they grew up with just faded away. It was a ghost town, hardly anything stayed in town, all of the mom and pop shops shut down as the older generation retired and their children didn’t want to run a store. Y/N was lucky to have such great parents and allowed them to explore and learn everything they wanted to know. They never held that against their parents, they knew that just being the weird kid would have been sheltered because they knew how society treated children who didn’t fit into the norm. ”Whatca thinkin about?” “Nothing really, just relaxing, thinking, I don’t know what else to do, I don’t want to go back to New York quite yet. I don’t want to paint..it just reminds me of him, and losing him was the second worst pain that I've dealt with. I remember when mom died and I just pushed myself through, buried myself in my college work and...Damiano helped me decompress, I lost my rock and I’m pretty sure that he doesn’t want to see me. His group just won Eurovision and they’re getting international attention…” Their father watched them carefully, walking next to them. “Let me ask you a question, why did you and Damiano fight? Let’s start from there.” Y/N stopped Luna as they spun around to face the older man. “We fought because I traveled all the way to Rome and got drunk for two weeks. I thought we were going to spend time together and he would take me to see his favorite places-” “Did you tell him that? Before you confronted him?” Their father gave him that same look that they loved to give. Y/N had this bad habit where they'd daydream about important conversations and not have those said conversations in real life, they looked away shamefully. “No...I didn’t” “You know men are dumb as rocks, you need to tell us everything or we won’t pick up on hints that you drop. When your mother was pregnant with you, she would constantly get mad when I didn’t do things which led her to getting a chalkboard to let me know what I needed to do. Good communication makes a relationship thrive and survive, you can’t be silent and expect him to come to you. Now, do you want with this information, there’s someone who would love to speak to you.” A car sped down the dirt path, unfamiliar with this terrain, stopping as they rushed out of the car. “How did he even..” They urged Luna to slowly make their way back inwards, nervously glancing back towards their father, he only nodded as he urged them to continue on.

“Excuse me? I’m looking for…” Damiano trailed off as he watched them slowly trotted over to him. “..How did you even find me?” “Honestly, I spent hours upon hours looking through our facetimes and I just wanted to see you...I have so much to say and I just….Ti amo e voglio essere con te(I love you and I want to be with you), I’m hurting when you are and I realized that I can’t imagine myself without you. You’ve been there when I was at my lowest and you know me so personally and I don’t want to lose you.” Damiano grasped their waist as he pulled them into his chest. “Damia-” “No, let me talk first, you were absolutely right, we should’ve talked about what we should’ve done when you visited. I was stupid to think-” Y/N covered his mouth, shaking their head, “No, I’m partially to blame as well, I didn’t communicate what I wanted and I ended up causing a scene and I embarrassed you in front of everyone and your bandmates probably hate me even more.” Damiano wasn’t even listening to what they were saying, unable to focus on anything else but them, he quickly took their face in his hands, eagerly kissing as he ran his hands along their body, gripping their hips. “You weren’t listening to a word I said, did you?” “Diavolo, no(Hell no), you’re too distracting for me to focus.” He chuckled, pulling them closer to him, smirking when they gasped. “Don’t give me that look, I’ve always wanted to sleep with my amore on their childhood bedroom, let’s make that into a reality, shall we?”

#damiano david x reader #maneskin x reader #gender neutral reader #if you want some smut let me know

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waywardimpalawriter · 3 years

Note

My love... may I request my favorite, Marcus Pike, and a plus sized female reader with #78 from the smut prompts? "Can you feel what you're doing to me?" 💚

Eyes on you

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Plus Size Female Reader, (past) James ‘Bucky’ Barnes x Plus Size Female ReaderCharacters: Marcus Pike, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff,

Setting: Washington DC to start then moving to New York City. Set years after Marcus’s move too DC, After The Mentalist ended. Marvel AU no powers

Rating: M (Mature), E (Explicit), NSFW, +18 only please

Warnings: stealing, mentions of other art heist jobs, violence, gun violence, smut, oral (female and male receiving), unprotected and protected sex, Dark Bucky Barnes (more to come as the series grows)

Summary: High end art thief sets his sights on the one woman Marcus Pike can’t seem to get out of his thoughts. Now paired together for an undercover mission will Marcus keep his composure and those feelings hidden or will this mission fuel his desire to finally go after his most precious piece of art?

Word count: (Prologue 790)

Notes: written for the beautiful @lucrezia-thoughts your request grew doll, I’m sorry not sorry and thank you for all your help and support. Also written for the beautiful @autumnleaves1991-blog Writer Wednesday picture prompt.

Tag list:

Forevers: @chickensarentcheap @jedi-mando

Prologue

File folder lands with an inaudible plop drawing your eyes from the computer screen to pages scattered across the wide expanse of your already cluttered desk. Traveling upward, brow cocked with a half smile on your mauve painted lips, pausing to take in the set of Marcus’s shoulders. Arms tightly crossed over broad chest, “Something I can help you will Pike?”

“Got your go bag handy?” Countering with his own question left hip cocked out studying your confused drawn features. “Got a break in the Barnes case, seems he’s setting up shop in New York City,” one hand coming out to point towards the file. “Specially bought a block of brownstone houses, pictures in the files of what he’s turned them into. Son of a bitch thinks he can flaunt his stolen wealth right in front of our noses.”

Nabbing the file and thumbing through. Pausing with a small gasp the beautiful architecture drawing your eyes. “It looks Mediterranean but I’m not sure without a closer look,” glancing up to catch Marcus’s eye. Hard edge to the normally soft chocolate browns, “How’d you get this information? Especially the photo’s Marcus,” attention returning to glossy eight by ten. Fingers tracing the common ivy vines climbing up impossibly pink limestone walls, back down over the balcony with its pointed trefoil arch cut into the stone. You could only guess at the type of wood used to construct the balustrade of every balcony you could see. Clear turquoise water catching your eye tracing the mosaic of tile visible. Mentally calculating how much money the cost of renovating a brownstone costs, let alone a whole block.

Till a throat clears and you look up, heat raising over your plush form at getting caught drooling over the spectacular architecture. “Never finished your thought Y/N,” teasing smile tugging at his full lips. Enjoying the awe he see’s written over your beautiful face, a rarity in your line of work these days.

“Just that,” swallowing you look back at the file in your hand. Flipping through the photo’s pausing once again. Eyes damn near bugging out of your skull when they land on those cerulean blue’s you long since pushed into the back of your memory. Praying Marcus didn’t catch your slip, “We could actually nail him this time and hopefully get back all the stolen art.”

Nodding Marcus sensed you holding back, having seen the flicker pass over those deep orbs he’s tried many times to forget during the dark of night. “There’s more,” bottom lip worried between his teeth while watching your expression flip from neutral too curious in a matter of seconds.

“Don’t leave me on pins and needles Marcus out with it,” clutching the file to your ample chest not sure if you’ll like his next words. Running a hand through his perfectly kept dark brown locks noticing he’s tugging slightly. A nervous habit you figured out about three weeks into the partnership. Same hand lands on the back of his neck rubbing tension away. Another tell which has your gut twisting, “Spit it out Pike I’m not getting any younger.” Trying to make light of the matter to put you both at ease.

“How would you feel about taking a little trip to New York City Mrs. Rossi?” Seeing the array of emotions cross your face from confusion, to thinking and understanding little gasp accompanying the revelation. He’d find the display endearing if your facial features hadn’t settled into one of uncertainty. “Don’t do that Y/N you’re the finest agent I’ve ever worked with, don’t doubt yourself.”

“It’s not,” pulling your bottom lip between indenting upper teeth trying to figure out how to ask. Going for blunt, “Who’s my partner? Please tell me it’s not Miller or Morales, there’s no getting along with either of them. We’d blow our cover…”

“You’re looking at him,” words cut across your babble stopping the flow of words with a gapping of you jaw. “We gonna have problems already wife?” Infusing his tone with a playfulness not felt as his thought run an iron man triathlon through his mind.

Even since the file dropped on his desk half an hour ago Marcus knew there’s only one person who could help him pull the mission off without issues and actually bring James ‘Bucky’ Barnes to justice. Only true concern brushing against his better judgement? His feelings kept buried under duty, and honor. The job always coming first, and the fact you’re his partner. Bringing this high class thief to justice could also destroy the friendship he’s built over the last five years with you. Or… slight shake of his head to push those thoughts firmly away. Needing to focus on catching Barnes and nothing more.

#Write Wednesday #Marcus Pike x Plus Size Female Reader #Bucky Barnes x Plus Size Female Reader #Marcus Pike x Plus Size Fem! Reader #Bucky Barnes x Plus Size Fem! Reader #Marcus Pike x Plus Size F!Reader #Bucky Barnes x Plus Size F!Reader #Marvel AU #Pedro Pascal Characters fiction #Mentalist Fiction #Thief Bucky Barnes

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masterjedilenawrites · 3 years

Text

The Sniper and The Medic: Chapter 7

Starring: Crosshair, OC Joan Vo, Tech, Hunter, Wrecker

Chapter Warnings: Mention of injury, mentions of bullying

Taglist: @proadhog @skippyhopperwisdom

AO3 Link (In case you like it better over there, it’s okay, no judgement)

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Chapter 7: On the Mend

It was a full week before Crosshair saw Joan again. She canceled his check-ups, so he could use the time to rest instead, and Tech served as the messenger to report on his healing progress. And he was progressing, thankfully. The pain eventually subsided and by the end of the week, he didn't have to actively think about breathing anymore. As long as he was careful with his stretching and other movements, he was almost good as new.

In addition, their ship had finally arrived, and much to everyone's relief, Hunter stopped the simulation runs in favor of working on the craft instead. They outfitted it with all the tools and weapons they could get their hands on, and each took turns piloting through the storms of Kamino. They weren't allowed to break the atmosphere, but it would only be a couple short weeks before they were officially deployed anyway.

Crosshair found himself at a mental crossroad. They were getting ever closer to the moment he'd been waiting for his whole life, the day he finally got to leave this forsaken place. To say he'd hated his time here would be an understatement. The experimenting and the bullying and even the way it smelled.... He couldn't wait to finally be free of it. To be on real missions, not simulations. To see real trees and feel real dirt. To use his marksman skills, the only thing he was good for, to do something important.

But then there was Joan. There was hardly a moment he didn't think about her. He couldn't help it. She was unlike anyone he'd ever known and he couldn't get enough. Her voice, her smile, her gentleness, her confidence. Going a week without seeing her had been hard; he wasn't sure what he'd do the day he'd have to leave, and probably never see her again....

A sudden snapping noise came by his ear, forcing him to shake away his confused thoughts and turn with a scowl. Tech was scowling back.

"You didn't hear anything I just said, did you?"

Crosshair hadn't even noticed him approach. They were in the hangar, Hunter and Wrecker arguing nearby about what to name their ship. Hunter wanted The Marauder because it sounded "slick." Wrecker wanted The Havoc because it sounded "badass." Crosshair was staying out of it. And Tech had been gone for most of the day.

"Where've you been?" he asked.

Tech readjusted the pack he had slung over his shoulder with a huff. "If you'd been listening... I was doing some research on Felucian Gelagrubs in the library."

Crosshair almost started tuning him out again, until his brother looked up with a playful smirk.

"And then I ran into Doctor Joan. She was wondering if you were well enough to take her up on that deal yet?"

"What deal?" came Wrecker's voice, muffled by some food he was chewing on. Apparently he and Hunter had finished their argument and were more interested in this new conversation.

"Cross promised to teach Joan how to shoot once he felt better. I told her you were feeling much better, and she said she'll have a few free hours tonight if you're interested."

Crosshair wished he could smack the smug grin off Tech's face. And shove that turkey leg down Wrecker's throat to stop his howling laughter. Only Hunter wasn't making fun. If anything, he looked confused.

"But she knows how to shoot," he said with a frown. "She's told me...."

Tech shrugged, starting to walk toward the ship's ramp. "Maybe she wants a refresher?"

"Or she wants to cozy up to Crosshaaaair," teased Wrecker.

Crosshair felt his face growing flushed. He was about to snap at them for being idiots, but Hunter intervened.

"Okay, that's enough. I'm sure Joan didn't mean anything by it..." Hunter paused with another frown. He didn't sound convinced; in fact, he sounded concerned. But then he shook himself and gave Crosshair a nod. "If you want to help her practice, fine by me. Just make sure you help us with the paint job before you go."

Hunter gave the ship a fond tap on its hull.

"What name are we going with?" asked Tech.

"The Havoc Marauder."

* * *

Crosshair made it to the simulation room before Joan. He programmed it to Felucia, inspired by Tech's mention of it earlier. It was another green planet, but with stranger-looking flora and a mist that hung low in the air.

"This your favorite?" came her low voice. It was a little raspier than usual; maybe she'd been talking a lot that day.

Crosshair swallowed down a wave of nerves that threatened to overcome him. It was so nice to see her again after so long apart.

"It's a good challenge," he shrugged. "Decreased visibility. Uneven terrain. Hostile flora and fauna."

Joan stood beside him, looking around. She was wearing the same outfit as last time and had her hair braided back. A standard-issue DC-15A blaster rifle was strapped across her back.

"Did you steal that from a reg?"

She didn't laugh like he'd hoped, but she did have a faint smile. She swung the rifle around and held it firmly, confidently. "It's mine. Most medics were only given pistols, but my troop let me have this one."

"So you do know how to shoot," he said.

Joan lifted the rifle to her shoulder and aimed up at one of the simulation targets on a tree. She fired and made the hit.

"A straight shot with no stress or pressure, I'm not bad..." She then grimaced. "But I was never good in an actual firefight. They only gave me a gun for self-protection. The rest of the time I just focused on tending wounds, let my brothers take care of the cover fire."

Her use of the term "brothers" did not go unnoticed to Crosshair, but he didn't comment on it. He nodded his head and brought out his own gun. It was a much superior model than hers, but he wouldn't show off. Not too much, anyway.

He led her to some higher ground and got to work, teaching her what he knew, just like she had taught him the week before. He went over posture and breathing. He threw in some facts about angles and trajectories. He had her find an "anchor" for herself, a way that she would always hold the gun and her body, so no matter the situation, she could fall into that comfortable position. And he took any opportunity he could find to place his hand or his arm around her.

This was his life, things he'd engaged with for years and years. And even though he only had mere hours with her, he wanted to share as much as he could.

Joan was a good student. She wasn't the best shooter, but by the end of the night, she had made some improvement. She was no longer hesitating with the trigger and managed to take down a simulated Acklay despite being scared of it. That was a win in Crosshair's eyes.

When she finally showed signs of fatigue, he turned off the sim and sat with her on one of the benches along the walls. They sat in silence for a brief time, and Crosshair was grateful she didn't seem uncomfortable by it. He let his head rest against the wall and closed his eyes.

"Is Tech okay?" she eventually asked.

His eyes reopened, only so he could furrow them in confusion. "Yeah, why?"

She shrugged and stifled a yawn. "There were some... uh, clones bothering him in the library earlier. Wasn't sure if it upset him."

"He didn't mention it," Crosshair said with a clenched jaw. He really hated when the regs messed with his brothers, especially Tech.

Joan shifted to better face him. "He's a hard one to read. Most of his visits, I'm answering his millions of questions about human anatomy. He only puts stats on his chart. Like that assignment I had, to write things about yourselves? He drew a diagram of his body with arrows pointing out his height, eye color, body fat percentage...."

She chuckled softly and Crosshair found himself joining in. That sounded like Tech, alright.

"I don't know. I just want to make sure he's not really hurting inside. You were the one I thought I had to worry about. Wrecker wears his emotions on his sleeve. Hunter's guided by duty, so it's easy to predict what he feels."

"And me?"

"You put up walls. Which I get. It's hard to be... you." She cocked her head with a knowing look. "But when you respect someone, you let them in. And from there you're an open book."

He frowned. "I am not."

"You kinda are though," she laughed. "I can always tell by your tone when you like certain things or not. Scowling is your default, but when you're really upset your jaw clenches. And..." she looked down in her lap with a small smile, "you blush sometimes when I talk."

Crosshair's eyes widened in horror, which only made her laugh more.

"It's okay. It's... flattering."

He gulped. Her cheeks were pinker than usual as well, but that must have been from the training they just did. Surely....

"I'll, uh... I'll keep an eye on Tech," he stuttered. "He'll be fine."

"Good." She clapped her legs and stood up. "Well anyway, I won't keep you up much later. Thank you for the lesson. It was fun."

He stood, too, and decided to say, with a shake in his breath, "I hope it won't be another week before I see you again?"

"Well, I guess I should take another look at that little wound of yours soon."

"Tomorrow?"

Her smile faltered, ever so briefly, and Crosshair panicked. Was he sounding too eager?

"Sure. I should have some time... three o'clock?"

He nodded with an internal sigh of relief. She let her gaze linger on his for just a moment more, and he started to think maybe, just maybe, she had been blushing after all. Maybe there was a chance she liked him back.

He hoped she did. But at the same time, he knew it would only make it that much harder to leave....

#star wars #the clone wars #the bad batch #clone force 99 #crosshair #crosshair x oc #fluff #medical things #military things

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monster-bait · 4 years

Text

Monster Match: Ermir the Javelin Sand Boa Naga; M Naga x FTM Human, NSFW

Monster Match for @aime-801 I am a trans-male (ftm), looking for NSFW male match. I am fairly quiet and withdrawn, my hobbies are writing and drawing, and my passion in life is programming. I like to stay inside most of the time, but my favourite life experience was feeling the wind as I wrote the next chapter of a love story on top of a Welsh mountain I climbed. My ideal partner is someone who I can talk honestly to, who respects my quirks and interests that I'm self-conscious about.

The mountains were beautiful from a distance.

You found yourself staring at the hills often during the day, their uneven terrain looking lush and green from your seat in a lecture hall, or from your favorite window seat at the little cafe in town, tucked out of the way. You were able to lose yourself in a good stare, unworried about people thinking you were inadvertently staring at them, as had happened on more than one occasion previously, for the landscape was wide and inviting and perfectly worthy of your attention.

You were not enjoying climbing them nearly as much.

The flyer had been posted on the board inside the cafe’s doorway, alongside others advertising rooms for rent, used books, and private tutors. It had stood out amongst the others, catching your attention instantly: a silhouette of the mountains, rendered in long, graceful brushstrokes above a curling logo.

Stormwind Studios — Private study available

It was less of an ad and more of an announcement, and you liked the quiet confidence of the cornflower blue design. Snapping a picture of the ad with your phone, you left the cafe that afternoon with a sight spring in your step, heading home to the university flat you shared with three other students.

You’d been in Wales for two semesters at that point, although it may as well have been just a few days, for as social as you’d been. Tashsa was from Brixton, was loud and outgoing and, upon meeting her flatmates, had immediately decided that you and Benji, a quiet Glaswegian who kept to himself nearly as much as you did, were not worth her time. She stayed almost exclusively with her boyfriend, leaving your flat quiet, which suited you just fine. You preferred the quiet, liked staying indoors to work on your art or writing, enjoyed losing yourself in a videogame more than you enjoyed the prospect of a noisy pub.

Your parents had hoped university life would have brought you out of your shell a bit more, but if anything, it reinforced the reality that you were quite happy with your own company. Coming out to your family and loved ones had been hard, even though you suspected it hadn’t exactly been a shock to some of them. You’d never felt comfortable in your skin growing up, had always felt as though you were living someone else’s life. Since coming out as trans and taking steps to assert your new identity, things had been better, and moving away from home for the first time for university was a chance for a fresh start: a new you, the real you.

The real you was just as shy and withdrawn as the old you, it turned out, but you were happy.

The notion of private study in an actual art studio was wildly appealing. You loved art, loved to draw and paint, and wanted to improve your skills...but your major was your priority, and ate up the bulk of your class schedule, leaving room for little else. You loved computers, loved learning the language of data and machines, and were happy with your chosen field...but you wished you had more time for your creative pursuits. There was plenty of time on the weekends, when you weren’t joining your classmates on noisy pub crawls or house parties, you thought, and going to a studio might force you out of your shell.

“This is Ermir.”

You’d been unprepared for the rich, lightly accented voice that answered the phone, deep and dark like a particularly decadent chocolate, and stood dumbfounded and silent until he spoke again.

“Y-yes! Hi, um...hello. I-I’m calling about the ad? For the art studio?”

The reverberation of his chuckle could be felt through the phone, shivering down your back and heating your core. You sagged against the battered formica countertop as he continued, and tried to keep your composure.

“Ah, yes! You saw the flyer, I take it? I am offering private instruction in my studio, on Thursdays or Saturdays. Are you a beginning student?”

The cost he was asking was manageable, well within your budget with the money you saved by not going to the pubs, and you hung up with the promise to be at his studio at noon on Saturday.

“I am looking forward to meeting you,” he rumbled before the call disconnected. Your stomach was a riot of butterflies, your head reeling. It was a silly thing to be proud of, but almost nothing was as anxiety-building as phone conversations, and you were pleased with your accomplishment. You’d be working on your art and you’d be leaving the house to do so, meeting new people. Saturday was just two days away at that point, and you were simultaneously elated and terrified. It’ll be fine. You’ll go to the studio and work on some art. No worries!

Now though...now you were huffing and puffing, following the winding trail up the hillside, wondering what on Earth you’d been thinking. When you’d typed the address into your phone and the pin it yielded had been on the side of the mountain, you thought you must have transposed a number. Instead, the enhanced view showed you the small studio, the familiar logo visible in the satellite image. Set in one of the lower hills, the student drive would bring you to the base of the foothills, and from there you’d have to walk.

At long last, the curving trail showed you the studio front, and you paused to catch your breath and slow your heart rate before approaching the door. A tinkling wind chime announced your arrival. The small space was dimly lit, painted in a cool dove grey, and the walls were covered with canvases. You recognized the long, flowing brushstrokes immediately, but before you could take another step closer, a throat cleared behind you.

“Welcome,” he intoned, his voice even more lush and dark as it had been on the phone, sending a shiver up your spine.

The naga standing in the backroom doorway dwarfed you in his shadow. Thick, dark hair fell over a high, olive-skinned forehead, brushing a sculpted, square jaw. His cheekbones were high and his nose was long and straight, as though he were carved from the mountain itself. His reptilian lower half was thick and strong-looming, disappearing behind him...he was the most striking individual you’d ever laid eyes on, and you forced yourself to keep breathing when his smile displayed long, curved fangs. “I hope the journey up was not too difficult.”

You took the cold glass of water he held out, gulping it gratefully before shaking your head. “It-it was no problem at all,” you lied. Intense green eyes held yours, and you sipped from the glass again, grateful for the distraction. He wasn’t as old as you were expecting, maybe only five or six years older than yourself, but even standing there silently, he seemed to possess more confidence in his little finger—fingers which were long and graceful-looking, you noticed—than you could ever hope to boast.

“Let’s see what you can do, and then we’ll discuss what your objectives are.”

It was late afternoon by the time you left the studio, your giddiness practically carrying you down the mountain on wings.

“I don’t think I feel comfortable taking money from you,” Ermir had said seriously over the small pot of tea you had shared in the messy backroom.

Your stomach had folded in on itself in disappointment, even though you’d been expecting it. The time you’d spent in his company that afternoon had been more enjoyable than any occasion you could remember. He was impressed with your skill, seemed interested when you’d haltingly confessed to enjoying writing as well as drawing, and shockingly easy to talk to.

He’d rumbled that you would be better off in one of the university classes as he flipped through the work stored on your phone, while you took advantage of his momentary distraction to surreptitiously look him over. He was broad-shouldered and well built, his narrow waist tapering to his reptilian coils began. His scales were a mottled brown, bittersweet cacao giving way to light milk chocolate, and you had the idiotic supposition of what they would feel like beneath your palm, hypnotized by the way he subtly swayed in place. You’re too awkward, someone like him would never be interested in you...

“You’re hardly a beginner, you’d do well to take a few painting classes...but this was fun. Would you like to still come by to work in the studio? It's been nice having someone other than myself to talk to,” he admitted with a deep laugh.

The several hours spent in the small studio had been completely without stress or judgement, and despite how nervous you’d been to come here, you weren’t quite sure what you would do with yourself if you couldn’t come back to this cool room and his deep voice and sharp-edged smile.

“I-I’d really love that. That would be great.”

“Does this look too blue?”

You turned from your laptop to where he painted in the grey afternoon light. Ermir squinted at the canvas before him, swaying on his coils.

“Not at all, I think it’s perfect.”

He scoffed before turning his attention back to his work, continuing to mumble to himself and you shook your head, still smiling, and turned back to your screen. He liked to tease you over your preference for using a digital art program, and you teased him for painting the same thing, over and over again, but he never tired of capturing the mountains, and you never tired of watching him.

It had been three weeks since you’d journeyed to his studio, three of the best weeks of your life. Working in the art studio had turned into helping him digitize his business and giving the studio a social media presence, something for which he had little patience for or skill with, and you found yourself making the trip up the hills a few times a week, on your short class days. He was confident and composed, a complete opposite to your anxious shyness and tendency to babble nervously, and your dreams had become an endless loop of his strong arms and sleek coils and hot mouth. You were completely smitten, and you had no idea what to do about it. Pine forever, probably.

Ermir didn’t seem to mind that you were quiet, that you were more comfortable behind a computer screen than with people, for he was quiet as well. He asked after your classes and assignments, listened quietly as you talked about your family and your transition journey. You’d never shared your story with anyone else, had never felt comfortable enough to disclose your thoughts and fears, how you’d grown up feeling as though you were someone else and the dysphoria that still occasionally stressed you, but you did with him. In turn, he’d shared his story of emigration from a small town on the Balkan coast when he was around your own age, how strange Welsh customs were to him and the prejudices he still encountered, both as a foreigner and as a naga.

“What do you think of this?” you asked, sucking in what you hoped was an invisible breath as he turned. The logo you’d made incorporated his trademark painting of the mountain, along with rolling, windswept script. You said a silent thanks to yourself for having the foresight to take the breath, for when his giant hands landed on your shoulders, your lungs lost the power to inflate. Ermir was quiet but commanding, and the soft dominance he exuded never failed to thrill you.

He smelled like the mountains—crisp and clean, meadow grass and warmth, and you desperately wanted to turn your head up as he leaned down and press your nose to the side of his neck, to better breathe him in.

“That’s perfect, mišiću. Exactly what I wanted.”

Your heart joined your lungs in their cessation of movement when his hands squeezed gently, his thumbs pressing into the sensitive points at the base of your neck in slow circles. The pet name was not new. You had no idea what it meant, but it lit a fire, lower in your belly every time he addressed you in such a way. His voice continued to drone on, praising you in his rolling rumble for setting up and linking a collection of social media accounts, but the rush of blood in your ears nearly drowned him out. The rhythmic pressure of his thumbs against you, slow and steady, was all you could focus on. When they caught on a pressure point that occasionally caused you pain, you gasped, arching upwards into his hands for more contact, and his hum of approval nearly turned you to jelly.

When the phone rang, shrill and insistent, he released you, and your lungs screamed for the breath you’d evidently been holding.

Your mind could not account for how you were able to stay upright for the rest of the hour, for the next thing you knew, you were gathering up your things before you missed the last bus of the afternoon. Shrugging into your jumper, you took your backpack from him with shaking hands.

“Zip up, mišiću,” he murmured, looking you over with his wide green eyes. “It’s too windy for you out there, you’ll blow right away.” You loved the wind, loved the feel of it in your hair and against your face, loved how free you felt, free to be exactly who you wanted to be...but he was right. You could hear the way it whistled against his door and knew it would be cold, zipping the jumper up to your chin. He hummed in approval again, smoothing the fabric at your shoulders with a feather-light touch. “That’s my good boy.”

His words nearly turned you inside out. He couldn’t possibly know that you fantasized about a dominant partner, fantasized about him almost nightly; that his sparkling eyes and sharp smile were all you’d thought about for weeks, that you twisted in your bed, what those scales would feel like pressed against you.

“Go, before it gets too dark. Be careful, mišiću. I’ll see you this week.”

The storm blew in quickly.

Living in Wales wasn’t that different than living at home, not as far as the weather was concerned. The clouds had gathered ominously as the bus pulled away, and you gulped, hurrying up the path. The rain began to splatter the ground midway through your hike, the first rumble of thunder rocking the hillside once the studio was in sight. Ermir was there, his long tail moving in a serpentine as he paced in front of the door, exclaiming when he saw you, looking like a drowned rat.

“Mišiću, I was so worried!”

You found yourself swept into the studio space, your dripping coat removed along with the sodden jumper beneath. Before you could object, a towel was slung around you, and Ermir’s huge hands were pressing to you, drying you off. You’d never been so exposed before him, in just your thin t-shirt, always wearing some sort of jumper or a hooded sweatshirt as you always did. You’d had your top surgery more than a year ago, but the self-consciousness you’d carried for years had not left you. You could feel the great span of his hand, pressing to your ribcage, your sternum, to your collarbone, and as they pressed to you, you grew increasingly certain you were about to pass out.

Before it could happen, you were revived by the towel moving to your head, vigorously rubbing your hair dry. You cried out in protest and he harrumphed in response, continuing for another moment. When at last the towel was lowered, your heart tripped again to find him very, very close.

“What were you thinking, lovely boy?”

Your shrug was weak and heat moved up your neck, frozen beneath his emerald gaze. His eyes were always intense, seemed to glow with laughter or harden in seriousness when he worked, and just then they seemed lit by an internal fire, heat that seared into you, seeping into your skin. “I-I already said I was coming by today. I didn’t want to go home...I didn't think the storm would blow in that quickly.”

“You had me worried sick, mišiću.”

You were able to feel the heat of his mouth, so tantalizingly close, close enough to feel the whisper of his breath upon your lips. You wondered what path you would have needed to take in life to have been brave enough to close the miniscule distance and kiss him, and where you’d gone wrong—

—but it hadn’t mattered, because he was brave and confident enough for the both of you, and closed the distance without hesitation. On the second pass of his mouth, he captured your lower lip between his fuller ones, sucking it lightly until your mouth opened, intrigued by the sensation of his flickering forked tongue. Molten heat enveloped you then, and you realized his arm had come around you, crushing you to his front.

The storm picked up its intensity outside, as lightning lit the sky.

“I-I don’t think the busses will be running in this weather,” you whispered, wondering if he was able to hear the pounding of your heart over the din of the storm.

“I suppose you’ll have to spend the night, dragi moj,” he rumbled against your lips. When he trailed a hand up your back, you arched, and he took advantage of your upward momentum to catch your lip with his teeth. “But first we should get you out of those wet clothes.”

A grey mist enveloped the hills the next morning as you shifted blearily from your resting spot. Ermir did not have a bed, not in the traditional sense, but his coils were warm and supple and shifted with you, and kept you well supported throughout the night.

You’d never woken up with another person before, you realized, had never spent the night in someone’s arms. The weight of all that had transpired combined with the early morning left your head feeling heavy, and you dropped it against his shoulder once more, closing your eyes with a contentment you scarcely remembered feeling before.

The studio opened to a small backroom, which you’d been in numerous times, but the loft above had been new to your eyes. You were surprised at the ease in which Ermir moved up the narrow staircase, his long tail moving in a concertina pattern, chocolate scales shifting rapidly, until he’d cleared the top landing. The air had been warmer there, at the top of the small building, although goosebumps had still raised on your skin when he’d pulled the damp t-shirt over your head.

Your arms had been struck with rigor—thankfully—preventing you from raising your hands to conceal the scars on your chest. They would fade with time, according to the surgeon, but it hadn’t been long enough at that point. The ugly red of your post-surgery months had faded considerably, but you were still self-conscious for anyone to see them.

Ermir, you realized, was the first person who had.

The sharp tips of his fangs grazed the side of his neck before he gripped your waist and lifted you easily to sit on the edge of a low table. When his lips trailed down your neck, pausing to suck at your jumping pulse before continuing their downward path, you’d begun to tremble. Across your chest, and over your scars, his mouth moved across you slowly, mapping your skin. When they landed at the waist of your jeans, you shuddered.

“W-wait...I haven’t...I’ve only had the top done, and—”

Your protestations had been cut off by his lips, and his flickering tongue tickled at your ear. “Each of us are our own work of art, mišiću.” Letting go of your fears, you nodded, letting him make short work of undressing you fully.

Hormone replacement therapy had changed things, regardless of the surgery. Increased sized and a different sort of sensitivity, a sensitivity that had flared to life beneath his stroking tongue and sucking lips, relentless against your skin until you were a writhing, gasping mess beneath him, left limp as the room spun.

When he raised himself at last, shucking his own shirt, you got your first good look at his long body. You wanted to map his skin with your lips, as he’d done to yours; wanted to learn every peak and valley of his taught flesh, but that would have to wait. The two cocks that had unsheathed from a slit in his scales curved up to his flat belly, staring and thick, ivory up the shaft and capped with overlapping golden frills at the tip. He paused just long enough to allow you to grip them in turn, giving them each a pumping stroke as he groaned.

Your legs were stretched wide as he settled over you, guiding one of the thick lengths to your opening. When he slid into you slowly, your mouth opened in a silent scream. Thicker than you could have possibly imagined, he withdrew, surging forward again, over and over until the sound of your cries rivaled the sound of the storm, raging outside the studio’s walls as you came around him. His arms had been strong as he lifted you from the table, once he’d cleaned you of the shimmering release he’d sprayed across your belly, cradling you to his chest as he settled onto a large, plush sheepskin rug in the corner of the room, arranging his body to support you, and you’d fallen asleep almost immediately, lulled by the the sound of the rain and his deep rumble, murmuring into your hair.

When you woke again, the room was brighter. The mist had stopped, you realized as you carefully climbed from him, walking unsteadily down the staircase to the small bathroom. The sky was grey, but the rain had stopped, and the wind lifted your hair as you breathed into it, free to be yourself. You wondered if this was what it felt like to be in love.

“Are you slipping away already, mišiću?”

Ermir’s voice was heavy with sleep, and he squinted from the doorway as you laughed. It was a confident sound, one you scarcely recognized. A new you, the real you.

“I’m not going anywhere for a long time.”

“Good,” he grumbled, turning back into the studio. “I’m going back to bed, it’s natural to be up this early.”

You laughed again, turning to follow him back into the cozy studio. Going back to bed, back to his arms and his lips and warmth sounded perfect to you. The mountains and the wind would still be there later...and so would you.

#Exophilia #monster boyfriend #monster lover #Naga #naga boyfriend #monster match #monsterbait writes #monster x reader #monster x human

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gaygryffindorgal · 3 years

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Chapter 2: Apprentice Curse-Breakers

Summary: The new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher has some extracurricular activities in mind, and Ben struggles with the events of last year.

Pairings: Eventual OC/Merula Snyde

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Mild swearing, canon typical mean Merula

Previous / Next

Chapter 2: Apprentice Curse-Breakers

Their first class of the year was DADA, and that made Verna extremely nervous. Rowan had made it clear they didn’t think Rakepick could be trusted. In their words, she had been shifty at best and suspicious at worst last year when she had worked with Verna. Rowan was not happy about Rakepick’s appointment as a professor and that made Verna uneasy too. She had always known Rowan had far better judgement than her, and most days Charlie and Ben agreed with that sentiment. So, after breakfast, when the Gryffindors were filing into the DADA classroom, the mood between the four friends was not over the moon. Rakepick was already in the classroom, writing something at her desk. The class went through some major decorative changes each year when a new teacher took it over. It had become routine by now. For Rakepick, the theme seemed to be artifacts of various sizes and ages, that were spread all over the room on pedestals and tables, cabinets and other surfaces.

“Cursed items,” Rowan noted, when they took their seats.

“A niffler,” Verna replied, pointing out Sickleworth, Rakepick’s niffler whom she had had an unlikely partnership with last year, while investigating the Sleepwalking curse.

That was when Professor Rakepick got up from her seat, cleared her throat and snapped her wand, closing the classroom door and making writing appear on the blackboard in front of the class.

“Welcome to Defence Against the Dark Arts,” she announced, in a tone that implied not a small amount of unimpressedness. “I realize I am your fifth instructor in as many years, and that most of your other teachers’ methods were as questionable as their characters.”

Next to Verna, Rowan balled their hands into fists. They obviously had a thing or two to say about that.

“This year, I am not only going to teach you how to defend yourselves, but how to attack the Dark Arts,” Rakepick continued. “You will receive the finest instruction from someone who has actually faced the worst the Dark Arts have to offer.”

Something about the speech did make Verna listen. She couldn’t deny being interested in learning combat spells, the more the better, because she was sure to need them. From the corner of her eye, she also saw Merula listening intently. This year was gonna be another one spent trying to beat Merula to the top of their class. DADA was pretty much the only subject where she had any chance at all. Usually, it was Rowan and Merula vying for the title, but Verna wasn’t hopeless when it came to duelling and martial magic.

“They say this position is cursed,” Rakepick was saying now. “But breaking curses is what I do best. Now let’s get started, take out your books.”

After a whole class spent on how to deal with Ghouls, Verna was feeling much better about DADA. Maybe Rakepick wasn’t going to be so bad. Rowan didn’t feel the same way.

“She might know what she’s talking about, but she has no teaching experience, and I still don’t trust her after the way she dealt with you last year Verna,” they were saying, a little heated. “I think you should be careful if she decides to ask something from you, or… something…”

“Don’t you think you’re maybe overreacting a little bit?” asked Charlie.

“I agree with Rowan,” Ben inserted. “I don’t like her either.”

“We’ll be careful,” Verna assured her friends. “But Dumbledore must’ve had a reason hiring her.”

“Yeah, that’s true… I don’t know, I just don’t like this…” Rowan said and slowly the conversation turned to more casual matters, such as Barnaby Lee’s new pet crup puppy. The general consensus seemed to be that it was extremely cute.

After the day’s classes Verna was officially introduced to one Percy Weasley in the library. She and Charlie headed there to get started on charting out how much cramming they’d have to do for their O.W.L.s, only to find Bill and Percy already there, both noses buried deep in books, a scrappy-looking rat sitting on the table next to their study-material.

“Oh, hi Verna,” Bill said with a smile. “Did you two come to actually study?” The surprise in his voice was neither flattering nor unexpected.

“We came to plan on studying,” Verna told Bill, as she and Charlie sat down.

“Well, that’s better than nothing,” Bill chuckled and then patted Percy on the shoulder. “Percy, this is Verna.”

“I know,” Percy said in a manner that seemed much too adult-like for an 11-year-old. “She gave us a rather short introduction of Gryffindor common room last night, but I haven’t had a chance to properly introduce myself, I’m Percy Weasley, future prefect, Head Boy, and Minister for Magic.”

“It’s really nice to meet you, Percy, sounds like you have your future pretty well planned out,” Verna said and emulated her tone and smile to Beatrice from the previous night, with wildly different results. It appeared Percy was not a fan of hers.

“If you let him, he’ll plan your life for you, too,” Bill said, amused.

“This is my loyal rat, Scabbers,” Percy continued.

“Loyal?” asked Charlie. “It runs off every chance it gets.”

“There’s something off about that rat, yeah…” Bill agreed.

“Ron likes him!” Percy defended his pet.

“Ron’s eight, he likes everything except for spiders,” Charlie complained. Both of the older Weasleys seemed to have such a weird aversion for poor Scabbers that Verna felt bad for it.

“I have a rat too; his name is Hamish. He actually belonged to my brother, but I’ve been taking care of it in his absence.”

This seemed to appeal to Percy, whose tone towards Verna changed a little, when he said: “That’s really kind of you, to take care of your brother’s pet.”

Verna considered this a victory.

Their study session was cut short, when Professor Rakepick approached their table something like thirty minutes into Verna and Charlie trying to figure out what exactly to focus most on.

“Mr. Weasley,” she started, and all three of the Weasleys replied with an immediate ‘yes?’.

Verna stifled a laugh.

“William Weasley,” Rakepick specified. “Come with me. You too Miss Malinda, we have work to do.”

Exchanging a glance with Charlie, and Rowan’s misgivings about Rakepick running on a loop in her head, Verna followed Bill and the professor out of the library.

“What is this about?” she whispered to Bill.

“No idea, I guess we’ll find out soon, though…”

Rakepick took them up to her classroom, where Merula Snyde was already sitting on one of the desks, preoccupied with changing the colour of her painted nails to pay much attention to Verna and the others entering. Verna wasn’t happy to see her. Whatever Rakepick had in mind seemed to involve Merula, and that was never good news.

“Cease your activities Miss Snyde, we have important matters to discuss,” Rakepick commanded, and Merula immediately jumped down from the desk and stood straight. Verna and Bill walked up next to her as Rakepick went on to stand beside the teacher’s desk. She was tall and had a bearing of someone accustomed to commanding respect. Verna found it quite easy to believe she was capable of handling anything that was thrown at her. That’s how I want to be, she thought briefly.

“Congratulations you three. Of all the students at Hogwarts, I’ve chosen you to be my apprentice curse-breakers. Mr Weasley for his bravery and determination, Miss Snyde for her ambition and strength, and Miss Malinda for her natural talent, and obvious connection to the cursed vaults.”

“Why is Merula here?” Verna asked without missing a beat. She was not about to compromise her chances of rescuing her brother for the sake of Merula’s ambitions. She knew by now that Merula would never sacrifice her chances of getting whatever power and knowledge the vaults could give her, not for Jacob’s sake, not for anyone’s.

“Because she is a powerful witch and you’d be a fool not to accept her help, after all, I had to save you from Mr Copper’s attack just months ago.”

Merula remained quiet but gave Verna a smug grin.

“Enough. We need each other’s help to find the next vault and end its curse before anyone gets hurt,” Rakepick said. “I’m going to train you so that you can be more of a help than a hindrance to me, starting with the Incarcerous spell. Wands out!”

The three of them spent the next three hours attempting to learn the Binding spell with Rakepick’s instruction. She was a good teacher. Strict, demanding, but very clear in the way she instructed them, not leaning on any extra flash, just taking the simplest route to the desired outcome. Unsurprisingly, Bill was the first one to nail the spell. He had two years’ worth more experience and had always been talented. When Verna finally managed to cast the spell on Merula, she felt a sense of accomplishment far greater than if they had used training dummies. The spell conjured ropes that wound tightly around Merula, trapping her arms and binding her legs together. She wobbled for a while and then stumbled to the floor with a grunt. Verna couldn’t help but grin.

“Verna, I don’t think she can breathe…” Bill interrupted her victorious train of thought.

“Oh, shit,” Verna cursed. “Finite Incantatem!” she pointed her wand towards Merula and the ropes around her unbound. “Are you alright?” she asked despite herself.

“Of course, Malinda, mind your own business,” Merula spat, looking more hurt by the audacity of Verna asking her if she was okay. She got up and dusted off her ropes, avoiding looking at any of them.

Rakepick cleared her throat and said: “This is a valuable lesson; we are a team now. A family. No matter what happens, we must protect one another. Do you understand?”

With a sideways glance at Merula, Verna nodded. She hadn’t had this good of a chance to finding any of the previous vaults. Rakepick was an accomplished curse-breaker and now it started to make sense why she had singled out Verna the previous year. Maybe she had already known she’d work here this year and need Verna’s expertise with stopping another curse roaming the halls of Hogwarts. That was something good to tell Rowan, at least, to put their mind on ease.

“And the rest of you?” asked Rakepick with impatience.

“Of course,” Bill said immediately.

Merula eyed both of them with nothing short of disgust and then said: “Fine.”

“Good, then that’s all for tonight, you can go.”

Rakepick ushered them out of her class, and the three of them were left standing in the empty, darkening corridor. Verna had no idea about the time, but she guessed it was quite late and that they most definitely had missed dinner.

“So that was kind of… strange,” Bill said, but he sounded more excited than anything.

“Finally, someone is doing something in this school,” scoffed Merula.

“And I don’t want you or your megalomania getting in the way of saving my brother,” Verna exclaimed.

“Don’t worry Malinda, you finally have capable people helping so there’s a chance you won’t fuck this up.”

“Fuck off Merula.”

The shorter girl laughed, but there was nothing humorous about the sound. “You like to pretend you’re above the rest of us with your little mission to save your brother, but let’s face it; you’re just scared to admit you like feeling special. You want what’s inside those vaults just as much as me.”

“Shut your mouth about my brother,” Verna snarled. “I’m nothing like you.”

“Of course you’re not, cause I’m not pathetic.”

Verna instinctively reached for her wand and Merula did the same, taking a threatening step closer.

“Verna, we should… probably go… now,” Bill interrupted and placed himself between the two girls. He then proceeded to practically drag her towards the Gryffindor common room by the arm.

“I had it under control,” Verna said once they were out of earshot.

“Maybe, but I’d rather not take either one of you to the hospital wing in several different pieces.”

“Fine, yeah, you’re right or whatever… She just gets on my nerves.”

Bill gave her a curious look Verna couldn’t quite place, and then said: “Yeah, I know. You shouldn’t let her get to you that much, it’s what she wants.”

“I know, it’s infuriating.”

“You’re gonna have to be able to work together somehow, though.”

Verna frowned. “I’m not risking my brother’s, or anyone else’s life because of some school rivalry, don’t worry.”

“Good,” Bill said and then stopped. “Is that… Ben?” he asked and pointed to an alcove not far from where they were standing. It was dark so he was partly concealed in shadows, but when he heard his name, he looked towards them.

“Oh, hi Verna, Bill…”

“What are you sitting out here for?” Verna asked and went to her friend. Ben looked rough, like he hadn’t slept.

“I wanted to be alone and there’s always someone in the common room or the dorm…”

“Oh, sorry, I can go- “

“No, actually, can I talk to you for a second, Verna… I…” he trailed off and looked at Bill apologetically.

“I’ll go on ahead, don’t stay out long though,” Bill said reassuringly. Then he walked off to the direction of the Gryffindor tower.

“What did you want to talk about?” asked Verna and sat on the bench in the alcove next to Ben.

For a moment, Ben didn’t look like he was going to answer. Verna had the sudden urge to hug him, but she didn’t move, fearing that Ben would change his mind and leave like last night. Finally, he cleared his throat and stammered: “I’m scared that someone’s gonna take control of me again, and make me do something worse, or that I already have but I just can’t remember.”

He really was in a state. Gently, Verna laid a careful hand on his shoulder.

“We’ll work this out, you don’t have to deal with all this shit on your own, Ben, I’m the reason you’re in this mess in the first place.”

“I still don’t remember what really happened before I attacked you… Do you… do you really believe me? That I was controlled?”

“I promise you that I do, please at least stop worrying about that,” Verna assured him. Ben huffed out a breath and his shoulders relaxed a bit.

“Thank you, Verna, I don’t know if I’d be as understanding if I was in your shoes…”

Verna bit her lip. It wasn’t a pleasant thing to hear, but she couldn’t exactly blame Ben. Everything had gotten so messed up last year with Rowan and Ben arguing and Verna feeling like she was losing touch with them both. They used to all be so close and now every single interaction was laced with something like doubt. An uncertainty Verna wanted so badly to get rid of.

“We should head back to the common room before Filch finds us here, c’mon,” Verna said and got up.

Ben stood to follow and they were about to head after Bill, when suddenly Ben grabbed Verna’s arm and pulled her behind him.

“Look out!” he yelled and took out his wand but before he could so much as utter an incantation, a purple light hit him and knocked him to the side. Verna looked frantically for the source of the spell, and had her wand out in seconds, but she wasn’t fast enough either. Suddenly she felt her entire body stiffen up, as she was hit with what must’ve been the full body-bind curse. As she hit the ground quite painfully, she saw a hooded figure approach them from the shadows of the corridor. Desperately she tried to move, knowing full well it was not going to work. Her breathing came in shallow gasps as she lay there, helpless to do anything. The red-clad figure walked closer and kicked Verna’s wand out of her reach, as if it would’ve been any use for her in this state anyway.

“I told you death was coming to Hogwarts, Verna Malinda,” the figure said in a voice that was impossible to place or describe. It was modified with magic. “We still need you alive, but before this year ends, one of your friends has to die…”

Verna tried to focus on getting her fingers to move, to do something, anything. Her thoughts were a flurry of desperation and anger. The hooded figure leaned over Verna. She couldn’t make out a face or anything that could be used to recognize the attacker. Verna braced herself for something worse, but nothing happened. Instead, the figure stalked off, back into the shadows.

Verna was still trying to force her uncooperative muscles to move, when she saw Ben move in the corner of her eye. The boy sat up and Verna lost sight of him. She heard his footsteps and a muttered spell, and then felt her body able to move again. Without a second glance at Ben, Verna shot up like a lightning bolt, chasing into the direction the hooded person had disappeared to. She had to catch them, she had to. Her ears rang and when she looked down to her wand hand, it was shaking. She wasn’t sure if it was anger, fear, or both.

“Verna, wait!” she heard Ben’s voice, and footsteps echoing after her.

Of course, there was nothing and no one to find. Verna was getting sick of this. She balled her hands into fists so hard her nails dug into her palms. How could she have let the wizard incapacitate her like that? Ben caught up to her and Verna took notice of him now that she could think a little more clearly. He seemed fine, just a little rattled.

“Verna, hey, it’s okay,” Ben tried to reassure her, but it wasn’t okay. Someone had threatened to kill one of her friends. The thought made her chest feel like it was filled with water. The ease with witch this stranger had knocked both of them out of the game made Verna feel sick all over.

“This is bullshit.”

“Verna-“

She took a deep breath. “Are you alright?” she then asked Ben.

“Yeah, you?”

Verna nodded. “Do you think that was someone we know being used against us?”

“I don’t know to be honest… but we should head back now, before someone else attacks us…” Ben said and there was nothing to it, he was right. Verna knew she wasn’t going to find anything but trouble if she stayed here, so she followed Ben back to the Gryffindor common room.

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m0mmat0rtle · 3 years

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Star Light Chapter Three

Pairing: Tech x Pantoran!OC

Words: 1542

Warnings: none

Summary: Tech returns to visit Star Light and the two start to form an unlikely bond.

<Chapter Two

"A little more to the left!" Star shouted as she balanced on one foot while standing on top of her trusty gonk droid, Gink. "GONK" Gink replied as he shuffled slowly to the left with Star balancing on top. She teetered slightly as her poor balance threatened to send her tumbling to the ground. "Woah!" She shouted before she caught herself by resting one hand the wall in her room. The other hand held a pallet of freshly arranged paints and a paintbrush nestled between her teeth as she balanced poorly on the gonk droid. A knock at her door startled the pantroan and almost caused her to fall over off of the droid who GONKed at her frantically, trying to keep her from falling over. "Come in!" She shouted, catching herself again. Once she finally caught her balance she looked at the wall, using her thumb pressed against her paint brush and holding it eye level to her face as she imagined her desired artwork on the wall. She used her thumb as a measuring tool, planning out how she wanted her work proportioned. She was so focused she didn't even hear the door swoosh open and someone step in. "Are you sure that's the safest way to do that, Miss Star?" The sudden voice of someone else in her quarters startled her, causing a small shriek to fall from her lips as she finally lost her balance and fell back into the arms of someone she had only known for a day. "Tech," She breathed as her eyes met his under the cover of his bucket and goggles. "Hi." She added as a small smile formed on her lips. The moment happened so fast Tech was a little stunned from it all, holding the small girl in his arms bridal style. "You should really be more careful miss Star Light." He said as he gently put her down. Star brushed off her skirt before looking to Gink with a groan. Her pallet had fallen smack upside down on the droid covering it in shades of green and pink. "Thank you Tech." She said to the clone before grabbing a spare clean cloth and quickly working to wipe the paint off the droid. "What are you doing here anyways? How is your cut?" She asked kindly, flashing him another smile from her position of cleaning her droid. "Oh-" He felt a small brun coming to his cheeks when he caught the sight of her smile. He removed his helmet against his better judgement, and kneeled down with Star, helping her clean the droid. "My cut is fine, miss Star Light." Tech replied. "I'm simply here to see you."

"See me?" Star replied with a raised brow as she set her cloth down. "No one ever comes to see me." She replied before crossing her arms over her chest. "Why are you really here?" Tech had to think of something to tell her and fast. Most of the clones were bad liars and unfortunately Tech was no good at it either, that is most of the time. "Lama Su wanted you to spend time with someone. According to research, social interaction is good for an individual's mental state." "So she sent you?" Tech didn't know if he should be offended or not. The way Star said his name made it sound like she was almost surprised that he was the one chosen for Lama Su's experiment. "Yes." Tech replied. "I do have a superior mind compared to the other clones. I would be the ideal subject for such a procedure." Tech replied as he adjusted his goggles, pushing them father up the brim of his nose. "What was your name again?" Star asked as she moved to sit at the edge of her bed, looking at the ginger clone with a slight glimmer of curiosity in her eyes. "Tech." He replied. "Well Tech I'm sorry but I hope you're prepared to be completely and utterly bored." Star said with a sigh before leaning back onto her bed. "I'm afraid, for once, I do not follow." Tech said as he watched her from a respectable distance. "Tech I stay in this room all day every day. I don't exactly do much, never the less do anything worth sharing or entertaining." "So you believe you aren't interesting?" Tech asked. "Ye-up." "I believe I have found a fault in your assumption." Tech replied and Star sat up to look at him. "What do you mean?" She asked. "Well I haven't known you long at all and I am already intrigued by you and your nature." Tech said as he looked over at the paints and pallet that had been left on Star's desk in her room. "You're an artist." Tech observed before turning back to her. "You create things." He added before tilting his head to the side and looking at her. "Tell me about your process."

"I always like to picture what I paint before I start." Star said as she stood up and walked back over to the spot on the wall where she was planning to paint her mural. But first she picked up her atlas, her one book that she owned, and brought it over to Tech. "I was gonna paint this scene of Naboo, the one I was looking at yesterday, that is before you came by." She said as she pointed at the picture of the planet. It was a landscape with beautiful flowers, each a different pastel shade. It was beautiful, almost as beautiful as the girl holding the book. "Then once I have a clear picture of what I want to paint, and I have the motivation to do so, I find the perfect spot for the painting and begin my work like so." She said as she added her selection of paints to her pallet, grabbed her paint brushes, and attempted to climb back onto the Gonk droid once more. That is before Tech stopped her. "Miss Star Light, please refrain from standing on a Gonk droid like that." He said as he walked over to her. The pantoran who stood on one foot, standing on the tips of her toes, turned to him. "What? Why?" She asked and Tech sighed as he reached to pick her up again, his hands gripping her torso right underneath her arms and lifting her like she were a glass ball and setting her down on the ground. "It's not safe. The probability of you falling at an angle like that is unsatisfyingly high." Tech caught her eyes for a moment as he set her down. Those golden yellow orbs met his and for a moment he felt his breath hitch and that familiar sting of a blush spread on his cheeks. Compared to him, Star was small. She barely came up to his shoulders meaning he had to lean down when he set her down on the ground. "If you want a lift so bad while you paint why don't you sit on my shoulders." Tech blurted out, mentally cursing himself and wondering where in the galaxy his boldness came from. "You'd do that for me?" Star asked, raising a brow with a small smile forming on her lips. "Well I- uh-" "You're sweet, Tech." Star said kindly. "I like you."

Tech's shoulder's had been aching for hours but was he going to tell Star that? Absolutely not. She had been happily painting away and talking nonstop about her artistic process. She had filled Tech's ears with talks of color theory, form, the influence of line, and now she was currently on the philosophy of art. Tech had happily listened to everything she told him, always happy to hear new information. As soon as a final brush stroke was applied to the painting and Star gave a sigh of relief did she realize that she had been talking the clone's ears off. "Oh my goodness." She said softly as she slid off of his shoulders. "I was rambling that whole time... for three hours. Tech I'm so sorry." The clone smiled at her however. "It's alright. I ramble myself, sometimes." He replied. "I would like to hear some more about your opinion on the theory of art." Tech prompted with curious eyes. "You would?" Star asked and the clone nodded. "I have often heard that what makes something art is the work's ability to go beyond culture and current events of life. The work, in a sense carries the viewer above the stream of life and provides them with-" "The aesthetic emotion." Star finished his statement for him with a raised brow as she used a near by paint stained rag to remove the paint buildup on her blue hands. Tech nodded at her, a small smile on his lips. "You know art philosophy?" She asked and her eyes twinkled ever so slightly with amusement and the clone nodded. "Well yes, there isn't much that I don't know." His response caused Star to merely giggle with delight and Tech found himself fascinated with the sound. He had never heard a sound so pure and sweet as the giggle from a delighted girl. He never wanted it to end.

Chapter Four>

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softyoongiionly · 4 years

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La Grande Maison: A Mystery in Three Acts 🎠

The rooftop is your safe haven. It’s your escape from the woes of the world below and, you and your best friends take every opportunity you can to visit this special place. It’s here that time slows down, that all your problems seem to fade away...

But when one of you goes missing, not even the rooftop can save you from the nightmare that has yet to unfold.

Pairing: Jimin x Reader (but also this one is mainly about good ol fashion friendship)

Genre: Mystery/Thriller

Word Count: 25k

Warnings (please read me!!!): angst (like seriously chief this one is ROUGH), alcohol use (not excessive), drug use (not excessive), violence, mentions of murder/crime/kidnapping, swearing (excessive), mentions of death, character death (not major), SMUT (18+ only please).

A/N: hello yes. It is me. This one is ALOT my friends. Like holy freaking heck. I am honestly so incredibly excited for you to read this and, I can’t wait to see what you think of it. It’s my actual baby and, I’m kind of nervous cause, I’ve never written a fic like this before so, I really really really hope you like it. If you do, please let me know, feedback means everything to me.

Please Note: Bolded text indicates when characters are speaking Korean

Regarding Taehyung’s French scenes (yes our boy is fluent in french in this fic), I did my best. My french isn’t perfect so, if there are mistakes I am super sorry.

Please please please let me know if you liked it!

I love you all so much, please enjoy.

Act I- Sur La Grande Maison

The rooftop is a place you often end up.

It’s a little cliché, you think: a bunch of misfits corralled onto a dodgy high-rise building in the middle of the city, cigarette smoke wafting in the air.

But you and your friends aren’t delinquents.

The worst any of you has ever done is get a speeding ticket and that only happened because, one of you had dared Hoseok to go over 100 miles an hour on the highway: Hoseok never turns down a dare.

But no, the rooftop is a quiet place despite the shady motel it rests upon and, it’s a place you and your group of friends cherish for different reasons

Jin likes it because; he can spot new street food vendors from the massive height of the building. He’s made all of you try some interesting shit but, most of the time, it’s delicious.

Namjoon has perfect view of the river and, sometimes he separates from the seven of you to write poetry while gazing down at it.

Yoongi doesn’t always join you but, he finds himself dragging himself out of the house to listen to the underground rappers that perform in the club next door.

He thinks he can do better.

He’s probably right.

The rooftop gives Hoseok the space to dance; he doesn’t have it downstairs in the room he rents and, he can’t afford a practice room. So, he brings out his old speakers and amuses the rest of you while he moves fluidly around the concrete.

Taehyung loves to paint the skyline and, the roof allows him a view that he can’t get anywhere else. He’s painted it a hundred times but, he hasn’t used every color; not yet at least.

Jungkook brings his dads old polaroid up every time you guys meet. He takes unflattering pictures of all of you and, you know it’s just for fun but, what you don’t know is that he’s made a collage on his wall of all of them and, he smiles at them each morning as he heads to work.

And Jimin well…

Jimin has a lot of reasons why he loves the rooftop:

His friends of course; he can’t imagine his life without all of the late nights/early mornings he’s spent huddled up with his best friends, laughing so hard he can’t see straight.

The view is amazing, it makes Jimin feel like he lives in a penthouse despite him working three minimum wage jobs just to keep a shitty roof over his head.

But all of those things pale in comparison to his favorite thing about the rooftop: you.

You’ve been friends since high school but eight months ago, he started realizing that the little crush he had is actually full-blown LOVE and, that he should probably tell you soon before he loses his shit.

Luckily for him, you reciprocated.

It wasn’t easy at first, Jimin’s a jealous man and, he let his trust issues get in the way but, after a few stupid fights, he decided he needed to grow up and knock it off.

The rooftop saw it all, the fights, the making up, the making out and, one night when everyone fell asleep, Jimin made you cum three times underneath the blanket the two of you were sharing.

It’s a little filthy he knows but, he gets kind of primal around you, he wants everyone to know you’re his.

But he knows when it’s appropriate to do so and, he’d never try to control you.

Unless you two were in bed together then, there are times when you give him that control.

He always brings you down nicely though, he always kisses your forehead...

You think you might fall in love with him a little more each time.

“Y/N?”

A voice brings you out of your thoughts and, you look up across the makeshift bonfire to see Hoseok smirking knowingly at you.

“There’s an old mattress over by the chimney if you and Jimin need to relieve yourselves...”

There is a small echo of laughter that moves through the group and, you cock your head in confusion, “What are you talking about?

Jimin throws a cigarette butt at him, wrapping an arm around you, “Fuck off. She doesn’t realize she does it...” You feel him tuck a bit of hair behind your ear, smiling fondly at you, “Don’t worry about him, he’s just mad he doesn’t have a girl looking at him like that.”

You turn towards the rest of your friends, “Wait what do you mean? What did I do?”

With chaos in his eyes, Jin takes the cigarette Namjoon passes to him before nodding to you, “You were eye fucking your boyfriend.”

“Shut uuuup.” You answer immediately, burying your face in Jimin’s neck which prompts a pleased round of laughter to move past his lips.

You didn’t realize you were doing it but, you don’t protest his observation.

It’s been nearly a month since you’ve had a night off, meaning you’ve gone without your boyfriend’s touch for way too long.

He tugs you closer to him and presses a kiss to your head whilst everyone else laughs at your expense.

As the night breeze rushes in to move between the eight of you, Jimin holds you even tighter, tugging the old knitted blanket around your body.

“Give her a break, she’s been without dick for a long time...it’s been like a month since we met up.” Taehyung interjects, taking a drag of the cigarette before passing it to Jungkook.

Cigarettes are nearly $10 a pack, so they share one at a time and, pitch in when the supply runs low.

You don’t smoke but five of them do and, you’re kind of thankful your boyfriend isn’t one of them.

“So? Do you guys not meet up in between? Y/N has a studio, plenty of privacy...” Jin waves his hand between the two of you, judgement in his eyes.

Jimin tenses up beside you, not really enjoying the way the conversation has shifted, “We both work 3 jobs hyung, you know that.”

“You’re right. Sex is probably quite straining for you...” Jin smirks, enjoying the annoyance in Jimin’s eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jimin’s eyes are narrowed and, you are quickly coming up with a plan to distract your boyfriend from Jin’s teasing.

His not exactly a good candidate for roasting; he’s far too sensitive for that.

“You know cause it’s...” Jin positions his fingers in such a way that suggests that Jimin has a small dick

“Jin-” Namjoon groans in warning but, Jungkook and Hoseok have already started snickering.

You expect your boyfriend to pop off, guns a blazing, eyes alight with offence but, instead he just smirks.

Letting his hand curve around the ball of your knee, he says something that nullifies Jin’s insult,

“You don’t have to have a big dick to be good in bed hyung...”

Jin isn’t phased and he raises his eyebrows as he holds the cigarette to his lips, “That’s something people with small dicks say.”

Hoseok and Jungkook snicker again, enjoying the drama and Taehyung grins from behind his phone, shaking his head.

Jimin’s smirk widens as his hand continues to trail up your thigh, “Do you think I’m bad in bed?”

His question is spoken into your ear and, his breath against your skin causes a shiver to run through you.

“No.” You giggle, leaning into him and, he’s quick to tighten his grip on you, his lips quickly finding the side of your head.

“Now, Y/N...every good relationship is built on trust. You two will never last if you continue to lie.” Jin’s laughter escalates to a full-blown windshield wiper volume and, surprisingly enough, it’s Yoongi who shuts him down

“Your fiancé made you sleep on the couch with me the other night because, you were too drunk to get it up so,” Yoongi tilts his head as if he’s wagering two options, “you're not really in the position to be talking shit.”

Everyone’s face turns up in surprise as Yoongi, or Mouse, as they like to call him, puts Jin on blast without even looking up from his phone.

“Mouse just ended your whole life bro.” Hoseok cackles, throwing back a bit of vodka as Jungkook leans into him with the weight of his laughter.

Jin waves him off like the unbothered king he is and, gestures to the vodka bottle in Hoseok’s hands, “Mouse’s have tiny dicks too so, he’s just jealous.”

Namjoon literally cringes in his seat, looking at Jin with incredulity, “Mice not mouse’s...”

Taehyung laughs at that, leaning forward a bit to warm his hands around the fire. He looks exhausted but, then again, so do the rest of you.

But it speaks volumes doesn’t it?

That you’re all hear together, on your only days off, soaking up every bit of time you have.

Roasting aside, anyone can see that there is nothing but love between the eight of you.

If you had it your way, you’d spend every night up here.

Jimin reminds you with his lips, just how long it’s been as he places a few kisses against your cheek, “Come play with me.”

You giggle, turning in his grip to meet his grinning face, “You sound like the twins from The Shining...”

Jimin’s eyes wrinkle with his laughter but, he’s quick to place a searing kiss to your lips along with another sinful phrase, “Please? I haven’t seen you naked in a month.”

You shake your head, tucking hand behind his neck to pull him closer to you, “I’ve sent you nudes...”

Jimin’s quick to kiss you again but, his lips pout further and, you notice the scent of after shave lingering around his face.

That shouldn’t turn you on but, for whatever reason, it does.

“Yes you did and, trust me when I say, I put them to good use-” He kisses you again, nudging your nose as he does, “but I want the real thing.”

“Let’s go then.” You whisper against his lips

He kisses you once more before, getting Hoseok’s attention, “Yah, I need your key.”

Hoseok lives on the 8th floor of the motel you’re currently loitering on and, his room is a place you and Jimin often end up during nights like these.

Most people would be weirded out by it but, for you guys, it’s normal.

You don’t bat your eyes at the seedier sides of life, you’ve all lived through it in some way.

Hoseok just smirks, reaching into the pocket of his jeans, “Stay off my bed unless you plan on inviting me this time.”

Jimin just flips him off, grinning fondly at him before taking your hand and, tugging you towards the door.

“Don’t be too long, we wanna play poker!” Jungkook calls after the two of you and, although Jimin has a mission in mind, he responds anyway.

“With what money?”

“We’re playing for bragging rights obviously, that shit means more to you heathens than actual money.” Namjoon smirks, taking a swig of the vodka before passing it to Yoongi.

“That doesn’t apply to me; I would sell all of you for an even $500.” Yoongi remarks, taking a big gulp and, bearing his teeth as it burns his throat.

The rest of you just laugh but, before you can add your two sense, Jimin is tugging you behind the door.

He has you pressed up against it immediately, his hands finding your waist whilst his plush lips kiss you with everything he’s got.

You’re quick to reciprocate as your hands slide around the curve of his neck. Delicately, your fingers tangle into the hair at the nape of his neck and, it spurs Jimin on even more as he groans into your mouth.

“Christ, what are you doing to me?” He laments against your mouth, causing laughter to bubble past your lips, “It’s not funny...” He laments but, he’s grinning as he does, walking you backwards towards the elevator, “I’ve only been kissing you for ten seconds and, I’m already so hard.”

You tug him through the elevator doors the collar of his t-shirt all while trying to keep your lips connected, “Should I only expect you to last for ten seconds too?”

Jimin grunts in protest, his brows furrowing cutely as he shakes his head, “Don’t make fun of me, I missed you...” He whines playfully, smirking when you hitch a leg around his waist.

“I missed you too.” You breath and, you always marvel at young Jimin can make you feel.

You’re fully grown, sexually active adults and, yet here you grinding into one another like a bunch of hormonal rookies. The denim of his jeans pressing against the soft cotton of your panties hits you right in the pit of your stomach and, you’re honestly a little shocked by how wet you are.

Jimin slides the key card through Hoseok’s door several times before it finally works.

This motel is not a featured business on Yelp.

“Fucking door- ugh Jesus I don’t know how he gets this open when he’s hammered.” Jimin laughs, pulling you close to him as soon as he shoves Hoseok’s door shut.

“I have found him sleeping in the hallway before.” You point out but, the importance of your reply dies on your tongue when Jimin steps back to pull his shirt off.

You don’t hide your reaction either, letting your eyes wander over the masterpiece that is Jimin’s body.

He’s slightly tan from his days working at the pool, his sinewy muscles protruding tastefully against his smooth skin; it’s enough to make you drool.

But to center yourself, you comment on something tangible before you literally start begging for him,

“Your tattoo is healing nicely.” You nod your head to the black ink scrawled across Jimin’s ribs

The word ‘nevermind’ has never looked so good on someone's skin before.

He just smirks, “Yeah, it’s still a little sore though.”

“Oh?” With a tilt of your head, you let your eyes scan over it again, “Should I kiss it better?”

Your question doesn’t get answered because the next thing you know, Jimin has you on the couch, sat astride on his lap with your shirt half way up your torso.

“I want you naked- I don’t give a fuck if they’re waiting on us...”

All you can manage is a nod and, Jimin quickly tugs your shirt over your head.

He connects his lips to the crook of your neck, sighing into your skin as if the taste alone soothes him.

“You missed me too right?” He mumbles causing you to gently tug on the black tendrils of his hair so he’ll face you.

“Of course.” You peck his lips once before pushing him back against the arm of the couch, “See?”

Jimin nearly busts right there when you lean back to pull your skirt up, exposing the dampened material of your panties.

Your boyfriend has a panty fetish that nearly warrants concern. For months, he would beg you to leave your panties with him after the two of you had sex until finally; you were down to your last 8 pair.

He bought you more of course but, that didn’t stop him from begging all over again.

“Fuck these are my favorite...” He winces at the sight, letting out a shaky breath before his darkening irises find yours again, “Leave them on.”

You smirk, letting your skirt down and, pecking at his lips once again, “I thought you wanted me naked.”

He bites down on your bottom lip, pulling it for a moment and, letting it snap back in place,

“I changed my mind. I wanna cum all over these pretty little panties you’re wearing instead...”

Jimin makes good on his promise.

Sex with Jimin is something else.

The pleasure he brings you is so intense it’s almost painful.

It’s almost painful because, you hardly see each other and, if you had it your way, you’d be in his lap all the time.

But, life doesn’t work that way.

So, you take what you can get.

He makes you cum twice on his dick, with his thumb pressed firmly against your clit.

He whispers dirty secrets in your ear and, somehow manages to make you feel both filthy and beautiful all at once.

Prodding another weakness of his, hickies, you help him reach his own release and, within 10 minutes he’s attaining the orgasm he’s been craving so desperately.

“Fuck, I missed you so much...” He croons into your neck, nuzzling his nose there for a moment as you run your fingers through his hair.

“I missed you too.” You smile, kissing the shell of his ear

The two of you stay like that for a moment, kissing on one another, relishing in your reunion.

When the time is right, the two of you will share a place one day but, for now, you have to continue working hard and saving money for the things your future.

And speaking of making money...

Your phone buzzes in the pocket of your skirt and, you sadly drag your attention away from your boyfriend to see a text from your boss at the nursing home

Xander: Christian called out tonight :/

Xander: you want to work a double?

Night shifts pay time and a half and, it would be another 8 hours on this next paycheck...

It’s like a punch to the chest really.

Because, you have to leave.

One your one night off in nearly a month.

You feel like crying but, you know that’s ridiculous.

Jimin’s face falls as he sees the text on your phone but, he knows that his disappointment will only make you feel guilty and, he really doesn’t want that.

So instead, he curls a finger underneath your chin and, kisses you with a tenderness that he doesn’t often display.

Not that he isn’t sweet with you, it’s just that his lips are sinful and, normally they are working you into a frenzy.

The time you two have together is so limited that everything always feels so rushed but, in this moment, he takes the time to kiss you slowly.

And as he brushes a thumb across your cheek, he makes a promise to you, “I promise, we’ll get our break someday and, when that day comes, I’ll be kissing this pretty mouth of yours every chance I get...”

You smile, leaning into his hand, “I’ll make you breakfast every morning…and we can decorate together our place together and-“

Jimin interrupts your fantasy with a kiss, grinning fondly into your lips, “Anything you want.”

You wrap your arms around him once more, tucking your face into his neck, wishing desperately that you can stay here with him all night…

“I love you.” You whisper into his skin

“I love you too.” He replies, kissing the side of your head

Jimin walks you downstairs to the exit of the motel and, he tries his best to swallow his disappointment.

Your car is in the shop so; you’ll catch the bus right up the street and, try to remind yourself why you’re working so hard.

With a tight and lingering embrace, Jimin says his goodbyes to you, pecking your lips a dozen more times.

“Text me when you get home tonight…” He requests with a soft voice and, you nod, kissing him once more before stepping outside.

Jimin leans against the stained glass, watching you with love in his eyes as you turn to wave frantically at him.

It brings a giggle to his lips as he waves back, feeling an ache in his heart as you disappear into the crowd of people.

Jimin knows he’s never loved another person the way he loves you.

He knows he wants to spend the rest of his life with you.

But what Jimin didn’t know is that the agony of watching you leave after only a short time with him is nothing compared to the pain he has yet to endure.

Because tonight is no ordinary night.

Tonight, is the night you go missing.

Kosei Police Station, Thursday 6:24am

It’s been 54 hours since your friends heard from you.

Xander called Jimin, your emergency contact, when you didn’t show up for your shift Monday night.

The group promptly blew up your cell phone, trying any means necessary to reach you.

When there was no reply, they showed up to your apartment and much to their horror, the property manager has no recollection of you returning home.

“How long has she been missing?”

Jimin wants to scream at the uninterested clerk behind the desk.

He wants to scream in general.

The police station should be in full chaos at the news of your absence.

They should be on the phone with every available resource, repeating your name and details over and over.

But it’s not.

It’s eerily calm and, he doesn’t understand why.

“The last time I saw her was on Monday. She was supposed to work that night but, her manager said she never showed up.”

Jimin doesn’t recognize his own voice.

He feels like he’s outside of his body.

“Mhm…” The man drone behind the glass, casually typing a few things into the computer, “And what was her name again?”

Jimin’s blood boils over and, thank god for Namjoon because, he immediately intervenes.

“Y/N Y/L/N. She’s __ years old, she has __ hair, __ eyes and, she was last seen at the Paybrook Motel, Monday night. This isn’t like her to disappear. What is your protocol for these kinds of things?”

The man enters the information before shrugging at Namjoon’s question, “Uh we’ll send a squad car out to do some ground work but, uh honestly most cases like these are resolved pretty quickly, I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”

Taehyung arches a brow, leaning in towards the bulletproof glass, “You wouldn’t- you wouldn’t worry too much about it? Our best friend is missing…”

The man nods immediately, as if he’s amending his mistake, “Of course, I just mean- she’ll probably turn up you know, most people do.”

Jimin’s eyes are stinging, he’s trying his best to keep it together but, the fluorescent lights are blinding him, the stale scent of old coffee makes him want to vomit, he feels like he’s losing his mind.

“Y/N isn’t most people…” Jimin spits, his eyes honing in on the man, “She wouldn’t just vanish like this, something must have happened to her, this is an emergency. Why aren’t you sending someone out right now?”

“Sir, this is the inner city, no offense but, people like her disappear all the time…”

Jimin’s eyes narrow, “People like her? What the fuck does that mean?”

“Jimin.” Yoongi murmurs, wrapping an arm around him and urges him away from the desk before things get out of hand.

Surprisingly, Jimin follows but, not without sending a warning glare towards the clerk.

Long story short; the police are no help.

They don’t understand the gravity of the situation.

They don’t seem to grasp the pain the seven of your friends are feeling.

Even if they did, it doesn’t appear that they would care either way.

But the thing is, your friends are used to this.

They are used to being let down by the people who they’re supposed to trust.

Their hardships cultivated a unique ability within them each of them.

And that ability was to fend for themselves.

So a plan is made to spread out and search for you on their own.

With heavy hearts and fire running through their veins, Jin, Yoongi, Namjoon, Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung and, Jungkook leave their responsibilities behind to search for their best friend.

Act II- Sous La Grande Maison

Jimin- Chillzzz Ice Cream Parlor, Black Swan Brewery and Pub, Cozy Acres Retirement Home

Thursday 7:38pm-10:01pm

Jimin spent most of the day retracing your steps like a mad man. He went back to the motel and, walked along the path you would have taken to the bus stop, he showed your photo to every person who would give him the time of day. He spoke with subway drivers, businessmen in suits, homeless people but, no one spoke up, most of them wouldn’t even look at him…

He cried beneath the awning of the motel, not even noticing the judgmental looks that were thrown his way.

For good measure, he calls you and texts you another 50 times as he tries to swallow the acidic taste of fear crawling up his throat.

Where the fuck were you?

He visits your boss at the ice cream store but, she says she hasn’t seen you since your shift Monday morning.

He makes his way to the dive bar you wait tables at but, they have the same story except they haven’t seen you since Sunday night.

Everyone at both locations says the same thing though…

“It’s so unlike her you know? To just disappear.”

“I really hope nothing happened to her.”

“Whatever you need, just let us know.”

Jimin feels like he wants to pass out.

He feels like he’s been dropped in the dead center of a nightmare.

But, he knows he has to act quickly

The city has a habit of swallowing people whole and, he’ll be damned if his girlfriend falls victim to its clutches.

He makes a final stop at the retirement home you work in to speak with Xander.

Xander shows his concern for you in a big way; it makes Jimin slightly uneasy.

“Oh my god what are we gonna do? The police aren’t on it? How are they not taking this seriously?

“Jimin, we have to find her man, I would be devastated if something happened to her.”

“She’s my best employee, she’s absolutely precious…”

Jimin has half a mind to tell him to ‘shut the fuck up’

This is his girlfriend.

His everything.

Not Xander’s.

But Jimin knows he’s sensitive right now and, Xander’s behavior is a nice change of pace.

At least he gives a shit.

With all of his leads coming up dry, he decides to visit the one person who just might be able to help.

Someone who always assured him that they would be there should he need absolutely anything.

Someone who just might have the means to operate above the incompetence of the police department.

“Come here.” Lady’s voice is tender and, reassuring as she quickly pulls Jimin into her chest.

He collapses into her arms, an abrupt sob leaving his lips as he clutches the satin of her blouse.

Lady is a special person.

Jimin started working as her pool boy just over a year ago and, she quickly welcomed him into her life.

She was becoming the mother Jimin never had and, in this moment, in the wake of his misery, he needs her more than ever.

“I don’t understand-“ He cries into her neck, her perfume is far too strong for his liking but, he remains close to her anyway, “Where is she? She never does this, she always gets back to us I- fuck…what if something happened to her? What if someone ki- ki…oh my god.” He wants to throw up, he can’t even get the word to pass his lips because, the thought of you being harmed literally sickens him.

“Shhh shhh shh, honey it’s ok, just breathe for me alright? Just breathe…” She coos, rubbing his back gently, her face tight with sadness, “I already have my guys working on it. They got started this morning once the news broke. I’ll put flyers up at the country club as well; everyone I have at my disposal is out there looking for her alright?”

Jimin just nods, he isn’t able to say much through his tears but, her words do calm him slightly.

Lady has resources that Jimin doesn’t have and, for the first time, he is going to accept her help.

She’s offered to assist him many times in a myriad of different ways:

Rent money, tuition assistance, money for textbooks, a new car…

But Jimin’s turned them down all the same; he never wants to feel like he owes someone for something.

He accepts the free food and, the occasional fancy clothes she gifts from her deceased husbands closet and, if anyone thinks of judging him for strutting around in dead guy clothes, Jimin would promptly remind them that he is wearing Gucci and, they are not.

This time though, Jimin doesn’t protest; he will take all the help he can get from anywhere he can get it…

“Let's get you a cup of tea or something, c’mon...”

Lady ushers Jimin to the rich color of her lignum vitae dining table and, she even ensures she pulls out a chair for him to rest easy on.

Jimin practically slumps into it, his body helpless.

Lady already had a pot ready for him and, although Jimin tries to act like he doesn’t enjoy it, she knows Lavender is his favorite...

“The police have her vehicle information in their news report, I’ll have my guys searching for her civic in no time.” She murmurs, pouring his tea and, eyeing him carefully.

Jimin winces, watching the steam rise from his cup, trying to hold onto reality, “Her car is still in the shop.”

“That’s right my goodness,” Lady puts a hand to her chest, shaking her head, “Do you think the person who cut her cables had something to do with this?”

His heart sinks but, he hesitates a moment before responding, dread filling his chest once again, “I- I don’t know maybe? It’s not impossible. It’s been in the shop for the last two months though, it wouldn’t make sense for them to wait so long. Oh god, unless they have been watching her? Do you really thinks that’s possible?”

She brings him into her arms again, the pads of her fingers rubbing gently against his lower back, “There are sick people in this world Jimin. But I promise you honey, we are going to do everything we can to bring her home.”

Jimin leaves Lady’s house with a slightly better outlook.

Slightly

You are still missing of course but, at least he has someone powerful on his side.

Lady is an incredible person and, without her, Jimin thinks he might lose his mind.

Jin- The Night Market, Friday 8:22pm

You all like the rooftop for different reasons, Jin likes it for the landscape of the night market: The neon lights illuminating the different food carts, the bustling movement of all of the patrons eager to try the next deep fried delicacy. As he walks along the wet cement, he smiles to himself, remembering all the times he used to drag the seven of you down here. He always saved his tips from the restaurant, and once a month, he would splurge, buying everything in sight. The complaints would soon cease as he shoved fried cheese in your faces, the desire to eat like royalty overcoming the group. And you would, you’d eat until you couldn’t walk anymore and, Jin would feel warmth blooming in his chest as he watched all of his friends, whom were more like family, eating well. He’s the oldest, he would think, it was his job to watch over the people he loves. It’s in this moment, as he’s reminiscing that he feels despair tear through his heart.

He had failed.

Because, one of you were gone.

One of you weren’t safely tucked under his mother-goose gaze.

Your smile comes through his subconscious then and, it feels like a thousand tiny needles scurrying up his cheeks to prick at his eyes.

You always laughed at his puns, no matter how stupid they were

You always tried whatever food he put in front of you, no matter how strange or spicy it was, you’d humor him.

With a heavy hand, he wipes the tears from his eyes before they can spill over.

He doesn’t have time for pain right now.

Because, tonight he’s at the market for different reasons.

Tonight, he was here to investigate.

The Night Market vendors are an interesting crowd, most of them were older, just trying to make ends meet by selling their creations but, there were a few newcomers that Jin’s noticed over the years.

They were lured in by the neon, the paper lanterns, the money…

They didn’t understand the culture of this place and, Jin resented them for it.

“Yah! You’re the money man yeah? Are you buying me out tonight? Where are your friends?”

Jin is forced out of his inner thoughts and, he meets the eyes of an older gentleman who owns the Mandu stand; one of his favorites.

“I’m not here for much tonight, my friends are busy but,” He selfishly scans the selection of dumplings, plump and ripe for the taking. He points to a pork and vegetable one to the right of the case, “I’ll take one of the pork ones for the road. Is it ok if I ask you a few questions?”

The man wrinkles his brow in confusion, “Me? I guess so, what can I do for you?”

With a deep sigh, Jin pulls out his phone, with a photo of you as his home screen. He swallows back the bit of misery in his throat as he sees your face, before showing it to the vendor, “This is my friend. She went missing three days ago and, she was last seen up on that rooftop over there, “ He gestures to the motel, “She left alone and, she would have walked right past here on her way home. Did you see her at all?”

As he pushes his glasses up his nose, the man squints at the photo, trying to make sense of it. After a moment, he shakes his head.

“Sorry. I haven’t seen her.” His eyes flit over the image again, a bit of darkness lingering in his eyes, “Pretty little thing though…”

Jin immediately rips his phone from the man’s view, disgusted at his comment but, he doesn’t want to make a scene and risk his line of information being cut off.

“Thanks. If you remember anything let me know. I’ll be around for a bit.”

He grunts in response, his interest waning as another customer walks up to his stand.

Jin feels an immense amount of frustration; why the fuck does this man think its ok to gawk at you despite what he’s just told him?

Does he have no heart?

Raking his hand through his hair, Jin takes a deep breath. He doesn’t have time for his emotions right now, he needs to push forward.

He moves throughout the stands, showing your picture to every familiar face that will give him the time of day.

The chorus of no’s that echo back at him, slowing chip away at his resolve and, he feels himself growing desperate as he nears the end of the market.

He hates how suspicious he feels.

He hates that this place, which is home to so many happy memories, is now shrouded with a kind of darkness that he’s only ever read about in books.

He feels sick with the thought of coming back without you; he doesn’t think he ever would.

There is a few stands left, which Jin moves through without success before he finally reaches the Tteokbokki stand.

It’s his favorite and, normally he’d be shoveling an entire tray of it into his mouth.

But tonight, the smell of the sauce makes his stomach turn.

“Excuse me, have you-“ Jin begins wearily but, he’s quickly cut off by the man beneath the umbrella.

“You’re here about the missing girl right?”

The man’s brow rises but, it does nothing to smooth out the valleys of wrinkles between his eyes.

“I am…” Jin crosses his arms, reluctant to continue the conversation as the man smirks salaciously in his direction, “How did you know?”

His smirk grows when he holds up a yellow walkie-talkie, “Word travels fast. I’m guessing you’re here to ask me if I’ve seen her and, I would tell you that I have but, unless you have something to offer me. I’m afraid that’s all I plan on telling you.”

Jin’s face immediately flushes red. Anger floats up beneath the surface of his surprise but, he knows that if he reacts in the way he that wants to, the man will shut down.

“What do you want?” He mutters through the tension in his jaw.

The man’s gaze travels over Jin’s figure before settling on the pocket of his jeans, “Buy me out for the night and, I’ll tell you what I saw...”

A quick scan of his cart shows Jin roughly 3 dozen trays of Tteokbokki. Even if he had an appetite, he doesn’t have the stomach or the means to consume that much food, nor does he have a way to get it back to his apartment.

“How much is your cart worth?”

The man tilts his head, squinting his eyes in thought, “Well, its 3 for a tray and there’s 47 on the cart…you do the math.”

Jin finally does send a glare towards the man; enraged that he’s capitalizing off of his grief but, he types in the calculations none the less.

“$141…” He concludes, showing him the number on his cell phone, “I don’t have that much.”

With a shrug, the man gives Jin a look of faux disappointment, “That’s a shame, I guess my memory is a little hazy then. Maybe I saw her, maybe I didn’t- have a good night.”

“Wait- please I…” Jin takes a deep breath, pulling out a wad of cash from his pocket, “I only have $100 right now but, I can get more. I work at the sushi restaurant up the street, I’ll bring you all of my tips for the next week.”

The man eyes him suspiciously, mulling over his offer, “The next two weeks…”

Jin’s never been so angry in his life and, part of him wants to flip over his cart and, leave him to clean up the mess but, he knows he has to bargain with him.

He has no other choice.

“Fine.” He throws the money onto the counter with a stern look, “Keep the food, just tell me what you know.”

The man takes his time, counting the money greedily, smirking with satisfaction as he tucks it into his shirt pocket.

“I saw your friend leaving that motel you always hang out at. The one across the street-“ He nods to the ratty building, “She left and walked along the road for some time before a man approached her.”

Jin’s heart picks up, “A man? What man? What did he look like?”

“I didn’t get a close look. He was tall and dressed in some fancy ass suit. They walked together all the way up the road until I couldn’t see them anymore. She didn’t look uncomfortable; in fact…it kind of looked like she knew him.”

As the man tells his story, Jin writes all of the details down in his phone but, the last bit confuses him.

He didn’t know you knew anyone that owned a suit.

Suits are a luxury that neither he nor any of the other guys can afford.

So who were you with then?

“That’s all? Anything else you remember?”

The man shakes his head, “That’s all I got for you. Thanks for the cash, I look forward to seeing you again with the rest of it.”

A chorus of snickering comes with his last comment and, Jin finally decides he’s had enough of him.

With a roll of his eyes, he walks away, leaving the hustle and bustle of the night market to slowly fade behind him as he makes his way up the street.

He begins typing a message to the group chat, informing everyone of what he found.

He sees your icon at the top of his screen whilst he does and, it triggers the tears collecting in his eyes to finally spill over.

Namjoon- The Marquee River, Friday 9:54pm

Namjoon loves the rooftop for the view of the river. He loves the way the sun and moon expertly change the color of its surface from a crystal blue in the daytime to an inky black in the evening. He loves the way people congregate around it. It’s such a stark contradiction to the city. Everyone always looks so happy and so patient with one another. Families are sprawled out on picnic blankets, friends are laughing and sharing homemade dishes, lovers walk along the river holding hands…

It’s a magical place.

Well, at least Namjoon thinks so.

The boys tease him for it, they call him Namstradamus and, say he concerns himself with hypothetical situations far too often.

But you get it though.

You’ve sat with Namjoon on many nights while he smokes a cigarette, watching the interactions with the same fondness he does.

You laughed as he did little voices for the people he saw and, listened eagerly as he created stories for each of them.

You told him he should be a writer and Namjoon felt a satisfaction that his imagination could entertain you.

Deep down, being a writer is something he’s always dreamed of.

He wishes he was on the rooftop with you now, laughing and bullshitting.

He wishes he could see your smile when Jimin shouts a raunchy compliment your way and, makes a comment about how Namjoon is trying to steal you from him.

Its all for fun though.

Namjoon doesn’t love you like that but, the way he loves you makes tonight’s task so much harder.

He loves you like a sister and, his sister is gone.

Vanished.

And he has to figure out why.

Namjoon is wearing his father’s coat; it’s the only thing warm enough for this weather he tells himself but, really he wears it because it’s the nicest thing in his home.

It makes him feel capable, even though he’s never felt more inadequate in his life.

There isn’t many people left at the river tonight, the cold weather is keeping everyone inside along with the news of your disappearance.

Namjoon has someone in mind though.

Someone who is always here: the groundskeeper.

Namjoon notices him emerge as people begin packing up their things but, he doesn’t approach him just yet.

He stands back and observes his behavior, carefully planning what he needs to say.

But, Namjoon doesn’t get much time as the groundskeeper has noticed him too.

“What is it you seek madam? I can do anything…anything you wish.”

The voice of the groundskeeper is ominous; it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand at attention but, his words confuse him even more.

“Uh excuse me, I’m really sorry to bother you but, I was wondering if you’ve seen my friend. She went missing a few nights ago, I have her picture here…” Namjoon goes to pull out his phone but, the man stops him with a laugh.

It’s not a pleasant sound, it’s crazed and dismissive, it doesn’t mirror the laughter he normally hears from the river.

It makes his stomach turn.

“I know what the princess looks like madam, I’ve seen her looking down at me many times.” The moonlight shines upon his face then and, it’s enough for Namjoon to make out his features.

He looks filthy, skin alight with grease, hair matted with the same substance, his eyes are blue and unfocused. A giant scar interrupts his features and, Namjoon does his best to remain composed despite his appearance.

“So have you seen her? She would have walked right passed here on her way home.” He flashes the picture towards him anyway but, it only prompts another ridiculous laugh from him and, Namjoon feels himself growing irritated.

“Yep! That’s the one! The princess marked for slaughter, oh but she runs from her fate doesn’t she? She runs and runs and runs runs…..she runs a lot. It’s no use madam, you’ll always catch her in the end.”

As he hears the word slaughter, Namjoon feel his blood boil over and, he quickly grabs the snickering man by his shirt, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

The man falters with a gasp but, his laughter continues, his breath fowl and unkempt, “She is gone forever. Left to destiny…left to rot…”

Namjoon feels his heart jump in his chest and he tugs at the man’s shirt again, harder this time, “What do you mean gone? Did you do something to her? If you touched her, I swear I’ll fucking kill you, my friends and I will tear you apart!”

Tears don’t aid in Namjoon’s attempt to look tough but, he can’t help himself.

His grief is unbearable and, all this man can do is laugh…

“I have nothing for you madam…what’s done is done.” He seethes, bearing his grimy teeth as he smiles

“Why do you keep calling me madam? You know who I am, you’ve seen my friends before. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

The man responds by placing a dirty hand against Namjoon’s cheek, leaning in towards his ear, “You are…a work of art madam, it was a pleasure to serve you…”

With this, the man shoves away from Namjoon’s hold and rushes back to the trashcan, muttering to himself all the while.

Namjoon feels unsafe around him, especially as he notices how empty the river has become so, he decides to get out of there.

He wipes his tears as he moves through the trees back towards the noise of the street.

There is nothing but utter anguish inside of him now.

One of his best friends is missing and, his only lead is a raging lunatic.

He sends his findings to the group chat anyway, praying that someone has more information than he does, praying that this nightmare will come to an end.

Yoongi- Ginseng Night Club, Saturday 12:04am,

Yoongi hates clubs. There’s too many people, they’re too loud, everyone is drunk and stupid. He doesn’t really see the point in them. However, Ginseng has a vibe he can appreciate. It’s a little more laid back, a little less expensive and, it’s major upside is its showcase of underground rappers. Yoongi’s never had the courage to get up on stage but, he likes to listen from the rooftop. He judges the contestants from a far because, let’s face it, most of them are trash but, he enjoys their enthusiasm. Some of them are actually pretty good though and, a lot of times Yoongi has to swallow the avarice he feels when he hears them. He can rap too but, the only people who know about it are his friends.

They tell him he’s good enough to make it big but, Yoongi never believes them.

He misses freestyling on the rooftop though and, tonight he’s missing your reactions in particular.

You were always pushing him to perform and one day, drunkenly, you had managed to convince him to promise you that he’d perform at Ginseng on his 26th birthday.

That date is steadily approaching and, although he was terrified of keeping that promise, he desperately wishes that were the reason he was pushing through the crowd at Ginseng right now.

But it isn’t…

Tonight, he’s here to deal with bleaker matter: your disappearance.

Ginseng is cheaper for a reason and, that reason happens to be the crowd.

It’s known for its cast of shady characters: drug dealers, con artists, underground fighters, etc.

He thinks it’s a little pointless, walking into a room full of potential criminals, hoping one of them has the heart to spill any information regarding his missing friend but, he had to try.

Yoongi decided on all black for the evening; it makes him feel bigger and, prepares him for the onslaught of human interaction he’s dreading.

Immediately, his chest is met with the hammering base from the speakers, whilst his nose is met with the stench of cheap liquor and, all eyes are on him.

He’s an unfamiliar face in a club that profits off of regular attendees but, he swallows his anxiety and, soldiers on, heading straight for the bar at the back of the club.

“What can I get for you?” A short haired woman barks over the music, sending a mild glare Yoongi’s way.

He notices the tattoos adorning her neck and arms and, he feels intimidated by her presence but, he responds none the less.

“Whiskey neat.” He mutters, sliding a ten her way and, she eagerly strips it from the counter, shoving it into the register.

“You’ve never been here before.” She notes dryly, grabbing a bottle of Jack from the shelf.

Yoongi nods, shifting on the barstool, “Yeah, I’m here to see if anyone’s seen my friend. She disappeared on this street the other night…”

The woman smirks, nodding her head towards the crowd of people, “Do these people look like they’d be up for snitching?”

He glances back momentarily, “No but, I thought I’d try anyway. I have a picture of her…” He pulls out his phone, flashing the image of you towards the bartender.

She gives it a once over before shaking her head, “Haven’t seen her. I’d remember her if I had. Girlfriend?”

“No…” He clicks the side of his phone, shutting the screen off, “Do you know if I could talk to someone who comes here a lot? Like a regular or something? I’m not trying to cause trouble but-“

“These people aren’t gonna tell you shit unless you speak to Jaebeom first and, I don’t know if he’d be willing to talk to scrawny little thing like you.”

Yoongi has to swallow back the feelings he gets from her insult, feeling smaller and smaller under her gaze.

“Who’s Jaebeom?”

“The owner.” She pushes the drink Yoongi’s way, spilling some of it onto the dirty countertop, “He only does business in Korean…”

“Call him up then,” Yoongi retorts sternly, growing annoyed with her attitude and the carelessness with his liquor, “, that’s my native language. Or tell me where he is…”

“He’s a busy man… I don’t know if he’ll have time for you…”

“Ask him anyways.”

There’s a bit of a stare off lingering between the two of them but, Yoongi doesn’t falter, his confidence waxing.

He’ll be a dick if he has to, he doesn’t care; he has to figure out where you are.

She rolls her eyes, grabbing the receiver from underneath the bar before muttering something into it. Something causes her to raise her brows in surprise and, she looks a little disappointed as she passes the receiver to Yoongi.

He takes it, holding it up to his ear,

“What do you want?”

Moving the receiver to his lips, he responds clearly, trying to mask his nerves, “My friend is missing and, I want to know if you’ve seen her. Or if you know anything about her disappearance.”

The man chuckles deeply on the other end of the line, “Am I a suspect?”

“Everyone is. But I’m not a cop; I’m just here to see if anyone has seen anything.”

“And the police? Do they know about your little friend?”

Yoongi grasps the receiver firmer, attempting to amp up his toughness as he responds, “The police are fucking useless. Look, just let me show you here picture, if you haven’t seen her, I’ll leave.”

There’s only a bit of silence but, it’s enough to get his heart racing before he finally gets a reply, “Second floor, room 632. Don’t make me wait for you.”

Yoongi obliges, pounding his drink and rushing off to meet the man behind the voice.

Jaebeom seems to tower over Yoongi despite the mere inches he has on him and, he looks more intimidating than Yoongi ever could.

Three facial piercings, arms wrapped completely in tattoos, loose tank top adorning his muscular figure; if Yoongi were in a different world, he’d be wishing he was meeting this stranger in his room for different reasons.

“Let’s see it then…”

Yoongi shows him the photo of you and much to his surprise, Jaebeom nods, pointing a finger towards it, “I’ve seen her before, not recently though. She came in a few months ago and bought a bottle of Midori from me. She’s your girlfriend?”

Yoongi shakes his head, “No, she’s with my other friend but, you’ve seen her? Did she come in alone?”

The room smells of marijuana and as Jaebeom lifts a joint to his lips, Yoongi can see why.

He nods, blowing out a billow of smoke, careless to where it ends up, “She was alone yes, I didn’t speak to her much. She was polite, left me a tip, batted her eyes a bit and left. She’s cute, it’s a shame she’s taken.” He smirks, lifting the joint to his mouth again, “Both literally and figuratively….”

Yoongi takes a deep breath through his nose, attempting to calm down, “You haven’t seen her since?”

“No. Honestly, why are you here? Do you really think my guys are into kidnapping? There are plenty of hot woman downstairs. No one is looking to steal. You’re on the wrong side of town for this shit. “

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Jaebeom flicks the ash onto the floor, nodding to the window beside him, “You should be asking questions in the Upside. They hunt poor bitches like that for sport.”

Yoongi’s anger floods his brain before he can process everything he’s said, “Watch your mouth. She has a name and, I suggest you learn it before I-“

With a puffed out chest, Jaebeom steps toward Yoongi, “Before what huh?”

Yoongi moves back, shaking his head, “Nothing I-“ He sighs, holding his hands up, “I’m sorry. I’m angry, its been a long week. My friends and I just want her home.”

Jaebeom deflates a bit, scanning over the smaller man in front of him, “My sister disappeared two years ago. Same street. Like I said,” Jaebum plops down in his arm chair, sadness flashes through his eyes, “You’re in the wrong part of town…”

He nods, biting his lip at Jaebeom’s admission, “Did they ever find her?”

“They might have…” He takes a hit of the joint, blowing it out with a scoff, “if they fucking looked.”

Yoongi’s blood runs cold then, seeing the similarities between the two situations.

No one cares about the people who disappear from this part of town.

He leaves Jaebeom’s room, feeling worse than when he had arrived but, he reports his findings to the group chat anyway.

Maybe Jaebeom was right, maybe him and his friends were looking on the wrong side of town…

Jungkook and Hoseok- The Paybrook Motel, Saturday 7:07am

Jungkook and Hoseok are newer to the harshness of the city. They come from sweet families, with good intentions. The lack of financial resources is compensated with a lot of love and encouragement. Their lives were similar: simple and sweet. They didn’t have too many run ins with childhood trauma or absent parental figures; they loved their home life, probably to a fault. But given their lack of money and their love of their friends, they also found reasons to love the rooftop. Hoseok uses the concrete as an affordable practice space and Jungkook uses the view as the main muse for his photography.

You’re running through their head as they approach the motel.

Hoseok feels a pang of sadness in his chest as he remembers all the times you would cheer him on from your lawn chair, calling him the b-boy of the year, smiling from ear to ear even when he fucks up his choreography.

Jungkook remembers showing you an album he made of the summer the eight of you had. He remembers you growing teary eyed as he neared the end and, telling him what an amazing photographer he was. He swallows back his tears, gripping Hoseok’s hand as they approach the entrance to the motel, taking a deep breath.

“Maybe we shouldn’t-” Hoseok looks uneasily toward their connected hands, his teeth tugging on his bottom lip. “I just don’t want them to say anything to you.”

Jungkook looks down, his chestnut irises narrowed in confusion, “But, we’re just friends hyung...”

Hoseok nods, sending a sweet smile towards his pure friend, “I know Kook but, they don’t know that. I promise I’ll hold it as soon we leave ok?”

And Jungkook really has to act like this doesn’t further his misery, sniffling once as he finally nods, pulling away from his best friend, naïve to his reasons for ending their platonic affection.

Hoseok pats his arm before swinging open the stained-glass door to the motel, allowing Jungkook to step in front of him.

There is a woman sitting behind the counter, staring intently at her computer screen, not even bothering to look up at the two men that have just entered.

“Good morning.” Hoseok sends a watery smile her way, which she doesn’t reciprocate.

In fact, she doesn’t even look his way but, instead she shoves a piece of paper across the wooden countertop, “Fill this out, there’s only two rooms available- “ At this point, she does eye the two of them with a judging glance, “single beds only.”

“We don’t need a room mam we-” Hoseok begins, feeling rather annoyed but, Jungkook cuts him off and, practically shoves his phone over the counter.

“This is our friend, her name is Y/N and, she went missing four days ago and, the last place we saw her is here. Have you seen her? Do you remember if anything suspicious happened?”

Jungkook’s voice is reedy, full of desperation to the point that he grows a little out of breath.

Hoseok had a plan with a little more finesse but, he knows how desperate Jungkook is to find you.

He feels the same way...

The woman looks affronted by his sudden outburst but, she glances at his phone anyway. It’s only for a moment before she brings her attention Hoseok’s way, not bothering to address Jungkook.

“Nope. I’ve never seen her, sorry.”

The dismissiveness in her tone surprises Hoseok. He was expecting her to keep her responses to a minimum but, her lie takes him back.

“Wait are you serious? I live on the 8th floor, my friends come in here all the time. There’s no way you’ve never seen her before.”

He steps closer to the counter and, the way the woman looks up stirs something inside of him.

It’s unsettling and insidious.

It’s as if she’s deceiving them and, she wants them to know she’s deceiving them.

“I’ve seen you here before,” She shrugs, conceding with part of his point, “but I’ve never seen her. Although, I’m surprised she doesn’t rent a room here too, she looks like the type.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Hoseok feels the venom in his tone and, although it’s unlike him to lose his temper, something about this woman enrages him.

“Hyung please...” Jungkook’s soft plea paired with a hand to his lower back is enough for Hoseok to back down for the moment but, his nerves are still alight with suspicion. “Mam, we’re really sorry, we’re just worried about our friend. She’s been missing for a while and the police aren’t really doing anything. Are you sure that you’ve never seen her?”

The woman seems to soften a bit momentarily but, as something on her computer seems to move suddenly into her view, she toughens up again, shaking her head.

“Never. Is there anything else we- I can do for you?”

Hoseok grits his teeth, restraining his urges to throw her glass of iced tea into her face.

“No, I guess not.”

She offers a thin smile, that doesn’t reach her eyes, “Have a nice day then. Thank you for visiting The Paybrook Motel.”

Before Hoseok can throw an insult her way, Jungkook offers a pleasant goodbye before practically dragging his hyung out of the lobby.

“Yah! Why were you so easy on her? She’s obviously lying! Did you see the look on her face? She knows something Jungkook, I’m telling you she does...” Hoseok is ablaze with frustration, moving quickly to the end of the awning that decorates the front of the motel.

He’s waiting for Jungkook to join him but, instead he sees his friend moving aimlessly towards him, tears in his eyes.

The sight makes Hoseok’s heart ache.

“Hyung...don’t you get it? No one wants to help us.” His voice is wavering through his sadness, doing it’s best to keep afloat, “Even if she knows something, she doesn’t want to tell us. The police won’t help, the signs we put up are all in the sewer by now- no one gives a shit that she’s gone.”

At this moment, Jungkook breaks down, his tears finally streaming down his face. He stops in the middle of the walkway, disregarding the confused looks from the patrons heading into the building.

“Shit Kookie, don’t cry ok?”

Hoseok rushes over to him in the midst of his hypocrisy, because he’s crying too.

He hasn’t cried since you disappeared but, seeing his best friend break down and, knowing that life would never again be the same crushes him in a way he can’t handle.

“Come here...come here. Hyung is here ok? Ok? We gotta pull it together.” He sniffles, pulling Jungkook into his arms, placing a kiss on top of his head.

Jungkook doesn’t let up and, continues to cry silently into Hoseok’s t-shirt.

“I just want her to come home hyung...”

Hoseok nods immediately, tilting his head back to slow his tears. It’s a useless endeavor but, he tries anyway until a man’s voice interrupts their moment.

“I saw her.”

Hoseok and Jungkook are quick to pull away, turning their attention towards the voice in question.

It’s obvious the man is a security guard of some kind but, Hoseok has never seen him before.

“Excuse me?”

The man nods to the rooftop, “I saw your friend the night she left here.”

Hoseok approaches the man, noticing the way he seems to shrink away from his presence, “What did you see? Did you see anyone with her?”

He nods, “Yeah, that small dude you hang out with, the messy hair...he was wearing a yellow shirt?”

Jungkook moves to stand behind Hoseok, “That’s her boyfriend. He’s one of our friends too, he walked her out that night. He came right back up though, did you see anyone else?”

The security guard smirks, “Hm that’s interesting.”

Hoseok narrows his eyes, “Why?”

The guard nods to the street parallel to the conversation, “Because she met up with someone else...”

Jungkook and Hoseok make eye contact then, a bit of shock running through them.

“Who was it?”

The guard chuckles, shrugging his shoulders, his indifference insulting the two of them, “Listen, I’m new around here alright? I don’t know names or shit like that, I just know that after your friend was kissing on one guy, she met up with some dude in a suit, you can do with that what you will but, that’s all I got for you.”

“Jin hyung said something about a suit too.” Jungkook mutters beside Hoseok prompting a nod from him.

“Thank you. We appreciate it and, uh listen if you hear or see anything else. I’m on the 8th floor. Room 26.”

The guard nods, tipping his hat toward the both of them, “Will do. Be safe out there, this city is uh, an interesting place.”

As the man moves back towards the motel Jungkook turns to Hoseok, bewildered by the information they’ve received.

“Hyung do you-” Jungkook hesitates, the words not wanting to leave his tongue, “-do you think she left on her own? She wouldn’t do that right?”

Hoseok keeps an eye on the guard as he disappears behind the stained glass, a sick feeling looming in his stomach.

“No Jungkook, she wouldn’t.”

Taehyung- La Petite Galerie, Saturday 12:46pm

Taehyung's been painting since he was a child. Adopted into a French family, he learned his two favorite crafts from an early age: painting and charisma. He was the star of his elementary school, wooing his classmates with the use of his second language and, wooing his teachers with his painting abilities. Consistently, he placed first in his school’s art fair. He was labeled as a prodigy and, selected for all of the finest performing arts schools in the city. However, prestigious art schools come at a price his family couldn’t afford. So, he had to stay behind with the rest of his classmates, whilst his parents begin saving money. He’s so thankful that he did though because, high school is where he met his second family. The family who he’s met on the rooftop since he was 15 years old, the family who’s helped him through his darkest days, the family who’s recently been torn apart...

He’s missing you as he walks into the gallery.

It’s one of his favorite parts about the rooftop along with the view of the city skyline.

You and Taehyung have sat together many times, admiring the well-dressed people walking into the gallery.

You would always say that they were simply apart of a different world and, that you never hated them for their riches.

Taehyung admired that about you because, he wishes he could say the same.

But, he knows he’d be lying.

One day, Taehyung had been brave enough to come into the gallery and, he actually made friends with the owner.

Taehyung makes friends with everyone.

But this woman, Clementine, had a particular soft spot for his French abilities and, gave Taehyung discounted admission for all of his friends.

Eventually, Taehyung brought the eight of you in with him and, much to his surprise, you all enjoyed yourselves.

He remembers that day as he steps under the warm glow of the gallery lights...

Jin made puns about the paintings

Namjoon endlessly dissected the potential meanings behind them

Yoongi had admired them quietly, murmuring observations that no one could hear

Hoseok laughed way too loud at the statue bestowing a marble penis

Jungkook kept to Taehyung’s side as he expertly explained the stories behind the artwork

But the image that hurts Taehyung the most is the way you looked at Jimin as he stared in awe up at the paintings.

Taehyung had never seen someone so enamored with another person before and, he realized why so many artists use love as their muse.

He felt happiness in his heart that you and Jimin were so happy, so much so, that he didn’t even bother thinking of his own romantic future.

He was content.

His family was here, admiring art in their own way, just as it was intended.

A bit of panic rushes through him at the thought of never having you all together again.

But determination comes along with it, reminding him why he’s visiting the gallery today.

“Excusez-moi, j'ai rendez-vous avec Clémentine aujourd'hui (Excuse me, I have an appointment with Clementine today).”

The woman behind the ivory desk smiles pleasantly at him, “Ah oui Monsieur Kim, asseyez-vous et je sais qu'elle est arrivée.” (Ah yes, Mr. Kim, have a seat and I’ll let her know you’ve arrived)

He bows his head slightly, sending a tight-lipped smile her way, “Merci.” (Thank you)

Taehyung takes a seat on the upholstered chairs near the entrance, thankful that the crowd level is mild today. It’s unexpected for a Saturday but, he doesn’t complain, he doesn’t think he can handle excessive human interaction.

He waits for roughly 10 minutes before a nimble woman with auburn hair comes bustling out of the back room, arms opening wide as soon as she sees him.

“Taehyung, ma chérie viens ici, viens à Clémentine...” (Taehyung, my darling come here, come to Clementine)

Her pink lipstick accentuates the pout in her lips as she ushers Taehyung into a tight hug, her fake breasts providing very little comfort but, he accepts her affection anyway.

He needs it.

“Bonjour Clementine, (Hello Clementine)” He pats her hips respectively, smiling warmly as he pulls away, “Merci de me rencontrer... (Thanks for meeting me).”

She scoffs, waving him off as she eagerly pulls him into her office, “Non-sens, je n'accepterai pas de gratitude de votre part pendant cette période.” (Nonsense, I will not except gratitude from you during this time)

Taehyung offers her a half smile, adjusting his coat and stepping through the archway.

Clementine’s office is tasteful, covered in various shades of pink and her most favorite pieces she’s hand-picked from the gallery.

It’s a little loud for Taehyung but, he agrees that it’s uniquely Clementine and, he feels content enough in her presence to deal with it.

She rushes around her desk, plopping down on her pearl encrusted office chair, “Asseyez-vous ici mon doux garçon...” (Sit here my sweet boy)

Her face stays firm with pity as she places her manicured fingers on the marble, “Dis-moi, ont-ils entendu quelque chose?” (Tell me, have they heard anything?)

Taehyung left posters at the gallery the day after you went missing and, Clementine was all too eager to post them all over the building’s exterior.

He shakes his head, settling into the crushed velvet beneath him, “Non. La police n'a rien. J'ai peur qu'ils ne la recherchent même pas.” (No. The police have nothing. I’m afraid they aren’t even looking for her.)

With a tsk of her lips, Clementine shakes her head, “Inutile.” (Useless) She spits the word, leaning back into her chair, “Avez-vous trouvé quelque chose? Je sais que tu as dit que tes amis regardaient.” (Have you found anything? I know you said your friends were looking)

“Nous avons entendu quelques choses, mais nous n'avons pas encore beaucoup de pistes. On se retrouve demain soir pour faire un plan.” (We’ve heard a few things but, we don’t have many leads. We meet tomorrow evening to make a plan.) He feels the disappointment in his heart, wishing he was giving her a different answer, his predicament leaving him helpless.

“Desole.” (Sorry) She replies, pouting her lips and tucking her auburn hair behind her ear, “C'est dégoûtant de voir comment cette ville est dirigée.” (It’s disgusting how this city is run.)

A humorless laugh leaves Taehyung’s lip as he nods, “Oui. Oui ça l’est. C'est pourquoi je suis venu vers toi clémentine.” (Yes. Yes it is. That’s why I came to you Clementine.)

She looks a little flustered by his comment, scooting closer to the edge of her seat, placing a hand to her chest, “Moi? Qu'est-ce que tu as besoin de moi?” (Me? What do you need from me?)

Taehyung feels a little dirty at his next move but, he does it without a second thought.

Smiling, he extends a hand towards Clementine, catching her gaze with his, “Nous venons de mondes différents oui?” (We come from different worlds, yes?)

Against her better judgement, Clementine places her hand timidly atop Taehyungs, nearly shuddering at his warmth, “Oui, mais ça n'a pas d'importance.” (Yes but, that doesn’t matter)

Taehyung pretends to be surprised by her answer, “Non? Pouvez-vous voir au-delà de cela?” (No? Can you see beyond that?)

She leans towards his voice, allured by the way it caramelizes in the air around her, “Je ne vois pas ces choses. L'argent, la couleur, l'âge, ce n'est pas important.” (I don’t see these things. Money, color, age, they aren’t important)

If he were in a different situation, he would notice the ignorance in her statement. But instead, he begins rubbing his thumb over the back of her knuckles, smiling prettily all the while.

Clementine is melting beneath his touch, her body subconsciously slouching in her chair.

“Vous vous souciez de moi malgré ces choses, n'est-ce pas?” (You care for me despite those things, don’t you?)

Eagerly, she nods, licking her lips before tucking her bottom lip between her teeth, “Oui mon amour.” (Yes my love.)

Taehyung leans closer to her, mustering up the best smolder he can manage, “J'ai besoin de savoir ce que vous entendez dans votre monde chéri.” (I need to know what you hear in that world of yours darling.)

Bless her, Clementine really is doomed.

“Mon monde? Que voulez-vous dire?” (My world? What do you mean?)

Taehyung delights in her confusion, taking a moment to seal the deal as he raises her knuckles to his lips, “Vous êtes au country club de Chamomile oui?” (You are in the Chamomile Country Club yes?)

As he asks his question, he presses a few kisses to her skin, keeping eye contact with her all the while.

Clementine lets out a shaky breath, placing her free hand to her chest, “Mon dieu...” (My god...) She mutters under her breath, fanning herself before responding to his original question, “Oui, Je suis.” (Yes, I am)

He grins, still kissing over the expanse of her knuckles, “Dites-moi, entendez-vous quelque chose d'étrange lorsque vous assistez?” (Tell me, do you hear anything strange when you attend?)

“Étrange?” (Strange?)

“Oui, etrange. Quelque chose que vous n'êtes pas censé entendre.” (Yes, strange. Something you are not supposed to hear.)

Clementine’s eyes shoot back and forth across the room, looking unsure of her response, “Mon amour, tu sais que je veux t'aider mais je déteste les potins. C'est désagréable.” (My love, I really want to help you but, I hate to gossip. It’s distasteful)

Taehyung pretends to smile fondly at her, stopping at her middle finger, dragging his lips up the length of it, “Il n'y a rien de désagréable chez toi bébé.” (There is nothing distasteful about baby) As he gets to the base of her hand, he parts both her middle and ring finger before licking right between the two digits suggestively, “En fait, je parie que vous avez un goût incroyable.” (In fact, I bet you taste incredible)

Clementine’s pink lipstick is smudging with the amount of times she’s licked her lips but, she does it again anyway for good measure.

“Vous avez une langue en argent Taehyung, prévoyez-vous de l'utiliser sur moi?” (You have a silver tongue Taehyung, do you plan to use it on me?)

The deep timbre of his chuckle sends goosebumps up Clementine’s spine and, her body is stretched across her marble desk in a rather uncomfortable way but, she doesn’t care.

All she wants is Taehyung.

“Voici ma proposition: vous utilisez votre langue pour parler et quand vous aurez terminé, j'utiliserai la mienne pour goûter. Comment cette sonne?” (Here is my proposal: you will use your tongue to speak and, when you are done. I will use mine to taste, how does that sound?)

Clementine’s legs part subconsciously beneath her desk, the pink satin of her underwear stained with her arousal.

With her hand still in Taehyung’s grip she clears her throat, tilting her head innocently, “Le Country Club, que tu dis?” (The country club, you say?)

Taehyung smirks, sending a nod her way, “Oui.” (Yes)

“Je me souviens avoir entendu quelque chose de mal le mois dernier.” (I do remember hearing something wrong last month)

He kisses the back of her hand sweetly before returning it to the desk and, allowing her the proper head space to recall information.

Because, who in their right mind would be able to tell a story whilst Taehyung was kissing on them like that?

Clementine seems to deflate a bit, attempting to compose herself as Taehyung gestures for her to continue.

“Quand j'étais dans le salon de thé, je pouvais entendre les costumes parler de quelque chose qui me faisait un peu peur.” (When I was in the tea room, I could hear the suits talking about something that scared me a little)

Taehyung’s brows furrow, “Les costumes?” (The suits?)

She nods, biting her lip in hesitation, “Oui, c'est ce que les membres appellent les propriétaires du country club.” (Yes, this is what the members call the owners of the country club)

He’s watching her intently, nodding as she explains, “Qu'est-ce que tu as entendu?” (What did you hear?)

She seems to crumble under his gaze like a paper swan; torn between her desire to please him and her desire to remain proper.

“Mon amour, c'est vraiment une chose terrible…” (My love, it’s really a terrible thing…)

Taehyung’s quick on his feet, taking her hand yet again, throwing a yearning look in her direction, “Clémentine, s'il vous plaît ... mon cher ami est absent. Vous pourriez être le seul espoir que mes frères et moi ayons pour la ramener à la maison en toute sécurité. Quand elle reviendra, je te couvrirai de mille baisers pour te remercier de ce que tu as fait.” (Clementine, please…my dear friend is absent. You could be the only hope that my brothers and I have for bringing her home safely. When she returns, I’ll cover you with a thousand kisses to thank you for what you have done)

Clementine sighs dreamily, her hand limp in his grip, her legs parting further at the baritone in his voice,

“Un millier?” (A thousand?)

Taehyung gives her a thin smile, “Un millier. Maintenant s'il te plait, ma rose, dis moi ce que tu as entendu.” (A thousand. Now please, my rose, tell me what you heard)

Clementine shrinks again, looking warily around the room before she finally answers, “Je les ai entendus parler de meurtre.” (I heard them talking about murder)

It’s then Taehyung feels the hot fiery sting of fear stabbing its way into his gut, “Meurtre?” (Murder?)

She senses his uneasiness so; she tightens her grip on his hand as she continues, “Ils ont dit qu'ils prenaient le travail d'un homme important qui allait au-delà de ce qu'ils avaient fait auparavant. Ils étaient inquiets de se faire prendre.” (They said they were taking a job from an important man that went above and beyond anything they’ve done before. They were worried about getting caught)

Taehyung shakes his head in disgust, hoping desperately that you aren’t connected to the conversation she heard.

“Quoi d'autre?” (What else?)

Clementine shakes her head, “C'est tout ce que j'ai pu entendre, mon thé est arrivé pendant leur conversation.” (That’s all I could hear, my tea arrived during their conversation)

Taehyung holds back his anger as he’s reminded of the kind of person Clementine really is.

She’s sweet sure but, she’s tragically selfish.

She’s well off and, only cares for matters that concern her; otherwise she is uninterested.

All he can muster is a tight lipped smile as he suddenly stands from the crushed velvet, “Je vois. Merci de votre temps, appelez-moi si vous vous souvenez d'autre chose.” (I see. Thank you for your time, please call me if you remember anything else)

Clementine rises with him, rushing around her desk, “Tu es en train de partir? Je pensais que tu resterais un moment, tu ne devrais pas être seule en ce moment chérie.” (You’re leaving? I thought you would stay a while, you shouldn’t be alone now honey)

Taehyung gives her the fakest smile he can muster, brushing his thumb across her rubbery cheek, “Je reviendrai te voir. Merci pour votre aide, vous êtes un saint.” (I’ll come back and see you. Thank you for your help, you’re a saint)

She rubs her face against his hand like a cat in heat and, whines for him in a similar fashion, “Mon dieu, nous sommes comme Romeo et Juliette…” (My god, we are like Romeo and Juliet…)

He’s disgusted by her lack of awareness but, he plays the part anyway, tucking a finger underneath her chin, “La séparation est une si douce douleur.” (Parting is such sweet sorrow)

With a brush of his lips against hers, he quickly departs, leaving Clementine alone with her desire.

Taehyung rushes through the afternoon crowd of the gallery, feeling grateful for the crisp air that greets him when he pushes the doors open.

His mind is racing; this is the third mention of the suits and, although it isn’t much, it’s the only solid lead the seven of them have.

They need to re-group as soon as possible because, the likelihood that they fill find you alive wanes with each hour that passes.

Taehyung feels horrified at the thought that passes through his brain:

What if they are already too late?

Act III- Tuer La Grande Maison

“Jungkook, pass me a cigarette…”

Jimin mumbles from across the fire, the light drained from his eyes.

Jungkook’s first instinct is to question him; Jimin quit smoking two years ago.

But, he stops himself just as the words crawl up his tongue and, instead he nods silently.

“Here you go.” He practically whispers, passing the cigarette to Hoseok who then moves it around the circle.

“Thanks.”

There is a stale bit of silence that rushes through the group and, everyone seems to look at Jimin to start things off.

But Jimin doesn’t look up, he just uses his shaky hands to light his cigarette. He takes the first inhale, his eyelids flutter as the nicotine infiltrates his senses.

Through the smoke, Jimin shoots a dead gaze across the circle, “I have nothing else to report. Lady says she has her best guys on it but, I don’t think it matters…”

Yoongi interjects, “Aren’t you wondering about the suits? I mean they have to have something to do with this. It’s not a coincidence that three of our sources mentioned them…”

Jimin lets a humorless laugh leave his lips, “The suits,” He shakes his head, “They sound like a bunch of fucking DC villains.”

Namjoon and Jin exchange something wordless between them before Jin decides to speak up,

“Jimin, I know this is hard for you. It’s hard for all of us but, we need to keep at it. We have good information; we just need to keep digging.”

Jimin feels his eyes burn with the promise of tears but, he just doesn’t have it in him to cry right now.

He’s too exhausted.

With another drag of his cigarette, he meets his hyung’s eyes with a hopelessness that shakes Jin to his core, “We don’t any money hyung, that’s all this town cares about. Maybe that’s all she cared about too…”

Yoongi is known for his tepid disposition.

He’s known for being the careful one, the collected one; so much so, that in high school Jin and Namjoon used to call him Mouse and, sometimes they still do.

But right now, Yoongi is angry and, he’s not angry for the same reasons he was yesterday…

“What are you insinuating?” Yoongi’s tone is clipped and, the intensity of his stare is enough to garner Jimin’s attention.

He flicks the ash onto the ground, “I’m just saying…maybe I should consider the possibility that she left town on purpose.”

“You should consider?” Yoongi bites back and, the tension between the two men immediately disperses throughout the group.

Jimin glances to the side before looking back at Yoongi, “Yes. It’s been almost a week. The police aren’t interested in finding her, no one seems to want to speak more than they have to and, the only lead we have is that she met up with some man in a suit. According to all of your reports, she looked comfortable with him. So, what if she was? What if she was tired of being in this filthy fucking town?” He scoffs, bitterness in his tone, “I wouldn’t blame her honestly, I just wish she would have disappeared before making me fall in love with her. That would have been nice…”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Yoongi stands up, another rare occurrence, and glares at Jimin over the fire, “Do you realize how selfish you sound? You aren’t the only one who lost someone Jimin, she’s like a sister to us. She’s not the type of person to just run away from her problems and, you should be ashamed of yourself for suggesting that she’s that much of a coward.”

Jimin is a respectful man, he honors the age hierarchy amongst his friends but, he disregards formalities in this moment and fights back.

“She isn’t a coward. It’s a brave move to leave your family behind to pursue a better life, I just wish she would have left a note or something.”

“Jimin,” Namjoon interjects, trying to keep the peace as he places a hand on his thigh, “Y/N didn’t run away. She wouldn’t do something like that. C’mon you know her right? She loves you, she loves all of us.”

Jimin crosses his arms defensively, “Did she? I mean…from what I’ve gathered Namjoon, you don’t abandon the people you love. But she left me anyway…”

Yoongi moves closer to him, throwing is own cigarette into the fire, his brow furrowed with his growing frustration, “Why do you think your relationship with her is more important?”

Before Jimin has a chance to respond, Yoongi interrupts him.

“Because you two fuck? Is that why?” He glares at his best friend, with a level of fury that stifles Jimin’s martyrdom, “She taught Jungkook how to drive, she stayed up with Jin and Namjoon for six weeks straight when they were studying for their exit exams, she took Hoseok to work for months while he was saving up for his car. She gave up her studio for Taehyung’s family and, slept in her car while their house was recovering from last year’s flood. She- “ Yoongi starts out with a strong voice but, it slowly begins to falter as he gets to his addition to the list. His black hair moves fluidly with the breeze and, he looks away from Jimin. “She was there the night I- when I was…”

The sentence is loaded and, thankfully for Yoongi, he doesn’t need to complete it.

They all know what he’s talking about.

Jimin feels an enormous amount of guilt wash over him as he sees his calm and collected hyung, fight the tears in his eyes.

“Just because she’s your girlfriend doesn’t mean you get a bigger stake in grieving over her, she’s important to all of us, not just you.”

The heaviness is enough to crush the seven men sitting around the fire.

Yoongi is frozen in his spot, staring down at Jimin with the authority of the second eldest but also, with the desperation of a friend in need.

Jimin finally lets the sting win and, the tears fall unceremoniously down his cheeks as he tries to meet Yoongi’s gaze.

“I’m so sorry hyung.” He’s ashamed of his behavior and, he expects Yoongi to scold him further but, instead he kneels down beside him, placing a firm hand on his leg.

“We are going to find her.”

It’s all he says but, it prompts to Jimin to pull him into a hug and, the two of them share a moment before Jungkook says something that shifts the course of the evening.

“Hyung…” He begins, looking up from his phone, “How does your friend know what kind of car Y/N drives?”

“My friend?” Jimin sniffles, wiping his tears with the back of his hand, “What friend?”

Hoseok looks uneasy beside Jungkook as well, staring intently at Jimin as he awaits for an answer.

“Lady. The one you work for, how does she know what kind of car Y/N drives.”

Jimin just shrugs and, with a nod he requests another cigarette as Yoongi returns to his seat,

“She said it was in the news report the police published. I thought it was weird too especially since her car’s been in the shop but, the police have access to that kind of information so it makes sense.” He replies with a narrowed gaze, jerking his chin in his direction, “Why?”

“There’s nothing about her car in the papers.”

With Jungkook’s response, time almost freezes as a few members of the group seems to realize something dreadful.

“Wha- How do you know that?” Jimin hasn’t caught on yet but, he knows his friends well and, there is a change in their posture that he notices, “Why does that matter?”

Jungkook turns his phone in Jimin’s direction as a demonstration and, his voice begins to shake with his realization, “I searched everywhere hyung, it hasn’t appeared in a single article. How would she know something like that? Her car has been in the shop for two months…”

Jimin’s reaction is immediate denial but, something crawls up his throat; something he doesn’t want to acknowledge.

“Are you really thinking Lady had something to do with this?” He guffaws, taking another hit from his cigarette, “You know she’s like 70 right?”

“Have you ever mentioned that she drives a civic before?” Hoseok chimes in, a look of concern on his face.

Jimin shrugs, annoyed by their inflated reactions, “I don’t know? I wouldn’t remember telling her something like that but, I wouldn’t doubt if it came up especially when her cables were- “ His mouth parts then, cutting off his own sentence, “When her cables were cut…”

“What are you talking about?” Yoongi pipes up and, everyone seems to lean towards the center of the circle subconsciously, growing closer without even realizing it.

“When I was…” Jimin’s eyes are lit up with a thousand emotions as he tries to gather his thoughts, “When I was talking to her about Y/N she asked me if I thought it was the same person who cut the cables on her car. But- I don’t remember telling her why Y/N’s car was in the shop.”

“Why didn’t you tell us this?” Hoseok rushes out, nearly tripping over his words.

“I- I didn’t make the connection, I just thought she was trying to help… oh my god.” Jimin brings his watery gaze around the circle, “Oh fuck. Do you think she knows? Do you think she knows what happened to her?”

“Jimin…” Taehyung finally breaks his silence, “I think she is what happened to her.”

And he wants to protest, because Lady is like a mother to him. She’s always there, helping him through his difficulties; she even gave him advice on how to confess to Y/N properly…none of this makes sense.

“Think about it,” Taehyung continues, “She’s the wealthiest person in town, she knows everyone, she’s always checking up on you…don’t you think it’s a little odd that she’s so involved?”

“I don’t know, I just thought she had connections, that’s why I went to her in the first place.”

Jimin feels weak at this development and, Jungkook quickly takes his hand to soothe him.

“What are we waiting for then? Lets go.” Yoongi stands with a firm look of determination but, Namjoon stops him.

“Wait, we can’t just go busting into an old woman’s house and accuse her of kidnapping our friend. We have to have enough evidence…”

“We have enough evidence.” Hoseok inserts, wearing a similar expression to Yoongi, “And old woman or not, if that bitch has our friend-“

Jin comes through, intervening as things get intense, “Namjoon is right. We can’t do that. Look at us, she’d get one look and, call the police and, then we’d be the ones in handcuffs.”

“Hyung, we literally just established a solid reason to be suspicious of someone.” Jungkook asserts, confusion evident on his features.

Jin rolls his eyes, “All we’ve established is that Jimin may or may not have told her Y/N’s cables were cut. Lady owns half of the city, she’s more than capable of finding out what happened to Y/N’s car. This isn’t a lead, it’s odd yeah but, it’s not enough to accuse her with. She probably looked into Y/N’s vehicle information as soon as she went missing...”

With Jin’s reasoning in place, the group seems to deflate a bit and, Jimin feels slightly relieved that he doesn’t have to suspect yet another person he’s supposed to trust.

“I don’t know.” Jungkook’s small voice asserts, “I still think it’s weird.”

With pursed lips, Hoseok nods along with his statement, looking longingly at the now empty back of cigarettes, “I agree.”

“We don’t have to drop it completely, if anyone has any ideas on how to figure out more information, we should do that. Every lead is worth pursuing.” Namjoon murmurs

“What do you think we should do?” Jungkook’s Bambi disposition is privy to Namjoon’s opinion and, he often turns to him in times of stress.

“I have an idea.” Yoongi speaks instead, running his hand over the back of his neck, “I think I need to go back to the club. Jaebeom said the police might have found his sister if they had bothered to look for her, it kind of made me think that he had an idea of where she ended up...”

“I’ll go with you.” Jimin replies, throwing his cigarette into the fire

Yoongi shakes his head, “I should go alone. He was kind of an asshole when I went the first time, I don’t even know if he’ll talk to me again.”

Jimin chews on the inside of his cheek, wanting to protest but, he trusts Yoongi’s judgement.

Besides, he can’t handle anyone’s attitude right now.

“Anyone else think they need to revisit their leads?” Yoongi surveys the circle with cat-like precision, already crafting his future conversation with Jaebeom in his mind.

Namjoon has glanced towards the direction of the Marquee River several times now and Jin, who is so tuned in to his mannerisms, notices.

“What is it?”

Namjoon purses his lips, “I think I need to speak with the groundskeeper again…”

Hoseok wrinkles his nose in disgust, “The crazy guy with the bad breath?”

He sighs, finally pulling his attention from the direction of the river, “What if his rambling actually meant something? He kept calling me madam…”

“Namjoon,” Jin begins, placing a hand on his thigh, “he’s obviously sick, he didn’t even know who you were. How are you supposed to get anything meaningful from this guy?”

“I don’t know. But, I think I should try…”

“I’ll go with you hyung.” Jungkook vows, his eyes wide with his faith, “If that guys tries anything on you, I’ll kick his ass.”

Jungkook’s very serious statement elicits something that the rooftop hasn’t heard in a while: laughter.

They all laugh for a moment, basking in the tiny bit of innocence still left in their complicated world.

And as the laughter dies down, Taehyung offers a sentiment that they can all agree on,

“Let’s go find our friend.”

After a few more cigarettes and a swig from Hoseok’s bottle of vodka, they all part ways.

Namjoon and Jungkook head to the Marquee River whilst Yoongi prepares himself for a second visit to Ginseng. Jin and Taehyung head back to the night market to see if any of them have more information and, Hoseok finally convinces Jimin to get some rest.

He’s been up for three days straight but, he hasn’t slept a full night since Tuesday.

It’s hard but, after a bit more vodka, he finally passes out on Hoseok’s sofa.

His torn between wanting to dream of you and, praying that he won’t.

He wants to see your face but, fuck, it hurts so bad to do so.

Namjoon and Jungkook- The Marquee River, Sunday 5:49pm

Thankfully, the sun is just on the brink of setting when Namjoon and Jungkook arrive at the river. On Namjoon’s last visit, the moon was out and, very little people were left which left him more vulnerable. Now, not only does he have daylight on his side but, he also has a very vigilant and very protective dongsaeng to keep him company.

“I’m just gonna stand back and, let you do your thing hyung but, if things get a little heated…I got your back ok? You just say the word and I’ll lay him out.” Jungkook vows, puffing his chest out as they approach the area Namjoon last saw the groundskeeper.

He chuckles, patting Jungkook on the shoulder, “Thank you. I appreciate you coming with me. We shouldn’t be too long, especially if he starts rambling again.”

Jungkook just nods, keeping close to his hyung, resisting the urge to hold his hand.

He really wishes platonic hand-holding was more acceptable.

Namjoon tenses up as he spots the groundskeeper near one of the trash cans but, he takes a deep breath and jerks his head in his direction, “There he is…”

Jungkook nods, his expression tightening a bit as he prepares for the worst.

“Hello?” Namjoon calls out tentatively

The groundskeeper is dressed in slightly cleaner coat but, Namjoon still tenses up regardless.

“Good evening gentleman.” The man turns around, smiling brightly, a rake grasped firmly in his hand, “What can I do for you?”

Namjoon is confused.

Is this the same man?

He looks the same but, cleaner?

And he isn’t laughing...

What the hell is going on?

“Uh good evening um...” Namjoon’s eyes flit to Jungkook, “Do you uh- do you remember me?”

The man cocks his head, narrowing his eyes for a moment before shaking his head,

“No, I’m so sorry I don’t. Have we met before?”

Namjoon nods immediately but, for a moment he wonders if the experience he had the other night was some sort of stress induced hallucination.

“Yeah, I came here the other night. I asked you if you had seen my friend?”

For good measure, Namjoon holds up his phone, showing your photo and, the man pushes his glasses up his nose and leans in.

He still has the scar but, his face isn’t greasy.

His hair is combed to the side and, he doesn’t smell like slow death.

Namjoon’s heart picks up at the thought of his own sanity slipping from him until the man finally seems to remember something.

“Oh my-” He pulls back and shoots a wary look Namjoon’s way, “I do remember you. My goodness, I am so incredibly sorry, I probably scared the daylights out of you.”

Namjoon’s polite nature causes him to chuckle uneasily but, he keeps his distance, not fully trusting this guy’s demeanor.

“Yeah you uh, you definitely did. So uh...”

The man cuts him off, placing a hand on his shoulder, “I suffered a head injury two years ago. The damage to my brain causes brief bouts of psychosis and, unfortunately I didn’t have enough money to refill my prescription.” The man extends his hand towards Namjoon and Jungkook, “My name is Nestor, please forgive my behavior. I can imagine it was quite shocking...”

Namjoon and Jungkook were raised to be polite men so, despite their hesitation; they shake his hand, bowing their heads as they do.

“I see. I’m sorry to hear about your accident.”

Nestor chuckles and, something flashes in his eyes that Namjoon can’t quite decipher, “Oh it was no accident son, I was attacked.”

Jungkook narrows his eyes and, although he claimed he wouldn’t speak, his curiosity gets the best of him, “By who?”

Nestor looks to the side for a moment before glancing back at them,

“I can’t remember.”

“That’s awfully convenient.” Jungkook can’t help but observe with a pouted mouth and, Namjoon lightly smacks his chest.

“Sorry but, you don’t remember?”

Namjoon’s intricate brain is searching for ways to connect the dots but, the man is offering him very little information.

“No, the doctors said I was attacked and, left for dead. I suffered damage to my hippocampus and, this caused a pretty bad episode of amnesia. I couldn’t remember who I was or how old I was, the only thing I could remember is my cat’s name...” He chuckles and, the clouded film over his eyes adds to the pain that flashes through them, “Which is quite funny you see because, my cat’s name is Cognac so, when I kept asking for Cognac, the nurses would try and explain to me over and over that I couldn’t have alcohol in my state.”

Jungkook and Namjoon offer their condolences in the form of breathless laughter but, their level of empathy quickly absorb Nestor’s sadness.

“Anyway...” Nestor gestures to Namjoon’s cellphone as a means to change the subject, “I have seen your friend before but, I don’t remember the last time I saw her. I’m terribly sorry...”

Jungkook pipes up, “It’s ok sir, we understand, your hippo is damaged, that’s not your fault.”

Namjoon’s mouth opens in disbelief and, he wants to correct Jungkook’s mistake but, he has more important matters to attend to.

“I hope this isn’t too much for you but, the last time I was here- “ He hesitates, glancing over at Nestor, “-last time I was here, you kept calling me madam. Is there any significance to that?”

“Oh...” Nestor chuckles, tucking a bit of his gray hair behind his ear, “I’m sure I was talking about my wife. It’s common for me in those episodes to ask for her. She passed away two years ago.”

This is something Namjoon has been waiting for.

Two years ago, this man was attacked.

Two years ago, his wife passed away.

Two years ago, Jaebeom’s sister went missing.

There must be some correlation.

“It was lovely meeting you gentleman. Unfortunately, I have to get back to my duties,” He gestures to the multi-colored leaves littered on the ground, “, these leaves aren’t going to rake themselves.”

Namjoon understands of course and, they quickly shake hands again but, just before the two men turn to leave, Jungkook’s randomized curiosity strikes again.

“What happened to your cat?”

Nestor seems to search his brain and, his features almost crumple with a bit of desperation,

“I don’t- I don’t remember.”

Jungkook just nods, offering him a small smile before him and Namjoon move through the trees towards the street.

Yoongi- Ginseng Night Club, Sunday 8:37pm

As Yoongi enters the club for the second time, he carries himself much differently. He ignores the looks from the patrons littered on the couches, he ignores the bass vibrating in his bones, he ignores the jabs from the bartender as he asks to speak with Jaebeom.

His anxiety is replaced with determination.

When Jaebeom swings open the door a second time, he’s toned body is only covered by a pair of jeans.

With another joint between his fingers, Jaebeom smirks down at Yoongi, “Are you here for business or pleasure?”

Yoongi shamelessly allows his eyes to move over Jaebeom’s figure, admiring it but, also noting that his skin is littered with more than just tattoos.

Nail marks run down the length of his abdomen, purple bruises congregate on the left side of his neck and, his lips are swollen with evidence of kissing.

“Looks like you’ve had enough pleasure for the evening.” Yoongi notes in Korean, forcing his gaze away from Jaebeom’s body, “I need to ask you a few more questions.”

Jaebeom’s smirk never falters as he pulls the joint to his lips. With a jerk of his head, he ushers Yoongi inside, shutting the door behind him, “Make it quick, I have company coming…”

Yoongi wants to make a comment but, he knows it’s not important enough so, he starts with his first question, “I know this might be hard to talk about but when I was here last night, you said something about your sister going missing.”

A noticeable change runs through Jaebeom’s body as he takes his seat, “Yeah, what about it?”

“I thought it was odd that they- my friend and your sister,” He elaborates, “went missing on the same street and the way you spoke about it, it was like you knew something about where she went…”

Jaebeom tenses up with the subject change but, he sees something in Yoongi that he likes, there is an honesty to him that Jaebeom fucks with, “I have a feeling, yes, but I could never prove it.”

Yoongi offers silence as a way to encourage him to continue and, Jaebeom obliges despite his hesitation.

“Her and her boyfriend used to come in to the club every Thursday night for Happy Hour. They had been dating for a while and, things seemed to be going all right. But one night, she came in alone and I asked her where he was and, she told me they were taking a break.” Jaebeom’s expression shifts again and Yoongi, being the empath that he is, senses the onslaught of negative emotion. “She wouldn’t tell me what happened. She just kept begging me to stay out of it and, she made me promise her I wouldn’t confront him. He came in to the club later that night and, some of my guys told me they got into a huge fight-“

Yoongi interjects, “Did you see anything?”

He shakes his head and, before he elaborates, he takes another hit of his blunt, “No, I was up here doing a deal but, the next thing I know, my friends are coming up here and, telling me that my sister ran out of the club, crying and shit. I tried to call her, I even went out on the street and, asked everyone if they saw her but…” His voice tightens before he blows smoke from his lips, “…nothing. I blew up her phone for the rest of the night but, she never responded. I went to the police the next day and, surprise surprise, they were fucking useless. They kept saying that ‘girls like her runaway all the time’ and ‘she’ll be back before you know it.’ I was so angry. I couldn’t believe they didn’t care. I did the same thing you and your boys are doing, I started my own investigation and, I didn’t get very far until, I found her cell phone in the club’s dumpster.”

Yoongi surprise is evident on his face and, it prompts Jaebeom to comment on it,

“Yeah I know right? You’d think that would have helped but, it only made everything more complicated. I looked through her messages to try to figure out what happened and-“ He blows a heavy breath between is lips, shaking his head, “Her boyfriend was cheating on her but, it was with some old chick, like his boss or some shit…I don’t know.”

“His boss?”

He nods, “Yeah, he worked the Upside as a pool boy.”

Yoongi’s heart drops then, down to the pit of his stomach and, he literally feels the sweat collecting in the wells of his palms.

“A pool boy?” He has to clarify, just so he’s sure he heard him right

Jaebeom nods and licks his lips, “Yeah, my sister found out he was fucking her; at least that’s what I got from her texts.”

“My friend works as a pool boy too. It’s his girlfriend that missing.”

Jaebeom’s brows rise before shaking his head, “Shit…” He takes another hit, “That’s a hell of a coincidence.”

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”

Yoongi and Jaebeom regard each other for a moment before Jaebeom’s mouth turns up in a smirk, “I guess you have an old lady to visit then. If you see my sister’s boyfriend, slap him around a little bit for me heh…”

Jaebeom seems to gulp the pain he feels down his throat before finishing off the blunt and throwing it in the ashtray.

“Wait, did he disappear too?”

He nods, “Haven’t seen him since that night. I just assumed he was living the high life, I mean, I don’t blame him…I’d suck on some old lady titties too for that kind of money…” Jaebeom quickly replaces the blunt in his hand with a the bottle of beer he had sitting on his side table. He takes a swig before holding out to Yoongi, “You want some?”

Yoongi doesn’t understand his attitude towards his sister’s disappearance. If he knew where her boyfriend was, why wouldn’t he go talk to him?

But he takes the offer, throwing back a bit of stale beer, letting the slight warmth from the alcohol soothe the rawness in his chest.

“Why didn’t you go up there? If that’s where he is?”

“I don’t have contacts up there. There was no way they’d let me in, look at me…” He chuckles, gesturing to his rough appearance, “Besides, I don’t know where that bitch lives and, honestly, it’s probably for the best. I don’t know what I’d do to that guy if I found him…”

A few more words are exchanged before Yoongi decides he needs to leave; he has a lot to report and, he feels as though time is running out.

As he’s moving to the threshold of the door, Jaebeom get his attention.

“Hey-“

As Yoongi turns around, Jaebeom leans forward in his seated position, placing his elbows on his knees, “What’s your name?”

Yoongi’s lips twitch, “Yoongi.”

Jaebeom grins, nodding his head in consideration, “Yoongi. Alright then, well if you ever want to take a night off from your detective work and, uh you know,” He nods to the bed, “have some fun, you know where to find me.”

Desire stirs in Yoongi’s stomach and, he’s flattered honestly, that such a handsome man could take interest in him but, he knows he couldn’t take a night off if he tried.

He’s got a friend to find.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He sends a smile towards Jaebeom, bowing his head slightly, “See you around.”

“I hope so.”

The information they have accrued is once again exchanged amongst the group and, there is only one conclusion that everyone continues to arrive at:

They have to get inside Lady’s house.

So, putting their heads together they concoct a plan that just might work.

The plan is simple.

Jimin, Jungkook and Taehyung will take Lady up on her offer of a home cooked meal.

Thankfully, Taehyung’s closet is full of clothes that look far more expensive than they actually are; working at a thrift store has its perks.

Jimin is dressed in a gray and black suit, covered in a gaudy brocade pattern.

Jungkook choses a floral blazer and black slacks, complete with a simple white button up he borrows from Taehyung’s father.

Taehyung donns something slightly less subtle; a black and silver blazer with a similar brocade pattern to Jimin’s suit jacket.

They take time on their hair, doing it up as if it were each of their wedding days.

When it’s all said and done, the three men walk out of Taehyung’s room looking like they came straight out of Interview with Vampire.

Yoongi, Hoseok, Namjoon and Jin are dressed in all black.

They will serve as a distraction during dinner to enable the younger men to explore the property undisturbed by Lady’s security guards.

It’s not an easy task but, they are more than ready to attempt it.

An invitation to dinner is of course incomplete without a gift for it’s lovely host.

Tonight, a bottle of champagne is clutched in Taehyung’s grasp as he strolls up the cobblestone walkway.

However, this champagne is slightly modified to fit this evening’s itinerary.

“Doxepin, it's what I take for insomnia. This shit is strong, I only have to take one and, I’m out like a light in 30 minutes...” Yoongi had explained, pushing his prescription bottle towards Taehyung, “Slip that bitch 3 or 4 and, she’ll hit the floor. When she wakes up, just tell her she passed out for a few minutes…”

And so it was.

Lady's home is massive.

It’s the biggest house the men have ever seen.

Jimin has stood in its immensity before but, Jungkook and Taehyung are almost disgusted by its grandeur.

The white paint seems to stretch upwards for miles, the greenery of the vines decorating it in such a way that it almost looks serene.

Nothing could be farther from the truth.

The lawn is immaculate.

Carefully trimmed hedges sculpted to perfection line the walkway that leads to the dark oak that encompasses the front door.

They aren’t here for a lovely dinner inside this massive house.

The true nature of their visit is simply to gather more information.

They aren’t sure how but, Lady is connected to your disappearance.

Tonight, they will gather enough evidence to warrant an investigation.

Maybe then, the city below them will finally pay attention to their cries for help.

Lady doesn’t greet them at the door but, another intriguing person does.

“Noah...” Jimin greets the suited man with a smile that is far too sweet.

But he delights in the man’s surprise and, Jimin connects another piece of the puzzle.

Noah is a classmate of theirs.

He was fortunate enough to land a job in the Upside after graduation.

He was fortunate in that his family had money and connections that pushed Noah ahead of his fellow alumni.

Noah knew you well.

Noah is dressed in a suit.

Noah works for Lady.

It seems there is a connection but, instead of pummeling Noah like he wants to, Jimin simply bows his head as he steps through the threshold of Lady’s home.

“Wh-What are you guys doing here?” Noah stutters, trying desperately to compose himself.

Taehyung offers the same smile adorning Jimin’s mouth, “We’re here for dinner. What are you doing here?”

It’s a loaded question and Noah knows it but, he’s helpless to act on this knowledge because, he is required to treat Lady’s guests with respect.

“I work here.” He mutters, gesturing towards the dining room, “She’s uh...she’s right in there.”

“Aren’t you going to offer to take our coats?” Jimin feigns innocence, nodding to the coat rack beside the door.

Noah nods and with shaky hands and, he accepts each of the coats before hanging them up.

“Enjoy your evening gentleman.”

The three of them walk away with a sense of satisfaction but, they are also sick with the knowledge of where one of their former friends ended up.

Money can create the most dastardly of monsters.

“Oh my goodness you’re here! Come in, come in.”

Lady appears at the archway, dressed in a red satin gown, her grey hair piled elegantly atop her head.

Time has been kind to her, Jungkook thinks, she doesn’t look 70.

But then again, age seems to be less of an issue when you have millions of dollars at your disposal.

“Lady these are my friends, Jungkook...” He gestures to the man on his right, who bows respectfully offering a boyish smile.

“Thank you so much for having me Lady Noona, you have an incredible home.”

Lady is already flustered; she can’t believe Jimin has friends as handsome as he is.

“And Taehyung...” Jimin continues, smirking at Jungkook’s acting skills.

Taehyung, takes her hand, keeping eye contact with her and lowering his lips to her knuckles, “Enchanté, votre maison est belle oui mais pas aussi belle que vous.” (Enchanted. Your house is beautiful yes but, not nearly as beautiful as you.)

Lady’s face rushes red and, she giggles like a demented schoolgirl, fanning herself as Taehyung releases her hand.

“Oh mon dieu tu l'es aussi. N'hésitez pas à continuer...” (Oh my goodness, you are too much. Please don’t hesitate to continue.)

“My lord Jimin, you didn’t tell me your friends were so handsome and, that one of them speaks French- “ She eyes Taehyung teasingly and he responds by winking.

“He was adopted when he was younger by a French family, he actually doesn’t speak English very well.” Jimin lies, strolling into the dining room and, beginning his search for something incriminating.

She nods, her eyes alight with intrigue, “I see well,” She leans into Taehyung’s frame, lowering her voice slightly, “Ne t'inquiète pas je n'aurai aucun mal à communiquer avec toi.” (Not to worry, I’ll have no trouble communicating with you)

Taehyung chuckles at that, bringing his lips to her ear, “Bien sûr, vous en avez déjà dit beaucoup.” (Of course, you have already said so much)

Lady is floored and, enlightened with desire.

So much so, that she arranges for Taehyung to sit right beside her.

The dining table, Jimin remembers, is smaller to create a more intimate setting.

Jimin takes a seat across from Lady who sits at the head of the table whilst Jungkook and Taehyung settle into the two middle chairs between them.

The first course is a salad topped with fancy ingredients the men barely recognize but, they dive into it anyway as Lady begins the conversation.

“Any word about Y/N?” She ventures solemnly, giving her best look of concern.

Jimin smiles, saccharine as ever, “Nothing so far but, I’m sure your men will give me an update soon.”

Lady nods mid-chew, pouting her lips slightly, “Of course sweetheart, they send me updates whenever they have something.”

Taehyung interjects, “Ne parlez pas encore d'elle, ça ruine mon humeur. Je t'ai apporté quelque chose. L'homme du magasin a dit que c'était sucré, peut-être que nous pourrions l'avoir avec un dessert?” (Don’t talk about her yet, it ruins my mood. I brought you something. The man at the store said it was sweet, maybe we can have it with dessert?)

This surprises Lady of course but, as Taehyung hands her the bottle of champagne adorned appropriately with a twist off cap; She smirks salaciously and nods.

“Tout ce que vous voulez...” (Whatever you want...)

Taehyung arches a brow, leaning in towards her once more, “Tout ce que je veux?” (Whatever I want?)

This is part of the plan of course, to disarm her and, Taehyung is doing an incredible job.

“Oui.” (Yes.) She practically coos in response, shameless to the presence of the other men.

He chuckles darkly and, beneath the table he places a hand on her thigh, “Et si je te veux pour le dessert?” (What if I want you for dessert?)

Jimin wants to hurl a little bit because, although he can’t understand what they are saying, he knows something inappropriate is going down.

“Jimin, your friend is going to make me misbehave.” Lady giggles, licking her lips as she eyes Taehyung hungrily.

He plays it off though, this is part of the plan.

“I’m sorry about him. He’s a shameless flirt.” Jimin chuckles lazily, eyeing Jungkook from over his water glass.

“No apology needed.” She smirks, flushing a further shade of red as Taehyung sends a wink in her direction, “Now, tell me Jungkook, what is that you do?”

Jungkook smiles brilliantly, looking eagerly at her, “I work as a paralegal for a law firm a few cities over but, on the weekends I work as a personal trainer.”

The lie is so well executed, Jimin and Taehyung want to cackle but, they hold it together, sticking to their script.

“Oh that is so impressive. I hear Law careers are increasing by 18% over the next 5 years, it’s an incredible industry to get into.” She compliments, stabbing more of the lettuce onto her fork.

“I’m glad you think so Noona, I can imagine someone as successful as you has a lot of wisdom for someone like me.” Jungkook’s Bambi eyes are on full display as he stares longingly in Lady’s direction, licking his lips.

His words have a double meaning and, Lady knows it, she wonders how she got so lucky to have two handsome men flirting with her.

“I know my way around sure,” She remarks with a smile, “I can introduce you to some of my colleagues, many of them work in your prospective field.”

“Really?” Jungkook beams, “That would be an honor Noona, thank you so much.”

Lady nods and places a well-manicured hand over his, “Of course, any friend of Jimin’s is a friend of mine.”

She turns to Taehyung, who hasn’t taken his eyes off of her, “Et vous, quel est votre métier?” (And you? What is your job?)

Taehyung pouts slightly, eyeing her in a way that suggests embarrassment, “Je suis un artiste. Je vends mes tableaux. C'est un travail très difficile mais, je l'aime tellement, je ne peux pas imaginer faire autre chose.” (I am an artist. I sell my paintings. It’s a very difficult job but, I love it so much, I can’t imagine doing anything else.)

Lady melts at his words, a longing sigh leaving her lips, “Bien sûr. C'est tellement admirable que vous poursuivez ce qui vous passionne.” (Of course. That is so admirable that you pursue what you’re passionate in.)

Taehyung smirks, eyeing her as he takes a sip of his water, “Merci. Je suis curieux maintenant, de quoi êtes-vous passionné?” (Thank you. I’m curious now, what are you passionate about?)

Before she can answer, the second course is served: roasted beef with a béarnaise sauce on a bed of microgreens.

Rich people shit, Jimin thinks but, he smiles graciously none the less.

He isn’t hungry, he hasn’t been hungry for the past week so, he pushes the meat around the plate as he continues to survey her dining area.

There is nothing out of place but, then again, he isn’t sure what he’s looking for.

The only thing he can do is wait for dessert…

Once Lady is out, they will be able to search for what they need.

“Lady, do you live here all alone?” Jungkook feigns concern, tilting his head.

She smiles sadly and nods, dabbing her lips with a silk napkin, “Yes I do. My husband, Nestor, died two years ago of an aneurysm. I’ve been alone here ever since, well minus my guards of course. I’m sure you saw them outside but, they don’t live here full time.”

Jungkook has to stifle his shock.

The name Nestor, isn’t a common one.

In fact, he’s only ever heard it once before...

Jungkook kisses his teeth, pouting his lips slightly, “Oh noona, that’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”

She pouts too, mirroring his expression, soaking up all of his sympathy, “That’s alright dear. I manage just fine, I have to admit though, it’s so wonderful having company. It gets lonely up here.”

The youngest smirks, “Oh of course Noona, I can only imagine…” He places a hand on her thigh beneath the table, rubbing gently over her dress, “A woman like you should never be lonely.”

Jimin and Taehyung have to physically repress their reactions to Jungkook’s acting abilities; it’s a side of him they have never seen.

Anger is something Jungkook doesn’t encounter very often.

But as he looks into Lady’s face, he feels rage coursing through him.

Because, he knows she isn’t genuine.

He knows there is something off about her.

Jungkook would normally never dream of harming another person but, when his friends are getting hurt, his morals begin to loosen.

“Oh my, you boys make me feel young again.” Lady chuckles before taking a bit of her beef, “You know…I have the resources to assist you, I tell Jimin this all the time but, he’s just so modest.” She winks at him and, Jimin pretends to shy away from her compliment, “I could really help you with your chosen career paths. Taehyungie,” She turns to him, flashing the pearl white of her dentures, “Ma sœur Clemtenine possède une galerie au centre-ville, je suis sûr que je peux lui faire acheter une partie de votre art. Je sais que j'aurais certainement adoré en acheter ...” (My sister Clementine owns a gallery downtown, I’m sure I can get her to purchase some of your art. I know I’d certainly loved to buy some)

Taehyung’s stomach drops at her statement but, he remains composed and arches his brow, “Clementine? C'est un nom tellement intéressant…” (Clementine? That is such an interesting name…)

Lady giggles once again, “Oui, nos parents étaient des gens excentriques.” (Yes, our parents were eccentric people.)

“Ils étaient probablement beaux aussi…” (They were probably beautiful too…)

Taehyung winks again and, he must admit, he’s getting off on how easy she is to trick.

She fans herself through her uneasy giggle, nudging his knee with her own, “Oh arrête de me flatter, je suis sérieux, je pourrais vraiment t'aider” (Oh stop flattering me, I’m serious, I could really help you.)

Taehyung pretends to be touched as he places a hand to his chest but before he can reply, a loud voice rings in through the intercom above the dining table.

“Mam this is Noah. There is a disturbance down at the main gate, we have to leave to go check it out, are you alright in there?”

Lady rolls her eyes, unbothered, “Of course Noah, I’m with my friends. Go take care of it, update me when you’re done.”

Anxiety swims into the stomachs of the three men; phase one is complete.

The guards are due to be distracted and, all they can hope is that Yoongi, Hoseok, Namjoon and, Jin stay safe in the process.

“Is everything alright?” Jimin tilts his head, glancing towards the speaker.

She smile reassuringly, waving him off, “Of course, this happens all the time. It’s probably just the homeless, poor things, they beg at my gate sometimes. I don’t engage with them though, as much as I want to help, I don’t believe in handouts you know? It teaches them nothing.”

This both confuses and enrages Jimin all at once.

She has no problem offering her resources to the three of them because, lets face it, it’s obvious she is partial to their good looks.

But he’s disgusted with her way of thinking.

Everyone deserves a fair shot.

He can’t understand how people, especially fortunate people like Lady, could have this outlook.

But then again, without the abuse of the working class, how would people like her make all of their money?

“I’ll drink to that.” Jimin smiles, raising his glass and, the rest of the table follows suit, sipping from their crystal goblets.

Then, something peculiar happens…

Beneath their feet, against the expensive lacquer on the wood varnish, there is a banging sound.

Lady tenses up but, deflects immediately, her surprise quickly smoothing out of her features, “Forgive me, I’m having a wine cellar built beneath the dining room, they’ve been measuring all morning so, it looks like they are getting started on the construction.”

Jimin’s expression shifts and, he stares across the table like a snake honing in on his pray, “Oh? That’s so weird, I didn’t notice any construction trucks outside.”

Lady smiles gracefully, “They have been working for quite awhile, part of their team left to gather more supplies. I’m so indecisive, I changed my mind about the interior several times…” She turns to Taehyung, feeling uneasy under Jimin’s gaze, “Que pensez-vous du marbre noir?” (What do you think of black marble?)

Taehyung’s eyes light up, “Ah, marbre noir? Excellent choix, si séduisant.” (Ah, black marble? Excellent choice, so seductive.)

She entangles her fingers with his beneath the table cloth, shooting him a suggestive look that makes Taehyung sick to his stomach, “Oui, vous l'êtes…” (Yes, you are.)

All Taehyung can manage is a smirk and, a thumb over the back of her knuckles.

His patience is running out.

“L'heure du dessert?” (Dessert time?)

He nods to the kitchen and, Lady immediately blooms with excitement.

“Oui, oui…” She smiles, craning her neck towards the kitchen, “We’re ready for dessert now, what’s taking so long?”

Crème Brule is served alongside a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream and, Taehyung whispers something in her ear about her being similar to the French dessert.

With flushed cheeks, Lady giggles (for the millionth time) and, begins eating.

“Chérie, es-tu prêt pour le champagne que j'ai apporté? Il ira bien avec ce dessert…” (Darling, are ready for the champagne I brought? It will go well with this dessert…)

With her approval, Taehyung pours the bubbly liquid into each of the flutes, smirking devilishly at his friends as he does.

Taehyung watches her like a hawk and, picks up her glass, getting dangerously close to her as he lifts it to her lips, “Boisson. Dis-moi ce que tu penses.” (Drink. Tell me what you think.)

Like saucers her eyes widen and, she’s so enthralled with Taehyung, she doesn’t notice another round of banging beneath the floorboards.

But the rest of them do.

Her eyes flutter as she sips some of the bubbly liquid but, Taehyung isn’t satisfied.

“Ah ah…Avale tout pour moi.” ( Ah ah…Swallow it all for me)

She obliges, practically spluttering at his double entendre.

“Bonne fille.” (Good Girl) He chuckles darkly, his heart thumping in his chest, he likes this.

He has to admit.

There is something so satisfying about fooling an opponent.

He’s turned on by it.

She gulps as she continues to stare at him, completely captivated.

“C’est delicieux.” (It’s delicious) She finally manages, dabbing her lips with the silk once again.

“Tu fais un bon show…” (You put on a good show) He remarks, smirking before pretending to sip some of his own champagne.

There is a bit of silence that moves throughout the table before Jimin takes the reigns once again,

“Lady, I really appreciate you having us tonight. We needed a night off; things have been so difficult lately.”

Lady immediately smiles, forcing her eyes away from Taehyung, “Of course sweetheart. You know I’m always here for you.”

Another sound is forced against the wood below and, for whatever reason, this startles Lady.

“Goodness, they are loud…” A nervous laugh leaves her lips and she attempts to stand up before faltering a bit, eyeing Taehyung immediately as she seems to stumble.

Taehyung reacts, standing with her and, holding onto her waist, “Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas chérie?” (What’s wrong darling?)

She mumbles something incoherent which prompts a sadistic grin to appear on Taehyung’s mouth, “Vous sentez-vous un peu endormi?” (Do you feel a little sleepy?)

She nods, clinging to him helplessly as he guides her to the settee beneath the window,

“C'est bon chéri, dors pour moi. Je promets que je serai là quand tu te réveilleras.” (It’s ok darling, sleep for me. I promise I’ll be there when you wake up.)

Lady’s eyes are growing heavier when Taehyung lays her down and, as he does, he places a kiss atop her forehead, “Si jamais tu le fais…” (If you ever do…)

Her eyes widen at his threatening tone but, before she can process it fully, she passes out in his arms.

Taehyung, Jungkook and, Jimin all look at each other for a moment before, they spring into action.

They shove the dining table aside, disregarding the sound of the expensive china as it crashes to the floor.

There is a Persian rug that covers the sound and, that is quickly shoved aside to reveal something that makes their stomach turn.

Because, beneath the dining table, there is a cellar door.

Jimin swallows his fear and with shaky hands, he leans down, “Hello?”

Silence.

He tries again, his chest numb from the force of his beating heart, “Is there- is anyone down there?”

Nothing.

Jimin frantically looks for a way in but, the hatch is sealed with a padlock.

“It’s locked, we need a way to-“ He begins but, a voice interrupts him.

A voice he is longed to hear for what seems like eternity.

“Jimin?”

The men look at each other with such heightened emotion that it could power the entire city.

Because, that voice belongs to you.

“Y/N? Baby? Oh my god…” He clutches the wood, banging on it without a reason why, “Baby? Is that you?”

Down in the cellar, beneath the big house you were taken to, you begin to cry at the sound of your boyfriends voice.

You must be dreaming you think.

He can’t be real.

Is it possible?

Is the nightmare finally over?

“Jimin!” You cry weakly, using all the strength you have.

The woman who forced you down here hasn’t fed you since your arrival.

She’s just left you down there, along with the rest of her secrets.

The room you’re in isn’t very big.

It’s constructed crudely and made of stone.

There are only two things to keep you company:

A pile of bones and, a pile of money.

When the woman laid you beneath her home, she said only one thing to you,

“You will die down here. You will die beside the life you will never have and, while you do, I’ll make sure he gets everything he could ever want.”

Jimin chokes back a sob as he pounds against door yet again and, he doesn’t notice that Jungkook is already scanning the room for solution.

“I’m right here baby, I’m right here, I’m going to get you out ok? Just hang on…”

You cover your chapped lips with the palm of your hand, sobbing into it.

You couldn’t believe it.

He found you.

He actually found you.

You didn’t know how and, it didn’t matter.

You just want to go home.

“Jungkook and Taehyung are here with me, we’re going to get you out!” He calls and, as if on cue, Jungkook appears beside him with hammer, “Watch out.” He grunts, determination in his eyes, “Y/N! I’m gonna break the door in ok? I need you to move aside so you don’t get hurt!”

You laugh in disbelief at the sound of your friend’s voice, “Use that brute strength of yours Kookie! Show that door who’s boss!”

He chuckles at that, tears collecting in his eyes, “I got you Noona, just make sure you’re not in the way!”

Taehyung is smiling too, trying not to lose it at the sound of your voice.

He keeps a careful eye on Lady, who is still passed out on the settee.

If he hated her before, he wants to kill her now.

Taehyung knew she was involved yes but, he never suspected she had you locked in her fucking cellar.

Jimin is itching to get you in his arms, he wants to claw through the wood himself but, instead he stands back and, lets Jungkook hack away at the cellar door.

You can see it.

The expensive wood slowly splintering above, light pouring in through the jagged cracks.

The only light you’ve had down here is a single bulb hanging from the ceiling.

It’s been torture.

But, none of that matters to you right now.

The only thing you can focus on is the sight of your boyfriend’s face as he tears the remaining wood away from the frame.

“Jimin…” You whimper, ignoring the weakness in your body before crawling your way up the stairs, wanting nothing more than to be in his arms.

Jimin breaks down, reaching out for you…

You’re still in the same outfit he last saw you in.

“Baby, come here…come here…” He pulls you into his arms, his body shaking with his cries as he holds you so tight, it’s almost painful, “I got you, I got you. You’re safe now, you’re safe…”

You’re face in his neck, sobbing whilst your fists clutch his blazer.

You don’t fully understand what’s going on, or why they are here dressed like little princes.

But, you’re not in the headspace to ask.

You just want to stay in Jimin’s arms and, never let go.

“We’re so sorry…” Jungkook sniffles, wrapping his arms around you and Jimin.

Taehyung follows suit, letting his tears fall, “We’re going to make sure they pay for what they did to you.”

Time seems to stand still as you relish in the affection of the people closest to you.

“Don’t ever be sorry. Look what you guys did…you found me. You saved me.” You whisper weakly, your face remaining in Jimin’s neck.

“Jimin? Taehyung? What on earth is going on?”

The sound of her voice makes your blood run cold…

Lady is sitting up, disorientated but before she has a chance to process what’s going on, Taehyung grabs the carving knife from the dining room table and holds it up to her neck.

“Funny, we were going to ask you the same question.”

Lady’s mouth parts in shock, her eyes widening in fear, “I- I-“ She glances around the room before she spots you and, her heart stalls, “I can explain…”

Jimin wants to freak out on her, he really does but, he doesn’t want to let go of you.

“Lady…” He spits from the floor, setting his piercing gaze on her, “Why the fuck is my girlfriend in your cellar?”

She hesitates and, Taehyung can tell she’s looking for a way out so, he presses the knife into her skin, “Answer him.” He hisses through his teeth

Jungkook stands as well, prepared to back him up should he need it.

“Jimin please, you must know. I was only looking out for you…women like her, they ruin men like you. I was trying to protect you.”

“Protect me?!” He barks, shaking his head in disbelief, “By murdering the only woman I’ve ever loved? By putting my friends and I through the worst week of our life?!”

Taehyung holds the knife steady as he jerks his head towards her, “Stand up…”

She obliges, mouth parted in disbelief, her hands up in front of her submissively, “You’re working three jobs to support yourself, I’ve been trying to help you but, I knew you wouldn’t accept it unless you had no other choice. I knew she…” She sends a glare your way, “…would always be in your ear. She was all you ever spoke about, I needed to get her out of the way so, you could start focusing on you.”

“She has a name you crazy bitch…” Jimin lets out a humorless laugh, helping you to your feet, “She has a name and, a life and, people who love her and, you…” He points a finger in her face, “…you tried to take that from her. How many people have ended up in your basement huh?! How many lives have you ruined?!”

Her expression shifts to one of pure malice, a devilish smirk appearing on her lips, “Why don’t you ask your little girlfriend?” She turns her gaze towards you, “Tell him, tell him how many skeletons you found beneath my house.”

This angers you.

Initially, you didn’t understand.

You didn’t understand the significance of running into Noah that night.

You didn’t understand why he offered to call you a Taxi.

You didn’t understand why the driver intentionally missed your turn.

And after you were knocked out, you didn’t understand why you were brought to this place.

The big house.

But now, it makes sense.

This pathetic excuse of a woman, gets off on kidnapping the less fortunate.

She breeds new monsters in the process, taking their loved ones and capitalizing off of their grief.

She takes them in and, turns them to stone.

“You wanted them to think I was dead…so you could convince them to leave their lives behind.” Your voice isn’t a hundred percent but, your gaze is steady as it pierces into her.

She chuckles despite the knife being pressed to her throat, “Hmm so it does have a brain. I knew I couldn’t convince Jimin to work for me unless I broke his heart first. Men are much easier to manipulate when they feel like they have nothing left.”

Taehyung practically snarls, “Let’s waste this bitch, we can tell the police that-“

Lady’s cackle is abrupt, her eyes crinkling with delight, “The police! Ha! The police work for me, why do you think they never looked for your little friend hm? They knew where she was, I pay them a pretty penny to keep their mouth shut.”

Another almost cartoonish voice interrupts the conversation as it crackles over the intercom, “Mam is everything alright in there? We heard a commotion.”

Shit.

It’s one of the guards.

Jungkook is prepared to fight, he looks around for a weapon and, grabs the hammer from the floor.

“Noah! No everything is not ok! It seems as though my guests have overstayed their welcome…” She seethes before another smile appears on her lips, “Kill them…”

Jimin grabs you immediately, pushing you behind him and, Taehyung’s grip tightens on Lady’s waist, keeping her in place.

“Uhhh yeah I don’t know who the fuck Noah is but, uh- oh wait! Yah, Hoseok! Isn’t Noah the one you hit with the Range Rover?”

The voice morphs again and, you actually laugh at the sound of Yoongi’s voice echoing through the speaker.

“Holy shit…” Jungkook chuckles in disbelief

“That scrawny little blonde dude??” Hoseok’s voice literally warms your heart as it reaches your ears, “Yeah he’s out like a light sorry, anyone else you’d like to speak to?”

“Who the fuck are you?” Lady hisses, panic settling into her senses, “I’ll have the police here in minutes, you’ll be thrown in prison for the rest of your lives!”

“Ouch, we were afraid you’d say that. See, but the thing is, we destroyed all of your fancy ass cameras but, we left the audio running so…” Jin’s voice chimes in next, explaining her demise, “the only thing the police will hear is a taped confession, you wrinkly ass bitch. And let me just say my dear, you look like your pussy is covered in dust and, that’s why you’re going down, all because you thought you might get some dick...pity.

Jin’s insult causes laughter to move through the four of you and, you can’t help but, feel moved at how dedicated your friends are.

“You filthy bastards, you better get your grimy hands off of my cars before, I add grand theft auto to your long list of charges.”

They laugh hysterically on the other end of the line before; Namjoon speaks up, “Ok boomer.”

In the next moment, Lady takes advantage of the distraction and, quickly lunges at you, her hands going for your neck but, before she can reach you, she’s knocked out of the way by Jungkook.

It’s an instinctual reaction but, it does the job

Because instead of landing on you, Lady falls down the hole in the floor to the cellar.

The four of you rush over to the entrance to see her body laying still at the bottom of stairs.

There is a bit of silence before you speak up, staying close to Jimin, “What do we do?”

He smirks, wrapping an arm around you, “Leave her. Let her die alone with her all nice shit.”

Yoongi, Hoseok, Namjoon and, Jin rush in finally and as soon as they spot you, they sigh out in relief.

“Oh my god.”

“You’re ok.”

“We knew we’d find you. Fuck, we missed you so much.”

“If you ever get kidnapped again, I will beat your ass.”

You just smile, giggling at their comments, holding them close.

“Thank you for looking for me. I love you guys so much.”

Yoongi nods to the cellar door and, him and Jimin exchange glances, “Here.” Yoongi tosses him a small black hard drive which Jimin catches seamlessly, “Throw that down there too. It’s the audio from tonight…”

The rest of you aren’t sure how they managed to do it.

But, those questions are reserved for later.

Right now, you just want to get out of there.

Jimin smirks, standing over the edge of the hole in the floor before dropping it in, relishing in the sound it makes as it clatters down the steps.

“Should we call the police?” Hoseok asks, slightly breathless from all the excitement.

“Why would we?” Yoongi grins, shrugging his shoulders, “Girls like her disappear all the time…”

“Good point.” Jin nods returning his grin, and everyone’s eyes are still trained on the hole in the floor.

You aren’t sure if she’s dead but, you’re hoping she isn’t.

She deserves to spend the rest of her life suffering for what she did to you, for what she did to so many others…

“What happened to the guards?” You ask, lacing your fingers with Jimin and, he responds by tightening his grip on your hand.

“We knocked em out. They’re tied up in the garage.” Namjoon remarks coolly

“Let’s get out of here. We need to leave town for few days until the police figure everything out.” Taehyung says, finally dropping the knife to the floor.

“Good thing we have a ride then…” Hoseok holds up the keys to the Range Rover and, the eight of you are giddy with the promise of freedom.

Jungkook stays close to Namjoon and, as rest of you exit the house; he spots movement in the corner of his eyes.

Near the coat rack, sits a long-haired white Persian cat.

Jungkook can’t help himself.

If he isn’t going to kill this terrible woman, he’s at least going to take her cat.

Hit her where it hurts you know?

“Hyung…” He stops Namjoon and, he looks confused for a moment until he spots what Jungkook is pointing out.

Jungkook doesn’t wait to reach out to the furry creature, “ Here kitty kitty.”

The cat rubs against his hand, tiny purs erupting from it’s mouth and, Jungkook smiles as he takes it into his arms.

Namjoon smirks fondly at the two of them before his eyes light up when he sees the name engraved on the cat’s golden collar.

“Cognac.” He breathes and, he and Jungkook share a moment as they exit the house.

The eight of you pile into the Range Rover, with Jin in the driver’s seat and, immediately, you find yourself beside Jimin.

“I thought I lost you…” He whispers desperately, placing a few kisses to your lips.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You whisper back, smiling into his lips before leaning forward to make an announcement to the rest of the car, “Hey guys uh…I think I have a way we can leave town for a bit.”

“How?” Hoseok furrows his brow, leaning around Jimin to see you.

“With this…” You grin and, from the middle of your bra, you pull out several bundles of money, each of them labeled $20,000.

You left the bones in the cellar for the police to find.

But the money?

The money, you took with you.

The police wouldn’t need it for their investigation right?

The seven of them look at you in shock before Yoongi lets out a sound you’ve never heard him make before; it’s pure unfiltered joy.

“Oh fuck yeah…”

Plage de Maeva, Tahiti- Two Months Later

Justice came in pieces.

It started with Cognac and, the massive fortune Lady left behind; both of which were returned to their rightful owner, the man at the river.

Then came Jaebeom; the eight of you dropped off a few thousand for him at the club, along with your findings.

A different precinct responded to the distress call from Lady’s home.

She survived the figurative fall yes but, the fall from grace that would soon follow completely destroyed her.

She was brought in on 9 counts of first degree murder, 7 counts of kidnapping, stalking, conspiracy to commit fraud and, a myriad of other charges.

The suits were brought in as well and, suffered similar fates.

Between them, 293 years of prison was to be served.

The staff at the motel, the patrons of the Chamomile Country Club and, even Clementine herself were all publically humiliated when the news broke of Lady’s true nature.

She had been paying them all for their silence.

No charges were brought against them but, their statuses as pariahs seemed fitting enough.

The news came to all of you quite late because, you were far too busy enjoying your own personal victories…on an island called Tahiti.

520,000 was certainly enough to get you out of town and, by the looks of it, you may never return…

“Every second, every minute, man I swear that she can get it Say if you a bad bitch put your hands up high, hands up high, hands up high Tell 'em dim the lights down right now, put me in the mood I'm talking 'bout dark room, perfume Go, go!”

Yoongi’s voice echoes loudly with the help of his microphone as he raps the lyrics to a rather befitting song by Kendrick Lamar.

It was karaoke night on the rooftop of your resort and the eight of you, along with your loved ones are enjoying every second of it.

Hoseok rushes on stage with Yoongi, laughing as he does, “I recognize your fragrance (hol' up!) You ain't never gotta say shit (woo!) And I know your taste is A little bit (mmm) high maintenance (ooh) Everybody else basic You live life on an everyday basis with-“ He holds the mic out and, the rest of you scream the lyrics with beaming smiles.

“POETIC JUSTICE, POETIC JUSTICE- IF I TOLD YOU A FLOWER BLOOMED IN A DARK ROOM WOULD YOU TRUST IT?”

Jimin is behind you, with his arms secured around your waist, giggling through the words.

He’s euphoric at the moment, he’s never been so happy in his entire life.

Namjoon hits the stage next, and the song continues with the help of your friends and the crowd,

“I mean I write poems in these songs dedicated to you When you're in the mood for empathy, there's blood in my pen Better yet where your friends and them? I really wanna know you all I really wanna show you off Fuck that, pour up plenty of champagne Cold nights when you curse this name….”

Jungkook and Taehyung are at the front of the crowd hyping them up whilst Jin sings loudly with his fiancée.

The next part Jimin croons into your ear, tightening his grip on you as the words have so much meaning:

“And anytime…” He sings, kissing into your neck, “You can get it, you can get it, you can get it, you can get it- And I know just know just know just know just what you want…poetic justice, put it in a song, alright.”

You turn in his arms then, kissing him deeply, pouring everything you have into it.

“You kept your promise.” You whisper, grinning against his lips.

“My promise?” He giggles, kissing you back, his eyes deep with emotion.

You cup his cheek, biting your lip as you hold back your tears, “The night I disappeared, you promised me, we’d get our break…”

His smile widens and, rather than use his words, he just kisses you again.

Because, he can.

Because, you’re safe.

Because, you’re his.

The rooftop is a place you often end up.

It’s a little cliché, you think: a bunch of rich kids corralled onto a fancy ass resort building on a tropical island, the waves crashing in the background.

But you and your friends aren’t ordinary rich kids.

The worst any of you has ever done is rob an old lady’s house, push her down the stairs, leave her for dead and, then ruin her life but…

To be fair…

That bitch deserved it.

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